love letters of henry eighth to anne boleyn the love letters of henry viii to anne boleyn with notes john w. luce & company boston: london copyright, 1906, by john w. luce & company d. b. updike, the merrymount press, boston table of contents page letter first i letter second iv letter third v letter fourth vii letter fifth x letter sixth xiii letter seventh xvi letter eighth [anne boleyn to wolsey] xviii postscript [by henry viii] xx letter ninth xxii letter tenth xxv letter eleventh xxviii letter twelfth xxx letter thirteenth xxxiv letter fourteenth xxxvii letter fifteenth xxxix letter sixteenth xli letter seventeenth xliii letter eighteenth xlv notes li love letters of henry eighth to anne boleyn letter first to anne boleyn on turning over in my mind the contents of your last letters, i have put myself into great agony, not knowing how to interpret them, whether to my disadvantage, as you show in some places, or to my advantage, as i understand them in some others, beseeching you earnestly to let me know expressly your whole mind as to the love between us two. it is absolutely necessary for me to obtain this answer, having been for above a whole year stricken with the dart of love, and not yet sure whether i shall fail of finding a place in your heart and affection, which last point has prevented me for some time past from calling you my mistress; because, if you only love me with an ordinary love, that name is not suitable for you, because it denotes a singular love, which is far from common. but if you please to do the office of a true loyal mistress and friend, and to give up yourself body and heart to me, who will be, and have been, your most loyal servant, (if your rigour does not forbid me) i promise you that not only the name shall be given you, but also that i will take you for my only mistress, casting off all others besides you out of my thoughts and affections, and serve you only. i beseech you to give an entire answer to this my rude letter, that i may know on what and how far i may depend. and if it does not please you to answer me in writing, appoint some place where i may have it by word of mouth, and i will go thither with all my heart. no more, for fear of tiring you. written by the hand of him who would willingly remain yours, h. r. letter second to anne boleyn though it is not fitting for a gentleman to take his lady in the place of a servant, yet, complying with your desire, i willingly grant it you, if thereby you can find yourself less uncomfortable in the place chosen by yourself, than you have been in that which i gave you, thanking you cordially that you are pleased still to have some remembrance of me. 6. n. a. 1 de a. o. na. v. e. z. henry r. letter third to anne boleyn although, my mistress, it has not pleased you to remember the promise you made me when i was last with you--that is, to hear good news from you, and to have an answer to my last letter; yet it seems to me that it belongs to a true servant (seeing that otherwise he can know nothing) to inquire the health of his mistress, and to acquit myself of the duty of a true servant, i send you this letter, beseeching you to apprise me of your welfare, which i pray to god may continue as long as i desire mine own. and to cause you yet oftener to remember me, i send you, by the bearer of this, a buck killed late last night by my own hand, hoping that when you eat of it you may think of the hunter; and thus, for want of room, i must end my letter, written by the hand of your servant, who very often wishes for you instead of your brother. h. r. letter fourth to anne boleyn _my mistress & friend_, my heart and i surrender ourselves into your hands, beseeching you to hold us commended to your favour, and that by absence your affection to us may not be lessened: for it were a great pity to increase our pain, of which absence produces enough and more than i could ever have thought could be felt, reminding us of a point in astronomy which is this: the longer the days are, the more distant is the sun, and nevertheless the hotter; so is it with our love, for by absence we are kept a distance from one another, and yet it retains its fervour, at least on my side; i hope the like on yours, assuring you that on my part the pain of absence is already too great for me; and when i think of the increase of that which i am forced to suffer, it would be almost intolerable, but for the firm hope i have of your unchangeable affection for me: and to remind you of this sometimes, and seeing that i cannot be personally present with you, i now send you the nearest thing i can to that, namely, my picture set in a bracelet, with the whole of the device, which you already know, wishing myself in their place, if it should please you. this is from the hand of your loyal servant and friend, h. r. letter fifth to anne boleyn for a present so beautiful that nothing could be more so (considering the whole of it), i thank you most cordially, not only on account of the fine diamond and the ship in which the solitary damsel is tossed about, but chiefly for the fine interpretation and the too humble submission which your goodness hath used towards me in this case; for i think it would be very difficult for me to find an occasion to deserve it, if i were not assisted by your great humanity and favour, which i have always sought to seek, and will seek to preserve by all the kindness in my power, in which my hope has placed its unchangeable intention, which says, _aut illic, aut nullibi_. the demonstrations of your affection are such, the beautiful mottoes of the letter so cordially expressed, that they oblige me for ever to honour, love, and serve you sincerely, beseeching you to continue in the same firm and constant purpose, assuring you that, on my part, i will surpass it rather than make it reciprocal, if loyalty of heart and a desire to please you can accomplish this. i beg, also, if at any time before this i have in any way offended you, that you would give me the same absolution that you ask, assuring you, that henceforward my heart shall be dedicated to you alone. i wish my person was so too. god can do it, if he pleases, to whom i pray every day for that end, hoping that at length my prayers will be heard. i wish the time may be short, but i shall think it long till we see one another. written by the hand of that secretary, who in heart, body, and will, is, your loyal and most assured servant, h. sultre a.b. ne cherse r. letter sixth to anne boleyn _to my mistress._ because the time seems very long since i heard concerning your health and you, the great affection i have for you has induced me to send you this bearer, to be better informed of your health and pleasure, and because, since my parting from you, i have been told that the opinion in which i left you is totally changed, and that you would not come to court either with your mother, if you could, or in any other manner; which report, if true, i cannot sufficiently marvel at, because i am sure that i have since never done any thing to offend you, and it seems a very poor return for the great love which i bear you to keep me at a distance both from the speech and the person of the woman that i esteem most in the world: and if you love me with as much affection as i hope you do, i am sure that the distance of our two persons would be a little irksome to you, though this does not belong so much to the mistress as to the servant. consider well, my mistress, that absence from you grieves me sorely, hoping that it is not your will that it should be so; but if i knew for certain that you voluntarily desired it, i could do no other than mourn my ill-fortune, and by degrees abate my great folly. and so, for lack of time, i make an end of this rude letter, beseeching you to give credence to this bearer in all that he will tell you from me. written by the hand of your entire servant, h. r. letter seventh to anne boleyn _darling_, these shall be only to advertise you that this bearer and his fellow be despatched with as many things to compass our matter, and to bring it to pass as our wits could imagine or devise; which brought to pass, as i trust, by their diligence, it shall be shortly, you and i shall have our desired end, which should be more to my heart's ease, and more quietness to my mind, than any other thing in the world; as, with god's grace, shortly i trust shall be proved, but not so soon as i would it were; yet i will ensure you that there shall be no time lost that may be won, and further can not be done; for _ultra posse non est esse_. keep him not too long with you, but desire him, for your sake, to make the more speed; for the sooner we shall have word from him, the sooner shall our matter come to pass. and thus upon trust of your short repair to london, i make an end of my letter, my own sweet heart. written with the hand of him which desireth as much to be yours as you do to have him. h. r. letter eighth anne boleyn to wolsey _my lord_, in my most humblest wise that my heart can think, i desire you to pardon me that i am so bold to trouble you with my simple and rude writing, esteeming it to proceed from her that is much desirous to know that your grace does well, as i perceive by this bearer that you do, the which i pray god long to continue, as i am most bound to pray; for i do know the great pains and troubles that you have taken for me both day and night is never likely to be recompensed on my part, but alonely in loving you, next unto the king's grace, above all creatures living. and i do not doubt but the daily proofs of my deeds shall manifestly declare and affirm my writing to be true, and i do trust you do think the same. my lord, i do assure you, i do long to hear from you news of the legate; for i do hope, as they come from you, they shall be very good; and i am sure you desire it as much as i, and more, an it were possible; as i know it is not: and thus remaining in a steadfast hope, i make an end of my letter. written with the hand of her that is most bound to be your humble servant, anne boleyn. postscript by henry viii the writer of this letter would not cease, till she had caused me likewise to set my hand, desiring you, though it be short, to take it in good part. i ensure you that there is neither of us but greatly desireth to see you, and are joyous to hear that you have escaped this plague so well, trusting the fury thereof to be passed, especially with them that keepeth good diet, as i trust you do. the not hearing of the legate's arrival in france causeth us somewhat to muse; notwithstanding, we trust, by your diligence and vigilancy (with the assistance of almighty god), shortly to be eased out of that trouble. no more to you at this time, but that i pray god send you as good health and prosperity as the writer would. by your loving sovereign and friend, h. r. letter ninth to anne boleyn there came to me suddenly in the night the most afflicting news that could have arrived. the first, to hear of the sickness of my mistress, whom i esteem more than all the world, and whose health i desire as i do my own, so that i would gladly bear half your illness to make you well. the second, from the fear that i have of being still longer harassed by my enemy, absence, much longer, who has hitherto given me all possible uneasiness, and as far as i can judge is determined to spite me more because i pray god to rid me of this troublesome tormentor. the third, because the physician in whom i have most confidence, is absent at the very time when he might do me the greatest pleasure; for i should hope, by him and his means, to obtain one of my chief joys on earth--that is the care of my mistress--yet for want of him i send you my second, and hope that he will soon make you well. i shall then love him more than ever. i beseech you to be guided by his advice in your illness. in so doing i hope soon to see you again, which will be to me a greater comfort than all the precious jewels in the world. written by that secretary, who is, and for ever will be, your loyal and most assured servant, h. (a b) r. letter tenth to anne boleyn the uneasiness my doubts about your health gave me, disturbed and alarmed me exceedingly, and i should not have had any quiet without hearing certain tidings. but now, since you have as yet felt nothing, i hope, and am assured that it will spare you, as i hope it is doing with us. for when we were at walton, two ushers, two valets de chambres and your brother, master-treasurer, fell ill, but are now quite well; and since we have returned to our house at hunsdon, we have been perfectly well, and have not, at present, one sick person, god be praised; and i think, if you would retire from surrey, as we did, you would escape all danger. there is another thing that may comfort you, which is, that, in truth in this distemper few or no women have been taken ill, and what is more, no person of our court, and few elsewhere, have died of it. for which reason i beg you, my entirely beloved, not to frighten yourself nor be too uneasy at our absence; for wherever i am, i am yours, and yet we must sometimes submit to our misfortunes, for whoever will struggle against fate is generally but so much the farther from gaining his end: wherefore comfort yourself, and take courage and avoid the pestilence as much as you can, for i hope shortly to make you sing, _la renvoyé_. no more at present, from lack of time, but that i wish you in my arms, that i might a little dispel your unreasonable thoughts. written by the hand of him who is and alway will be yours, imh. r. -mutable. letter eleventh to anne boleyn the cause of my writing at this time, good sweetheart, is only to understand of your good health and prosperity; whereof to know i would be as glad as in manner mine own, praying god that (an it be his pleasure) to send us shortly together, for i promise you i long for it. how be it, i trust it shall not be long to; and seeing my darling is absent, i can do no less than to send her some flesh, representing my name, which is hart flesh for henry, prognosticating that hereafter, god willing, you may enjoy some of mine, which he pleased, i would were now. as touching your sister's matter, i have caused walter welze to write to my lord my mind therein, whereby i trust that eve shall not have power to deceive adam; for surely, whatsoever is said, it cannot so stand with his honour but that he must needs take her, his natural daughter, now in her extreme necessity. no more to you at this time, mine own darling, but that with a wish i would we were together an evening. with the hand of yours, h. r. letter twelfth to anne boleyn since your last letters, mine own darling, walter welshe, master browne, thos. care, grion of brearton, and john coke, the apothecary, be fallen of the sweat in this house, and, thanked be god, all well recovered, so that as yet the plague is not fully ceased here, but i trust shortly it shall. by the mercy of god, the rest of us yet be well, and i trust shall pass it, either not to have it, or, at the least, as easily as the rest have done. as touching the matter of wilton, my lord cardinal hath had the nuns before him, and examined them, mr. bell being present; which hath certified me that, for a truth, she had confessed herself (which we would have had abbess) to have had two children by two sundry priests; and, further, since hath been kept by a servant of the lord broke that was, and that not long ago. wherefore i would not, for all the gold in the world, clog your conscience nor mine to make her ruler of a house which is of so ungodly demeanour; nor, i trust, you would not that neither for brother nor sister, i should so destain mine honour or conscience. and, as touching the prioress, or dame eleanor's eldest sister, though there is not any evident case proved against them, and that the prioress is so old that for many years she could not be as she was named; yet notwithstanding, to do you pleasure, i have done that neither of them shall have it, but that some other good and well-disposed woman shall have it, whereby the house shall be the better reformed (whereof i ensure you it had much need), and god much the better served. as touching your abode at hever, do therein as best shall like you, for you best know what air doth best with you; but i would it were come thereto (if it pleased god), that neither of us need care for that, for i ensure you i think it long. suche is fallen sick of the sweat, and therefore i send you this bearer, because i think you long to hear tidings from us, as we do likewise from you. written with the hand _de votre seul_, h. r. letter thirteenth to anne boleyn the approach of the time for which i have so long waited rejoices me so much, that it seems almost to have come already. however, the entire accomplishment cannot be till the two persons meet, which meeting is more desired by me than anything in this world; for what joy can be greater upon earth than to have the company of her who is dearest to me, knowing likewise that she does the same on her part, the thought of which gives me the greatest pleasure. judge what an effect the presence of that person must have on me, whose absence has grieved my heart more than either words or writing can express, and which nothing can cure, but that begging you, my mistress, to tell your father from me, that i desire him to hasten the time appointed by two days, that he may be at court before the old term, or, at farthest, on the day prefixed; for otherwise i shall think he will not do the lover's turn, as he said he would, nor answer my expectation. no more at present for lack of time, hoping shortly that by word of mouth i shall tell you the rest of the sufferings endured by me from your absence. written by the hand of the secretary, who wishes himself at this moment privately with you, and who is, and always will be, your loyal and most assured servant, h. no other a b seek r. letter fourteenth to anne boleyn _darling_, i heartily recommend me to you, ascertaining you that i am not a little perplexed with such things as your brother shall on my part declare unto you, to whom i pray you give full credence, for it were too long to write. in my last letters i writ to you that i trusted shortly to see you, which is better known at london than with any that is about me, whereof i not a little marvel; but lack of discreet handling must needs be the cause thereof. no more to you at this time, but that i trust shortly our meetings shall not depend upon other men's light handlings, but upon our own. written with the hand of him that longeth to be yours. h. r. letter fifteenth to anne boleyn _mine own sweetheart_, this shall be to advertise you of the great elengeness that i find here since your departing; for, i ensure you methinketh the time longer since your departing now last, than i was wont to do a whole fortnight. i think your kindness and my fervency of love causeth it; for, otherwise, i would not have thought it possible that for so little a while it should have grieved me. but now that i am coming towards you, methinketh my pains be half removed; and also i am right well comforted in so much that my book maketh substantially for my matter; in looking whereof i have spent above four hours this day, which causeth me now to write the shorter letter to you at this time, because of some pain in my head; wishing myself (especially an evening) in my sweetheart's arms, whose pretty dukkys i trust shortly to kiss. written by the hand of him that was, is, and shall be yours by his own will, h. r. letter sixteenth to anne boleyn _darling_, though i have scant leisure, yet, remembering my promise, i thought it convenient to certify you briefly in what case our affairs stand. as touching a lodging for you, we have got one by my lord cardinal's means, the like whereof could not have been found hereabouts for all causes, as this bearer shall more show you. as touching our other affairs, i assure you there can be no more done, nor more diligence used, nor all manner of dangers better both foreseen and provided for, so that i trust it shall be hereafter to both our comforts, the specialities whereof were both too long to be written, and hardly by messenger to be declared. wherefore, till you repair hither, i keep something in store, trusting it shall not be long to; for i have caused my lord, your father, to make his provisions with speed; and thus for lack of time, darling, i make an end of my letter, written with the hand of him which i would were yours. h. r. letter seventeenth to anne boleyn the reasonable request of your last letter, with the pleasure also that i take to know them true, causeth me to send you these news. the legate which we most desire arrived at paris on sunday or monday last past, so that i trust by the next monday to hear of his arrival at calais: and then i trust within a while after to enjoy that which i have so long longed for, to god's pleasure and our both comforts. no more to you at this present, mine own darling, for lack of time, but that i would you were in mine arms, or i in yours, for i think it long since i kissed you. written after the killing of a hart, at eleven of the clock, minding, with god's grace, to-morrow, mightily timely, to kill another, by the hand which, i trust, shortly shall be yours. henry r. letter eighteenth to anne boleyn to inform you what joy it is to me to understand of your conformableness with reason, and of the suppressing of your inutile and vain thoughts with the bridle of reason. i assure you all the good in this world could not counterpoise for my satisfaction the knowledge and certainty thereof, wherefore, good sweetheart, continue the same, not only in this, but in all your doings hereafter; for thereby shall come, both to you and me, the greatest quietness that may be in this world. the cause why the bearer stays so long, is the business i have had to dress up gear for you; and which i trust, ere long to cause you occupy: then i trust to occupy yours, which shall be recompense enough to me for all my pains and labour. the unfeigned sickness of this well-willing legate doth somewhat retard his access to your person; but i trust verily, when god shall send him health, he will with diligence recompense his demur. for i know well where he hath said (touching the saying and bruit that he is thought imperial) that it shall be well known in this matter that he is not imperial; and thus, for lack of time, sweetheart, farewell. written with the hand which fain would be yours, and so is the heart. r. h. finis notes love letters of henry viii to anne boleyn by j. o. halliwell phillips the letters of henry viii to anne boleyn, perhaps the most remarkable documents of the kind known to exist, were published at oxford in 1720 by hearne, in a volume entitled _roberti de avesbury historia de mirabilibus gestis edwardi iii_, and inserted in the third volume of the harleian miscellany, 1745. these two editions differ considerably from each other, and still more so from the transcripts here given, which are taken from the edition printed at paris by m. meon, who held a situation in the manuscript department of the bibliothèque de roi. the fifth and thirteenth, however, which are not comprehended in the vatican collection, are supplied from hearne's work. of the seventeen letters of which the series consists, eight are written in english and nine in french. they appear to have been written after anne boleyn had been sent away from court, in consequence of reports injurious to her reputation, which had begun to be publicly circulated. her removal indeed was so abrupt that she had resolved never to return. the king soon repented his harshness, and strove to persuade her to come back; but it was a long time, and not without great trouble, before he could induce her to comply. her retirement did not take place before the month of may, 1528; this is proved by a letter from fox, bishop of hereford, to gardiner, bishop of winchester, dated the 4th of may, in that year, in which the writer, who had just returned from rome, whither he had been sent to negotiate the king's divorce, gives an account of his landing at sandwich on the 2nd, of his arrival on the same night at greenwich, where the king then was, and of the order he received from him to go to the apartments of anne boleyn, which were in the tiltyard, and inform her how anxious he had been to hasten the arrival of the legate, and how much he was rejoiced by it. this letter, formerly in the collection of harley, earl of oxford, is now at rome. it must have been very soon afterwards that anne boleyn left the court. in fact, in the first letter (4 of this series) the king excuses himself for being under the necessity of parting from her. in the second (6) he complains of the dislike which she shows to return to court; but in neither of them does he allude to the pestilential disease which in that year committed such ravages in england. in the third (10), however, he does advert to it as a disorder which has prevailed for some time, and on which he makes some observations. between this letter, probably written in the month of july, and the sixth (17), in which the king speaks of the arrival of the legate in paris, and which must have been written about the end of september, there are two letters (1 and 5) certainly written within a few days of each other. in the second of these two, _viz._, the fifth of this series, the king expresses his extreme satisfaction which he has received from the lady's answer to his request. in the effusion of his gratitude, he pays a visit to his mistress, and both address a letter (8) to cardinal wolsey, in which henry manifests his astonishment at not having yet heard of the arrival of campeggio, the legate, in paris. the date of this letter may thus be fixed in the month of september. the fourth (1), apparently written in august, is the most interesting of the whole collection, inasmuch as it fixes the period of the commencement of the king's affection for anne boleyn. he complains of "having been above a whole year struck with the dart of love," and that he is not yet certain whether he shall succeed in finding a place in the heart and affections of her whom he loves. the last letter (18), which makes mention of the illness of the legate as the cause of the delay in the affair of the divorce, shows that this correspondence ended in may, 1529, at which time the court of legates was open for the final decision of that point. anne, daughter of sir thomas boleyn, subsequently created earl of wiltshire, after passing many years at the court of claude, queen of francis i of france, returned to england about the end of the year 1525, at the age of eighteen. here she was soon appointed maid of honour to queen katherine, and attracted the particular attentions of henry viii, who was then engaged in soliciting a divorce from the pope. the marked preference shown by the king for anne boleyn raised so much jealousy and slander that it was thought advisable by her family to remove the new favourite from the court; and it was during this retirement at hever, a seat of her father's in kent, that these letters were addressed to her by her royal lover. it was no doubt to render them the more agreeable that he wrote some of them in french. they breathe a fondness and an ardour which could scarcely leave room to doubt the sincerity of his love. ¶ we have reprinted mr. halliwell phillips to call attention to the change in order in this edition. a very little study of the letters themselves showed that the old order was impossible. the first six fall into a group by themselves, the 6th being the first to which we gave a nearly approximate date (july, 1527), before anne's return to court. henry's passion must date therefore from 1526. the 7th is fixed by references in other correspondence to february, 1528, and the 8th to june before she left the court. the 9th, 10th and 11th relate to the sweating sickness (end of june, order fixed by incidental references), and the 12th is after july 5th; the 13th and 14th are before her return. the reference to his book in no. 15 fixes the date as august, and no. 16 is fixed for august 20th, by wolsey's finding a lodging for anne. no. 17 is fixed for september (16th?) by campeggio's arrival at paris (september 14, 1528), and no. 18 by his illness as towards the end of october. the scheme had been partly worked out when the editor observed that mr. brewer had already arranged them in his calendar of state papers, and to him therefore this order is due. the old arrangement was 4, 6, 10, 1, 5, 17, 16, 2, 11, 3, 13, 9, 12, 7, 14, 15, 18, 8. _page_ x. _henry viii to anne boleyn._ written july, 1527. "aut illic, aut nullibi." either there, or nowhere. the signature means "h. seeks no other (heart). r." xiii. _henry viii to anne boleyn._ this letter was written in july, 1527. xvi. _henry viii to anne boleyn._ written february, 1528. "ultra posse non est esse." one can't do more than the possible. xviii. _anne boleyn to cardinal wolsey._ ms. _cott. vitellius_, b. xii. f. 4. written june 11, 1528. printed by ellis as from katherine of arragon. there is another letter from anne to wolsey, thanking him for a present. it is very similar to this, and is found in ms. _cott. otho._ c. x. f. 218 (printed in _burnet_, i, 104, and in _ellis_, original letters, vol. i). xxii. _henry viii to anne boleyn._ written june 16, 1528. xxv. _henry viii to anne boleyn._ this letter was written june 20. "it." the sweating sickness. this is the 1528 epidemic. "your brother." george boleyn, afterwards viscount rochford, executed 1536 on a charge of incest. xxviii. _henry viii to anne boleyn._ written about june 22, 1528. "welze" is the same person as "welshe" on p. xxx. xxx. _henry viii to anne boleyn._ written july 6 (?), 1528. "suche" is probably zouch. "destain." stain. xxxiv. _henry viii to anne boleyn._ written july 20, 1528. xxxvii. _henry viii to anne boleyn._ written july 21, 1528. xxxix. _henry viii to anne boleyn._ written august, 1528. "elengeness." loneliness, misery. "my book." on the unlawfulness of his marriage with katherine. xli. _henry viii to anne boleyn._ written august 20, 1528. xliii. _henry viii to anne boleyn._ written september 16, 1528. campeggio actually arrived at calais on monday, september 14. xlv. _henry viii to anne boleyn._ written at the end of october, 1528. transcriber's note: the original text contains decorative illustrations that are not represented in this text file. henry viii and his court [illustration: henry viii from the portrait by holbein, at warwick castle] henry viii and his court by herbert beerbohm tree with four full-page plates sixth edition cassell and company, ltd. london, new york, toronto and melbourne 1911 all rights reserved introductory in these notes, written as a holiday task, it is not intended to give an exhaustive record of the events of henry's reign; but rather to offer an impression of the more prominent personages in shakespeare's play; and perhaps to aid the playgoer in a fuller appreciation of the conditions which governed their actions. _marienbad, 1910_ contents page king henry viii. 1 wolsey 21 katharine 47 anne boleyn 55 divorce 63 the reformation 77 manners and customs 83 a note on the production of henry viii. at his majesty's theatre 87 an apology and a footnote 103 chronology of public events during the lifetime of henry viii. 111 shakespearean plays produced under herbert beerbohm tree's management at the haymarket theatre 115 list of plates henry viii. _frontispiece_ cardinal wolsey _facing page_ 42 katharine of aragon " " 76 anne boleyn " " 96 king henry viii _his character_ holbein has drawn the character and written the history of henry on the canvas of his great picture. masterful, cruel, crafty, merciless, courageous, sensual, through-seeing, humorous, mean, matter of fact, worldly-wise, and of indomitable will, henry the eighth is perhaps the most outstanding figure in english history. the reason is not far to seek. the genial adventurer with sporting tendencies and large-hearted proclivities is always popular with the mob, and "bluff king hal," as he was called, was of the eternal type adored by the people. he had a certain outward and inward affinity with nero. like nero, he was corpulent; like nero, he was red-haired; like nero, he sang and poetised; like nero, he was a lover of horsemanship, a master of the arts and the slave of his passions. if his private vices were great, his public virtues were no less considerable. he had the ineffable quality called charm, and the appearance of good-nature which captivated all who came within the orbit of his radiant personality. he was the "_beau garçon_," endearing himself to all women by his compelling and conquering manhood. henry was every inch a man, but he was no gentleman. he chucked even justice under the chin, and justice winked her blind eye. it is extraordinary that in spite of his brutality, both katharine and anne boleyn spoke of him as a model of kindness. this cannot be accounted for alone by that divinity which doth hedge a king. there is, above all, in the face of henry, as depicted by holbein, that look of impenetrable mystery which was the background of his character. many royal men have this strange quality; with some it is inborn, with others it is assumed. of henry, cavendish,[1] a contemporary, records the following saying: "three may keep counsel, if two be away; and if i thought my cap knew my counsel, i would throw it in the fire and burn it." referring to this passage, brewer says, "never had the king spoke a truer word or described himself more accurately. few would have thought that, under so careless and splendid an exterior--the very ideal of bluff, open-hearted good humour and frankness--there lay a watchful and secret mind that marked what was going on without seeming to mark it; kept its own counsel until it was time to strike, and then struck as suddenly and remorselessly as a beast of prey. it was strange to witness so much subtlety combined with so much strength." there was something baffling and terrifying in the mysterious bonhomie of the king. in spite of cæsar's dictum, it is the fat enemy who is to be feared; a thin villain is more easily seen through. _his ancestry_ henry's antecedents were far from glorious. the tudors were a welsh family of somewhat humble stock. henry vii.'s great-grandfather was butler or steward to the bishop of bangor, whose son, owen tudor, coming to london, obtained a clerkship of the wardrobe to henry v.'s queen, catherine of france. within a few years of henry's death, the widowed queen and her clerk of the wardrobe were secretly living together as man and wife. the two sons of this morganatic match, edmund and jasper, were favoured by their half brother, henry vi. edmund, the elder, was knighted, and then made earl of richmond. in 1453 he was formally declared legitimate, and enrolled a member of the king's council. two years later he married the lady margaret beaufort, a descendant of edward iii. it was this union between edmund tudor and margaret beaufort which gave henry vii. his claim by descent to the english throne. the popularity of the tudors was, no doubt, enhanced by the fact that with their line, kings of decisively english blood, for the first time since the norman conquest, sat on the english throne. _his early days_ when henry viii. ascended the throne in 1509, england regarded him with almost universal loyalty. the memory of the long years of the wars of the roses and the wars of the pretenders during the reign of his father, were fresh in the people's mind. no other than he could have attained to the throne without civil war. within two months he married katharine of aragon, his brother's widow, and a few days afterwards the king and queen were crowned with great splendour in westminster abbey. he was still in his eighteenth year, of fine physical development, but of no special mental precocity. for the first five years of his reign, he was influenced by his council, and especially by his father-in-law, ferdinand the catholic, giving little indication of the later mental vigour and power of initiation which made his reign so memorable in english annals. the political situation in europe was a difficult one for henry to deal with. france and spain were the rivals for imperial dominion. england was in danger of falling between two stools, such was the eagerness of each that the other should not support her. henry, through his marriage with katharine, began by being allied to spain, and this alliance involved england in the costly burden of war. henry's resentment at the empty result of this warfare, broke the spanish alliance. wolsey's aim was to keep the country out of wars, and a long period of peace raised england to the position of arbiter of europe in the balanced contest between france and spain. _the field of the cloth of gold_ it was in connection with the meetings and intrigues now with one power, now with the other, that the famous meeting with the french king at guisnes, known as "the field of the cloth of gold," was held in 1520. that the destinies of kingdoms sometimes hang on trifles is curiously exemplified by a singular incident which preceded the famous meeting. francis i. prided himself on his beard. as a proof of his desire for the meeting with francis, and out of compliment to the french king, henry announced his resolve to wear his beard uncut until the meeting took place. but he reckoned without his wife. some weeks before the meeting louise of savoy, the queen-mother of france, taxed boleyn, the english ambassador, with a report that henry had put off his beard. "i said," writes boleyn, "that, as i suppose, it hath been by the queen's desire, for i told my lady that i have hereafore known when the king's grace hath worn long his beard, that the queen hath daily made him great instance, and desired him to put it off for her sake." this incident caused some resentment on the part of the french king, who was only pacified by henry's tact. so small a matter might have proved a _casus belli_. the meeting was held amidst scenes of unparalleled splendour. the temporary palace erected for the occasion was so magnificent that a chronicler tells us it might have been the work of leonardo da vinci. henry "the goodliest prince that ever reigned over the realm of england," is described as "_honnête, hault et droit_, in manner gentle and gracious, rather fat, with a red beard, large enough, and very becoming." on this occasion wolsey was accompanied by two hundred gentlemen clad in crimson velvet, and had a body-guard of two hundred archers. he was clothed in crimson satin from head to foot, his mule was covered with crimson velvet, and her trappings were all of gold. there were jousts and many entertainments and rejoicings, many kissings of royal cheeks, but the sovereigns hated each other cordially. while they were kissing they were plotting against each other. a more unedifying page of history has not been written. appalling, indeed, are the shifts and intrigues which go to make up the records of the time. the rulers of europe were playing a game of cards, in which all the players were in collusion with, and all cheating each other. temporizing and intriguing, henry met the spanish monarch immediately before and immediately after his meeting with the french king. within a few months, france and spain were again at war, and england, in a fruitless and costly struggle, fought on the side of spain. it was the divorce from katharine of aragon and its momentous consequences, which finally put an end to the alliance with spain, and to the struggle with france succeeded a long struggle with spain, which culminated in the great event of the armada in the reign of henry's daughter, elizabeth. however, in these pages it is not proposed to enlarge upon the political aspect of the times, but rather to deal with the dramatic and domestic side of henry's being. in the play of _henry viii._, the author or authors (for to another than shakespeare is ascribed a portion of the drama), have given us as impartial a view of his character as a due regard for truth on the one hand, and a respect for the scaffold on the other, permitted. _his aspirations_ there can be no doubt that when henry ascended the throne, he had a sincere wish to serve god and uphold the right. in his early years he was really devout and generous in almsgiving. erasmus affirmed that his court was an example to all christendom for learning and piety. to the pope he paid deference as to the representative of god. with youthful enthusiasm, the young king, looking round and seeing corruption on every side, said to giustinian, the venetian ambassador: "nor do i see any faith in the world save in me, and therefore god almighty, who knows this, prosper my affairs." in henry's early reign, england was trusted more than any country to keep faith in her alliances. at a time when all was perfidy and treachery, promises and alliances were made only to be broken when self-interest prompted. history, like nature itself, is ruled by brutal laws, and to play the round game of politics with single-handed honesty would be to lose at every turn. henry was born into an inheritance of blood and blackmail. corruption has its vested interests. it is useless to attempt to stem the recurrent tide of corruption by sprinkling the waves with holy water. then religion was a part of men's daily lives, but the principles of christianity were set at naught at the first bidding of expediency. men murdered to live--the axe and the sword were the final court of appeal. nor does the old order change appreciably in the course of a few hundred years. in international politics, as in public life, when self-interest steps in, christianity goes to the wall. to-day we grind our axe with a difference. a more subtle process of dealing with our rivals obtains. to-day the pen is mightier than the sword, the stylograph is more deadly than the stiletto. the bravo still plies his trade. he no longer takes life, but character. to intrigue, to combine against those outside the ring is often the swiftest way to fortune. by such combination do weaker particles make themselves strong. to "play the game" is necessary to progress. the world was not made for poets and idealists. to quote an anonymous modern writer: "'act well your part, there all the honour lies'; stoop to expediency and honour dies. many there are that in the race for fame, lose the great cause to win the little game, who pandering to the town's decadent taste, barter the precious pearl for gawdy paste, and leave upon the virgin page of time the venom'd trail of iridescent slime." henry's eyes soon opened. his character, like his body, underwent a gradual process of expansion. _his pastimes_ soon the lighter side of kingship was not disdained. one authority wrote in 1515: "he is a youngling, cares for nothing but girls and hunting." he was an inveterate gambler, and turned the sport of hunting into a martyrdom, rising at four or five in the morning, and hunting till nine or ten at night. another contemporary writes: "he devotes himself to accomplishments and amusements day and night, is intent on nothing else, and leaves business to wolsey, who rules everything." as a sportsman, henry was the "_beau idéal_" of his people. in the lists he especially distinguished himself, "in supernatural feats, changing his horses, and making them fly or rather leap, to the delight and ecstasy of everybody." he also gave himself to masquerades and charades. we are told: "it was at the christmas festivals at richmond, that henry viii. stole from the side of the queen during the jousts, and returned in the disguise of a strange knight, astonishing all the company with the grace and vigour of his tilting. at first the king appeared ashamed of taking part in these gladiatorial exercises, but the applause he received on all sides soon inclined him openly to appear on every occasion in the tilt-yard. katharine humoured the childish taste of her husband for disguisings and masquings, by pretending great surprise when he presented himself before her in some assumed character." he was gifted with enormous energy; he could ride all day, changing his horses nine or ten times a day; then he would dance all night; even then his energies were not exhausted; then he would write what the courtiers described as poetry, or he would compose music, or he would dash off an attack on luther, and so earn from the pope the much-coveted title of "_fidei defensor_." in shooting at the butt, it is said, henry excelled, drawing the best bow in england. at tennis, too, he excelled beyond all others. he was addicted to games of chance, and his courtiers permitted him to lose as much as £3,500 in the course of one year--scarcely a tactful proceeding. he played with taste and execution on the organ, harpsichord and lute. he had a powerful voice, and sang with great accomplishment. one of henry's anthems, "o lord, the maker of all thyng," is said to be of the highest merit, and is still sung in our cathedrals. in his songs,[2] he particularly liked to dwell on his constancy as a lover: "as the holly groweth green and never changeth hue, so i am--ever have been--unto my lady true." and again: "for whoso loveth, should love but one." an admirable maxim. _as statesman_ in spite of all these distractions, henry was an excellent man of business in the state--indeed, he threw himself into public affairs with the energy which characterised all his doings. the autocrat only slumbered in henry; and before many years had passed, he threw the enormous energy, which he had hitherto reserved for his pleasure, into affairs of state. under henry, the navy was first organised as a permanent force. his power of detail was prodigious in this direction. ever loving the picturesque, even in the most practical affairs of life, henry "acted as pilot and wore a sailor's coat and trousers, made of cloth of gold, and a gold chain with the inscription, '_dieu est mon droit_,' to which was suspended a whistle which he blew nearly as loud as a trumpet." a strange picture! he was a practical architect, and whitehall palace and many other great buildings owed their masonry to his hand. he spoke french, spanish, italian and latin with great perfection. he said many wise things. of the much-debated divorce, henry said: "the law of every man's conscience be but a private court, yet it is the highest and supreme court for judgment or justice." as the most unjust wars have often produced the greatest heroisms, so the vilest causes have often produced the profoundest utterances. he appears to have been at peace with himself and complacent towards god. in 1541, during his temporary happiness with catherine howard, he attended mass in the chapel, and "receiving his maker, gave him most hearty thanks for the good life he led and trusted to lead with his wife; and also desired the bishop of lincoln to make like prayer, and give like thanks on all souls' day." henry confessed his sins every day during the plague. when it abated, his spirits revived, and he wrote daily love-letters to anne boleyn, whom he had previously banished from the court. _as moralist_ a stern moralist in regard to the conduct of others, he had an indulgence towards himself which enabled him somewhat freely to interpret the divine right of kings as "_le droit de seigneur_." but it is human to tolerate in ourselves the failings which we so rightly deprecate in our inferiors. so strong was he in his self-assurance, that he made even his conscience his slave. henry sometimes lacked regal taste. the night anne boleyn was executed he supped with jane seymour; they were betrothed the next morning, and married ten days later. it is also recorded that on the day following katharine's death, henry went to a ball, clad all in yellow. the commendation or condemnation of henry's public life depends upon our point of view--upon which side we take in the eternal strife between church and state. in this dilemma we must then judge by results, for the truest expression of a man is his work; his greatness or his littleness is measured by his output. henry produced great results, though he may have been the unconscious instrument of fate. the motives which guided him in his dealings with the roman catholic church may have been only selfish--they resulted in the emancipation of england from the tyranny of popedom. a catholic estimate of him would, of course, have been wholly condemnatory, yet it must be remembered that his quarrel was entirely with the supremacy of the pope, and that otherwise henry's church retained every dogma and every observance believed in and practised by roman catholics. _his greatness_ his learning was great, and it was illuminated by his genius. gradually he learned to control others--to do this he learned to control his temper, when control was useful, but he was always able to make diplomatic use of his rage--a faculty ever helpful in the conduct of one's life! in fact, it is difficult to determine whose genius was greater--wolsey's as the diplomatist and administrator, or henry's as the man of action, the figurehead of the state. around him he gathered the great men of his time, and their learning he turned to his own account, with that adaptiveness which is the peculiar attribute of genius. shakespeare himself was not more assimilative. in wolsey, henry appreciated the mighty minister, and this is one of his claims to greatness, for graciously to permit others to be great is a sign of greatness in a king. wolsey _his early life_ wolsey was born at ipswich, probably in the year 1471. his father, robert wolsey, was a grazier, and perhaps also a butcher in well-to-do circumstances. sent to oxford at the age of 11, at 15 he was made a bachelor of arts. he became a parish priest of st. mary's, at lymington, in 1500. within a year he was subjected to the indignity of being put into the public stocks--for what reason is not known. it has been said that he was concerned in a drunken fray. i prefer to think that, in an unguarded moment, he had been tempted to speak the truth. no doubt this was his first lesson in diplomacy. in 1507 wolsey entered the service of henry vii. as chaplain, and seems to have acted as secretary to richard fox, lord privy seal. thus wolsey was trained in the policy of henry vii., which he never forgot. _his growing power_ when henry viii. came to the throne, he soon realised wolsey's value, and allowed him full scope for his ambition. wolsey thought it desirable to become a cardinal--a view that was shared by henry, whose right hand wolsey had become. in 1514 henry wrote to the pope asking that the hat should be conferred on his favourite, who in the following year was made lord chancellor of england. there was some hesitancy which bribery and threats overcame, and in 1515 wolsey was created cardinal, in spite of the hatred which leo x. bore him. having won this instalment of greatness, wolsey promptly asked for the legateship which should give him precedence over the archbishop of canterbury. this ambition was realised three years later, but only by what practically amounted to political and ecclesiastical blackmail. in the church and state wolsey now stood second only to the king. his state (_a_) _his retinue_ as an instance of the state he kept, we are told that he had as many as 500 retainers--among them many lords and ladies. cavendish, his secretary, describes his pomp when he walked abroad as follows: "first went the cardinal's attendants, attired in boddices of crimson velvet with gold chains, and the inferior officers in coats of scarlet bordered with black velvet. after these came two gentlemen bearing the great seal and his cardinal's hat, then two priests with silver pillars and poleaxes, and next two great crosses of silver, whereof one of them was for his archbishoprick and the other for his legacy borne always before him, whithersoever he went or rode. then came the cardinal himself, very sumptuously, on a mule trapped with crimson velvet and his stirrup of copper gilt." sometimes he preferred to make his progress on the river, for which purpose he had a magnificent state barge "furnished with yeomen standing on the bayles and crowded with his gentlemen within and without." his stables were also extensive. his choir far excelled that of the king. besides all the officials attendant on the cardinal, wolsey had 160 personal attendants, including his high chamberlain, vice-chamberlain; twelve gentlemen ushers, daily waiters; eight gentlemen ushers and waiters of his privy chamber, nine or ten lords, forty persons acting as gentlemen cupbearers, carvers, servers, etc., six yeomen ushers, eight grooms of the chamber, forty-six yeomen of his chamber (one daily to attend upon his person), sixteen doctors and chaplains, two secretaries, three clerks, and four counsellors learned in the law. as lord chancellor, he had an additional and separate retinue, almost as numerous, including ministers, armourers, serjeants-at-arms, herald, etc. (_b_) _gifts from foreign powers_ nor was he above using the gentle suasion of his office to obtain sumptuous gifts from the representatives of foreign powers--for giustinian, on his return to venice, reported to the doge and senate that "cardinal wolsey is very anxious for the signory to send him a hundred damascene carpets for which he has asked several times, and expected to receive them by the last galleys. this present," continues the diplomat, "might make him pass a decree in our favour; and, at any rate, it would render the cardinal friendly to our nation in other matters." the carpets, it seems, were duly sent to the cardinal. (_c_) _his drinking water_ to show his disregard for money, it may be mentioned that in order to obtain pure water for himself and his household, and not being satisfied with the drinking water at hampton court, wolsey had the water brought from the springs at coombe hill by means of leaden pipes, at a cost, it is said, of something like £50,000. (_d_) _his table_ wolsey seems to have been a lover of good food, for skelton, for whose verse the cardinal had perhaps expressed contempt, wrote: "to drynke and for to eate swete hypocras[3] and swete meate to keep his flesh chast in lent for a repast he eateth capon's stew, fesaunt and partriche mewed hennes checkynges and pygges." (skelton, it should be explained, was the poet laureate.) it appears that on this score of his delicate digestion, wolsey procured a dispensation from the pope for the lenten observances. he had not a robust constitution, and suffered from many ailments. on one occasion, henry sent him some pills--it is not recorded, however, that wolsey partook of them. (_e_) _his orange_ cavendish speaks of a peculiar habit of the great cardinal. he tells us that, "whenever he was in a crowd or pestered with suitors, he most commonly held to his nose a very fair orange whereof the meat or substance within was taken out, and filled up again with the part of a sponge, wherein was vinegar and other confections against the pestilent airs!" the habit may have given offence to importunate mayors and others--the poet laureate himself may have been thus affronted by the imperious cardinal, when he wrote: "he is set so high in his hierarchy of frantic phrenesy and foolish fantasy that in the chamber of stars all matters there he mars. clapping his rod on the board no man dare speak a word; * * * * some say "yes" and some sit still as they were dumb. thus thwarting over them, he ruleth all the roast with bragging and with boast. borne up on every side with pomp and with pride." as a proof of his sensuous tastes, cavendish wrote: "the subtle perfumes of musk and sweet amber there wanted none to perfume all my chamber." (_f_) _his fool_ that wolsey, like henry, was possessed of a sense of humour we have abundant evidence in his utterances. yet he kept a fool about him--possibly in order that he might glean the opinions of the courtiers and common people. after wolsey's fall, he sent this fool as a present to king henry. but so loth was the fool to leave his master and to suffer what he considered a social descent, that six tall yeomen had to conduct him to the court; "for," says cavendish, "the poor fool took on and fired so in such a rage when he saw that he must needs depart from my lord. yet, notwithstanding, they conveyed him with master norris to the court, where the king received him most gladly."[4] (_g_) _hampton court_ at his palace of hampton court there were 280 beds always ready for strangers. these beds were of great splendour, being made of red, green and russet velvet, satin and silk, and all with magnificent canopies. the counterpanes, of which there were many hundreds, we are told, were of "tawny damask, lined with blue buckram; blue damask with flowers of gold; others of red satin with a great rose in the midst, wrought with needlework and with garters." another is described as "of blue sarcenet, with a tree in the midst and beastes with scriptures, all wrought with needlework." the splendour of these beds beggars all description. (_h_) _his plate_ his gold and silver plate at hampton court alone, was valued by the venetian ambassador as worth 300,000 golden ducats, which would be the equivalent in modern coin of a million and a half! the silver was estimated at a similar amount. it is said that the quality was no less striking than the quantity, for wolsey insisted on the most artistic workmanship. he had also a bowl of gold "with a cover garnished with rubies, diamonds, pearls and a sapphire set in a goblet." these gorgeous vessels were decorated with the cardinal's hat, and sometimes too, less appropriately perhaps, with images of christ! it is said that the decorations and furniture of wolsey's palace were on so splendid a scale that it threw the king's into the shade. (_i_) _his prodigal splendour_ like a wise minister, wolsey did not neglect to entertain the king and keep his mind on trivial things. hampton court had become the scene of unrestrained gaiety. music was always played on these occasions, and the king frequently took part in the revels, dancing, masquerading and singing, accompanying himself on the harpsichord or lute. the description in cavendish's "life of wolsey" of the famous feast given by the cardinal to the french ambassadors gives a graphic account of his prodigal splendour. as to the delicacies which were furnished at the supper, cavendish writes:-"anon came up the second course with so many dishes, subtleties and curious devices, which were above a hundred in number, of so goodly proportion and costly, that i suppose the frenchmen never saw the like. the wonder was no less than it was worthy, indeed. there were castles with images in the same; paul's church and steeple, in proportion for the quantity as well counterfeited as the painter should have painted it upon a cloth or wall. there were beasts, birds, fowls of divers kinds, and personages, most lively made and counterfeit in dishes; some fighting, as it were, with swords, some with guns and crossbows; some vaulting and leaping; some dancing with ladies, some in complete harness, justing with spears, and with many more devices than i am able with my wit to describe." giustinian, speaking of one of these banquets, writes: "the like of it was never given either by cleopatra or caligula." we must remember that wolsey surrounded himself with such worldly vanities less from any vulgarity in his nature than from a desire to work upon the common mind, ever ready to be impressed by pomp and circumstance. _the mind of wolsey_ if the outer man was thus caparisoned, what of wolsey's mind? its furniture, too, beggared all description. amiable as wolsey could be, he could also on occasions be as brusque as his royal master. a contemporary writer says: "i had rather be commanded to rome than deliver letters to him and wait an answer. when he walks in the park, he will suffer no suitor to come nigh unto him, but commands him away as far as a man will shoot an arrow." yet to others he could be of sweet and gentle disposition and ready to listen and to help with advice. "lofty and sour to them that loved him not, but to those men that sought him sweet as summer." to those who regard characters as either black or white, wolsey's was indeed a contradiction. charges of a personal character have been brought against the great prelate, which need not here be referred to, unless it be to say that if they were true, by so much the less he was a priest, by so much more he was a man. _his ambition_ there is no doubt that the cardinal made several attempts to become pope--but this enterprise was doomed to failure, although in it he was supported warmly by the king. to gain this end much bribery was needed, "especially to the younger men who are generally the most needy," as the cardinal said. wolsey was a sufficiently accomplished social diplomatist to conciliate the young, for their term of office begins to-morrow, and gold is the key of consciences. he was hated and feared, flattered, cajoled and brow-beaten where possible. but as a source of income he was ever held in high regard by the pope. his own annual income from bribes--royal and otherwise--was indeed stupendous, though these were received with the knowledge of the king. so great was the power wolsey attained to that fox said of him: "we have to deal with the cardinal, who is not cardinal but king." he wrote of himself, "_ego et rex meus_," and had the initials, "t. w." and the cardinal's hat stamped on the king's coins. these were among the charges brought against him in his fall. to his ambitions there was no limit. for the spoils of office he had "an unbounded stomach." as an instance of his pretensions it is recorded that during the festivities of the emperor's visit to england in 1520, "wolsey alone sat down to dinner with the royal party, while peers, like the dukes of suffolk and buckingham, performed menial offices for the cardinal, as well as for emperor, king and queen." when he met charles at bruges in 1521 "he treated the emperor of spain as an equal. he did not dismount from his mule, but merely doffed his cap, and embraced as a brother the temporal head of christendom." "he never granted audience either to english peers or foreign ambassadors" (says guistinian) "until the third or fourth time of asking." small wonder that he incurred the hatred of the nobility and the jealousy of the king. during his embassy to france in 1527, it is said that "his attendants served cap in hand, and when bringing the dishes knelt before him in the act of presenting them. those who waited on the most christian king, kept their caps on their heads, dispensing with such exaggerated ceremonies." had wolsey's insolence been tempered by his sense of humour, his fall might have been on a softer place, as his fool is believed to have remarked. _his policy_ in his policy of the reform of the church, wolsey dealt as a giant with his gigantic task. to quote a passage from taunton: "ignorance, he knew, was the root of most of the mischief of the day; so by education he endeavoured to give men the means to know better. falsehood can only be expelled by truth.... had the other prelates of the age realized the true cause of the religious disputes, and how much they themselves were responsible for the present ignorance, the sacred name of religion would not have had so bloody a record in this country." wolsey's idea was, in fact, to bring the clergy in touch with the thought and conditions of the time. it is wonderful to reflect that this one brain should have controlled the secular and ecclesiastical destinies of christendom. to reform the church would seem to have been an almost superhuman undertaking, but to a man of wolsey's greatness obstacles are only incentives to energy. he was "eager to cleanse the church from the accumulated evil effects of centuries of human passions." a great man is stronger than a system, while he lives; but the system often outlives the man. wolsey lived in a time whose very atmosphere was charged with intrigue. had he not yielded to a government by slaughter, he would not have existed. the cardinal realised that ignorance was one of the chief causes of the difficulties in the church. so with great zeal he devoted himself to the founding of two colleges, one in ipswich, the other in oxford. his scheme was never entirely carried out, for on wolsey's fall his works were not completed. the college at ipswich fell into abeyance, but his college at oxford was spared and refounded. originally called cardinal college, it was renamed christ church, so that not even in name was it allowed to be a memorial of wolsey's greatness. _his genius_ for a long time wolsey was regarded merely as the type of the ambitious and arrogant ecclesiastic whom the reformation had made an impossibility in the future. it was not till the mass of documents relating to the reign of henry viii. was published that it was possible to estimate the greatness of the cardinal's schemes. he took a wider view of the problems of his time than any statesman had done before. he had a genius for diplomacy. he was an artist and enthusiast in politics. they were not a pursuit to him, but a passion. not perhaps unjustly has he been called the greatest statesman england ever produced. england, at the beginning of henry viii.'s reign, was weakened after the struggles of the civil wars, and wished to find peace at home at the cost of obscurity abroad. but it was this england which wolsey's policy raised "from a third-rate state of little account into the highest circle of european politics." wolsey did not show his genius to the best advantage in local politics, but in diplomacy. he could only be inspired by the gigantic things of statecraft. when he was set by henry to deal with the sordid matter of the divorce, he felt restricted and cramped. he was better as a patriot than as a royal servant. it was this feeling of being sullied and unnerved in the uncongenial skirmishings of the divorce that jarred on his sensitive nature and made his ambitious hand lose its cunning. a first-rate man cannot do second-rate things well. henry and wolsey were two giants littered in one day. wolsey had realised his possibilities of power before henry. but when henry once learned how easy it was for him to get his own way, wolsey learned how dependent he necessarily was on the king's good will. and then, "the nation which had trembled before wolsey, learned to tremble before the king who could destroy wolsey with a breath." had wolsey been able to fulfil his own ideals, had he been the head of a republic and not the servant of a king, his public record would no doubt have been on a higher ethical plane. that he himself realised this is shown by his pathetic words to sir william kingston, which have been but slightly paraphrased by shakespeare: "well, well, master kingston, i see how the matter against me is framed, but if i had served my god as diligently as i have done the king, he would not have given me over in my grey hairs." in this frankness we recognise once again a flicker of greatness--one might almost say a touch of divine humour. the lives of great men compose themselves dramatically; wolsey's end was indeed a fit theme for the dramatist. _his fall_ in his later years, wolsey began to totter on his throne. the king had become more and more masterful. it was impossible for two such stormy men to act permanently in concord. in 1528, wolsey said that as soon as he had accomplished his ambition of reconciling england and france, and reforming the english laws and settling the succession, "he would retire and serve god for the rest of his days." in 1529 he lost his hold over parliament and over henry. the great seal was taken from him. the end of wolsey was indeed appalling in its sordid tragedy. the woman had prevailed--anne's revenge was sufficiently complete to satisfy even a woman scorned. the king, too, was probably more inclined to lend a willing ear to her whisperings, since he had grown jealous of his minister's greatness. he paid to his superior the tribute of hatred. henry, who had treated the cardinal as his friend and "walked with him in the garden arm in arm and sometimes with his arm thrown caressingly round his shoulder," now felt very differently towards his one-time favourite. covetous of wolsey's splendour, he asked him why he, a subject, should have so magnificent an abode as hampton court, whereupon wolsey diplomatically answered (feeling perhaps the twitch of a phantom rope around his neck), "to show how noble a palace a subject may offer to his sovereign." the king was not slow to accept this offer, and thenceforth made hampton court palace his own. wolsey, too, was failing in body--the sharks that follow the ship of state were already scenting their prey. as the king turned his back on wolsey, wolsey turned his face to god. accused of high treason for having acted as legate, wolsey pleaded guilty of the offence, committed with the approval of the king. he was deprived of his worldly goods, and retired to his house at esher. [illustration: cardinal wolsey from the portrait by holbein, at christ church, oxford] _wolsey an exile from court_ cavendish says: "my lord and his family continued there the space of three or four weeks without beds, sheets, tablecloths, cups and dishes to eat our meat, or to lie in." he was forced to borrow the bare necessaries of life. the mighty had fallen indeed! this was in the year 1529. in his disgrace, he was without friends. the pope ignored him. but queen katharine--noble in a kindred sorrow--sent words of sympathy. death was approaching, and wolsey prepared himself for the great event by fasting and prayer. ordered to york, he arrived at peterborough in easter week. there it is said: "upon palm sunday, he went in procession with the monks, bearing his palm; setting forth god's service right honourably with such singing men as he then had remaining with him. _he washes the feet of the poor_ and upon maundy thursday he made his maundy in our lady's chapel, having fifty-nine poor men, whose feet he washed, wiped and kissed; each of these poor men had twelve pence in money, three ells of canvas to make them shirts, a pair of new shoes, a cast of mead, three red herrings, and three white herrings, and the odd person had two shillings. upon easter day he rode to the resurrection,[5] and that morning he went in procession in his cardinal's vesture, with his hat and hood on his head, and he himself sang there the high mass very devoutly, and granted clean remission to all the hearers, and there continued all the holidays." arrived at york, he indulged with a difference in his old love of hospitality; "he kept a noble house and plenty of both meat and drink for all comers, both for rich and poor, and much alms given at his gates. he used much charity and pity among his poor tenants and others." this caused him to be beloved in the country. those that hated him owing to his repute learned to love him--he went among the people and brought them food and comforted them in their troubles. now he was loved among the poor as he had been feared among the great. _condemned to the tower_ on the 4th november, he was arrested on a new charge of high treason and condemned to the tower. he left under custody amid the lamentations of the poor people, who in their thousands crowded round him, crying: "god save your grace! god save your grace! the foul evil take all them that hath thus taken you from us! we pray god that a very vengeance may light upon them." he remained at sheffield park, the earl of shrewsbury's seat, for eighteen days. here his health broke down. there arrived, with twenty-four of the guard from london, sir william kingston with order to conduct him to the tower. the next day, in spite of increasing illness, he set out, but he could hardly ride his mule. _his end_ reaching the abbey at leicester on the 26th of november, and being received by the benedictine monks, he said: "father abbot, i am come hither to leave my bones among you." here he took to his last bed, and made ready to meet his god. the following morning, the 29th of november, he who had trod the ways of glory and sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, he who had shaped the destinies of empires, before whom popes and parliaments had trembled, he who had swathed himself in the purple of kingdom, of power and of glory, learned the littleness of greatness and entered the republic of death in a hair-shirt. katharine for purity and steadfastness of devotion and duty, katharine stands unsurpassed in the history of the world, and shakespeare has conceived no more pathetic figure than that of the patient queen living in the midst of an unscrupulous court. daughter of ferdinand and isabella of spain, she was betrothed at the age of five to arthur, henry vii.'s eldest son. though known as the princess of wales, it was not till 1501, when only sixteen years old, that she was married to prince arthur. she had scarcely been married six months when arthur died, at the early age of fifteen, and she was left a widow. henry vii., in his desire to keep her marriage dower of 200,000 crowns, proposed a marriage between her and arthur's brother. katharine wrote to her father saying she had "no inclination for a second marriage in england." in spite of her remonstrances and the misgivings of the pope, who had no wish to give the necessary dispensation for her to marry her deceased husband's brother, she was betrothed to henry after two years of widowhood. but it was not till a few months after henry viii. came to the throne, five years later, that they were actually married. henry was five years younger than katharine, but their early married life appears to have been very happy. she wrote to her father, "our time is ever passed in continual feasts." the cruel field sports of the time the queen never could take any delight in, and avoided them as much as possible. she was pious and ascetic and most proficient in needlework. katharine had a number of children, all of whom died shortly after birth. it was this consideration in the first instance which weighed in henry's mind in desiring a divorce. the first child to survive was princess mary, born in february, 1516. henry expressed the hope that sons would follow. but katharine had no further living children. henry hoped against hope, and undertook, in the event of her having an heir, to lead a crusade against the turks. even this bribe to fortune proved unavailing. henry's conscience, which was at best of the utilitarian sort, now began to suffer deep pangs, and in 1525, when katharine was forty years old and he thirty-four, he gave up hope of the much-needed heir to the throne. the queen herself thought her childlessness was "a judgment of god, for that her former marriage was made in blood," the innocent earl of warwick having been put to death owing to the demand of ferdinand of aragon. the king began to indulge in the superstition that his marriage with a brother's widow was marked with the curse of heaven. it is perhaps a strange coincidence that anne boleyn should have appeared on the scene at this moment. katharine seems always to have regarded her rival with charity and pity. when one of her gentlewomen began to curse anne as the cause of the queen's misery, the queen stopped her. "curse her not," she said, "but rather pray for her; for even now is the time fast coming when you shall have reason to pity her and lament her case." undoubtedly katharine's most notable quality was her dignity. even her enemies regarded her with respect. she was always sustained by the greatness of her soul, her life of right doing and her feeling of being "a queen and daughter of a king." through all her bitter trials she went, a pathetic figure, untouched by calumny. if she had any faults they are certainly not recorded in history. her farewell letter to the king would seem to be very characteristic of katharine's beauty of character. she knew the hand of death was upon her. she had entreated the king, but henry had refused her request for a last interview with her daughter mary. with this final cruelty fresh in her mind she still could write: "my lord and dear husband,--i commend me unto you. the hour of my death draweth fast on, and my case being such, the tender love i owe you forceth me with a few words, to put you in remembrance of the health and safeguard of your soul, which you ought to prefer before all worldly matters, and before the care and tendering of your own body, for the which you have cast me into many miseries and yourself into many cares. for my part i do pardon you all, yea, i do wish and devoutly pray god that he will pardon you." anne boleyn the estimation of the character of anne boleyn would seem to be as varied as the spelling of her name. she is believed to have been born in 1507. the boleyns or bullens were a norfolk family of french origin, but her mother was of noble blood, being daughter of the earl of ormonde, and so a descendant of edward i. it is a curious fact that all of henry's wives can trace their descent from this king. of anne's early life little is known save that she was sent as maid of honour to the french queen claude. she was probably about nineteen years old when she was recalled to the english court and began her round of revels and love intrigues. certainly she was a born leader of men; many have denied her actual beauty, but she had the greater quality of charm, the power of subjugating, the beckoning eye. an accomplished dancer, we read of her "as leaping and jumping with infinite grace and agility." "she dressed with marvellous taste and devised new robes," but of the ladies who copied her, we read that unfortunately "none wore them with her gracefulness, in which she rivalled venus." music, too, was added to her accomplishments, and cavendish tells us how "when she composed her hands to play and her voice to sing, it was joined with that sweetness of countenance that three harmonies concurred." it is difficult to speak with unalloyed admiration of anne's virtue. at the most charitable computation, she was an outrageous flirt. it would seem that she was genuinely in love with lord percy, and that wolsey was ordered by the then captivated and jealous king to put an end to their intrigue and their desire to marry. anne is supposed never to have forgiven wolsey for this, and by a dramatic irony it was her former lover, percy, then become earl of northumberland, who was sent to arrest the fallen cardinal at york. it is said that he treated wolsey in a brutal manner, having his legs bound to the stirrup of his mule like a common criminal. when henry, in his infatuation for the attractive lady-in-waiting to his queen, as she was then, wished wolsey to become the aider and abettor of his love affairs, wolsey found himself placed in the double capacity of man of god and man of kings. in these cases, god is apt to go to the wall--for the time being. but it was wolsey's vain attempt to serve two masters that caused his fall, which the french ambassador attributed entirely to the ill offices of anne boleyn. this is another proof that courtiers should always keep on the right side of women. nothing could stop henry's passion for anne, and she showed her wonderful cleverness in the way she kept his love alive for years, being first created marchioness of pembroke, and ultimately triumphing over every obstacle and gaining her wish of being his queen. this phase of her character has been nicely touched by shakespeare's own deft hand. she was crowned with unparalleled splendour on whit sunday of 1533. at the banquet held after the coronation of anne boleyn, we read that two countesses stood on either side of anne's chair and often held a "fine cloth before the queen's face whenever she listed to spit." "and under the table went two gentlewomen, and sat at the queen's feet during the dinner." the courtier's life, like the burglar's does not appear to have been one of unmixed happiness. in the same year she bore henry a child, but to everyone's disappointment, it proved to be a girl, who was christened elizabeth, and became the great queen of england. anne's triumph was pathetically brief. her most important act was that of getting the publication of the bible authorised in england. two years after her coronation, sir thomas more, who had refused to swear fealty to the king's heir by anne, who had been thrown into prison and was awaiting execution, asked "how queen anne did?" "there is nothing else but dancing and sporting," was the answer. "these dances of hers," he said, "will prove such dances that she will spurn our heads off like footballs, but it will not be long ere her head dance the like dance." in a year's time, this prophecy came true. her lady-in-waiting, the beautiful jane seymour, stole the king from her who in her time had betrayed her royal mistress. there are two versions with regard to her last feelings towards the king. lord bacon writes that just before her execution she said: "commend me to his majesty and tell him he hath ever been constant in his career of advancing me. from a private gentlewoman he made me a marchioness, from a marchioness a queen; and now he hath left no higher degree of honour, he gives my innocency the crown of martyrdom." this contains a fine sting of satire. another chronicler gives us her words as follows: "i pray god to save the king, and send him long to reign over you, for a gentler or more merciful prince was there never." one cannot but think that this latter version of her dying words may have been edited by his grace of canterbury. if it is difficult to reconcile anne's heartlessness with her piety, it should be remembered that cruelty is often the twin-sister of religious fervour. whatever may have been her failings of character, whatever misfortunes she may have suffered during her life, anne will ever live in history as one of the master mistresses of the world. the divorce as to the divorce, it will be well to clear away the enormous amount of argument, of vituperation and prevarication by which the whole question is obscured, and to seek by the magnet of common sense to find the needle of truth in this vast bundle of hay. the situation was complicated. in those days it was generally supposed that no woman could succeed to the throne, and a male successor was regarded as a political necessity. charles v., too, was plotting to depose henry and to proclaim james v. as ruler of england, or mary, who was to be married to an english noble for this purpose. _the succession_ the duke of buckingham was the most formidable possible heir to the throne, were the king to die without male heirs. his execution took place in 1521. desperate men take desperate remedies. now, in 1519, henry had a natural son by elizabeth blount, sister of lord mountjoy. this boy henry contemplated placing on the throne, so causing considerable uneasiness to the queen. in 1525 he was created duke of richmond. shortly after he was made lord high admiral of england and lord lieutenant of ireland. it was suggested that he should marry a royal princess. another suggestion was that he should marry his half-sister, an arrangement which seems to have commended itself to the pope, on condition that henry abandoned his divorce from queen katharine! but this was not to be, and mary was betrothed to the french prince. an heir must be obtained somehow, and the divorce, therefore, took more and more tangible shape. a marriage with anne boleyn was the next move. to attain this object, henry applied himself with his accustomed energy. his conscience walked hand in hand with expediency. to rome, henry sent many embassies and to the universities of christendom much gold, in order to persuade them to yield to the dictates of his conscience. his passion for marriage lines in his amours was one of henry's most distinguishing qualities. in 1527 an union between francis i. and the princess mary was set on foot. here the question of mary's legitimacy was debated, and this gave henry another excuse for regarding the divorce as necessary. as the modern historian might aptly say: "here was a pretty kettle of fish." there can be little doubt that as a man of god, wolsey strongly disapproved of the divorce, but as the king's chancellor he felt himself bound to urge his case to the best of his ability. he was in fact the advocate--the devil's advocate--under protest. one cannot imagine a more terrible position for a man of conscience to be placed in, but once even a cardinal embarks in politics the working of his conscience is temporarily suspended. in world politics the ten commandments are apt to become a negligible quantity. henry's conscience was becoming more and more tender. much may be urged in favour of the divorce from a political point of view, and no doubt henry had a powerful faculty of self-persuasion--such men can grow to believe that whatever they desire is right, that "there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so." it is a pity, however, that henry's scruples did not assert themselves before the marriage with katharine took place, for the ethical arguments against such an union were then equally strong. indeed, these scruples appear to have been a "family failing," for henry's sister margaret, queen of scotland, obtained a dispensation of divorce from rome on far slenderer grounds. to make matters worse for henry, rome was sacked--the pope was a prisoner in the emperor's hands. in this state of things, the pope was naturally disinclined to give offence to the emperor by divorcing his aunt (katharine). at all costs, the pope must be set free--on this errand wolsey now set out for france. but charles v. was no less wily than wolsey, and dispatched cardinal quignon to rome to frustrate his endeavours, and to deprive wolsey of his legatine powers. a schism between henry and wolsey was now asserting itself--wolsey being opposed to the king's union with anne boleyn. ("we'll no anne boleyns for him!") wolsey desired that the king should marry the french king's sister, in order to strengthen his opposition to charles v. of spain. the cardinal was indeed in an unenviable position. if the divorce succeeded, then his enemy, anne boleyn, would triumph and he would fall. if the divorce failed, then henry would thrust from him the agent who had failed to secure the object of his master. and in his fall the cardinal would drag down the church. it is said that wolsey secretly opposed the divorce. this is fully brought out in shakespeare's play, and is indeed the main cause of wolsey's fall. there was for henry now only one way out of the dilemma into which the power of the pope had thrown him--that was to obtain a dispensation for a bigamous marriage. it seems that henry himself cancelled the proposition before it was made. this scruple was unnecessary, for the pope himself secretly made a proposition "that his majesty might be allowed two wives." the sanction for the marriage with anne boleyn was obtained without great difficulty--but it was to be subject to the divorce from katharine being ratified. thus the king was faced with another obstacle. at this moment began the struggle for supremacy at rome between english and spanish influence. the pope had to choose between the two; charles v. was the victor, whereupon henry cut the gordian knot by throwing over the jurisdiction of rome. wolsey was in a position of tragic perplexity. he was torn by his allegiance to the king, and his zeal for the preservation of the church. he wrote: "i cannot reflect upon it and close my eye, for i see ruin, infamy and subversion of the whole dignity and estimation of the see apostolic if this course is persisted in." but pope clement dared not offend the emperor charles, who was his best, because his most powerful ally, and had he not proved his power by sacking rome? the pope, although quite ready to grant dispensations for a marriage of princess mary and her half-brother, the duke of richmond, though he was ready to grant margaret's divorce, could not afford to stultify the whole papal dignity by revoking the dispensation he had originally given that henry should marry his brother's wife. truly an edifying embroglio! henry was desirous of shifting the responsibility on god through the pope--the pope was sufficiently astute to wish to put the responsibility on the devil through henry. there was one other course open--that course the pope took. in 1528 he gave a commission to wolsey and cardinal campeggio to try the case themselves, and pronounce sentence. back went the embassy to england. wolsey saw through the device, for the pope was still free to revoke the commission. indeed clement's attitude towards henry was dictated entirely by the fluctuating fortune of charles v., emperor of spain. meanwhile, charles won another battle against the french, and the pope at once gave secret instructions to campeggio to procrastinate, assuring charles that nothing would be done which should be to the detriment of katharine. the wily campeggio (emissary of the pope) at first sought to persuade henry to refrain from the divorce. henry refused. thereupon he endeavoured to persuade katharine voluntarily to enter a nunnery. among all these plotters and intriguers, katharine, adamant in her virtue, maintained her position as lawful wife and queen. when wolsey and campeggio visited the queen she was doing needlework with her maids. it appears (and this is important as showing the inwardness of wolsey's attitude in the matter of the divorce) that "from this interview the queen gained over both legates to her cause; indeed, they would never pronounce against her, and this was the head and front of the king's enmity to his former favourite wolsey." in the first instance, wolsey was undoubtedly a party, however unwilling, to the separation of the king and queen, in order that henry might marry the brilliant and high-minded sister of francis i., duchess of alençon. that lady would not listen to such a proposal, lest it should break the heart of queen katharine. wolsey was, either from personal enmity towards anne boleyn or from his estimate of her character, or from both, throughout opposed to the union with that lady. subsequently the king sent to katharine a deputation from his council announcing that he had, by the advice of cranmer, obtained the opinions of the universities of europe concerning the divorce, and found several which considered it expedient. he therefore entreated her, for the quieting of his conscience, that she would refer the matter to the arbitration of four english prelates and four nobles. the queen received the message in her chamber, and replied to it: "god grant my husband a quiet conscience, but i mean to abide by no decision excepting that of rome." this infuriated the king. after many delays and the appearance of a document which was declared by one side to be a forgery, and by the other to be genuine, the case began on may 31, 1529. in the great hall of blackfriars both the king and queen appeared in person to hear the decision of the court. the trial itself is very faithfully rendered in shakespeare's play. finding the king obdurate, katharine protested against the jurisdiction of the court, and appealing finally to rome, withdrew from blackfriars. judgment was to be delivered on the 23rd of july, 1529. campeggio rose in the presence of the king and adjourned the court till october. this was the last straw, and the last meeting of the court. henry had lost. charles was once more in the ascendant. england and france had declared war on him in 1528, but england's heart was not in the enterprise--the feeling of hatred to wolsey became widespread. henry and charles made terms of peace, and embraced once more after a bloodless and (for england) somewhat ignominious war. the french force was utterly defeated in battle. the pope and charles signed a treaty--all was nicely arranged. the pope's nephew was to marry the emperor's natural daughter; certain towns were to be restored to the pope, who was to crown charles with the imperial crown. the participators in the sacking of rome were to be absolved from sin; the proceedings against the emperor's aunt, katharine, were to be null and void. if katharine could not obtain justice in england, henry should not have his justice in rome. the pope and the emperor kissed again, and henry finally cut himself adrift from rome. it was the failure of the divorce that made england a protestant country. henry now openly defied the pope, by whom he was excommunicated, and so "deprived of the solace of the rites of religion; when he died he must lie without burial, and in hell suffer torment for ever." the mind shrinks from contemplating the tortures to which the soul of his majesty might have been subjected but for the timely intervention of his grace the archbishop of canterbury. so far from henry suffering in a temporal sense, he continued to defy the opinion and the power of the world. he showed his greatness by looking public opinion unflinchingly in the face; by ignoring, he conquered it. amid the thunderous roarings of the papal bull, henry stood--as we see him in his picture--smiling and indifferent. "i never saw the king merrier than now," wrote a contemporary in 1533. henry always had good cards--now he held the ace of public opinion up his sleeve. wolsey, although averse to the queen's divorce and the marriage of anne boleyn, expressed himself in terms of the strongest opposition to the overbearing pope. a few days before the papal revocation arrived, the cardinal wrote thus: "if the king be cited to appear at rome in person or by proxy, and his prerogative be interfered with, none of his subjects will tolerate it. if he appears in italy, it will be at the head of a formidable army." opposed as they were to the divorce, the english people were of one mind with wolsey in this attitude. henry was not slow to avail himself of the new development, and he made the divorce become in the eyes of the people but a secondary consideration to the pride of england. he drew the red herring of the reformation across the trail of the divorce. the king and his parliament held that the church should not meddle with temporal affairs. the church was the curer of souls, not the curer of the body politic. katharine's cause sank into the background. the voice of justice was drowned by the birth shrieks of the reformation. [illustration: _photo: emery walker_ katharine of aragon from the portrait in the national portrait gallery] the reformation we must remind ourselves that the divorce was merely the irritation which brought the discontent with rome to a head. religious affairs were in a very turbulent state. the monasteries were corrupt. the rule of rome had become political, not spiritual. luther had worked at shattering the pretensions of the pope in europe. wolsey had prepared the english to acquiesce in henry's religious supremacy by his long tenure of the whole papal authority within the realm and the consequent suspension of appeals to rome. translations of the new testament were being secretly read throughout the country--a most dangerous innovation--and anne boleyn, who had no cause to love the pope or his power, held complete sway over the king. she and her father were said to be "more lutheran than luther himself." though henry was anti-papal, he was never anti-catholic, but, as the representative of god, as head of his own church, he claimed to take precedence of the pope. moreover, the spoliation of the church was not an unprofitable business. rome declared the divorce illegal. henry, with the support of his parliament, abolished all forms of tribute to rome, arranged that the election of bishops should take place without the interference of the pope, and declared that if he did not consent to the king's wishes within three months, the whole of his authority in england should be transferred to the crown. this conditional abolition of the papal authority was in due course made absolute, and the king assumed the title of head of the church. "the breach with rome" was effected with a cold and calculated cunning, which the most adept disciple of machiavelli could not have excelled."--(pollard.) with an adroitness amounting to genius, henry now used the moral suasion (not to use an uglier word) of threats towards the church to induce the pope to relent and to assent to the divorce. one by one, in this deadly battle, did the pope's prerogatives vanish, until the sacerdotal foundations of rome, so far as england was concerned, had been levelled to the ground. after many further political troubles and intrigues henry prevailed on cranmer, now archbishop of canterbury, as head of the church, to declare the marriage between himself and katharine to be null and void, and five days later cranmer declared that henry and anne boleyn were lawfully married. on the 1st of june, 1533, the archbishop crowned anne as queen in westminster abbey. shortly after she gave birth to a daughter, who was christened elizabeth, and became queen of england. beyond this incident, with which the strange eventful history of shakespeare's play ends, it is not proposed to travel in these notes, which are but intended as a brief chronicle that may guide the play-goer of to-day (sometimes a hasty reader) to realize the conditions of henry's reign. manners and customs in the days of henry viii., the ways of society differed from our own more in observance than in spirit. though the gay world danced and gambled very late, they rose very early. their conversation was coarse and lacked reserve. the ladies cursed freely. outward show and ceremony were considered of the utmost importance. hats were worn by the men in church and at meals, and only removed in the presence of the king and cardinal. kissing was far more prevalent as a mode of salutation. the court society spent the greater part of their income on clothes. to those in the king's set, a thousand pounds was nothing out of the way to spend on a suit of clothes. the predominant colours at court were crimson and green; the tudor colours were green and white. it was an age of magnificent plate, and the possession and display of masses of gold and silver plate was considered as a sign of power. later on in shakespeare's time, not only the nobles, but also the better class citizens boasted collections of plate. a quaint instance of the recognition of distinctions of rank is afforded by certain "ordinances" that went forth as the "bouche of court." thus a duke or duchess was allowed in the morning one chet loaf, one manchet and a gallon of ale; in the afternoon one manchet and one gallon of ale; and for after supper one chet loaf, one manchet, one gallon of ale and a pitcher of wine, besides torches, etc. a countess, however, was allowed nothing at all after supper, and a gentleman usher had no allowance for morning or afternoon. these class distinctions must have weighed heavily upon humbler beings, such as countesses; but perhaps they consumed more at table to make up for these after-meal deficiencies. table manners were a luxury as yet undreamed of. the use of the fork was a new fashion just being introduced from france and spain. a note on the production of henry viii. at his majesty's theatre from the descriptions which have appeared in these pages, it will be seen that the period of henry viii. was characterized by great sumptuousness; indeed, the daily life of the court consisted largely of revels, masques and displays of splendour. henry viii. is largely a pageant play. as such it was conceived and written, as such we shall endeavour to present it to the public. indeed, it is obvious that it would be far better not to produce the play at all than to do so without those adjuncts, by which alone the action of the play can be illustrated. of course, it is not possible to do more than indicate on the stage the sumptuousness of the period of history covered by the play; but it is hoped that an impression will be conveyed to our own time of henry in his habit as he lived, of his people, of the architecture, and of the manners and customs of that great age. _the text_ it has been thought desirable to omit almost in their entirety those portions of the play which deal with the reformation, being as they are practically devoid of dramatic interest and calculated, as they are, to weary an audience. in taking this course, i feel the less hesitation as there can be no doubt that all these passages were from the first omitted in shakespeare's own representations of the play. we have incontrovertible evidence that in shakespeare's time, henry viii. was played in "two short hours." "... those that come to see only a show or two and so agree the play may pass. if they be still and willing i'll undertake may see away their shilling richly in two short hours." these words, addressed to the audience in the prologue, make it quite clear that a considerable portion of the play was considered by the author to be superfluous to the dramatic action--and so it is. acted without any waits whatsoever, henry viii., as it is written, would take at least three hours and a half in the playing. although we are not able to compass the performance within the prescribed "two short hours," for we show a greater respect for the preservation of the text than did shakespeare himself, an attempt will be made to confine the absolute spoken words as nearly as possible within the time prescribed in the prologue. in the dramatic presentation of the play, there are many passages of intensely moving interest, the action and characters are drawn with a remarkable fidelity to the actualities. as has been suggested, however, the play depends more largely than do most of shakespeare's works on those outward displays which an attempt will be made to realize on the stage. _shakespeare as stage manager_ that shakespeare, as a stage-manager, availed himself as far as possible of these adjuncts is only too evident from the fact that it was the firing off the cannon which caused a conflagration and the consequent burning down of the globe theatre. the destruction of the manuscripts of shakespeare's plays was probably due to this calamity. the incident shows a lamentable love of stage-mounting for which some of the critics of the time no doubt took the poet severely to task. in connection with the love of pageantry which then prevailed, it is well known that shakespeare and ben jonson were wont to arrange the masques which were so much in vogue in their time. _the fire_ the globe theatre was burnt on june 29th, 1613. thomas lorkins, in a letter to sir thomas puckering on june 30th, says: "no longer since than yesterday, while bourbidge his companie were acting at ye globe the play of henry 8, and there shooting of certayne chambers in way of triumph; the fire catch and fastened upon the thatch of ye house and there burned so furiously as it consumed ye whole house all in lesse than two hours, the people having enough to doe to save themselves." _other productions of the play_ there are records of many other productions of henry viii. existing. in 1663 it was produced at lincoln's inn fields as a pageant play. the redoubtable mr. pepys visited this production, without appearing to have enjoyed the play. in contrast to him, old dr. johnson said that whenever mrs. siddons played the part of katharine, he would "hobble to the theatre to see her." in 1707, henry viii. was produced at the haymarket, with an exceptionally strong cast; in 1722 it was done at drury lane, in which production booth played henry viii. in 1727 it was again played at drury lane. on this occasion the spectacle of the coronation of anne boleyn was added, on which one scene, we are told, £1,000 had been expended. it will come to many as a surprise that so much splendour and so large an expenditure of money were at that time lavished on the stage. the play had an exceptional run of forty nights, largely owing, it is said, to the popularity it obtained through the coronation of george ii., which had taken place a few weeks before. the play was a great favourite of george ii. and was in consequence frequently revived during his reign. on being asked by a grave nobleman, after a performance at hampton court, how the king liked it, sir richard steele replied: "so terribly well, my lord, that i was afraid i should have lost all my actors, for i was not sure the king would not keep them to fill the posts at court that he saw them so fit for in the play." in 1744, henry viii. was given for the first time at covent garden, but was not revived until 1772, when it was announced at covent garden as "'henry viii.,' not acted for 20 years." the coronation was again introduced. queen katharine was one of mrs. siddons' great parts. she made her first appearance in this character at drury lane in 1788. in 1808 it was again revived, and mrs. siddons once more played the queen, kemble appearing as wolsey. in 1822, edmund kean made his first appearance as wolsey at drury lane, but the play was only given four times. in 1832, the play was revived at covent garden with extraordinary splendour, and a magnificent cast. charles kemble played king henry; mr. young, wolsey; miss ellen tree, anne boleyn; and miss fanny kemble appeared for the first time as queen katharine. her success seems to have been great. we are told that miss ellen tree, as anne boleyn, appeared to great disadvantage; "her headdress was the most frightful and unbecoming thing imaginable, though we believe it was taken from one of holbein's." in those days correctness of costume was considered most lamentable and most laughable. in this production, too, the coronation was substituted for the procession. the criticism adds that "during the progress of the play the public seized every opportunity of showing their dislike of the bishops, and the moment they came on the stage they were assailed with hissing and hooting, and one of the prelates, in his haste to escape from such a reception, fell prostrate, which excited bursts of merriment from all parts of the house." in 1855, charles kean revived the play with his accustomed care and sumptuousness. in this famous revival mrs. kean appeared as "queen katharine." _irving's production_ sir henry irving's magnificent production will still be fresh in the memory of many playgoers. it was admitted on all hands to be an artistic achievement of the highest kind, and sir henry irving was richly rewarded by the support of the public, the play running 203 nights. miss ellen terry greatly distinguished herself in the part of queen katharine, contributing in no small degree to the success of the production. sir henry irving, in the part of wolsey, made a deep impression. mr. william terriss played the king. mr. forbes robertson made a memorable success in the part of buckingham; and it is interesting to note that miss violet vanbrugh played the part of anne boleyn. [illustration: anne boleyn from the portrait by holbein, at warwick castle] _the music_ an outstanding feature of the lyceum production was edward german's music. i deem myself fortunate that this music was available for the present production. it may be mentioned that mr. german has composed some additional numbers, amongst which is the anthem sung in the coronation of anne boleyn. _shakespeare's accuracy of detail_ i cannot help quoting one passage from cavendish at length to show how closely shakespeare keeps to the chronicles of his time. it will be found that scene 3 of act i. is practically identical with the following description:- the banquets were set forth, with masks and mummeries, in so gorgeous a sort, and costly manner, that it was a heaven to behold. ... i have seen the king suddenly come in thither in a mask, with a dozen of other maskers, all in garments like shepherds. ... and at his coming and before he came into the hall, ye shall understand that he came by water to the water gate, without any noise; where, against his coming, were laid charged many chambers, and at his landing they were all shot off, which made such a rumble in the air, that it was like thunder. it made all the noblemen, ladies and gentlewomen to muse what it should mean coming so suddenly, they sitting quietly at a solemn banquet. then immediately after this great shot of guns, the cardinal desired the lord chamberlain, and comptroller, to look what this sudden shot should mean, as though he knew nothing of the matter. they thereupon looking out of the windows into thames, returned again, and showed him, that it seemed to them there should be some noblemen and strangers arrived at his bridge, as ambassadors from some foreign prince. with that, quoth the cardinal, "i shall desire you, because ye can speak french, to take the pains to go down into the hall to encounter and to receive them, according to their estates, and to conduct them into this chamber, where they shall see us, and all these noble personages sitting merrily at our banquet, desiring them to sit down with us and to take part of our fare and pastime." then they went incontinent down into the hall, where they received them with twenty new torches, and conveyed them up into the chamber, with such a number of drums and fifes as i have seldom seen together, at one time in any masque. at their arrival into the chamber, two and two together, they went directly before the cardinal where he sat, saluting him very reverently, to whom the lord chamberlain for them said: "sir, forasmuch as they be strangers, and can speak no english, they have desired me to declare unto your grace thus: they, having understanding of this your triumphant banquet, where was assembled such a number of excellent fair dames, could do no less, under the supportation of your good grace, but to repair hither to view as well their incomparable beauty, as for to accompany them to mumchance, and then after to dance with them, and so to have of them acquaintance. and, sir, they furthermore require of your grace licence to accomplish the cause of their repair." to whom the cardinal answered, that he was very well contented they should do so. then the masquers went first and saluted all the dames as they sat, and then returned to the most worthiest. ... then quoth the cardinal to my lord chamberlain, "i pray you," quoth he, "show them that it seemeth me that there should be among them some noble man, whom i suppose to be much more worthy of honour to sit and occupy this room and place than i; to whom i would most gladly, if i knew him, surrender my place according to my duty." then spake my lord chamberlain, unto them in french, declaring my lord cardinal's mind, and they rounding him again in the ear, my lord chamberlain said to my lord cardinal, "sir, they confess," quoth he, "that among them there is such a noble personage, whom, if your grace can appoint him from the other, he is contented to disclose himself, and to accept your place most worthily." with that the cardinal, taking a good advisement among them, at the last, quoth he, "me seemeth the gentleman with the black beard should be even he." and with that he arose out of his chair, and offered the same to the gentleman in the black beard, with his cap in his hand. the person to whom he offered then his chair was sir edward neville, a comely knight of goodly personage, that much more resembled the king's person in that mask, than any other. the king, hearing and perceiving the cardinal so deceived in his estimation and choice, could not forbear laughing; but plucked down his visor, and master neville's also, and dashed out with such a pleasant countenance and cheer, that all noble estates there assembled, seeing the king to be there amongst them, rejoiced very much. if shakespeare could be so true to the actualities, why should not we seek to realise the scene so vividly described by the chronicler and the dramatist? in my notes and conclusions on "henry viii. and his court," i have been largely indebted to the guidance of the following books:-ernest law's "history of hampton court"; strickland's "queens of england"; taunton's "thomas wolsey, legate and reformer"; and cavendish's "life of wolsey." an apology and a footnote here i am tempted to hark back to the modern manner of producing shakespeare, and to say a few words in extenuation of those methods, which have been assailed in a recent article with almost equal brilliancy and vehemence. the writer tells us that there are two different kinds of plays, the realistic and the symbolic. shakespeare's plays, we are assured, belong to the latter category. "the scenery," it is insisted, "not only may, but should be imperfect." this seems an extraordinary doctrine, for if it be right that a play should be imperfectly mounted, it follows that it should be imperfectly acted, and further that it should be imperfectly written. the modern methods, we are assured, employed in the production of shakespeare, do not properly illustrate the play, but are merely made for vulgar display, with the result of crushing the author and obscuring his meaning. in this assertion, i venture to think that our critic is mistaken; i claim that not the least important mission of the modern theatre is to give to the public representations of history which shall be at once an education and a delight. to do this, the manager should avail himself of the best archæological and artistic help his generation can afford him, while endeavouring to preserve what he believes to be the spirit and the intention of the author. it is of course possible for the technically informed reader to imagine the wonderful and stirring scenes which form part of the play without visualizing them. it is, i contend, better to reserve shakespeare for the study than to see him presented half-heartedly. the merely archaic presentation of the play can be of interest only to those epicures who do not pay their shilling to enter the theatre. the contemporary theatre must make its appeal to the great public, and i hold that while one should respect every form of art, that art which appeals only to a coterie is on a lower plane than that which speaks to the world. surely, it is not too much to claim that a truer and more vivid impression of a period of history can be given by its representation on the stage than by any other means of information. though the archæologist with symbolic leanings may cry out, the theatre is primarily for those who love the drama, who love the joy of life and the true presentation of history. it is only secondarily for those who fulfil their souls in footnotes.[6] i hold that whatever may tend to destroy the illusion and the people's understanding is to be condemned. whatever may tend to heighten the illusion and to help the audience to a better understanding of the play and the author's meaning, is to be commended. shakespeare and burbage, betterton, colley cibber, the kembles, the keans, phelps, calvert and henry irving, as artists, recognised that there was but one way to treat the play of henry viii. it is pleasant to sin in such good company. i contend that henry viii. is essentially a realistic and not a symbolic play. indeed, probably no english author is less "symbolic" than shakespeare. "hamlet" is a play which, to my mind, does not suffer by the simplest setting; indeed, a severe simplicity of treatment seems to me to assist rather than to detract from the imaginative development of that masterpiece. but i hold that, with the exception of certain scenes in "the tempest," no plays of shakespeare are susceptible to what is called "symbolic" treatment. to attempt to present henry viii. in other than a realistic manner would be to ensure absolute failure. let us take an instance from the text. by what symbolism can shakespeare's stage directions in the trial scene be represented on the stage? "a hall in blackfriars. enter two vergers with short silver wands; next them two scribes in the habit of doctors.... next them with some small distance, follows a gentleman bearing the purse with the great seal and a cardinal's hat; then two priests bearing each a silver cross; then a gentleman usher bareheaded, accompanied with a sergeant-at-arms bearing a silver mace; then two gentlemen bearing two great silver pillars; after them, side by side, the two cardinals, wolsey and campeius; two noblemen with the sword and mace," etc. i confess my symbolic imagination was completely gravelled, and in the absence of any symbolic substitute, i have been compelled to fall back on the stage directions. yet we are gravely told by the writer of a recent article that "all shakespeare's plays" lend themselves of course to such symbolic treatment. we hear, indeed, that the national theatre is to be run on symbolic lines. if it be so, then god help the national theatre--the symbolists will not. no "ism" ever made a great cause. the national theatre, to be the dignified memorial we all hope it may be, will owe its birth, its being and its preservation to the artists, who alone are the guardians of any art. it is the painter, not the frame-maker, who upholds the art of painting; it is the poet, not the book-binder, who carries the torch of poetry. it was the sculptor, and not the owner of the quarry, who made the venus of milo. it is sometimes necessary to re-assert the obvious. now there are plays in which symbolism is appropriate--those of maeterlinck, for instance. but if, as has been said, maeterlinck resembles shakespeare, shakespeare does not resemble maeterlinck. let us remember that shakespeare was a humanist, not a symbolist. _the end_ the end of the play of henry viii. once more illustrates the pageantry of realism, as prescribed in the elaborate directions as to the christening of the new-born princess. it is this incident of the christening of the future queen elizabeth that brings to an appropriate close the strange eventful history as depicted in the play of henry viii. and thus the injustice of the world is once more triumphantly vindicated: wolsey, the devoted servant of the king, has crept into an ignominious sanctuary; katharine has been driven to a martyr's doom; the adulterous union has been blessed by the court of bishops; minor poets have sung their blasphemous pæans in unison. the offspring of anne boleyn, over whose head the shadow of the axe is already hovering, has been christened amid the acclamations of the mob; the king paces forth to hold the child up to the gaze of a shouting populace, accompanied by the court and the clergy--trumpets blare, drums roll, the organ thunders, cannons boom, hymns are sung, the joy bells are pealing. a lonely figure in black enters weeping. it is the fool! chronology of public events during the lifetime of king henry viii. 1491. birth of henry, second son of henry vii. and elizabeth of york. 1501. marriage of arthur, prince of wales, eldest son of henry vii. and elizabeth of york, to katharine of aragon, daughter of ferdinand and isabella of spain. 1502. death of arthur, prince of wales. 1509. death of king henry vii. marriage of henry viii. at westminster abbey with katharine of aragon, his brother's widow. thomas wolsey made king's almoner. 1511. thomas wolsey called to the king's council. the holy league established by the pope. 1512. war with france. 1513. battles of the spurs and of flodden. wolsey becomes chief minister. 1516. wolsey made legate. dissolution of the holy league. 1517. luther denounces indulgences. 1520. henry meets francis at "field of cloth of gold." luther burns the pope's bull. 1521. quarrel of luther with henry. henry's book against luther presented to the pope. pope leo confers on henry the title "_fidei defensor_." 1522. renewal of war with france. 1523. wolsey quarrels with the commons on question of 20 per cent. property tax. 1525. benevolences of one-tenth from the laity and of one-fourth from clergy demanded. exaction of benevolences defeated. peace with france. 1527. henry resolves on a divorce. sack of rome. 1528. pope clement vii. issues a commission to the cardinals wolsey and campeggio for a trial of the facts on which henry's application for a divorce was based. 1529. trial of queen katharine at blackfriars' hall. katharine appeals to rome. fall of wolsey. ministry of norfolk and sir thomas more. rise of thomas cromwell. 1530. wolsey arrested for treason. wolsey's death at leicester abbey. 1531. henry acknowledged as "supreme head of the church of england." 1533. henry secretly marries anne boleyn. cranmer, in archbishop of canterbury's court, declares katharine's marriage invalid and the marriage of henry and anne lawful. anne boleyn crowned queen in westminster abbey. birth of elizabeth (queen elizabeth). 1535. henry's title as supreme head of the church incorporated in the royal style by letters patent. execution of sir thomas more. 1536. english bible issued. dissolution of lesser monasteries. death of katharine of aragon. execution of anne boleyn. henry's marriage with jane seymour. 1537. birth of edward vi. death of jane seymour. dissolution of greater monasteries. 1540. henry's marriage with anne of cleves. execution of thomas cromwell. henry divorces anne of cleves. henry's marriage with catherine howard. 1542. execution of catherine howard. completion of the tudor conquest of ireland. 1543. war with france. henry's marriage with catherine parr. 1547. death of henry. age 55 years and 7 months. he reigned 37 years and 9 months. shakespearean plays produced under herbert beerbohm tree's management. a.--at the haymarket theatre 1889. "the merry wives of windsor." 1892. "hamlet." 1896. "king henry iv." (part i.) b.--at his majesty's theatre 1898. "julius cæsar." 1899. "king john." 1900. "a midsummer's night's dream." 1901. "twelfth night." 1903. "king richard ii." 1904. "the tempest." 1905. "much ado about nothing." first annual shakespeare festival: "king richard ii." "twelfth night." "the merry wives of windsor." "hamlet." "much ado about nothing." "julius cæsar." 1906. "the winter's tale." "antony and cleopatra." second annual shakespeare festival: "the tempest." "hamlet." "king henry iv." (part i.) "julius cæsar." "the merry wives of windsor." 1907. third annual shakespeare festival: "the tempest." "the winter's tale." "hamlet." "twelfth night." "julius cæsar." "the merry wives of windsor." 1908. "the merchant of venice." fourth annual shakespeare festival: "the merry wives of windsor." "the merchant of venice." "twelfth night." "hamlet." 1909. fifth annual shakespeare festival: "king richard iii." "twelfth night." "the merry wives of windsor." "hamlet." "julius cæsar." "the merchant of venice." "macbeth." (mr. arthur bourchier's company.) "antony and cleopatra" (act ii., scene 2). 1910. sixth annual shakespeare festival: "the merry wives of windsor." "julius cæsar." "twelfth night." "hamlet." (by his majesty's theatre company and by mr. h. b. irving's company.) "the merchant of venice." (by his majesty's theatre company and by mr. arthur bourchier's company.) "king lear." (mr. herbert trench's company.) "the taming of the shrew." (mr. f. r. benson and company.) "coriolanus." (mr. f. r. benson and company.) "two gentlemen of verona." (the elizabethan stage society's company.) "king henry v." (mr. lewis waller and company.) "king richard ii." scenes from "macbeth" and "romeo and juliet." 1910. september 1st, "king henry viii." printed by cassell & company, limited, london, e.c. 15.311 special serial issue the century shakespeare introductions by the famous shakespearean scholar, dr. furnivall, assisted by john munro full notes, maps, and glossaries commencing with the henry viii edition, published on the _eve of his majesty's theatre revival_, the century shakespeare will be issued weekly in 40 volumes at 9{d.} net one volume per week thus affording every reader an opportunity of obtaining this famous edition, with its unsurpassable scholarship, at a merely nominal weekly cost. each volume will contain a beautiful photogravure frontispiece, reproduced from a painting by a famous artist. the henry viii volume bears on its cover a colour reproduction of mr. charles buchel's picture of sir herbert tree as "cardinal wolsey." the next volume is "shakespeare: life and work," by dr. furnivall and john munro. the most human document about the poet yet published. _it contains a beautiful coloured reproduction of the famous picture, "romeo and juliet," by frank dicksee, r.a._ complete prospectus free on receipt of a postcard. of all booksellers and newsagents cassell and co., limited, la belle sauvage, london, e.c. footnotes: [1] cavendish was wolsey's faithful secretary, and after his fall wrote the interesting "life of wolsey," one of the manuscript copies of which evidently fell into shakespeare's hands before he wrote _henry viii._ [2] "pastime with good company," composed and written by henry, is sung in the production at his majesty's theatre. [3] hypocras--"a favourite medicated drink, compound of wine, usually red, with spices and sugar." [4] it is wolsey's fool to whom is given the final note of the play in the production at his majesty's theatre. [5] the ceremony of bringing the blessed sacrament from the sepulchre where it had lain since the good friday. this took place early on easter monday. [6] personally, i have been a sentimental adherent of symbolism since my first noah's ark. ever since i first beheld the generous curves of mrs. noah, and first tasted the insidious carmine of her lips, have i regarded the wife of noah as symbolical of the supreme type of womanhood. i have learnt that the most exclusive symbolists, when painting a meadow, regard purple as symbolical of bright green; but we live in a realistic age and have not yet overtaken the _art nouveau_ of the pale future. it is difficult to deal seriously with so much earnestness. i am forced into symbolic parable. artemus ward, when delivering a lecture on his great moral panorama, pointed with his wand to a blur on the horizon, and said: "ladies and gentlemen, that is a horse--the artist who painted that picture called on me yesterday with tears in his eyes, and said he would disguise that fact from me no longer!" he, too, was a symbolist. transcriber's notes: passages in italics are indicated by _underscore_. the original text contains both "playgoer" and "play-goer" and contains both "guistinian" and "giustinian." superscripted letter is shown in {brackets}. generously made available by the internet archive.) body, parentage and character in history. _by the same author._ ready--new and cheaper edition, in great part rewritten, 2/ character as seen in body and parentage, with a chapter on education, career, morals, and progress. a remarkable and extremely interesting book.--_scotsman._ a delightful book, witty and wise, clever in exposition, charming in style, readable and original.--_medical press._ men and women are both treated under these heads (types of character) in an amusing and observant manner.--_lancet._ we cordially commend this volume.... a fearless writer.... merits close perusal.--_health._ mr. jordan handles his subject in a simple, clear, and popular manner.--_literary world._ full of varied interest.--_mind._ kegan paul, trench, trübner, and co. limited. body, parentage and character in history: notes on the tudor period. by furneaux jordan, f.r.c.s. london: kegan paul, trench, trübner & co. limited, 1890. birmingham: printed by hall and english. preface. in my little work on "character as seen in body and parentage" i have put forward not a system, but a number of conclusions touching the relationship which i believe to exist between certain features of character on the one hand and certain peculiarities of bodily configuration, structure, and inheritance on the other. these conclusions, if they are true, should find confirmation in historic narrative, and their value, if they have any, should be seen in the light they throw on historic problems. the incidents and characters and questions of the tudor period are not only of unfailing interest, but they offer singularly rich and varied material to the student of body and character. if the proposal to connect the human body with human nature is distasteful to certain finely-strung souls, let me suggest to them a careful study of the work and aims and views of goethe, the scientific observer and impassioned poet, whom madame de staël described as the most accomplished character the world has produced; and who was, in matthew arnold's opinion, the greatest poet of this age and the greatest critic of any age. the reader of 'wilhelm meister' need not be reminded of the close attention which is everywhere given to the principle of inheritance--inheritance even of 'the minutest faculty.' the student of men and women has, let me say in conclusion, one great advantage over other students--he need not journey to a museum, he has no doors to unlock, and no catalogue to consult; the museum is constantly around him and on his shelves; the catalogue is within himself. table of contents. page note i.--the various views of henry viii.'s character. momentous changes in sixteenth century 1 many characters given to noted persons 3 a great number given to henry 3 the character given in our time 6 attempt to give an impartial view 8 need of additional light 14 note ii.--the relation of body and parentage to character. bodily organisation and temperaments 15 leading types in both 16 elements of character run in groups 17 intervening gradations 20 note iii.--henry's family proclivities. henry of unimpassioned temperament 21 took after unimpassioned mother 22 derived nothing from his father 23 character of henry vii. 24 henry viii., figure and appearance 26 note iv.--the wives' question. henry's marriages, various causes 27 passion not a marked cause 28 henry had no strong passions 30 self-will and self-importance 31 conduct of impassioned men 31 note v.--the less characteristic features of henry's character. characteristics common to all temperaments 32 henry's cruelty 33 henry's piety 35 note vi.--the more characteristic features of henry's character. always doing or undoing something 37 habitual fitfulness 38 self-importance 40 henry and wolsey: which led? 41 love of admiration 43 note vii.--henry and his compeers. henry's political helpers superior to theological 45 cranmer 46 sir thomas more 47 wolsey 49 note viii.--henry and his people and parliament. no act of constructive genius 51 parliament not abject, but in agreement 53 proclamations 54 liberty a matter of race 55 note ix.--henry and the reformation. teutonic race fearless, therefore truthful 56 outgrew romish fetters 57 french revolution racial 58 the essential and the accidental in great movements 60 wyclif 61 erasmus, luther, calvin, knox 62 henry's part in the reformation 64 no thought of permanent division 65 the dissolution of the monasteries 66 note x.--queen elizabeth and queen mary. henry viii. and elizabeth much alike 69 elizabeth less pious but more fitful 71 elizabeth and marriage 72 elizabeth's part in the reformation 73 elizabeth and mary stuart very unlike 74 lofty characters with flaws 76 mary's environment and fate 79 bodily peculiarities of the two queens 81 the various views of henry viii.'s character. note i. the progress of an individual, of a people, or even of a movement is never up, and their decadence is never down, an inclined plane. neither do we see sudden and lofty flights in progress nor headlong falls in decadence. both move rather by steps--steps up or steps down. the steps are not all alike; one is short another long; one sudden another gradual. they are all moreover the inevitable sequences of those which went before, and they as inevitably lead to those which follow. our fathers took a long step in the tudor epoch, but older ones led up to it and newer ones started from it. the long step could not possibly be evaded by a teutonic people. rome lay in the path, and progress must needs step over the body of rome--not a dead body then, though wounded from within, not a dead body yet, though now deeply and irreparably wounded from without. civilization must everywhere step over the body of rome or stand still, or turn backwards. two factors are especially needed for progress: brain (racial brain), which by organisation and inheritance tends to be large, free, capable; and secondly, circumstance, which continually calls forth capability, and freedom, and largeness. all the schools of supernaturalism, but above all the romish school, compress and paralyse at least a portion of the brain: if a portion is disabled all is enfeebled. if a bodily limb even, a mere hand or foot, be fettered and palsied, the body itself either dies or droops into a smaller way of life. it is so with a mental limb--a mental hand or foot in relation to the mental life. to the group of ever-present and subtle forces which make for progress, there were added in the sixteenth century seemingly new and conspicuous forces. the art of printing or writing by machinery sowed living seed broadcast over a fertile soil; the "new learning" restored to us the inspiring but long hidden thought of old aryan friends and relatives, and this again in some degree relaxed the grip of alien and enslaving semitic ideas which the exigencies of roman circumstance had imposed on europe with the edge of the sword. new action trod on the heels of new thought. new lands were traversed; new seas were sailed; new heavens were explored. the good steed civilisation--long burdened and blindfolded and curbed,--had lagged somewhat; but now the reins were loose, the spurs were sharp, the path was clear and the leap which followed was long. while our fathers were taking, or were on the eve of taking, this long step, a notable young man, the son of a capable and wise father and of a not incapable but certainly unwise mother, stepped into the chief place in this country. a student who was in training for an archbishop was suddenly called upon to be a king. what this king was, what he was not; what organisation and parentage and circumstance did for him; how he bore himself to his time--to its drift, its movements, its incidents, its men, and, alas, to its women--is now our object to inquire. the study of this theological monarch and of his several attitudes is deeply instructive and of unfailing interest. the autocrat of the breakfast table wittily comments on the number of john's characters. john had three. notable men have more characters than "john." henry viii. had more characters than even the most notable of men. a man of national repute or of high position has the characters given to him by his friends, his enemies, and characters given also by parties, sects, and schools. henry had all these and two more--strictly, two groups more--one given to him by his own time, another given to him by ours. if we could call up from their long sleep half a dozen representative and capable men of henry's reign to meet half a dozen of victoria's, the jury would probably not agree. if the older six could obtain all the evidence which is before us, and the newer six could recall all which was familiar to henry's subjects at home and his compeers abroad; if the two bodies could weigh matters together, discuss all things together--could together raise the dead and summon the living--nevertheless in the end two voices would speak--a sixteenth century voice and a nineteenth. the older would say in effect: "we took our king to be not only a striking personality; not only an expert in all bodily exercises and mental accomplishments; we knew him to be much more--to be industrious, pious, sincere, courageous, and accessible. we believed him to be keen in vision, wise in judgment, prompt and sagacious in action. we looked round on our neighbours and their rulers, and we saw reason to esteem ourselves the most prosperous of peoples and our king the first, by a long way the first, of his fellow kings. your own records prove that long years after henry's death, in all time of trouble the people longed for henry's good sense and cried out for henry's good laws. he was a sacrilegious miscreant you say; if it were so the nation was a nation of sacrilegious miscreants, for he merely obeyed the will of the people and carried out a policy which had been called for and discussed and contrived and, in part, carried out long before our henry's time. upwards of a century before, the assembled knights of the shire had more than once proposed to take the property of the church (much of it gained by sinister methods) and hand it over for military purposes. the spirit of the religious houses had for some time jarred on the awakening spirit of a thinking people. their very existence cast a slur on a high and growing ideal of domestic life. those ancient houses detested and strove to keep down the knowledge which an aroused people then, as never before, passionately desired to gain." "you say he was a 'monster of lust.' lust is not a new sin: our generation knew it as well as yours; detected it as keenly as yours; hated it almost as heartily. but consider: no king anywhere has been, in his own time, so esteemed, so trusted, nay even so loved and reverenced as our king. should we have loved, trusted, and reverenced a 'monster of lust'? if you examine carefully the times before ours and the times since, you will find that monsters of lust, crowned or uncrowned, do not act as henry acted. the court, it is true, was not pure, but it was the least voluptuous court then existing, and henry was the least voluptuous man in it. while still in his teens the widow of an elder brother, a woman much older than he, and who was also old for her years, was married to him on grounds of state policy. not henry only, but wise and learned men, luther and melancthon among others, came to believe that the marriage was not legal. henry himself, indeed, came to believe that god's curse was on it--in our time we fervently believed in god's curse. a boy with promise of life and health was the one eager prayer of the people. but boy after boy died and of four boys not one survived. if one of catharine's boys had lived: nay more, if ann boleyn had been other than a scheming and faithless woman; or if, later, jane seymour had safely brought forth her son (and perhaps other sons), henry would assuredly never have married six wives. you say he should have seen beforehand the disparity of years, the illegality, the incest--should have seen even the yet unfallen curse: in our time boys of eighteen did not see so clearly all these things." "alas," the juror might have added, "marriage and death are the two supreme incidents in man's life: but marriage comes before experience and judgment--these are absent when they are most needed; experience and judgment attend on death when they are needless." "bear in mind, moreover," resumes the older voice, "that in our time the marriage laws were obscure, perplexing, and unsettled. high ideals of marriage did not exist. the first nobleman in our court was the earl of suffolk who twice committed bigamy and was divorced three times; his first wife was his aunt, and his last his daughter-in-law. papal relaxations and papal permissions were cheap and common--they permitted every sort of sexual union and every sort of separation. canon law and the curious sexual relationships of ecclesiastics, high and low, shed no light but rather darkness on the matter. the pope, it is true, hesitated to grant henry's divorce, but not, as the whole world knew, on moral or religious grounds: at heart he approved the divorce and rebuked wolsey for not settling the matter offhand in england. all the papal envoys urged the unhappy catharine to retire into a religious house; but catharine insisted that god had called her to her position"--forgetting, we may interpose, that if he called her to it he also in effect deposed her from it. god called her daughter mary, so mary believed, to burn protestants; god called elizabeth, so elizabeth exclaimed ('it was marvellous in her eyes'), to harass romanists. "but the one paramount circumstance which weighed with us, and we remember a thousand circumstances while you remember the 'six wives' only, was the question of succession. if succession was the one question which more than all others agitated your fathers in anne's time, try to imagine what it was to us. you, after generations of order, peace and security--you utterly fail to understand our position. we had barely come out of a lawless cruel time--a time born of the ferocity and hate of conflicting dynasties. fathers still lived to tell us how they ate blood, and drank blood, and breathed blood. they and we were weary of blood, and our two henrys (priceless henrys to us,) had just taken its taste out of our mouths. no queen, be it well noted, had ruled over us either in peaceful or in stormy times; we believed with our whole souls, rightly or wrongly, that no queen could possibly preserve us from destruction and ruin. it was our importunity mainly--make no mistake on this point,--which drove our king, whenever he was wifeless, to take another wife. his three years of widowhood after jane seymour's death was our gravest anxiety." the newer voice replies: "you were a foolish and purblind generation. the simplicity of your henry's subjects, and the servility of his parliament have become a bye-word. it is true your king, although less capable than you suppose, was not without certain gifts--their misuse only adds to his infamy. it is true also that he had been carefully educated,--his father was to be thanked for that. it would seem, moreover, that quite early in life he was not without some attractiveness in person and manners, but you forget that bodily grossness and mental irritability soon made him a repulsive object. an eminent englishman of our century says he was a big, burly, noisy, small-eyed, large-faced, double-chinned and swinish-looking fellow, and that indeed so bad a character could never have been veiled under a prepossessing appearance. your king was vain, ostentatious, and extravagant. with measured words we declare that his hypocrisy, cruelty, sacrilege, selfishness and lust, were all unbounded. he was above all an unrivalled master of mean excuses: did he wish to humble and oppress the clergy--they had violated the statute of premunire. did his voluptuous eye fall on a dashing young maid of honour--he suddenly discovered that he was living in incest, and that his marriage was under god's curse. did the pope hesitate to grant him a divorce--he began to see that the proper head of the english church was the english king. was his exchequer empty--he was convinced that the inmates of the wealthy religious houses led the lives and deserved the fate of certain cities once destroyed by fire and brimstone. did a defiant pole carry his head out of harry's reach--it was found that pole's mother, lady salisbury, was the centre of yorkist intrigue, and that the mother's head could be lopped off in place of the son's." the two voices it is clear have much to say for themselves. it is equally clear that the two groups of jurymen will not agree on their verdict. it is commonly held and as a rule on good grounds, that the judgment of immediate friends and neighbours is less just than the opinion of foreigners and of posterity. this is so when foreigners and posterity are agreed, and are free from the tumult, and passion, and personal bias of time and place. it is not so in henry's case. curiously enough, foreign observers, scholars, envoys, travellers, agree with--nay, outrun henry's subjects in their praise of henry. curiously too the tumult and passion touching henry's matrimonial affairs--touching all his affairs indeed,--have grown rather than diminished with the progress of time. epochs, like men, have not the gift of seeing themselves as others see them. unnumbered frenchmen ate and drank, and made merry, and bought and sold; married their children and buried their parents, not knowing that france was giving a shock to all mankind for all time to come. the assassins of st. bartholomew believed that in future a united christendom would bless them for performing a pious and uniting deed. we see all at once the bare and startling fact of six wives. henry's subjects saw and became familiar with a slow succession of marriages, each of which had its special cloud of vital yet confusing circumstance. so too the reformation has its different phases. in the sixteenth century it was looked on as a serious quarrel, no doubt, but no one dreamed it was anything more. then each side thought the other side would shortly come to its senses and all would be well; no one dreamt of two permanently hostile camps and lasting combat. if personal hate and actual bloodshed have passed away, and at the present moment the combat shews signs of still diminishing bitterness, it is because a new and mysterious atmosphere is slowly creeping over both--slowly benumbing both the armies. an attempt must be made here to sketch henry's character with as much impartiality as is possible. but no impartial sketch will please either his older friends or his newer enemies. although henry came to the throne a mere boy, he was a precocious boy. in the precocious the several stages of life succeed each other more quickly than in others, and probably they themselves do not wear so well. when henry was twenty-five he was little less wise and capable than he was at thirty-five or forty-five. at forty he was probably wiser than he was at fifty. the young king's presence was striking; he had a fresh rosy complexion, and an auburn though scanty beard. his very limbs, exclaims one foreign admirer, "glowed with warm pink" through his delicately woven tennis costume. he was handsome in feature; large and imposing in figure; open and frank in manners; strong, active, and skilled in all bodily exercises. he was an admirer of all the arts, and himself an expert in many of them. henry had indeed all the qualities, whatever their worth may be, which make a favourite with the multitude. those qualities, no matter what change time brought to them, preserved his popularity to the last. henry was neither a genius nor a hero; but they who deny that he was a singularly able man will probably misread his character; misread his ideals, his conduct, and his various attitudes. henry's education was thorough and his learning extensive. his habit of mind tended perhaps rather to activity and versatility and obedience to old authority than to intensity or depth or independence. his father, who looked more favourably on churchmen and lawyers than on noblemen, destined his second son for the church. at that time theology, scholastic theology--for colet and erasmus and more had not then done their work--was the acutest mental discipline known as well as the highest accomplishment. for when the "new learning" reached this country it found theology the leading study, and therefore it roused theology; in italy on the other hand it found the arts the predominant study, and there it roused the arts. henry would doubtless have made a successful bishop and escaped thereby much domestic turmoil; but, on the whole, he was probably better fitted to be a king; while his quiet, contemplative, and kindly father would at any rate have found life pleasanter in lawn sleeves than he found it on a throne. it would be well if men and women were to write down in two columns with all possible honesty the good and the evil items in the characters (not forgetting their own) which interest them. the exercise itself would probably call forth serviceable qualities, and would frequently bring to light unexpected results. probably in this process good characters would lose something and the bad would gain. from such an ordeal henry viii. would come out a sad figure, though not quite so sad as is popularly considered. it is not proposed in this sketch of character to separate, if indeed separation is possible, the good qualities which are held to be more or less inborn from those which seem to be attainable by efforts of the will. freedom of the will must of course be left in its native darkness. neither can the attempt be made to estimate, even if such estimate were possible, how much the individual makes of his own character and how much is made for him. some features of character, again, are neither good nor evil, or are good or evil only when they are excessive or deficient or unsuitable to time and place. love of pageantry is one of these; love of pleasure another; so, too, are the leanings to conservation or to innovation. in thought and feeling and action henry was undoubtedly conservative. his conservatism was modified by his self-will and self-confidence, but it assuredly ranked with the leading features of his character--with his piety his egotism and his love of popularity. to shine in well-worn paths was his chief enjoyment: not to shine in these paths, or to get out of them, or to get in advance of them, or to lag behind, was his greatest dread. the innovator may or may not be pious, but conservatism naturally leans to piety, and henry's piety, if not deep or passionate, was at any rate copious and sincere. henry, it has been said, was not a hero, not a genius, neither was he a saint. but if his ideals were not high, and if his conduct was not unstained, his religious beliefs were unquestioning and his religious observances numerous and stringent. the fiercer the light which beat upon his throne, the better pleased was henry. he had many phases of character and many gifts, and he delighted in displaying his phases and in exercising his gifts. the use and place of ceremony and spectacle are still matters of debate; but modern feeling tends more and more to hand them over to children, may-day sweeps, and lord-mayors. in henry's reign the newer learning and newer thought had it is true done but little to undermine the love of gewgaws and glitter, but henry's devotion to them, even for his time, was so childish that it must be written down in his darker column. we may turn now to the less debatable items in henry's character, and say which shall go into the black list and which into the white. we are all too prone perhaps to give but one column to the men we approve, and one only to the men we condemn. it is imperative in the estimation of character that there be "intellect enough," as a great writer expresses it, to judge and material enough on which to pronounce judgment. if we bring the "sufficient intellect," especially one that is fair by habit and effort, to the selection of large facts--for facts have many sizes and ranks, large and small, pompous and retiring--and strip from these the smaller confusing facts, strip off too, personal witcheries and deft subtleties--then we shall see that all men (and all movements) have two columns. the 'monster' henry had two. in his good column we cannot refuse to put down unflagging industry--no englishman worked harder--a genuine love of knowledge, a deep sense of the value of education, and devotion to all the arts both useful and elevating--the art of ship-building practically began with him. his courage, his sincerity, his sense of duty, his frequent generosity, his placability (with certain striking exceptions) were all beyond question. his desire for the welfare of his people, although tempered by an unduly eager desire for their good opinion, was surely an item on the good side. the good column is but fairly good; the black list is, alas, very black. henry was fitful, capricious, petulant, censorious. his fitfulness and petulance go far to explain his acts of occasional implacability. failing health and premature age explain in some degree the extreme irritability and absence of control which characterised his later years. in his best years his love of pleasure, or rather his love of change and excitement, his ostentation, and his extravagance exceeded all reasonable limits. ostentation and love of show are rarely found apart from vanity, and henry's vanity was colossal. vain men are not proud, and henry had certainly not the pride which checks the growth of many follies. a proud man is too proud to be vain or undignified or mean or deceitful, and henry was all these. pride and dignity usually run together; while, on the other hand, vanity and self-importance keep each other company as a rule. henry lacked dignity when he competed with his courtiers for the smiles of ann boleyn in her early court days; he lacked it when he searched campeggio's unsavoury carpet-bag. he seemed pleased rather than otherwise that his petty gossip should be talked of under every roof in europe. it is true that in this direction catharine descended to a still lower level of bed-room scandal; but her nature, never a high one, was deteriorated by a grievous unhappiness and by that incessant brooding which sooner or later tumbles the loftiest nature into the dust. henry's two striking failings--his two insanities--were a huge self-importance and an unquenchable thirst for notoriety and applause. i have said 'insanities' designedly, for they were not passions--they were diseases. the popular "modern voice" would probably not regard these as at all grave defects when compared with others so much worse. this voice indeed, we well know, declares him to have been the embodiment of the worst human qualities--of gross selfishness, of gross cruelty, and of gross lust. these charges are not groundless, but if we could believe them with all the fulness and the vehemence with which they are made, we must then marvel that his subjects trusted him, revered him, called (they and their children) for his good sense and his good laws; we can but marvel indeed that with one voice of execration they did not fell him lifeless to the ground. he was unguarded and within reach. if the charges against henry come near to the truth, nero was the better character of the two. nero knew not what he did; he was beyond question a lunatic and one of a family of lunatics. henry's enormities were the enormities of a fairly sane and responsible man. in order to read henry's character more correctly, if that be possible, than it is read by the "two voices," more light is needed. let us see what an examination of henry's bodily organisation, and especially of his parentage, will do for us. in this light--if it be light, and attainable light--it will be well to examine afresh (at the risk of some repetition) the grave charges which are so constantly and so confidently laid at his door and see what of vindication or modification or damning confirmation may follow. before looking specially at henry's organisation and inheritance, i purpose devoting a short chapter to a general view of the principles which can give such an examination any value. it will be for the most part a brief statement of views which i have already put forward in my little work on character as seen in body and parentage. the relation of body and parentage to character. note ii. it is unwise to turn aside from the investigation of any body of truths because it can only be partial in its methods or incomplete in its results. we do this however in the study of the science of character. it is true that past efforts have given but little result--little result because they ignored and avowedly ignored the connection which is coming to be more and more clearly seen to exist between character on the one hand and bodily organisation and proclivity, and especially the organisation and proclivity of the nervous system, on the other hand. those who ignore the bearings of organisation and inheritance on character are, for the most part, those who prefer that "truth should be on their side rather than that they should be on the side of truth." it is contended here that much serviceable knowledge may be obtained by the careful investigation, in given individuals, of _bodily_ characteristics, and the union of these with _mental_ and _moral_ characteristics. the relationship of these combined features of body and mind to parentage, near and remote, and on both sides, should be traced as far back as possible. the greater the number of individuals brought under examination, the more exact and extensive will be the resulting knowledge. very partial methods of classifying character are of daily utility. we say, for example, speaking of the muscular system only, that men are strong or weak. but this simple truth or classification has various notable bearings. both the strong and the weak may be dextrous, or both may be clumsy; both may be slow, or both may be quick; but they will be dextrous or clumsy, slow or quick, in different ways and degrees. so, going higher than mere bodily organisation, we may say that some men are bold and resolute while others are timid and irresolute; some again are parsimonious and others prodigal. now these may possibly be all intelligent or all stupid, all good or all bad; but, nevertheless, boldness and timidity, parsimony and generosity, modify other phases of character in various ways. the irresolute man, for example, cannot be very wise, or the penurious man truly good. it must always be remembered in every sort of classification of bodily or of mental characteristics, that the lines of division are not sharply defined. all classes merge into each other by imperceptible degrees. one of the most, perhaps the most, fundamental and important classification of men and women is that which puts them into two divisions or two temperaments, the active, or tending to be active, on the one hand, and the reflective, or tending to be reflective, on the other. to many students of character this is not anew suggestion, but much more is contended for here. it is contended that the more active temperament is alert, practical, quick, conspicuous, and--a very notable circumstance--less impassioned; the more reflective temperament is less active, less practical, or perhaps even dreamy, secluded, and--also a very notable circumstance--more impassioned. it is not so much that men of action always desire to be seen, or that men of thought desire to be hidden; action naturally brings men to the front; contemplation as naturally hides them; when active men differ, the difference carries itself to the housetops; when thinking men differ, they fight in the closet and by quieter methods. busy men, moreover, are given to detail, and detail fills the eye and ear; men of reflection deal more with principles, and these lie beyond the range of ordinary vision. the proposition which i here put forward, based on many years of observation and study, is fundamental, and affects, more or less, a wide range of character in every individual. the proposition is that in the active temperament the intellectual faculties are disproportionately strong--the passions are feebler and lag behind; in the reflective temperament the passions are the stronger in proportion to the mental powers. character is dominated more by the intellect in one case, more by the emotions in the other. in all sane and healthful characters (and only these are considered here) the intellectual and emotional elements are both distinctly present. the most active men think; the most reflective men act. but in many men and women the intellect takes an unduly large share in the fashioning of life; these are called here the "less impassioned," the "unimpassioned," or for the sake of brevity, "the passionless." in many others the feelings or emotions play a stronger part; these are the "more impassioned" or the "passionate." character is not made of of miscellaneous fragments, of thought and feeling, of volition and action. its elements are more or less homogeneous and run in uniform groups. the less impassioned, or passionless, for example, are apt to be changeable and uncertain; they are active, ready, alert; they are quick to comprehend, to decide, to act; they are usually self-confident and sometimes singularly self-important. they often seek for applause but they are sparing in their approval and in their praise of others. when the mental endowment is high, and the training and environment favourable, the unimpassioned temperament furnishes some of our finest characters. in this class are found great statesmen and great leaders. a man's _public_ position is probably determined more by intellectual power than by depth of feeling. now and then, especially when the mental gifts are slight, the less pleasing elements predominate: love of change may become mere fitfulness; activity may become bustle; sparing approval may turn to habitual detraction and actual censoriousness. love of approbation may degenerate into a mania for notoriety at any cost; self-importance may bring about a reckless disregard of the well-being of others. fortunately the outward seeming of the passionless temperament is often worse than the reality, and querulous speech is often combined with generous action. frequently, too, where there is ineradicable caprice there is no neglect of duty. the elements of character which, in various ways and degrees, cluster together in the more impassioned or passionate temperament are very different in their nature. in this temperament we find repose or even gentleness, quiet reflection, tenacity of purpose. the feelings--love, or hate, or joy, or grief, or anger, or jealousy--are more or less deep and enduring. in this class also there are fine characters, especially (as in the unimpassioned) when the mental gifts are high and the training refined. in this class too are found perhaps the worst characters which degrade the human race. in all save the rarest characters, the customary tranquillity may be broken by sullen cloud or actual storm. in the less capable and less elevated, devotion may become fanaticism, and tenacity may become blind prejudice, or sheer obstinacy. in this temperament too, in its lower grades, we meet too often--not all together perhaps, certainly not all in equal degree--with indolence, sensuality, inconstancy; or morbid brooding, implacability, and even cruelty. i contend then that certain features of character, it may be in very varying degrees of intensity, belong to the more active and passionless temperament, and certain other features attend on the more reflective and impassioned temperament. if it can be shown that there are two marked groups of elements in character--the more impassioned group and the less impassioned group--and that each group may be inferred to exist if but one or two of its characteristic elements are clearly seen, why even then much would be gained in the interpretation of history and of daily life. but i contend for much more than this; the two temperaments have each their characteristic bodily signs; the more marked the temperament, the more striking and the more easily read are the bodily signs. in the intermediate temperament--a frequent and perhaps the happiest temperament--the bodily signs are also intermediate. the bodily characteristics run in groups also, as well as the mental. the nervous system of each temperament is enclosed in its own special organisation and framework. in my work on "character as seen in body and parentage," i treat this topic with some fulness, and what is stated there need not be repeated now. it may be noted, however, that in the two temperaments there are peculiarities of the skin--clearness or pigmentation; of the hair--feebleness or sparseness, or closeness and vigour of growth; of the configuration of the skeleton and consequent pose of the figure. if the conclusions here put forward are true, they give a key which opens up much character to us. they touch, as i have already said, a great range of character in every individual, but they make no pretension to be a system. they have only an indirect bearing on many phases of character; for in both the active and reflective temperaments there may be found, for example, either wisdom or folly, courage or cowardice, refinement or coarseness. it must always be remembered, too, that besides the more marked types of character, whether bodily or mental, there are numberless intervening gradations. when the temperaments, moreover, are distinctly marked, the ordinary concurrent elements may exist in very unequal degrees and be combined in very various ways. one or two qualities may perhaps absorb the sum-total of nerve force. in the passionless man or woman extreme activity may repress the tendency to disapprove; immense self-importance may impede action. in the impassioned individual, inordinate love or hate may enfeeble thought; deep and persistent thought may dwarf the affections. as i have said elsewhere: 'for the ordinary purposes of life, especially of domestic and social life, the intervening types of character (combining thought and action more equally, though probably each in somewhat less degree) produce perhaps the most useful and the happiest results. but the progress of the world at large is mainly due to the combined efforts of the more extreme types--the supremely reflective and impassioned and the supremely active and unimpassioned. both are needed. if we had men of action only, we should march straight into chaos; if we had men of thought only, we should drift into night and sleep!' henry's family proclivities. note iii. if there is any truth in the views put forward in the foregoing chapter, and if history has at all faithfully portrayed a character concerning which it has had, at any rate, much to say, it is clear that henry must be placed in the less impassioned class of human beings. when i first called attention to the three sorts of character--and the three groups of characteristics--the active, practical, and more or less passionless on the one hand; the less active, reflective, and impassioned on the other; and, thirdly, the intermediate class, neither henry nor his period was in my mind. but when, at a later time (and for purposes other than the special study of character), i came to review the reformation with its ideas, its men, its incidents, i saw at once, to my surprise, that henry's life was a busy, active, conspicuous, passionless life. he might have sat for the portrait i had previously drawn. markedly unimpassioned men tend to be fitful, petulant, censorious, self-important, self-willed, and eager for popularity--so tended henry. the unimpassioned are frequently sincere, conscientious, pious, and conservative--henry was all these. they often have, especially when capable and favourably encompassed, a high sense of duty and a strong desire to promote the well-being of those around them--these qualities were conspicuous in henry's character. how much of inherited organisation, how much of circumstance, how much of self-effort go to the making of character is a problem the solution of which is yet seemingly far off. mirabeau, with fine perception, declared that a boy's education should begin, twenty years before he is born, with his mother. unquestionably before a man is born the plan of his character is drawn, its foundations are laid, and its building is foreshadowed. can he, later, close a door here or open a window there? can he enlarge this chamber or contract that? he believes he can, and is the happier in the belief; but in actual life we do not find that it is given to one man to say, i will be active, i will be on the spot, i will direct here and rebuke there; nor to another man to say, i will give myself up to thought, to dreams, to seclusion. henry never said, with unconscious impulse or with conscious words, "i will be this, or i will not be that." henry viii. took altogether after his mother's side, and she, again, took after her father. henry was, in fact, his grandfather edward iv. over again. he had, however, a larger capacity than his mother's father, and he lived in a better epoch. edward, it was said in his time, was the handsomest and most accomplished man in europe. henry was spoken of in similar words by his compeers both at home and abroad. both were large in frame, striking in contour, rose-pink in complexion--then, as now, the popular ideal of manly perfection--and both became exceedingly corpulent in their later years. both were active, courteous, affable, accessible; both busy, conspicuous, vain, fond of pleasure, and given to display. both were unquestionably brave; but they were also (both of them) fickle, capricious, suspicious, and more or less cruel. both put self in the foremost place; but edward's selfishness drifted rather to self-indulgence, while henry's took the form of self-importance. extreme self-importance is usually based on high capacity, and edward's capacity did not lift him out of the region of pomposity and frequent indiscretion. edward iv. was nevertheless an able man although less able than henry. like henry he belonged to the unimpassioned class; he was without either deeply good or deeply evil passion, but probably he had somewhat stronger emotions than his grandson. in other words henry had more of intellect and less of passion than his grandfather. edward's early and secret marriage was no proof of passion. early marriages are not the monopoly of any temperament; sometimes they are the product of the mere caprice, or the self-will and the feeble restraint of the passionless, and sometimes the product of the raw and immature judgment of the passionate. edward deserves our pity, for he had everything against him; he had no models, no ideals, no education, no training. the occupation of princes at that time brought good neither to themselves nor anyone else. they went up and down the country to slay and be slain; to take down from high places the severed heads of one worthless dynasty and put up the heads of another dynasty equally worthless. the eighth henry derived nothing from his father--the seventh,--nothing of good, nothing of evil. one of the most curious errors of a purely literary judgment on men and families is seen in the use of the epithet "tudor." we hear for example of the "tudor" blood shewing itself in one, of the "tudor" spirit flashing out in another. whether henry vii. was a tudor or not we may not now stop to inquire. henry viii. we have seen took wholly after his yorkist mother. of henry's children, mary was a repetition of her dark dwarfish spanish mother; the poor lad edward, whether a seymour or a yorkist, was certainly not a tudor. the big comely pink elizabeth was her father in petticoats--her father in body, her father in mind. henry viii. in fact while tudor in name was lancastrian in dynasty, and yorkist in blood. no two kings, no two men indeed could well have been more unlike, bodily, mentally, and morally, than the two henrys--father and son. the eighth was communicative, confiding, open, frank; the seventh was silent, reserved, mysterious. the son was active, busy, practical, conspicuous; the father, although not indolent, and not unpractical, was nevertheless quiet, dreamy, reflective, self-restrained, and unobtrusive. one was prodigal, martial, popular; the other was prudent, peaceful, steadfast, and unpopular. he is said indeed to have been parsimonious, but the least sympathetic of his historians confess that he was generous in his rewards for service, that his charities were numerous, and that his state ceremonies were marked by fitting splendour. henry viii. changed (or destroyed) his ministers, his bishops, his wives, and his measures also, many times. henry vii. kept his wife--perverse and mischievous as she was,--till she died; kept his ministers and bishops till they died; kept his policy and his peace till he died himself. henry vii. is noteworthy mainly for being but little noticed. the scribe of whatever time sees around him only that which is conspicuous and exceptional and often for the most part foolish, and therefore the documents of this henry's reign are but few in number. the occupants of high places who are careful and prudent are rarely popular. his unpopularity was moreover helped on in various ways. dynastic policy thrust upon him a wife of the busy unimpassioned temperament--a woman in whom deficient emotion and sympathy and affection were not compensated by any high qualities; a woman who was restless, mischievous, vain, intriguing, and fond of influence. elizabeth of york had all the bad qualities of her father and her son and had very few of their good ones. a king henry in feminine disguise without his virtues was not likely to love or be loved. domestic sourness is probably a not infrequent cause of taciturnity and mystery and seclusion in the characters of both men and women. it was well that henry was neither angry nor morose. it says much for him moreover that while he was the object of ceaseless intrigue and hostility and rancour he yet never gave way to cynicism or revenge or cruelty. with a tolerably happy marriage, an assenting and a helpful nobility, and an unassailed throne, it is difficult to put a limit to the good which henry vii. might have done and which it lay in him to do. as it was he smoothed the way for enterprise and discovery, for the printing press and the new learning. he was the first of english monarchs who befriended education--using the word in its modern sense. it is curious that the acutest changes in our history--the death of a decrepit mediævalism, the birth of the young giant modernism--happened in our so-called sleepiest reign. surely the "quiet" father had a smaller share of popular applause than he deserved, and as surely the "dashing" son a much larger share. but in all periods, old and new, popularity should give us pause: yesterday, for example, inquisitors were knelt to, hailed with acclamation and pelted with flowers, and heretics were spat upon, hissed at, and burnt, but to-day's flowers are for the heretics and the execrations are for the inquisitors. thus then in all characteristics--intellectual, moral and bodily--henry viii. must be placed in the unimpassioned class. it may be noted too in passing that all the portraits of henry show us a feeble growth of hair on the face and signs of a convex back--convex vertically and convex transversely. we do not see the back it is true, but we see both the head and the shoulders carried forwards and the chin held down towards the chest--held indeed so far downward that the neck seems greatly shortened. it is interesting to observe the pose of the head and neck and shoulders in the portraits of noted personages. the forward head and shoulders, the downward chin (the products of a certain spinal configuration) are seen in undoubtedly different characters but characters which nevertheless have much in common: they are seen in all the portraits of napoleon i. and, although not quite so markedly, in those of our own general gordon. napoleon and gordon were unlike in many ways, and the gigantic self-importance and self-seeking of napoleon were absent in the simpler and finer character. in other ways they were much alike. both were brave active busy men; but both were fitful, petulant, censorius, difficult to please, and--which is very characteristic--both although changeable were nevertheless self-willed and self-confident. both were devoid of the deeper passions. the wives question. note iv. it is affirmed that no one save a monster of lust would marry six wives--a monster of lust being of course a man of over-mastering passion. it might be asked, in passing, seeing that six wives is the sign of a perfect "monster" if three wives make a semi-monster? pompey had five wives, was he five-sixths of a monster. to be serious however in this wife question, it will probably never be possible to say with exactness how much in henry's conduct was due to religious scruples; how much to the urgent importunity (state-born importunity) of advisers and subjects; how much to the then existing confusion of the marriage laws; how much to misfortune and coincidence; how much to folly and caprice; how much to colossal self-importance, and how much to "unbounded license." history broadly hints that great delusions, like great revolutions, may overcome--especially if the overcoming be not too sudden--both peoples and persons without their special wonder. in such delusions and such revolutions the actors and the victims are alike often unconscious actors and unconscious victims. neither henry nor his people dreamt that the great marriage question of the sixteenth century would excite the ridicule of all succeeding centuries. luther did not imagine that his efforts would help to divide religious europe into two permanently hostile camps. robespierre did not suspect that his name would live as an enduring synonym for blood. but to marry six wives, solely on licentious grounds, is a proceeding so striking and so uncomplicated that no delusion could possibly come over the performer and certainly not over a watchful people. yet something akin to delusion there certainly was; its causes however were several and complex, and lust was the least potent of them. the statement may seem strange, but there was little of desire in henry's composition. a monster he possibly was of some sort of folly; but strange as it may seem he was a monster of folly precisely because he was the opposite of a monster of passion. unhappily unbounded lust is now and then a feature of the impassioned temperament. it is never seen however in the less impassioned, and henry was one of the less impassioned. the want of dignity is itself a striking feature in the character of passionless and active men, and want of dignity was the one conspicuous defect in henry's conduct in his marriage affairs. perhaps too, dignity--personal or national--is, like quietness and like kindliness, among the later growths of civilisation. no incident or series of incidents illustrative of character in any of its phases, no matter how striking the incidents, or how strong the character or phase of character, have ever happened once only. if libertinism, for example, had ever shown itself in the selection and destruction of numerous wives, history would assuredly give information pertinent thereto: it gives none. nothing happens once only. even the french revolution, so frequently regarded as a unique event, was only one of several examples of the inherent and peculiar cruelty of the french celt.[1] the massacre of bartholomew was more revolting in its numbers and in its character. the massacre of the commune, french military massacres and various massacres in french history deprive the "great" revolution of its exceptional character. but to return. there were licentious kings and princes before henry, granting he was licentious, and there have been notably licentious kings and princes since: their methods are well known and they were wholly unlike his. [1] from historic comparison we may feel sure that no such cruelty was found in the gothic and frankish and norman blood of france. certain incidents concerning henry's marriages are of great physiological interest: a fat, bustling, restless, fitful, wilful man approaching mid-life--a man brim full of activity but deficient in feeling, waited twenty years before the idea of divorce was seriously entertained; and several more years of papal shiftiness were endured, not without petulance enough, but seemingly without storm or whirlwind. when jane seymour died, three years of single life followed. it is true the three years were not without marriage projects, but they were entirely state projects, and were in no way voluptuous overtures. the marriage with anne of cleves was a purely state marriage, and remained, so historians tell us, a merely nominal and ceremonial marriage during the time the king and the german princess occupied the same bed--a circumstance not at all indicative of "monstrous" passion. the very unfaithfulness of anne boleyn and catherine howard is not without its significance, for the proceedings of our divorce court show that as a rule (a rule it is true not without exceptions) we do not find the wives of lustful men to be unfaithful. in the case of a burns or a byron or a king david it is not the wife who is led astray; it is the wives of the henrys and the arthurs, strikingly dissimilar as they were in so many respects, who are led into temptation. no _sane_ man is the embodiment of a single passion. save in the wards of a lunatic asylum a simple monster of voluptuousness, or monster of anger, or monster of hate has no existence; and within those wards such monsters are undoubted examples of nerve ailment. it is true one (very rarely one only) passion may unduly predominate--one or more may be fostered and others may be dwarfed; but as a very general rule the deeper passions run together. one passion, if unequivocally present, denotes the existence of other passions, palpable or latent--denotes the existence, in fact, of the impassioned temperament. henry viii., startling as the statement may seem, had no single, deep, unequivocal passion--no deep love, no profound pity, no overwhelming grief, no implacable hate, no furious anger. the noisy petulance of a busy, censorious, irritable man and the fretfulness of an invalid are frequently misunderstood. on no single occasion did henry exhibit overmastering anger. historians note with evident surprise that he received the conclusion of the most insulting farce in history--the campeggio farce--with composure. when the bishop of rochester thrust himself, unbidden, into the campeggio court in order to denounce the king and the divorce, henry's only answer was a long and learned essay on the degrees of incestuous marriage which the pope might or might not permit. when his own chaplains scolded him, in coarse terms, in his own chapel, he listened, not always without peevishness, but always without anger. turning to other emotions, no hint is given of henry's grief at the loss of son after son in his earlier married years. if a husband of even ordinary affection _could_ ever have felt grief, it would surely show itself when a young wife and a young mother died in giving birth to a long-wished-for son and heir. not a syllable is said of henry's grief at jane seymour's death; and three weeks after he was intriguing for a continental, state, and purely diplomatic marriage. it is true that he paraded a sort of fussy affection for the young prince edward--carried him indeed through the state apartments in his own royal arms; but the less impassioned temperament is often more openly demonstrative than the impassioned, especially when the public ear listens and the public eye watches. those who caress in public attach as a rule but little meaning to caresses. if henry's affections were small we have seen that his self-importance was colossal; and the very defections--terrible to some natures--of anne boleyn and of catherine howard wounded his importance much more deeply than they wounded his affections. if we limit our attention for a moment to the question of deep feeling, we cannot but see how unlike henry was to the impassioned men of history. passionate king david, for example, would not have waited seven years while a commission decided upon his proposed relationship to bathsheba; and the cold henry could not have flung his soul into a fiery psalm. the impassioned burns could not have said a last farewell to the mother of his helpless babe without moistening the dust with his tears, while henry could never have understood why many strong men cannot read the second verse of "john anderson my jo" with an unbroken voice. the less characteristic features of henry's character. note v. it is well now, after considering the question of henry's parentage and organisation, to look again and a little more closely, at certain significant features in his character--his caprice, his captiousness, his love of applause, his self-will, self-confidence, and self-importance. these elements of character frequently run together in equal or unequal degrees, and they are extremely characteristic of the more markedly passionless temperament. but before doing this it is well to look, in a brief note, at some features of henry's character which are found in the less impassioned and the more impassioned temperaments alike. both temperaments, for example, may be cruel or kindly; both may tend to conservatism or to innovation; pious persons or worldly may be found in both. but the cruelty or kindliness, the conservatism or innovation, the piety or worldliness differ in the different temperaments--they differ in their motives, in their methods, in their aims. the cruelty of the unimpassioned man is, for the most part, a reckless disregard for the happiness or well-being or (in mediæval times especially) for the lives of those who stand in his way or thwart his plans or lessen his self-importance. such cruelty is more wayward resentful and transitory than deliberative or implacable or persistent. the cruelty of the impassioned man is perhaps the darkest of human passions. it is the cruelty born of hate--cruelty contrived with deliberation and watched with glee. happily it is a kind which lessens with the growth of civilisation. often it attends on the strong convictions of strong natures obeying strong commands--commands which are always strongest when they are believed to have a supernatural origin; for belief in supernaturalism is the natural enemy of mercy; it demands obedience and forbids compassion. cruelty was at its worst when supernatural beliefs were strongest; for happily natural reason has grown, and supernatural belief has dwindled. the unimpassioned and the impassioned temperaments may alike scale the highest or descend to the lowest levels of character, although probably the most hateful level of human degredation is reached by the more impassioned nature. it cannot be denied that, even for his time, henry had a certain unmistakable dash of cruelty in his composition. a grandson of edward iv., who closely resembled his grandfather, could not well be free from it. but the cruelty of henry, like that of edward, was cruelty of the passionless type. he swept aside--swept too often out of existence--those who defied his will or lessened his importance. how much of henry's cruelty was due to the resolve to put down opposition, how much was due to passing resentment and caprice, and how much, if any, to the delight of inflicting pain, not even henry's compeers could easily have said. his cruelty in keeping the solitary mary apart from her solitary mother was singularly persistent in so fickle a man; but even here weak fear and a weak policy were stronger than cruel feeling. it was henry's way of meeting persistent obstinacy. it is needless to discuss the cruelty of the executions on religious grounds during henry's reign; they were the order of the day and were sanctioned by the merciful and the unmerciful alike. but henry's treatment of high personages was a much deeper stain--deeper than the stain of his matrimonial affairs. people and parliament earnestly prayed for a royal son and heir, but no serious or popular prayer was ever offered up for the heads of fisher or more or lady salisbury. henry's cruelty had always practical ends in view. great officials who had failed, or who were done with, were officials in the way, and _their_ heads might be left to the care of those who were at once their rivals and their enemies. the execution of lady salisbury will never fail to rouse indignation as long as history is history and men are men. henry might have learned a noble lesson from his father. henry vii. put his own intriguing mother-in-law into a religious house, and the proper destination of a female yorkist intriguer--no matter how high or powerful--was a convent, not a scaffold. in the execution of elizabeth barton meanness was added to cruelty, for the wretched woman confessed her impostures and exposed the priests who contrived them for her. the cruelty which shocked europe most, and has shocked it ever since, was the execution of sir thomas more. more's approval would have greatly consoled the king, but more's approval fell far short of the king's demands. the silence of great men does _not_ give consent, and more was silent. more was, next to erasmus, the loftiest intellect then living on this planet. throughout europe men were asking what more thought of "the king's matter." more's head was the only answer. but however indignant we may be, let us not be unjust; henry, cruel as he was, was less cruel than any of his compeers--royal, imperial, or papal, or other. the cruelty of our tudor ruler has always been put under a fierce light; the greater cruelty of distant rulers we are too prone to disregard. we are too prone also to forget that the one thing new under the sun in _our_ time is greater kindliness--kindliness to life, to opinion, to pocket. if fate had put a crown on luther's head, or calvin's, or later, on knox's, their methods would have been more stringent than henry's. henry and his parliament, it is true, proposed an act of parliament "to abolish diversity of opinion in matters of religion." but luther and calvin and knox, nay even more (erasmus alone stood on a higher level), were each and all confident of their possession of the _one_ truth and of their infallibility as interpreters thereof; each and all were ready, had the power been theirs, to abolish "diversity of religious opinion." there are two kinds of religion, or at any rate two varieties of religious character--both are sincere--the religion of the active and passionless and that of the reflective and impassioned. one is a religion of inheritance, of training, of habit, of early and vivid perception; with certain surroundings it is inevitable; if shaken off it returns. george eliot acutely remarks of one of her notably passionless characters, "his first opinions remained unchanged, as they always do with those in whom perception is stronger than thought and emotion." the other is a religion (two extremes are spoken of here, but every intermediate gradation exists) a religion of thought and emotion, of investigation and introspection. it is marked by deep love of an ideal or real good, and deep hate of what may also often be called an ideal or real evil. henry's religion was of the first sort. it would be deeply interesting to know the sort of religion of the great names of henry's time. we lack however the needful light on their organisation, parentage, and circumstance. but in all the provinces of life the men who have imprinted their names on history have been for the most part active, practical, and unimpassioned men. they, in their turn, have owed much to the impassioned, thinking, and often unpractical men whose names history has not troubled itself to preserve. and now, in the light shed by organisation and inheritance, we may gain further information on the more characteristic features of henry's character--his caprice, his captiousness, his uncertainty, and his peevishness, his resolve never to be hidden or unfelt or forgotten. the more characteristic features of henry's character. note vi. henry was always doing something or undoing something. whether he was addressing parliament, admonishing and instructing subordinates, or exhorting heretics; whether he was restoring order in northern england, or (with much wisdom) introducing order into wales, or (with much folly) disorder into scotland; whether he was writing letters to irish chieftains or scottish councillors, or northern pilgrims; whether he was defending the faith or destroying religious houses; whether he was putting together six articles to the delight of catholics, or dropping them in a few weeks to the exultation of protestants; whether burning those who denied the miracle of the real presence, or hanging those who denied his headship of the church; whether he was changing a minister, a bishop, or a wife, his hands were always full. and in henry's case at least--probably in most cases--satan found much mischief for busy hands to do. the man who is never at rest is usually a fitful man. constant change, whether of ministers or of views or of plans, is in itself fitfulness. but fitfulness is something more than activity: it implies an uncertainty of thought or conduct which forbids calculation or prediction, and therefore forbids confidence; it is an inborn proclivity. happily vigorous reasoning power often accompanies it and keeps it in check. in poorly endowed intellects, whether in men or women, fitfulness and its almost constant associate petulance harass many circles and many hearths. it is recorded that when the disgraced wolsey took his departure from court, the king sent after him a hurried messenger with a valuable ring and comforting words. the incident has excited much perplexity and comment among historians. what was its meaning? what its object? probably the incident had no precise meaning; probably it was merely the involuntary deed of an irresistible constitutional tendency; possibly, too, there lurked in the motive which led to it some idea of future change and exigency. the active, practical, serviceable man sows many seeds and keeps on sowing them. time and circumstance mainly decide which seeds shall grow and which shall not. caprice is not unfrequently associated with high faculties. sometimes it would seem to be due to the gift--not a common one--of seeing many sides of a question, and of seeing these so vividly that action is thereby enfeebled or frequently changed. sometimes it is a conservative instinct which sees that a given step is too bold and must be retraced. it certainly is not selfishness: a long-pondered policy is often dashed to the ground in an instant, or a long-sought friendship is ended by a moment's insult. at root caprice is an inborn constitutional bias. henry was the first powerful personage who declared that the papal authority was divine--declaring this, indeed, with so much fervour that the good catholic more expostulated with him. but henry was also the first high personage who threw papal authority to the winds. it is on record that henry would have taken wolsey into favour again had wolsey lived. not wolsey only but all henry's ministers would have been employed and dismissed time after time could they but have contrived to keep their heads on their shoulders. henry might even have re-married his wives had they lived long enough. one circumstance only would have lessened their chances--attractive women were more numerous than experts in statecraft: for one wolsey there were a thousand fair women. habitual fitfulness, it has already been noted, is not often found apart from habitual petulance, and both these qualities were conspicuous in henry's character. there was something almost impish in the spirit which led him to don gorgeous attire--men had not then got out of barbaric finery, and women are still in its bondage--on the day of anne boleyn's bloodshed. nay more, there was undoubtedly a dash of cruelty in it, as there was in the acerbity which led him to exclaim that the pope might send a cardinal's hat to fisher, but he would take care that fisher had no head to put it on. now and then his whims were simply puerile; it was so when he signalised some triumph over a continental potentate by a dolls' battle on the thames. two galleys, one carrying the romish and the other the english decorations, met each other. after due conflict, the royalists boarded the papal galley and threw figures of the pope and sundry cardinals into the water--king and court loudly applauding. but again, let us not forget that those days were more deeply stained than ours with puerility and cruelty and spite. more, it is true, rose above the puerility of his time; erasmus rose above both its cruelty and its puerility; henry rose above neither. no charge is brought against henry with more unanimity and vehemence than that of selfishness. and the charge is not altogether a baseless one; but the selfishness which stained henry's character is not the selfishness he is accused of. when henry is said to have been a monster of selfishness it is implied that he was a monster of self-indulgence. he was not that--he was the opposite of that. he was in reality a monster of self-importance, and extreme personal importance is incompatible with gross personal indulgence. self-indulgence is the failing of the impassioned, especially when the mental gifts are poor; while self-importance is the failing of the passionless, especially when the mental gifts are rich. let there be given three factors, an unimpassioned temperament, a vigorous intellect, and circumstance favourable to public life--committee life, municipal, platform, parliamentary, or pulpit life--and self-importance is rarely wanting. this price we must sometimes pay for often quite invaluable service. when henry spoke--it is not infrequently so when the passionless and highly gifted individual speaks--the one unpardonable sin on the part of the listener was not to be convinced. a sin of a little less magnitude was to make a proposal to henry. it implied that he was unable to cope with the problems which beset him and beset his time. he could not approve of what he himself did not originate; at any rate he put the alien proposal aside for the time--in a little time he _might_ approve of it and it might then seem to be his own. the temperament which censured a matter yesterday will often applaud it to-day and put it in action to-morrow. the unimpassioned are prone to imitation, but they first condemn what they afterwards imitate. when cromwell made the grave proposal touching the headship of the church, henry hesitated--nay, was probably shocked--at first. yet, for henry's purposes at least, it was cromwell (and not cranmer with his university scheme) who had "caught the right sow by the ear." henry had a boundless belief in the importance of the king; but this did not hinder, nay it helped him to believe in the importance of the people also--it helped him indeed to seek the more diligently their welfare, seeing that the more prosperous a people is, the more important is its king. true he always put himself first and the people second. how few leaders of men or movements do otherwise. possibly william iii. would have stepped down from his throne if it had been shown that another in his place could better curb the ambition of france abroad, or better secure the mutual toleration of religious parties at home. possibly, nay probably, george washington would have retired could he have seen that the attainment of american independence was more assured in other hands. lloyd garrison would have gladly retired into private life if another more quickly than he could have given freedom to the slave. john bright would have willingly held his tongue if thereby another tongue could have spoken more powerfully for the good of his fellow-men. such men can be counted on the fingers and henry is not one of them. henry would have denied (as would all his compeers in temperament) that he put himself first. he would have said; "i desire the people's good first and above all things;" but he would have significantly added; "their good is safest in my hands." it is a moot point in history whether henry was led by his high officials or was followed by them. did he, for example, direct wolsey or did wolsey (as is the common view) in reality lead his king while appearing to follow him. to me the balance of evidence, as well as the natural proclivities of henry's character, favour the view that he thought and willed and acted for himself. do we not indeed know too well the fate of those whose thought and will ran counter to his? no man's opinion and conduct are independent of his surroundings and his time; for every man, especially every monarch, must see much through other eyes and hear much through other ears. but if other eyes and other ears are numerous enough they will also be conflicting enough, and will strengthen rather than diminish the self-confidence and self-importance of the self-confident and self-important ruler. self-importance, as a rule, is built on a foundation of solid self-confidence, and henry's confidence in himself was broad enough and deep enough to sustain any conceivable edifice. the romish church was then, and had been for a thousand years, the strongest influence in europe. it touched every event in men's bodily lives and decided also the fate of their immortal souls. henry nevertheless had no misgiving as to his fitness to be the spiritual head of the church in this country, or the spiritual head of the great globe itself, if the great globe had had one church only. when i come to speak of the reformation i shall have to remark that, had the great european religious movement reached our island in any other reign than henry's, religion would not have been exactly what it now is. of all our rulers henry was the only one who was at the same time willing enough, educated enough (he had been trained to be an archbishop), able enough, and pious enough to be at any rate the _first_ head of a great church. henry was so sagacious that he never forgot the superiority of sagacity over force. he delighted in reasoning, teaching, exhorting; and he believed that while any ruler could command, few could argue and very few could convince. it is true, alas, that when individuals or bodies were not convinced if he spoke, he became unreasonably petulant. when scotland did not accept a long string of unwise proposals he laid leith in ashes. when ireland did not yield to his wishes, he knocked a castle to atoms with cannon, and thereby so astonished ireland, be it noted, that it remained peaceful and prosperous during the remainder of his reign. perhaps the happiest moments in henry's life were those when he presided over courts of theological inquiry. to confute heresy was his chief delight; and his vanity was indulged to its utmost when the heretical lambert was tried. clothed in white silk, seated on a throne, surrounded by peers and bishops and learned doctors, he directed the momentous matters of this world and the next; he elucidated, expounded, and laid down the laws of both heaven and earth. it was a high day; one thing only marred its splendour--he, the first living defender of orthodoxy, had spoken and heterodoxy remained unconvinced. heterodoxy must clearly be left to its just punishment, for bishops, peers, and learned doctors were astonished at the display of so much eloquence, learning, and piety. the physiological student of human nature who is much interested in the question of martyrdom finds, indeed, that the martyr-burner and the martyr (of whatever temperament) have much in common. both believe themselves to possess assured and indisputable truth; both are infallible; both self-confident; both are prepared, in the interests of truth, to throw their neighbours into the fire if circumstance is favourable; both are willing to be themselves thrown into the fire if circumstance is adverse. one day they burn, the next day they are burnt. the feature in henry's character which as we have seen amounted to mania was his love of popularity; it was a mania which saved him from many evils. even unbridled self-will does little harm if it be an unbridled self-will to stand well with a progressive people. it has been a matter of surprise to those who contend that henry, seeing that he possessed--it is said usurped--a lion's power, did not use it with lion-like licence. his ingrained love of applause is the physiological explanation. let it be noted, too, that not everyone who thirsts for popularity succeeds in obtaining it, for success demands several factors: behind popular applause there must be action, behind action must be self-confidence, behind self-confidence must be large capability. henry had all these. in such a chain love of applause is the link least likely to be missing. for, indeed, what is the use of being active, capable, confident and important in a closet? the crow sings as sweetly as the nightingale if no one is listening, and importance is no better than insignificance if there is no one "there to see." we shall gain further and not uninteresting knowledge of henry's character if we look at certain side lights which history throws upon it. we turn therefore, in another note, to look for a few moments at the men, the movements, the drift, the institutions of his time, and observe how he bore himself towards them. henry and his compeers. note vii. in henry's time, and in every time, the art of judging women has been a very imperfect one. it is an imperfect art still and, as long as it takes for granted that women are radically unlike men, so long it will remain imperfect. but henry was a good judge of one sex at any rate, for he was helped by the most capable men then living, and in reality he tolerated no stupidity--except in his wives. in an era of theological change it was perhaps an unfortunate circumstance that he was better helped in his politics than in his theology. wolsey, although a cardinal and even a candidate for the papal chair, was to all intents and purposes a practical statesman. had he succeeded in becoming a pope he would nevertheless have remained a mere politician. wolsey, then, and cromwell and more were all distinctly abler men than cranmer or latimer or gardiner. but henry himself, looking at him in all that he was and in all that he did, was not unworthy of his helpers. there were then living in europe some of the most enduring names in history. more, it is true, was made of finer clay than the king; erasmus was not only the loftiest figure of his time--he is one of the loftiest of any time; but henry was also a great personality and easily held his own in the front rank of european personalities. as a ruler no potentate of his time--royal, imperial or papal--could for a moment compare with him. of all known englishmen he was the fittest to be king of england. had it been henry's fortune to have had one or two or even three wives only, our school histories would have contained a chapter entitled "how 'henry the good' steered his country safely through its greatest storm." he played many parts with striking ability. he was probably as great a statesman as wolsey or more or cromwell. he would certainly have made a better archbishop than cranmer; a better bishop than latimer or gardiner; he was a better soldier than norfolk. what then might he have been had he been a statesman only, or a diplomatist or an ecclesiastic or a soldier only? in all the parts he played, save the part of husband, his unimpassioned temperament stood him in good stead. a man's attitudes to his fellow-men and to the movements of his time are, on the whole, determined more by his intellect than by his feeling. the emotions indeed are very disturbing elements. they have, it is true, made or helped to make a few careers; but they have destroyed many more. very curiously, henry's compeers were, most of them, like himself--unimpassioned men. latimer, who was perhaps an exception, preached sermons at paul's cross brimful of a passion which henry admired but did not understand. cranmer too was a man of undoubted feeling and strong affection. it is said there is sometimes a magnetic charm between the unlike in temperament; strong friendships certainly exist between them; and it is to henry's credit that to the last he kept near to him a man so unlike himself. cranmer was a kindly, sympathetic, helpful, good soul, but not a saint. he was not one of those to whom gracian refers as becoming bad out of pure goodness. cranmer was a capable and a strong man, but he was not supremely capable or supremely strong. he was free from the worst of human evils--'cocksureness.' the acute spaniard just named says that "every blockhead is thoroughly persuaded that he is in the right;" cranmer was less of a blockhead than most of his compeers. left to his own instincts, he preferred to live and let others live. cranmer had not the loftiness (nor the hardness and inflexibility) of a more; not the genius and grace and scholarship of an erasmus; not the definite purpose and iron will of a cromwell; not the fire of a latimer; not the clear sight and grasp of a gardiner; not the sagacity and varied gifts of a henry; but for my part i would have chosen him before all his fellows (certainly his english fellows) to advise with and to confide in. of all the tables and the roofs of that time i should have preferred to sit at his table and sleep under his roof. the great luminaries who guide in revolutions are rare, and the smaller lights of smaller circumstance are not rare; but--the question is not easy to answer--which could we best spare, if we were compelled to choose, the towering lighthouse of exceptional storm or the cheery lamp of daily life? one figure of henry's times which never fails to interest us is that of sir thomas more. more was clearly one of the unimpassioned class; but his commanding intellect, his quick response to high influences, his capability of forming noble friendships, and his lofty ideals seemed to dispense with the need of deep emotions. more and henry, indeed, were much alike in many ways. both were precocious in early life; both were quick, alert, practical; both were able; both, to the outside world at least, were genial, affable, attractive; both also, alas, were fitful, censorious, difficult to please; both were self-confident--one confident enough to kill, the other confident enough to be killed. had they changed places in the greatest crisis of their lives henry would have rejected more's headship of the church and more would have sent henry to the block. in order to understand more's character correctly we must recognise the changing waves of circumstance through which he passed. there were in fact two mores, the earlier and the later. the earlier more was an unembittered and independent thinker; the seeming spirit of independence however was, in a great degree, merely the spirit of contradiction. he was a friend of education and the new learning. he advocated reform in religion; but reform, be it noted, before the reformation, reform gently and from within; reform when kings and scholars and popes themselves all asked for it. history, unhappily, tells of much reform on the lips which doggedly refused to translate itself into practice. the earlier more was all for reform in principle, but he invariably disapproved of it in detail. the later and in some degree embittered more was thrown by temperament, by the natural bias of increasing years and by the exigencies of combat, into the ecclesiastical and reactionary camp, and in that camp his conduct was stained by cruel inquisitorial methods. the deteriorating effects of conflict (which happily grow less in each successive century) on individuals as well as on parties and peoples is seen in another notable though very different character of more's century. savonarola, before his bitter fight with florentine and roman powers, was a large, clear-sighted, sane reformer; after the fight he became blind, fanatical, and insane. why may we not combine all thankfulness for the early more and the early savonarola, and all compassion for the later more and later savonarola? mary stuart, francis bacon, robert burns, napoleon buonapart, and lord byron were notable personalities; they--some of them at least--did the world service which others did not and could not do. yet how many of us are there who, if admitting to the full their greatness, do not belittle their follies? or, if freely admitting their follies, do not belittle their greatness? wolsey, holding aloof from religious strife, remained simply the scholar and the politician--a politician moreover _before_ politics became in their turn also a matter of hostile camps. being a politician only, he continued to be merciful while more drifted from politics and mercy into ecclesiasticism and cruelty. more's change was in itself evidence of a fitful and passionless temperament, of such evidence indeed there is no lack. his first public action was one of petulance and self-importance. he had been treated with continued and exceptional kindness by cardinal morton and henry vii.; but when morton, on behalf of his king, asked parliament for a subsidy, the newly-elected more, conscious of his powers, and thinking too, may we not say, much more of a people's applause than of a people's burdens, successfully urged its reduction to one half. more was by nature censorious, and never heartily approved of anything. when wolsey, on submitting a proposal to him with the usual result, told him--told him it would seem in the unvarnished language of the time--that he stood alone in his disapproval, and that he was a fool, more, with ready wit and affected humility, rejoined that he thanked god that he was the only fool on the king's council. more, we may be quite sure, was not conscious of a spirit of contradiction; he probably felt that his first duty was to suggest to everybody some improvement in everything. this spirit of antagonism nevertheless played a leading part in his changeful life. in his early years he found orthodoxy rampant and defiant, consequently he inclined to heresy; at a later period heresy became rampant and defiant, and as inevitably he returned to the older faith and views. a modern scholar and piquant censor, and--i gather from his own writings, the only knowledge i have of him--an extreme specimen of the unimpassioned temperament, mark pattison, says that he never saw anything without suggesting how it might have been better; and that every time he entered a railway carriage he worked out a better time table than the one in use. if more had lived in his own utopia he would have found fault with it, and drawn in imagination another and a better land. the later more was, as all unimpassioned and censorious temperaments are, a prophet of evil; and as much evil did happen--was sure to happen--his wisdom has come down to us somewhat greater in appearance than it was in reality. the cruelty of the tudor epoch has already been spoken of. catholics and protestants, kings, popes, cardinals, ministers, luthers, calvins, knoxes were all stained by it. henry and more, we know, were no exceptions. but more's cruelty differed from henry's in one important respect--there was nothing appertaining to self in it, except self-confidence. henry's cruelty was in the interest of himself--his person, his family, and his throne; more's cruelty, although less limited perhaps, and more dangerous, was nevertheless in the interest of religion. henry and his people and parliament. note viii. it is in his attitude to his people and his parliament that we see henry at his best. his sagacity did not show itself in any deliberate or deeply reasoned policy, certainly not, we may allow with dr. stubbs, in any great act of "constructive genius;" it showed itself in seeing clearly the difficulties of the hour and the day, and in the hourly and daily success with which they were met. henry and his father presided over the introduction of a new order of things, which new order, however, was a step only, not a cataclysm. they themselves scarcely knew the significance of the step or how worthily they presided over it. the world, indeed, knows little--history says little--of great and sudden acts of constructive genius. these gradually emerge from the growth of peoples; they do not spring from the brains of individuals royal or otherwise. if the vision of a ruler is clear and his aims good, he, more than others, may help on organic and beneficent growth. full-blown schemes and policies, even if marked by genius, are rarely helpful and not infrequently they end in hindrance or even in explosion. the stuarts had a large "scheme" touching church and king. it was a scheme of "all in all or not at all;" for them and their dynasty it ended in "not at all." french history is brimful of "great acts of constructive genius" and has none of the products of development. for celtic history is indeed a sad succession of fits, and not a process of quiet growth. how a succession of fits will end, and how growth will end, it is not difficult to foretel. the government of peoples is for the most part and in the long run that which they deserve, that which they are best fitted for, and not at all that which, it may be, they wish for and cry out for. a people ready--fairly and throughout all strata ready--for that which they demand will not long demand in vain. our fathers, under the tudor henrys and the tudor elizabeth, had the rule which was best fitted for them, which they asked for, which they deserved--a significant morsel, by the bye, of racial circumstance. it by no means follows, let it be noted, that what people and king together approved of was the ideal or the wisest. it is with policies as with all things else, the fittest, not the best, continue to hold the field. henry and elizabeth had not only clearness of sight, but flexibility of mind also, and would doubtless have ruled over puritan england with success; it lay in them to rule well over our modern england also. charles i., by organisation and proclivity, would have fared badly at the hands of a tudor parliament, and, again as a result of organisation and proclivity, henry viii. and the long parliament would have been excellent friends. hand to mouth government, if it is also capable, is probably the best government for a revolutionary time. conflicting parties are often kept quiet by mere suspense--by mingled hopes and fears. it has been well said of henry of navarre that he kept france, the home of political whirlwinds, tranquil for a time because the protestants believed him to be a protestant and the catholics believed he was about to become a catholic. the majority of historians and all the compilers of history tell us that henry's parliaments were abject and servile. the statement is politically misleading and is also improbable on the grounds of organisation and race. it is one of many illustrations of the vice of purely literary judgments on men and movements; a vice which takes no account of physiology, of race, of organisation and proclivity. for we may be well assured that the grandsons of brave men and the grandfathers of brave men are never themselves cowards. one and the same people--especially a slow, steadfast, and growing people--does not put its neck under the foot of one king to-day and cut off the head of another king to-morrow. it is not difficult to see how the misconception arose: in a time of great trial the king and the people were agreed both in politics and in religion. the people held the king's views; they admired his sagacity; they trusted in his honour. if a brother is attached to his brother and does not quarrel with him, is he therefore poor-spirited? if by rare chance a servant sees, possibly on good grounds, a hero in his master, is he therefore a poltroon? if a parliament and a king see eye to eye, is it just to label the parliament throughout history as an abject parliament? henry's epoch, moreover, was not one of marked political excitement, and therefore the hasty observer jumps to the conclusion that it was not one of political independence. in each individual, in each community, in each people there is a sum-total of nerve force. in a given amount of brain substance--one brain or many--in a given amount of brain nutriment of brain vitality, there is a given quantity of nerve power. this totality of power will show itself it may be in one way strongly or in several ways less strongly; it cannot be increased, it cannot be lessened. on purely physiological grounds it may be affirmed that bacon could not have thought and written all his own work and at the same time have also thought and written the life-work of shakspere. shakspere could not have added bacon's investigations to his own 'intuitions.' in our own time carlyle could not have written "the french revolution" and "the descent of man;" he could not have gone through the two trainings, gained the two knowledges, and lived the two lives which led to the two works. so it is with universities: when scholarship is robust, theology limps; and during the tractarian excitement, so a great scholar affirms, learning in oxford sank to a lower level. so with peoples: in a literary age religious feeling is less earnest; in a time of political excitement both religion and literature suffer. henry's era was one of abounding theological activity: luthers, calvins, and (later) knoxes came to the front, and the front could not, never can, hold many dominant and also differing spirits. in elizabeth's time marlowes and shaksperes and spensers were master spirits, and master spirits are never numerous. no doubt as civilisation goes on great men and great movements learn to move, never equally perhaps but more easily, side by side: more leaders come to the front--but is the front as brilliant? choice spirits are more numerous--but are the spirits quite as choice? another and a less partial generation must decide. "but," say the few observers and the crowd of compilers, "only a servile parliament would have given the king permission to issue proclamations having the authority of law." but the people, it cannot be too emphatically repeated, were neither creatures crawling in the mire nor red-tapists terrified at every innovation; they trusted the king, and he did not violate their trust. the proclamations, so it was stipulated, were not to tamper with existing laws; they were to meet exigencies in an epoch of exigencies, and they met them with a wisdom and a promptness which parliament could not come near. it is physiological proclivities--not red tape, not parchment clauses, not magna chartas--which keep a people free. it is rather red tape, and not the occasional snapping of red tape which enfeebles liberty. if the non-conformists, who by the bye detested romanism more than they loved religion, had not rejected the declaration of indulgence of charles ii.--a declaration which gave to romanists leave of worship as well as to non-conformists--does any sane person believe that english freedom would have been less than it now is? in our time a body of men who hate england more than they love ireland have, of set purpose, tumbled parliament into the dust: now, if a capable and firm authority were entrusted for twelve months with exceptional yet absolute control over parliamentary procedure, does any sane person suppose that the english passion for free parliaments would be lulled to sleep? rule has often to be cruel in order to be kind. alas, the multitude is made up not of cromwells, is indeed afraid of cromwells. in total ignorance of racial proclivities, it foolishly believes that a cromwellian speaker for twelve months would mean a cromwellian speaker for ever. note on henry and the reformation. note ix. it is a singular misreading of history to say that henry did much directly or indirectly to help on the reformation of the church in this country, although the part he played was not a small one. neither was the reformation itself, grave and critical as it was, so sudden and volcanic an upheaval as is generally believed. luther himself did not put forward a single new idea. no man is thinker and fighter at once; at any rate, no man thinks and fights at the same moment. luther struck his blows for already accomplished thought. curious ideas of unknown dates--for history reveals mergings only, not beginnings, not endings, and the student of men and movements might well exclaim "nothing begins and nothing ends,"--ideas of unknown dates and unknown birth-places had slowly come into existence. in teutonic europe at least, the older ideas were becoming trivial and inadequate. it was the northern europe, which from the earliest times had been dogged in its courage both bodily and mental; the europe strong in that reverence for truth which rests on courage, which is inseparable from courage, which never exists apart from courage; the europe strong in its respect for women; strong in its fearlessness of death, of darkness, of storm, of the sea-lion, the land monster, the unearthly ghost, and which was strong therefore in its fearlessness of hell-fire and priestly threats. celtic europe, especially celtic ireland, slept then and sleeps now the unbroken slumber of credulity. credulity and fear are allied. celtic ireland was palsied then, and is palsied still, by the fear of what we may now call father furniss's hell. it is surely not difficult to recall and therefore not difficult to foretell the history of so widely differing races. everywhere throughout teutonic europe, in castle and monastery, in mansion and cottage, the old-new ideas were talked over, drunk over, quarrelled over, shaken hands over, slept over. everywhere the poets--the peoples' voices then, for the printed sheet, the coffee house, the club, were yet far off,--the poets, lindsay, barbour and others in scotland; langland, skelton and others in england had, long before, pelted preachers and preaching with their bitterest gibes. those poets little knew how narrowly they escaped with their lives; they escaped because they shouted their fierce diatribes just before not just after the strife of battle. they had flashed out the signals of undying warfare, but before the signals could be interpreted the signallers had died in their beds. thought, inquiry, discussion, printing, poetry, the new learning, the older lollardry had moved on with quiet steps. a less quiet step was at hand, but this also, if less quiet, was as natural and as inevitable as the stealthiest of preceding steps. europe had gradually become covered with a network of universities, and students of every nationality were constantly passing from one to another. one common language, latin, bound university to university and thinking men to thinking men. he who spoke to one spoke to all. the time was a sort of hot-house, and the growth of man was "forced." reaction attends on action, but in the main, studious men made the universities--not universities the studious men; in like-manner good men have made religions, not religions so much good men. ideas and opinions quickly became common property; sooner or later they filtered down from the latin phrase to home-spun talk; filtered down also from the university to the town, village, and busy highway. the papacy itself had made papal rule impossible to vigorous peoples. with curiously narrow ambition popes have always preferred even limited temporal importance to unlimited spiritual sway. two popes, nay at one time three, had struggled not for the supremacy of religion but for merely personal pre-eminence. popes had fought popes, councils had fought councils, and each had called in the friendly infidel to fight the catholic enemy. the catholic sack of catholic rome had been accompanied by greater lust and more copious bloodshed than the sack of rome in olden time by northern infidels. the teachings, claims, and crimes native to rome, nay, even the imported refinements of the arts and letters and elegancies of paganism did what legions of full-blown luthers could not have done. the reformation, with its complex causes, its complex methods, its complex products, is, more than other great movements, brimful of matter for observation, thought, and inference. the french revolution was but one of a series of fierce uprisings of a race which rises and slaughters whenever it has a chance. french history teems with slaughters both in time of peace and time of war. mediæval french kings dared not arm their peasants with bows and arrows, for otherwise not a nobleman or a gentleman would have been left alive. at the close of the eighteenth century in france the oppression was heavy, the opportunity was large, and the uprising was ferocious. no other people have ever shown such a spectacle, and it is therefore idle to compare other great national movements with it. french history stands alone: no oppressor can oppress like the french oppressor; no retaliator can retaliate like the french retaliator. it is a question much less of politics than of organisation and race. but to return. mr. carlyle, in his own rousing way and on a subject which deeply interests him--luther and the reformation--mingles fine literary vigour with an indifference to physiological teaching which is by no means habitual with him. the heaven-born hero tells us what has become false and unreal, and shows us--it is his special business--how we may _go back_ to truth and reality. the humbler student believes that we are constantly journeying _towards_ truth and reality--these lie not behind but in front of us. the school of prophets tells us that the hero alights in front of us and stands apart. the student declares that we all move together; that we partly make our heroes, and partly they make us; that we have grades of heroes; that they are not at all supernatural--we touch them, see them, know them, send them to the front, keep them and dismiss them at our will, or what seems our will. carlyle affirms that modern civilisation took its rise from the great scene at worms. the truths of organisation, of body, of brain, of race, of parentage would rather say that civilisation itself was not born of but in reality gave rise to luther and the scene at worms. the reformation did not give private judgment; private judgment gave the reformation. in all revolutions there is a mixture of the essential and the accidental. during the long succession of the ordinary efforts of growing peoples there are also from time to time unusual efforts to bring to an end whatever of accident is most at variance with essential truth and reason and sanity and honour. in the reformations of a growing people, whatever the age in which they happen, whatever the religion or policy or conduct of the age, leading spirits rebel against what is most oppressive and resent what is most arrogant in that age; they reject what is most false and laugh out of court what is most ridiculous. in the sixteenth century men felt no special or inherent resentment to arrogance because it lifted its head in rome; they looked on the so-called miracle of transubstantiation with no special or peculiar incredulity; their sense of humour was not necessarily tickled by the idea that a soul leaped out of purgatory when a coin clinked in tetzel's box. those were matters of accident and circumstance; they were simply the most intolerable or incredible or preposterous items of the century. given other preceding accidents--another deity, or one appearing in another century or arising in another people; another emperor than constantine; other soldiers than constantine's--and the sixteenth-century items of oppression and falsehood would have been there, it is true, but they would have been other than they were. we are often told that great movements come quickly, and are the peculiar work of heroes. we are told, indeed, that from time to time mankind degenerates into a mass of dry fuel, and that at the fitting moment a hero descends, as a torch, and sets the mass on fire. nay, moreover, if we doubt this teaching we are dead to poetic feeling and have lost our spiritual ideals. happily, however, if phantasy dies, poetry still lives. leaders and led, teachers and taught, are all changing and always changing; but no change brings a lessened poetic susceptibility or a lessened poetic impulse. if, in future, historians and critics come to see that the organisation and bodily proclivity and parentage of men have really much to do with men, let us nevertheless be comforted--the ether men breathe will be no less ample, the air no less divine. every age is transitional--not this or that--and the ages are bound together by unbroken sequence. as with the movements so is it with the leaders: they are in touch with each other as well as in touch with their followers. all ages have some men who are bolder than others, or more reflective than others, or more courageous, or more active. at certain epochs in history there have been men who combined many high qualities, and who in several ways stood in front of their time. wyclif was not separated from his fellows by any deep gulf, neither was he, as regards time, the first in his movement, but no leader ever sprang so far in front of the led. general leaders appear first, and afterwards, when the lines of cleavage are clearer, special leaders arise. wyclif was a general leader, and therefore had many things to do. he did them all well. he was a scholar, a theologian, a writer, a preacher. it is his attitude to his age and to all ages, and to national growth, which interests us--not his particular writing, or his preaching, or his detailed views. he propounded, he defined, he lighted up, he animated, he fought. in one capacity or in two wyclif might have soared to a loftier height and have shone a grander figure. but he did what was most needed to be done then and there. the time was not ripe, and it did not lie in wyclif to make it ripe, for the reformation, but he showed the way to the reformation; he introduced its introducers and led its leaders. the special leaders appeared in due time, and they also were the product of their time. an erasmus shed more light than others on burning problems; a calvin formulated more incisively than his fellows; a luther fought more defiantly; and, a little later, a knox roused the laggards with fiercer speech. it is interesting to note that the fighters and the speakers in all movements and at all times come most quickly to the front; it is for them that the multitude shouts its loudest huzzas and the historian writes his brightest pages. but let us not forget this one lesson from history and physiology: it is not given--or but rarely given--to any one man to do all these things, to innovate, to illuminate, to formulate, to fight, to rouse; it is certainly not given to any one man to do all with equal power, and certainly not all at once. for there is a sum-total of brain-force, not in the individual only, but in the community and in the epoch. in one stream it is powerful; if it be divided in several streams each stream is weaker. it was a theological torrent at the beginning of the sixteenth century, a literary torrent at the century's close. we have (perhaps it is for our good) several streams, we have however, we all hope, a good total to divide. curiously, too, the most clear-sighted of leaders never see the end, never indeed see far into the future of their movement. the matters and forces which go to form a revolution are many and complex, reformers when striving to improve a world often end in forming a party. if the leaders are clear-sighted, the party will be continuous, large, long-lived; dim-sighted enthusiasts, even when for the moment successful, lead a discontinuous, short-lived, spasmodic crowd. sometimes a leader steps forth clear and capable, but the multitude continues to sleep. wyclif, for example, called on his generation to follow him in a new and better path. he seemed to call in vain. in the sixteenth century men were awake, stirring, resolved; but no leaders were ready. fortunately the people marched well although they had no captains to speak of. the age was heroic although it had no conspicuous heroes. although in its forms, its beliefs, its opinions, its policy, its conduct, there was much that was accidental, it was nevertheless inevitable and essential that the reformation should come. it mattered not whether this thing had been done or that; whether this particular leader led or that; whether this or that concession had been made at rome. if erasmus could not fight luther could. if rome could concede nothing, much could be torn from her. there is, indeed, much fighting and tearing in history: complacent persons, loftily indifferent to organisation, and race, and long antecedent, are astonished that men should fight, or should fight with their bodies, or that, when fighting they should actually kill each other. in all times, alas, the fittest, not the wisest, has prevailed--and the fittest, alas, has been cruel. in the seventeenth century parliament and charles stuart fought each other by roughest bodily methods, and parliament, proving victorious, killed charles. had charles conquered, and could parliament have been reduced to one neck or a dozen, we may be quite sure that the one neck or the dozen would have been severed on the block. when the thousand fermenting elements came together in the sixteenth century cauldron, no number of men, certainly no one man, certainly not henry, could do much to hinder or to help on the seething process. this of course was not henry's view. he believed himself to be--gave himself out to be--the fountain of truth. we know that he and an _admiring_ (not an _abject_) parliament proposed an act to abolish diversity of opinion on religious matters. we know too, that while he graciously permitted his subjects to read the word of god, he commanded them to adopt the opinions of the king. it was indeed cheap compulsion, for he and the vast mass of his subjects held similar opinions. nevertheless, it is true that henry, with characteristic sagacity, turned to the right spot and at the right moment when the cauldron threatened to boil over, or possibly to explode. at a critical epoch he helped to avert bloodshed; for in this island there was no war of peasants, or princes, or theologians. those who say that the great divorce question brought about or even accelerated the reformation, are those who see or wish to see the bubbles only, and cannot, or will not see the stream--its depth and strength,--on which the bubbles float. for the six-wives matter was in reality a bubble, large it is true, prismatic, many-coloured, interesting, visible throughout europe, minutely gossiped over on every hearth. if king henry, however, had had no wife at all, the reformation would have come no more slowly than it did; if he had had, like king solomon, seven hundred wives, it would have come no more quickly. henry was not himself a reformer, and but little likely to lead reformers. under a fitful and petulant exterior the king was a cold, calculating, self-remembering man. the reformers were a self-forgetting, passionate, often a frenzied party, and as a rule, firebrands do not follow icebergs. if imperious circumstance loosened henry's moorings to rome, he had no more notion of drifting towards augsburg or geneva, than, a little later, his daughter elizabeth had of drifting to edinburgh and knox. henry had no deep attachment, but he clung to the old religion, chiefly perhaps because it was old, as much as he could cling to anything; he had no deep hatreds, but, as heartily as his nature permitted, he detested the new. he would have disliked it all the more, had that been possible, could he have looked with interpretative glance backward to the seed-time of wyclif's era, or forward to the ripe harvest of the seventeenth century. could it have been made plain to henry that he was helping to put a sword into a puritan's hand and bring a king's head to the block, he would have had himself whipped at the tomb of catharine of aragon, and would have thrown his crown at the pope's feet. he assumed the headship of the english church, it is true; but even good catholics throughout europe did not then so completely as now accept the supremacy of the bishop of rome, and central ideas had not then so completely swallowed up the territorial. if henry had not taken the headship of the english church when he did, the church would probably have had no head at all, and religious teaching in this country would have fared much as it fared in switzerland and scotland and north germany. as it was, henry simply believed himself to be another pope, and london to be another rome. he, the english pope, and the pope at rome would, for the most part, work together like brothers--work for the diffusion of the _one_ truth (which all sorts and conditions of popes believe they possess), and work therefore for the good of all people. had the great european religious movement reached our island in any other reign than henry's it would not have run quite the same course it did. of all the kings who have ruled over us henry viii. was the only king who was at the same time willing enough, able enough, educated enough (he had been trained to be an archbishop), and pious enough to be, at any rate, the first head of a great church. but it is said: "look at the destruction of the religious houses; surely that was the work of heresy and greed." henry had no heresy in his nature, but he was not without greed, and as he was certainly extravagant, he had therefore the stronger incentives to exaction. but in our history the foible of a king avails but little when it clashes with the conscience, the ideal, the will of a people. henry's greed, moreover, whatever its strength, was less strong than his conservatism, less strong than his piety. stronger, too, than all these combined was his boundless love of popularity--a love which alone would have preserved the monasteries could the monasteries have been preserved by any single man. but new ideas and new religious ideals had come in, and the new religious ideals and the old religious houses could not flourish together. the existence of those houses had long been threatened. one hundred years before, parliament had more than once seriously discussed the appropriation of ecclesiastical funds to military purposes. cardinal morton, after impartial inquiry, contemplated sweeping changes. wolsey, a good catholic, had suppressed numerous houses. it is interesting to know that at one period of his life sir thomas more thought of retiring into a religious house, but after carefully studying monastic life he gave up the project. it is not necessary to sift and resift the evidence touching the morality of the monasteries. probably those institutions were not so black as their enemies, new or old, have painted them, nor so white as they appear in the eyes of their modern friends. but whether they were fragments of hades thrust up from below, or fragments of the celestial regions let down from above, or whatever else they were, their end was come. many causes were at work. they were coming into collision with the rapidly growing modern social life--a life more complex than at any time before, more complex in its roots, its growths, its products, and its needs. the newer social life had developed a passionate love of knowledge; it had formed a loftier ideal of domestic life. it pondered too over our economic problems, and disliked the ceaseless accumulation of land and wealth in ecclesiastical hands. does any one imagine that a close network of institutions, which were at any rate not models of virtue; institutions which hated knowledge and thrust it out of doors; which directly or indirectly cast a slur on the growing domestic ideal; which told the awakening descendants of scandinavian and norseman and saxon, that their women were unclean--that their mothers and daughters were "snares;" does anyone imagine that such a network could be permitted to entangle and strangle modern life? it has already been said that the newer social ideas were destined to arise, and that therefore the older religious houses were doomed to fall. it mattered little the particular year in which they fell; it mattered little who seemed to deal the final blow. many centuries before, human nature being what it was, and social conditions what they were, quiet retreats had met a want--they were fittest to live and they lived. but a succession of centuries brought change--a little in human nature, much in social conditions, very much in thought and opinion, and the retreats, the inner life and opinions of which had not kept pace with life outside, were no longer needed, no longer fittest, and they fell. henry did not destroy them. catholicism, which neither made them pure nor made them impure, was unable to preserve them. could the long buried bones of their founders have come to life again and have put on the newer flesh, thought, with newer brain, the newer thought, they would have found quite other outlets for their energy, leisure and wealth. it is so with all founders and all institutions. it is so at this moment with the institutions which were born of the reformation itself. naturalists tell us that the jelly-like mass, the amæba, embraces everything, both the useful and the useless, that comes in its way, but that in time it relaxes its embrace on the useless. so the civilisation of a growing people is like a huge amæba, which slowly enfolds men and ideas, and incidents, and systems, and then sooner or later it disenfolds the unsuitable and the worn-out. queen elizabeth and queen mary. note x. few rulers, few persons indeed, have ever been so much alike as our two rulers henry viii. and his daughter elizabeth. no man was ever so like henry as was the woman elizabeth; no woman ever resembled elizabeth so closely as did the man henry. both father and daughter were extreme examples of the intellectual and unimpassioned temperament. high capacity, acute perception, clear insight, correct inference were present in both. both, too, were capricious, fault-finding, querulous and vain. both, moreover, had their preferences and their dislikes. both, too, felt and showed resentment when their vanity was wounded. but in neither of them, it may be truly affirmed, was there any consuming passion--any fervent love, or invincible hatred, or fierce jealousy, or overwhelming anger. those who preach the doctrine of an essential difference between the sexes and who, with the injustice which so frequently accompanies the abounding self-importance of masculinity, would deprive women not only of "equality of sphere" but "equality of opportunity," may study the character of henry and elizabeth with great advantage. human beings are first of all divided (i have elsewhere contended) into certain types of character and only afterwards into men and women. many men are by nature devoted lovers and parents and friends; many women are not. elizabeth was one of a number--a large number--of women who have, it may be, many of the qualities which tell in practical and public life, and but little of the emotion which wells up in true wifehood and motherhood and friendship. henry and elizabeth stand far above the average level of rulers. in sagacity, in tact and in statesmanship only two of their successors can compare with them. but the methods of oliver cromwell and william iii. were very different from the tudor methods. cromwell and william strove to be guided by what they sincerely held to be lofty principles. henry and elizabeth were guided merely, though wisely guided, by the fineness of their instincts. fine instincts were perhaps better fitted for the earlier time, and lofty principles for the later. it is easier, alas, to bungle in formulating and in applying principles than in trusting to adroitness and intuitions. all the elements of character which henry possessed were found also in elizabeth, and many of these elements, though not all, they possessed in equal degree. they were alike in capacity, courage, sincerity, versatility, industry; alike in their conservative proclivities and also in their love of pageantry--for elizabeth, like henry, revelled in public business and in public pleasures; she delighted in progresses, shows, masks and plays. they were alike, too, in their sense of duty, in their desire for the welfare of the people, and also in their thirst for the people's good opinion. but elizabeth, although she had immense self-importance (she heartily approved of the queen and, heartily indeed, of nothing else), was perhaps less self-confident than her father. she was not quite comfortable in her headship of the church--but then she had not been educated for the church as her father had been, and she did not possess her father's devotional nature. her conduct was however more decorous than her father's, notwithstanding that she was distinctly less religious than he--less religious in principle, in inward conviction and in outward worship. if she was less devout than henry she had however a larger share of fitfulness than even he. the historian who more vividly than any other has placed the tudor time before us speaks of elizabeth's "ingrained insincerity;" the words "ingrained fitfulness" would perhaps be more correct, for she was in truth as sincere as her fitfulness permitted her to be. although it is true she was not without--no one at that time was quite without--insincerity and intrigue and duplicity and falsehood in her diplomatic methods, she was fairly sincere in her views and aims and conduct. but unfortunately her views and aims and conduct were constantly changing. she was sincere too easily and too frequently. she had a dozen fits of sincerity in a dozen hours. whenever she sent a message, no matter how carefully the message had been considered, a second was sent to recall or change it, and very shortly a third messenger would be despatched in pursuit of the second. urgent and critical circumstance alone, and frequently not even this, forced upon her any conclusive action. i am compelled to agree with those who believe that the most distressing incident of her life was the final decision touching mary stuart's death: it was distressing on several grounds--she was not naturally cruel, or, like her father, cruel to those only who stood in her path; she did not like to kill a queen; and, above all, she hated to do anything which (like marriage, to wit) could not be undone. elizabeth was compelled by temperament to be always doing something, but by temperament also she was always reluctant to get anything done. in her two bushels of occupation there were not two grains of performance. her extreme fitfulness had at least one fortunate result--it saved many lives. henry's frequent change of view and of policy was unquestionable, but the change was slow enough to give to the ever-watchful enemies of a fallen minister time enough to tear the fallen minister to pieces. but if a minister of elizabeth's fell, his head was in little danger: if he fell from favour to-day, he was restored to-morrow. he might trip twenty times, and as many times his rivals would be on the alert; but twenty pardons would be granted all in good time. touching the question of marriage the queen was far wiser than her father. neither father nor daughter had the needful qualities which go to make marriage happy, and both had certain other qualities which in many cases make it an intolerable burden. henry, unlike elizabeth, did not discover this, for his perceptive powers generally were less acute than hers. she probably knew that in her inmost heart (her brain was sufficiently acute to gain a glimpse of what was in her heart and what was not) she was a stranger to the deep and sustained affections without which marriage is so often a cruel deception. she had admirers and favourites it is true; and, after the fashion of the time, was unseemly enough in her fits of romping and her fits of pettishness. but there has not yet been anywhere, or at any time, under the sun a healthful temperament which has objected to admiration and entertainment, and probably there never will be. elizabeth's attitude to the religious condition of her people marks a decided movement, if not an onward movement: for we must never forget that a multitude of high-minded and capable souls believe that the several steps of the reformation were downward steps. but what were the steps, and what especially was elizabeth's step? the popes (and their times) had said, _in effect_, you need not read and you must not think or inquire; your duty is to obey and believe. henry (and his time) said, you may think and you may read, especially if your reading enables you to understand the king, but you must believe what the king believes and worship as the king worships. elizabeth (and her times), still more at the mercy of rising teutonic waves, exclaimed, you may think and read and inquire and believe as you like--especially as you insist upon doing so--but you really must, all of you, go to church with me on sunday mornings. elizabeth's church-going act, by the bye, is still unrepealed. long after, william iii. (and his time, though william was before his time) said, you may think, read, believe, and publicly worship as you will, but you must believe something and you must worship somewhere. john milton, before william in time and long before him in largeness of view, was the one colossal figure who fought bravely and single-handed for freedom in every domain of thought and speech and conduct. the tudor time, more than any other in our history, lends itself to the study of character; a study which, although difficult, is the less difficult in that whatever of change may take place, old elements of character do not altogether disappear and entirely new elements do not make their appearance. these elements lie everywhere around us. a great writer and an acute observer of men declares indeed that we all contain the elements of a luther and a borgia (his ideal of the best and worst elements), and that if a man cannot see these near at hand he will not find them though he travel from dan to beersheba. the tudor and the stuart periods alike present remarkable persons and remarkable incidents; but in the earlier period the men and women were more striking than the events, while events attract our attention more than individuals in the later. with the tudors men and women seemed to lead, for men and women were proportionately the stronger; circumstance seemed to be the stronger in the stuart times. no century contains three royal figures so striking in themselves and so clearly revealed to us as are the figures of henry and elizabeth and mary in the sixteenth. their capability, their vitality and their attainments would have made them striking persons in any position of life. each, indeed, possessed the three qualities which make a really interesting personality--and such personalities are but a small proportion of the neutral-tinted multitude who are good and kind and industrious--and nothing more. they, the three personalities, could all see facts for themselves; they could all see the relative value of facts (the rarest of the three qualities); and they could all draw sound inferences from the larger facts. the three individuals presented however but two types of character. henry and elizabeth were examples of one type and mary of another. the tudor father and daughter were, as we have already seen, not examples merely but _extreme_ examples of the unimpassioned, ever active, ever visible class. mary was as extreme an example of the impassioned, meditative, persistent and tenacious class. it was a remarkable coincidence that pitted two such mental and bodily extremes against each other. all sane human beings have much more of that which is common to the character of the race than they have of that which is peculiar to the individual. there was not only this common basis of human nature in elizabeth and mary, there was something more: both were singularly capable, brilliant, witty and brave (mary being the braver and her bravery being the more tried). the two queens had certain unusual advantages in common, for both were educated to the highest ideal of female education--very curiously a higher ideal then than at any other time before, or even since, until our own generation; both, too, had much experience of life--the larger and the less elevating share falling to mary's lot. but here the resemblance ceases. what in elizabeth tudor were slight though shrill rivulets of love and hate and anger and scorn and jealousy, or of pity or gratitude, were mighty and rushing torrents in mary stuart. we have seen what elizabeth was: in many ways mary was the exact opposite, for she was not at all given to bustle or change or acrimony or captiousness or suspicion. she was not, it is true, without vanity; she had ample grounds for having it and she was deeply human, but (it was not so with elizabeth) her pride was even greater than her vanity. the elements which met together in mary were all of a finer quality than those which were found in elizabeth; but in mary some troublous elements were added to the choicer ones. in her high land there were ominous volcanic peaks, while in the decorous plain of elizabeth's character there was a monotonous blending of vegetation and sand. in some of our greatest characters (the truism is well-worn) there have been grave defects. burns' life never comes to any generous mind save with the deepest regret as well as the keenest admiration. bacon's was a great mind with a great fault. shakspere and goethe--the two foremost spirits which time has yet given to us--are not held to have led altogether stainless lives. now the queen of scots was not by any means one of the immortals, but she was nevertheless and in truth a great woman. yet in the splendid block out of which the ever-pathetic figure of mary was chiselled there came to light an ineradicable flaw. the good and evil of all these characters were mainly, though not wholly (for circumstance must not be forgotten), due to organisation and inheritance. a little difference in their organisation, and they would have been other individuals than they were, and would most likely have remained unknown to us; but having the parentage they had, and being what they were, a little difference in circumstance would probably have mattered little. what there was in each of organisation, what of circumstance, and what of volition, is a problem the solution of which is still far off. in all of them volition, whatever that may be, did its best; organisation, let us say, did its worst; circumstance looked on, helping here and hindering there,--the compromise is history. as the six-wives business clings to henry's name, so does the darnley matter, though curiously with less odium, cling to that of mary. henry has had no friends save those who lived in or near his time. in our time an inquirer, here or there, strives perhaps to gain for him something of impartial judgment. mary has never been without warm friends, and her friends seem to grow in number and in warmth. the controversy still rages touching mary's part in the tragic event which inflicted so deep a wound into her life. but although the controversy goes on at even fever heat, the public judgment remains cool and is probably just. it is kept cool and just by the weight of a few colossal truths which the deftest manipulation of a cloud of smaller truths cannot hide. at critical moments the physiological historian, who looks steadily at a few large incidents in the light of human nature, discovers clues which escape the vision of the purely literary historian, who is for ever diving--and usefully diving--into the wells of parchment detail. in reality it matters little whether this diver or that has dived most deeply; matters little whether certain documents are spurious or genuine. mary stuart accepted--she certainly did not reject--the passion of a certain man; that man was a leader among a number of men who murdered her husband; after the murder mary stuart married that particular man, and thereby most assuredly held a candle to murder. this was mary. now if everything that has been said in her favour could be proved, she would be but little better than this; if everything that has been said against her could be proved, she would be but little worse. the student of historic characters never forgets the time the country and the circumstance in which his characters lived. we are now looking at a time when not only noble and ignoble characters existed side by side, but when noble and less noble elements existed together in one and the same character. for indeed the good elements of a better time come in slowly, and the evil elements of a bad past die a lingering death. the active scotland (there was, we know, a good quiet scotland in the background), the active scotland of tudor times was given over to factions, fanatics, self-seekers and assassins. life was taken and given with scant ceremony. the highest personages of that time contrived murder, or sanctioned it, or forgave it--the popes did, continental sovereigns did, henry did, elizabeth did. the murders thus contrived or sanctioned or condoned were, it is true, mainly on behalf of thrones or dominions or religions, while the murder which mary assuredly forgave, if she did not sanction, was on behalf of her passions. the moral difference between murder for a crown and murder for a love we may not now discuss. it was to this scotland, the active and factious scotland just described, that the young queen of nineteen years was brought--brought from a different atmosphere and with an unpropitious training. the more favoured elizabeth meanwhile was ruling over a quieter, a more united people, and was helped at her council-table by high-minded and unselfish men. it is useless now perhaps to ask if we may be allowed to admire the gifts, to deplore the faults, and to pity the fate of the more unfortunate queen. we can indeed, individually, do what we please, but the queen's posterity with no uncertain voice has declared that we may. emerson says that the great soul of the world is just, and the great soul has kept mary within the territory of its favour. it would seem that the affection and devotion which were given to mary were not based on any single great or on any group of great actions; they were based (it is to her credit) on daily acts of kindliness and patience and unruffled grace. the sum of mary's qualities, whatever they were, endowed her with the rare gift of making the world her friend; and the world does not, as a rule, make lasting friendships on insufficient grounds. mary indeed, with all her faults, deserved a better country than scotland; and england, it may be added, deserved a more gracious queen than elizabeth. but whatever she deserved or whatever she was fitted for, mary's fate was destined to be one of the saddest of recorded time. inward force and outer circumstance are so commingled that mortal reason fails to disentangle them. to-day men _seem_ to put a curb on circumstance, and to-morrow circumstance _seems_ to run away with men. an ocean of complex and imperious circumstance surged around two queens, one it lifted up and kept afloat and carried into a secure haven, the other it tossed mercilessly to and fro and finally drew her underneath its waves. a number of leading scottish nobles gave out and probably believed that the wretched darnley's life was incompatible with the general good. bothwell was but one of this number. yet how clear it has ever been to all eyes, save to those of the blindly passionate actors themselves, that the scottish queen's fatal error, even if there were no grave error before, was in marrying any one of the misguided band. but misguidance was in the ascendant. could she by some magic web have concealed the husbands from each other and have married them all, she would at any rate have fared no worse than she did. but, to be serious, if a queen marries one of half a dozen ambitious assassins, the other five will assuredly make her life intolerable and her rule impossible. in no aspect of character did the two queens differ more than in their attitude to religion. elizabeth's piety, like her father's, though less deep than his, was of a similar passionless, perceptive, unreflective order. mary's religion, like elizabeth's, like that of all individuals in all parts of the world, was no doubt at first the product of her early surroundings; but with the scottish queen it was much more than this--it was a profoundly passionate conviction and a deeply revered ideal. a living writer, who is perhaps unrivalled in the historic art and who rarely errs in his historic judgments, is less happy than is his wont in his verdict on the catholic queen. he avers that she had no share "in the deeper and nobler emotions;" yet almost in the same breath he states that she had "a purpose fixed as the stars to trample down the reformation." to have a purpose "fixed as the stars" to trample down _one_ religion was, in that age of the world, surely to have a purpose "fixed as the stars" to strengthen and protect _another_; to yearn to put down the reformation was surely to yearn to bring in catholicism--catholic teaching and catholic rites and catholic rule. we may not be catholics, but we are not entitled to say that from an impassioned catholic woman's point of view this was not a high ideal; it had been the ideal of the judicial mind, sir thomas more, as well as the ideal of the enthusiast, ignatius loyola; it had been for a thousand years the ideal of a multitude of noble natures both men and women. elizabeth, opportunely enough, had no ideals of any kind; ideals indeed are often inconvenient in a ruler; but she had, despite her acrimonious speech, plenty of sincerely good wishes and good intentions for all the world. if the queen of england had no ideals she had many devices, and one was to check the flow of all sorts of zeal, especially protestant zeal. in the two lives religion told in different ways--the difference was in the two natures, be it noted, not in the two religions. elizabeth, with a skin-deep religion only, was evenly and enduringly virtuous. mary had ardent and deep convictions, but her career was not one of unbroken virtue. elizabeth was certainly unfortunate in her religious attitudes. she did not like the protestants for she was not a good protestant; the catholics did not like her for she was not a good catholic. in religion, indeed as in all things, she was greatly influenced by her inborn spirit of "contrariness." if the catholics had intrigued less persistently against her throne and her life, and if (the idea is sufficiently ludicrous) the queen of scotland had chanced to run in harness with the hated john knox (hated of both queens), she would gladly have given the rein to her catholic impulses. the two queens differed as much in body as in mind. i have elsewhere sought to show not only that certain leading features of character tend to run together (in itself a distinct contribution to our knowledge), but also that these allied features are associated with a group of bodily peculiarities, a contribution, if it really is a contribution, of greatly additional interest. elizabeth, large and pink-skinned like her father, was by no means without impressiveness and even stateliness. she carried her head a little forward and her chin a little downward, both these positions being due to a slightly curved upper spine. her hair was scanty and her eyebrows were practically absent. all these bodily items, as well as her mental items, she inherited from her father. mary had a wholly different figure and a different presence; her head was upright, her spine straight; in her back there was no convexity either vertically or transversely. her eyebrows were abundant and her head of hair was long and massive. all these peculiarities, too, we may be quite sure, she derived from her parentage (not necessarily the nearest parents) on one side or the other. in my little work on body and parentage in character i urge--it is well to say here--that the bodily signs of certain classes of character (two more marked and one intervening) are now and then subject to the modifying influences of ailment and accident, and especially when these happen in early life. in elizabeth and mary, however, no such influences disturbed the development of two strongly-marked examples, both in body and in character, of two large classes of women and, with but little alteration, of two large classes of men also. [for index see full table of contents.] hall & english, printers, no. 71, high street, birmingham. king henry viiith's household book, being an account of the privy purse expenses of henry viii. from november, 1529, to december 1532; now first printed from the original ms.; with notes and illustrations by nicholas harris nicolas, esq. f.s.a. 8vo. price 1_l._ 1_s._ this volume abounds in curious particulars, illustrative not only of the manners, customs, and expenses of the time, but, to some extent, of the personal character of henry the eighth. from it may be traced where the king was on each day during the above period, his occupations, and amusements, together with the names of the persons composing his household, their wages, and the cost of their dresses, &c. it likewise contains numerous entries relative to ann boleyn, and the information which they afford respecting her are both new and important. among other items are the sums paid for jewels, books, furniture, clothes, &c.; the charges of the king's fools and jester; and the expenses attendant on his majesty's interview with francis i at calais, in october, 1532. each month's account is examined and signed by the king. the following persons are particularly mentioned: cardinal wolsey; cromwell, earl of essex; the marquess of exeter; the princess, afterwards queen mary; thomas boleyn, earl of wiltshire; his son, lord rochford; the first earl and countess of bedford; the earl of derby; the protector somerset; bishop latimer; the duke of norfolk; sir richard gresham; sir anthony browne; sir francis bryan; sir francis weston; sir henry norris; brereton; and the notorious mark smeton; domingo; sexton, the fool, &c. &c. [***] the original ms. of this curious volume, containing 40 autographs of king henry viii. is now in the possession of the publisher, for sale. uniformly printed with the above, the northumberland household book. the regulations and establishment of the household of henry algernon percy, the fifth earl of northumberland, at his castles of wresill and lekinfield, in yorkshire, begun a.d. 1512. edited by bishop percy, 8vo. price 1_l._ 1_s._ a very limited impression of this interesting work has been reprinted. copies of the former edition having become very scarce, at the sale of mr. dent's library, a few days before the publication of this edition, a copy produced 8_l._ 12_s._ 6_d._ william pickering, publisher, chancery lane, london. the privy purse expences of king henry the eighth. from november mdxxix, to december mdxxxii. the privy purse expences of king henry the eighth. from november mdxxix, to december mdxxxii: with introductory remarks and illustrative notes, by nicholas harris nicolas, esq. fellow of the society of antiquaries. [illustration] london: william pickering, chancery lane. mdcccxxvii. thomas white, printer, crane court. to the most noble henry pelham pelham clinton, duke of newcastle and earl of lincoln, knight of the most noble order of the garter, lord lieutenant and custos rotulorum of the county of nottingham, this volume is, with his grace's permission, respectfully dedicated. preface. the following pages present an account of the sums paid out of the privy purse of king henry viii. from the 17th of november, 1529, to the end of december, 1532; and as every payment, whether for the daily expenses of the royal establishments, or for the gratification of his majesty's wishes, is minutely noticed, it must be evident that they afford interesting information, not merely on the general customs and manners of the times, but on the personal character of that monarch, his occupations, amusements, and places of residence. among the materials for history, private letters have, long since, been deemed of the utmost value; but the curious facts contained in records like those now introduced to the notice of the public, have not obtained the attention which they deserve: hence it will not perhaps be irrelevant to give a brief account of the few works of this nature which have been printed, as well as of some which still remain in manuscript. the first in point of time, is the "liber quotidianus contrarotulatoris garderobae, anno regni regis edwardi primi vicesimo octavo: a. d. 1299 and 1300," printed in 1787 by the society of antiquaries, from a ms. in their library. this volume which is but partially known, abounds in highly interesting information, illustrative of the history, manners, expences, army, navy, provisions, costume, &c. of the thirteenth century; and as an adjunct to historical and antiquarian inquiries, it cannot be too highly estimated. few mss. have been so well edited; but amidst much ground for praise, it is to be regretted that it does not contain an index, an omission which considerably lessens its utility. another ms. of the same kind, of the 31st and 32nd years of edward the first, is also extant,[1] but it has never been printed. in 1790 the society of antiquaries published "a collection of ordinances and regulations for the government of the royal household, made in divers reigns, from king edward iii. to king william and queen mary," and which is copiously cited in the notes to this work. only one more publication of the sort remains to be noticed, the household book of henry algernon percy, fifth earl of northumberland, which appeared privately in 1770, edited by bishop percy, and which has been recently reprinted by the publisher of this volume. independently, however, of household expences which occur in separate volumes, many have been printed in other works. of these it will be sufficient to refer to the few which are to be found in the "archæologia," in county histories, and more particularly, the household payments of the family of kytson in mr. gage's admirable "history and antiquities of hengrave." although not more than four accounts of the expenditure of sovereigns or individuals have been published, those which are known to exist in ms. are both numerous and valuable. besides those of the 31st and 32nd of edward i. which have just been mentioned, four large volumes of the kind are preserved in the chapter house: one containing the royal disbursements from the 1st of october, 21st henry vii. 1505, to the 20th november, 1st henry viii. 1509; another, from the 1st of may, 1st henry viii. 1510, to february in the 9th henry viii. 1518; the third, entitled "the king's books of payments beginning 1st april, 9th henry viii. 1518, to december in the 12th henry viii." 1520; and the fourth is called "a book of arrears of the 14th henry viii." 1522-3. the expences noticed in the following sheets extend from the 17th november 21st henry viii. 1529, to the end of december 24th henry viii. 1532; and in the library of the royal society is the book of quarterly payments from february in the 29th henry viii. 1538, to midsummer, 33rd henry viii. 1541. in the library of the british museum is the household book of a citizen, or perhaps clergyman, of london, from march 1594 to march 1595.[2] lord bagot possesses an interesting ms. of the household expences of edward stafford, duke of buckingham, which his lordship some time since offered to allow the society of antiquaries to print, but, extraordinary as it may appear, the proposition _was not accepted_: and doubtlessly many other documents of the same kind are extant. of the mss. which have been cited, only those in the chapter house and the one in the library of the royal society resemble that printed in this volume; but neither of them is precisely like it, in its objects or contents. the one in the library of the royal society consists principally of quarterly payments of wages to servants and retainers, and of sums paid pursuant to the warrant of the lord privy seal: they present the charges of ambassadors, of other public officers, and of posts and couriers, as well as those of various articles purchased or prepared by the king's commands, a few extracts from which, of general interest, will be found in a subsequent page; these afford, however, but a very imperfect idea of the value of that ms. in illustration of the history and manners of the time, though it does not appear to have been once noticed from the year 1762, when it was referred to by walpole, to the present time! the ms. now printed, contains, on the contrary, what may be termed henry's personal expences, whether arising from his purchases; from his "rewards" to those who brought him presents; from his losses at dice, cards, bowls, and other games; from his attachment to anne boleyn, or his favourite courtiers; or from the wages and liveries of his servants, fools, jesters, and other minions. the accounts in the other mss. were paid quarterly, and rested on the responsibility of the persons entrusted to keep them; these were daily, and are attested at the end of each month by the signature of the king himself. notwithstanding that they differ in character, they mutually confirm and illustrate each other; and if a judicious compilation were made from the whole series which has been mentioned, and which could be comprised in one, or at the most, two quarto volumes, invaluable information would be given to the world on the most interesting period of english history--the period marked by the revival of all which benefits and adorns society, science, literature, and the fine arts. the accounts of the citizen of london are remarkable for the minuteness with which the expence of every article of food, from a farthing's worth of fruit to several pounds' worth of meat, is stated; and as evidence of the price of provisions and other articles, wine, servants' wages, &c. at the time, it is extremely useful. in the margin the names of the guests at dinner and supper on each day are recorded, and it altogether exhibits a curious picture of the manners of the elizabethan age. it must be at once obvious, that manuscripts which throw light upon british history, but which are not sufficiently popular to enable a bookseller to print them, ought to be published by the society incorporated for the sole purpose of advancing "the study of antiquity, and the history of former times," and to which we are indebted for two of the volumes which have been alluded to; but the zeal which caused them to be edited has unfortunately long since evaporated. if it be thought impossible for the society of antiquaries to publish all the mss. which have been enumerated, the most striking entries, and a summary of the expences of different departments might, at least, be extracted from them. the objection that few of its fellows would undertake the trouble of editing such works without some pecuniary advantage, may be met by the remark, that it possesses two paid secretaries, who are alike distinguished for their literary productions; or, if the duties of these officers be too severe to admit of their doing so, by asking whether it would not be a far more legitimate application of its funds to appoint persons to prepare such mss. for the press, and to remunerate them for their labours, than to waste the society's resources, by publishing useless articles, because they are gratuitous contributions; and still more, by inquiring whether the cost of producing such compilations, with illustrative notes, would not confer infinitely more honor upon that body, and tend in a greater degree to advance the objects for which it exists, than a heavy expenditure on useless engravings? the manuscript of these sheets is imperfect both at the commencement and end; in one or two places part of a leaf has been torn off, and in another a folio has been abstracted, whilst the first page is in many places illegible. its contents and orthography are printed literally, and the imperfections in the copy pointed out by stars: the few blanks which will be found, also occur in the ms. the earliest notice of it which has been discovered is in the lansdown ms. 737, which contains numerous extracts made from it by peter le neve, norroy king of arms, from 1704 to 1729, who says he bought the original "of ---wynde, esq. _and sold it for_ the same price _to the right honorable lord harley, son and heir of the earl of oxford_ ---1723;" and adds in the margin, "it was the book of sir orlando bridgeman, knight, lord keeper, and in the beginning is his hand-writing." the words printed in italics have been almost obliterated, perhaps in consequence of le neve's having afterwards retained the volume instead of selling it; but perhaps because it was surreptitiously taken from lord oxford's collection. the next notice which occurs of it, is in walpole's "anecdotes of painting," from which it appears that in 1762 it was in the possession of mrs. bridgeman, of hanover square. the name might suggest the idea that her husband was a descendant of sir orlando bridgeman, who purchased it in 1634, and hence that the book was in her possession in consequence of that relationship; but this is contradicted by the fact of its having passed from sir orlando's family to mr. wynde and from him to le neve sometime after 1704, who in 1723 sold it to the earl of oxford, though in 1762 we find it belonged to a mrs. bridgeman. after that year nothing more is known of it, than that it was purchased about a twelvemonth since at the sale of an undertaker and broker, of the name of gomme. in the fly leaf at the beginning is the following memorandum, which le neve says was written by sir orlando bridgeman:--"accounts of h. eight, and signed with his own hande, i gott it by chance this yeere, 1634." with the exceptions just noticed, the ms. is in fine preservation. from le neve's extracts the contents of the folio which is now wanting, have been recovered, though not in the original words, and will be found at the end of this volume; but all the other imperfections seem to have existed when in his possession, for he takes no notice of the first folio; he expressly says of pages 131, 132, 133, that the leaf was then torn; and the last folio of the ms. was the same as at present. walpole conjectures that they were the accounts kept by "sir bryan tuke, the treasurer of the chambers," but it is much more likely that they were those of sir william fitz-william, afterwards earl of southampton, treasurer of the household: nothing positive, however, can be said on the subject. such notes as are requisite to explain the items, or to describe the individuals mentioned, are introduced into the index, which contains references to every person, place, and thing, recorded. the editor is sensible that many of his observations are imperfect, and not a few, perhaps, erroneous: in one or two instances he has been obliged to confess his inability to throw any light upon the subject, and he will be much gratified if his readers do not consider that there is still greater cause for a similar confession. simple as many of the notes appear, the labour and research with which they have been attended, were considerable; and to have partially failed when complete success was almost impossible, would not, he trusts, be discreditable to a far abler antiquary. his friend dr. meyrick, for whose assistance in his literary pursuits the editor has frequently had cause to express his gratitude, and james heywood markland, esq. director of the society of antiquaries, have most kindly and liberally afforded him their aid; and the information which these gentlemen have respectively contributed is equal in interest and importance to what might be expected from their reputation. _1st august, 1827._ footnotes: [1] in the possession of j. b. nichols, esq. f.s.a. [2] cottonian mss. vespasianus, f. xvi. introductory remarks. on the 23rd of october, 1529, henry the eighth came to his manor of greenwich;[3] in the november following he went on board the treasurer's ship;[4] and about the 20th of the same month arrived at york place,[5] now called whitehall, where he spent his christmas. anno. 1530.--early in february, 1530, his majesty was at hampton court,[6] and on the 16th at battersea, but returned the same day to york place.[7] on the 21st he was again at hampton court,[8] and on the 13th of march, the celebrated hugh latimer, afterwards bishop of worcester, preached before him and was rewarded with a gratuity of five pounds, from which time he cannot be traced by these accounts, until the 5th of april, when he was at more park, in hertfordshire;[9] and towards the end of that month he was at windsor.[10] between april and july, henry seems to have resided either at york place or hampton court: about the middle of july he was evidently at oking,[11] or ockham park, in surrey; on the 23rd at guilford;[12] on the 29th at windsor;[13] and returned to hampton court between the 10th and 13th of august,[14] where he remained until the 16th, on which day he went to easthampstead,[15] and on the 17th was at asheridge, in buckinghamshire.[16] on the 21st he was at ampthill,[17] where he appears to have remained until about the 4th of september; on the 5th of that month he was at hertford,[18] having in passing through hitchin on the preceding day, given forty shillings to the friars of that place.[19] his majesty did not quit hertford park until the 8th or 9th, when he proceeded to waltham, at which place we find him on the 12th.[20] he seems to have been again at more park on the 21st,[21] soon after which he returned to hampton court, where, it is particularly stated, he was on the 14th of october.[22] he resided chiefly at that palace, occasionally, however, going to york place,[23] and perhaps to greenwich, until the death of cardinal wolsey, on the 29th november, in that year; when, hall says "he removed from hampton court to greenwich, where he with queen katherine kept a solempne christmas; and on the twelfe night he satte in the halle in his estate, where as were divers enterludes, riche maskes and disportes, and after that a great banket."[24] "certain it is, however, that henry did not leave hampton court until the 8th of december,[25] and it is most probable that he did not go to greenwich until about the 14th of that month,[26] though it is unquestionable that he was there on the 19th."[27] the only evidence of the festivities[28] mentioned by hall, are entries of money delivered to the princess mary and lady margaret douglas, the king's niece,[29] "to disport with all this christmas;"[30] the large sum of 2615_l._ 9_s._ 6-1/4_d._ paid for plate, and jewellery, chiefly for the latter, between the 21st of december, 1530, and the 6th of january, 1531; new year's gifts; and money lost at play. a^{o}. 1531.--after christmas, according to hall "the king came to his manor of westminster which before was called yorke place;"[31] and we find that on the 17th january, 1531, he is said to have been there,[32] and where it seems he was on the 28th of that month;[33] on the 7th and 27th of february;[34] and on the 9th of march.[35] on the 20th, he appears to have amused himself with shooting at tothill,[36] near bridewell; and on the 23rd he was clearly at his palace of bridewell.[37] the divorce then almost wholly occupied his majesty's mind, though the only entries which in any way refer to it, are of books sent to him from different abbots and priors, and the removal of boat loads of books from one palace to another.[38] hall takes no further notice of the king's residence until whitsuntide, namely, the 28th of may, after which, he informs us, "the kyng and the queene removed [apparently from greenwich] to windsor, and there continued tyll the xiiij daye of julye, on which daye the kyng removed to woodstocke, and left hire at wyndsore, where she laye a whyle, and after removed to the more, and afterwarde to esthamstede: and after this, day, the kyng and she never saw together."[39] it is evident from these accounts that henry again amused himself with shooting at tothill, about the 29th march;[40] that he was at greenwich on the 13th of april;[41] that he went from it by water on the same day to york place;[42] but he returned soon afterwards,[43] and was there on the 28th of may,[44] whilst hall's statement that he then proceeded to hampton court is proved by several entries on the 10th, 11th, and 12th of june; especially by a payment of 14_s._ 8_d._ "to the watermen for carying of the king's stuffe from greenwich to hampton court, eleven men for two days:"[45] on the 15th he is expressly said to have been there,[46] and again on the 18th, 22nd, and 24th, when watermen were paid for waiting "the day the king came from westminster to putney,"[47] an entry which probably referred to their attendance a short time before. on the 3rd of july, "henry was at york place,"[48] and on the 9th at windsor;[49] but so far from there being any corroboration of hall's assertion, that on the 14th of july, "the king removed to woodstock," it may be inferred that he was either at windsor or hampton court until the 28th,[50] with the exception of the 22nd, when he was at chertseye.[51] it is however unquestionable that he commenced his progress towards the end of july; and the following seems to have been the itinerary of his journey. at guilford on the 29th of july,[52] at, or near, farnham, in surrey, on the 2nd of august;[53] at odiham on the 4th;[54] at the vyne in hampshire, the seat of lord sandys, from the 4th to the 5th,[55] during which time he hunted in wolmer forest;[56] on the 8th he was at easthampstead,[57] whence he proceeded to woodstock, where we find him on the 22nd,[58] and probably also on the 13th.[59] his majesty remained there until the 2nd or 3rd of september,[60] and evidently enjoyed every diversion which the country afforded him, namely, hunting, shooting, hawking, fishing, &c. from woodstock he went to grafton in northamptonshire, where he arrived on the 5th,[61] when the mayor of northampton sent him a present of pears,[62] and where it appears he gave an audience to the hungarian ambassadors, for whom a house was hired at stony stratford.[63] henry continued at grafton until about the 10th, when he went to ampthill,[64] in bedfordshire, and purchased some silks and jewellery on the 15th;[65] and on the 20th we find him at waltham abbey,[66] where he was also on the 9th of october.[67] hall informs us that about this time the king caused a solemn obsequy to be kept at that place for the duchess of angouleme, mother of the king of france, who died on the 22nd of september, at which ceremony he assisted, attended by many of his nobles.[68] on the 23rd of that month he healed a poor woman at havering bower,[69] though he returned to waltham before the 25th,[70] and on or before the 31st he arrived at his palace of greenwich,[71] having previously fished at hunsdon.[72] it is uncertain how long henry continued at greenwich, but perhaps a few weeks only; for we find the road near peckham mended, in expectation of his passing it, on the 23rd of november, on which day the watermen were likewise paid for removing his "stuff" to hampton court;[73] and on the 4th of december we positively learn that he was at that place.[74] hall says "the king kepte his christemas at greenwyche with great solempnite, but all men sayde that there was no myrthe in that christemas because the queene and the ladies were absent;"[75] there is only one entry, namely of the sum of 56_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ given to the earl of angus, on the 15th of december,[76] which tends to shew where henry was at that time, and which agrees with the chronicler's statement. anno. 1532.--on the 16th of january, 1532, it seems his majesty was at york place, and on the 18th, books were sent there to him from the bookbinder;[77] and we find that plate and furniture were conveyed there about the same time from greenwich[78] he was still at westminster on the 5th[79] and 22nd of february,[80] and 8th of march;[81] on the 18th of which month, according to hall, he gave an audience to the speaker and members of the house of commons.[82] no account of henry's residence occurs after that date until the 8th of april, when lady sydney sent him a present of orange pies at greenwich,[83] and where he continued until the 16th. early in april "sodeynly began a pestylence in westmynster,"[84] and the disease evidently extended to greenwich, for on the 11th of that month several persons were sent out of that town "by reason of the plage."[85] on the 16th of april his majesty went to westminster,[86] but returned again to greenwich before the 26th, upon which day a hawk was brought to him at that palace.[87] he was, however, at westminster on the 8th of may,[88] though it may be inferred that he was at greenwich on the 15th.[89] there can be little doubt that from the 8th of april to the end of may he divided his time between those palaces, for as the parliament was then sitting at westminster, his presence was occasionally indispensable; and we learn from hall, that on the 16th of may, sir thomas more delivered the great seal to the king at that place. on the 1st of june henry was at eltham,[90] where he resided until the 3rd of july,[91] the entries during which period are excessively curious, as indicative of the manner in which he passed his time.[92] he arrived at waltham on or before the 4th of july,[93] and continued there, or at hunsdon until about the 21st, when he commenced his summer progress into berkshire, bedfordshire, bucks, and oxfordshire. on the 23rd of july he was at ampthill,[94] at which place he continued until the 28th or 29th,[95] when he proceeded to grafton; where, on the 31st, a monk brought him a letter in a purse.[96] he quitted grafton about the 5th of august, and on the 6th was at buckingham;[97] on the 10th, he was at woodstock,[98] where he ordered 56_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ to be paid to doctor chambers for the scholars of oxford, on the 14th.[99] from woodstock he went to langley park, near colnbrook, at which place a hundred crowns were given to him to play at dice on the 18th;[100] and on the 25th he was at abingdon.[101] on the 27th he was both there and at ewelme, the distance between which does not exceed ten miles: at the former, sir simon harcourt's servant brought him a brace of greyhounds, and at the latter an italian presented him with a melon.[102] his majesty appears to have passed through reading on the 28th,[103] and to have reached windsor on the 31st of august,[104] where he remained until the 17th of september,[105] when he went to chertsey;[106] but on the 21st he was at hampton court.[107] no notice is to be found of henry's having been at ampthill after the 28th of july; whence, hall asserts, he proceeded to windsor, where he created anne boleyn, marchioness of pembroke, on the 1st of september in this year; after which he removed to greenwich.[108] it is manifest from these accounts, that the king was at windsor on the 1st of september, but nothing occurs relative to that ceremony: she is for the first time described in them as marchioness of pembroke, on the 19th of that month. his stay at hampton court was very short, for on the 28th he was at greenwich.[109] the period had now arrived which henry had fixed upon for his interview with francis, the french monarch; and having visited his fleet at sheppey on the 30th,[110] he set out for dover early in october, and on the 6th was at the mote park, near maidstone.[111] hall says that on the 10th of october the king came to dover, and very early in the morning of friday the 11th, embarked for calais, where he arrived at ten o'clock on the same day.[112] from these accounts it is evident that henry went from the mote to sheppey by water, thence to canterbury, where he slept, and then proceeded to dover. the payments mentioned "to the waits of canterbury;" to the "keeper of the house where the king lodged" in that city; to the master of the barge and watermen for rowing him to sheppey;[113] as well the reward to a man who brought bills to dover,[114] occurred after his majesty had quitted those places; as the first three were paid on the 11th, and the fourth on the day, when, from the next item, it is certain the king was at calais, namely, on the 12th; and which agrees with hall's statement. the proceedings of the royal party whilst in france; the particulars of the interview between the monarchs; and of the feastings on the occasion, are minutely related by that chronicler, but it is not necessary to allude more fully to them, than to observe, that the accounts about that time are extremely interesting. among the entries most worthy of notice, are the present of grapes and pears from the great master of france to anne boleyn; the money lost by the king to the cardinal of lorrain, the duke de guise, and others, at tennis and dice at boulogne, and which amounted in one day to 163_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._; the purchase of a hat and feather for henry at that place; a gratuity to the singers of the french monarch, and to those of the cardinal of lorrain; payment of the doublets given to the guard to wrestle in before the two kings at calais; the sum of 700_l._ paid to cromwell without any reason being mentioned; the purchase of masking geer, or masquerade dresses; the large sums paid for jewels, and which amounted during his stay in france to 3592_l._ 12_s._; the charges of the fool's lodgings and expenses; henry's offering to the image of our lady of boulogne, and which is especially mentioned by hall;[115] the presents of hawks from francis to henry; the charges for boats for carrying the king from the ship to the shore, and again from calais to his vessel on his return, &c. the whole amount paid by the person who kept these accounts from the time the king left dover until he again landed there, namely, thirty-three days, was 4033_l._ 10_s._ 11_d._ of that sum, as has just been shewn, all excepting about a ninth, was for jewellery, great part of which was evidently given as presents to persons in the king of france's suite. according to hall, henry embarked at calais on the 13th of november at midnight, and arrived at dover at five in the morning of the 14th,[116] which agrees with the entry on the 13th of a payment of 4_s._ 8_d._ "for a boat to bring the king aboarde his ship at calys;"[117] and of the same sum "paied to the king's own hands for his offering to our lady in the rock at dover," on the 14th.[118] it is certain that henry remained at dover until the 16th, when he went to sandwich, and seems to have rested there that night, to the friars of which place he gave 3_l._ 10_s._ "by way of rewarde;"[119] and crossed the river stour on the next day[120] on his way to canterbury, where he apparently stopped at the house of sir john feneux.[121] the waits of that city again played to the king, and were rewarded with 18_s._ 8_d._ on the 19th,[122] on which day his majesty arrived at sittingbourne; and the "wife of the lion," or in other words, the wife of the man who kept the lion inn there, received a gratuity of 4_s._ 8_d._[123] on the 20th, henry was at stone castle, near dartford, where it may be inferred he remained that night, as 9_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._ was given him, which he lost at play to anne boleyn, sir francis bryan, and sir francis weston.[124] thence the king removed to eltham at which place he was on the 24th,[125] and on the 28th he was at greenwich, where he remained until the 30th, on which day he went by water to westminster.[126] on the 1st of december he was at the tower of london,[127] but on the 9th his majesty was again at greenwich[128] before the 18th of which month, he had been twice in his barge to the tower.[129] on the 21st he seems to have gone to york place,[130] but if so he returned the same day to greenwich,[131] where hall says he spent his christmas,[132] and which is corroborated by the last entry in these accounts; "item the same, [_i. e._ the last] day delivered to the king's grace at night at grenewich, ij c. corons, 46_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._" evidently for play.[133] it would be superfluous to point out all which occurs relative to henry's progresses; but it must be observed that he was always attended by a smith with locks and bolts for his chamber-doors;[134] that money was given to a footman to be distributed in charity by the way;[135] that in the hunting season his hounds were sent from one palace to another, the expenses of removing which are minutely stated;[136] that he was generally followed by his fools, jester, minions, and other favourites;[137] and that the celebrated anne boleyn frequently accompanied him.[138] wherever he went gratuities or rewards were given to the keepers of the parks or forests through which he passed, or hunted, not merely to those belonging to the crown, but to the keepers of the parks of private persons; and if he went on board one of his ships, a sum was distributed amongst the crew. upon the personal character of henry the eighth, it has been remarked in the preface, these accounts throw much light; and as whatever relates to the private conduct of eminent persons, is by far the most pleasing, and perhaps most useful part of antiquarian inquiries, the information here presented on that of henry, is both valuable and interesting.[139] his majesty's principal amusement was gambling in its most extensive and diversified shapes, and all his relaxations from the duties of his station in a greater or less degree partook of it. the philosopher will be at no loss to account for the fact; for it is the frequent attendant upon that satiety which unlimited power is sure to produce, though it is often equally the passion of those who want even the necessaries of life. that henry, tired of more rational enjoyment, and incapable of finding a permanent relief from the ennui of greatness, should have indulged to excess in games of chance is not surprising; and to shew the extent to which that passion was carried, it is sufficient to state that the whole amount paid for his losses at cards, dice, tennis, and other games, together with those lost in wagers amounted in three years to 3243_l._ 5_s._ 10_d._ it is not a little singular that though passionately addicted to gambling himself he was sufficiently careful of the morals of his subjects to issue a proclamation in the 18th year of his reign, forbidding them to play at cards and bowls. of his "out-of-door" amusements, shooting at the rounds, hunting, hawking, fishing, horse-racing, bowls, and tennis, were the chief; and in his palaces many hours were daily passed at "the tables" or back-gammon, shovel-board, dice, and cards: wagers on races run against dogs, or at shooting or hunting; payments to people for making dogs perform tricks; gratuities to persons for different feats, as eating a buck, riding two horses at once; and others of a similar description are continually mentioned. music and literature also occasionally lent their aids to his enjoyments; and that he encouraged the latter is manifest from the exhibitions he founded at the universities, his occasional gratuities to scholars, and his support of boys at st. paul's, and other schools, both in this country and paris. his love of architecture is shewn by the money he expended in building, at his different residences, and we find that he spent on york place, from april, 1530 to july, 1532, 2400_li._, besides 10_l._ 19_s._ 2_d._ for glazing it, and 20_l._ 0_s._ 8-1/2_d._ for iron work, on the house at more park, 60_l._ in april, and 50_l._ in june, 1530; and on his buildings at hunsdon 1533_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._ between may, 1530, and april, 1532; forming a total, exclusive of repairs and alterations, of 4064_li._ 5_s._ 10_d._ within three years. nor was he indifferent to painting, as several entries occur of money given to painters for their works; but as they have been commented upon by horace walpole in his "anecdotes of painting," they afford no new information on that interesting subject. that writer also gives several entries relative to hans holbein from the "book of quarterly payments" in the library of the royal society; and as they are intimately connected with the allusion here made to henry's taste for the arts, accurate copies have been made of them from that manuscript. after the death of jane seymour, the king was not a little perplexed in his choice of her successor: the duchess dowager of milan was first thought of, but she is said to have declined that honor, because nature had not prepared her for it, by endowing her with two heads! walpole informs us, that the first of these entries refers to holbein's having been sent to paint her portrait in december, 1538: december, a^{o}. 30 henry viii. 1538. "item, payde to hans holbyn, one of the kingis paynters, by the kingis commaundement, certefyed by my lord pryviseales lettre x_li._ for his costs and chargs at this tyme sent abowte certeyn his gracs affares into the parties of high burgony, by way of his gracs rewarde, x_li._" that the painter was abroad at christmas, in that year, is evident from the entries of payments then made to the royal establishment; "item, for hans holbyn, paynter, nihil." a letter from nicholas wotton, who with the richard bearde there mentioned, were deputed to negociate the marriage between henry and ann of cleves, illustrates the next entry; for it proves that "his grace's affairs" meant to paint the portrait of that lady, and of her sister, amelia. wotton's letter, which has been printed by mr. ellis,[140] is dated at duren, the 11th of august, 1539: after describing ann, he says, "your grace's servante, hanze albein, hath taken the effigies of my ladye anne and the lady amelye, and hathe expressyd theyr imaiges verye lyvelye." july, 31 henry viii. a^{o}. 1539. "item, to mr. richard bearde, one of the gromes of the kingis privichamber, and hans holbyn, paynter, by like lettre sent into the parties of high almayne, upon certain his gracis affaires for the costes and chardgis of them both, xl_li._; and to hans holben for the prepairacion of such things as he is appoynted to carie with him, xiij_li._ vj_s._ viij_d._, in all, the somme of liij_li._ vj_s._ viij_d._" the history of that portrait, which, however "lyvelye," was not faithful, though such the ambassadors obviously meant to describe it, has been told by walpole and granger, and is repeated by mr. ellis. after that time several entries occur of the payment of holbein's quarterly wages, of some of which the annexed are copies: "item, to hans holbyn, vij_li._ x_s._" in 1539 he was paid half a year's wages in advance; "item, payde to hans holbyn, the kyngis paynter, in advauncement of his wages, for one half yere beforehand, the same half yere accompted and reconnyd from michaelmas last past, the somme of xv_li._" at michaelmas, 32 hen. viii. a^{o}. 1540, he is thus mentioned; "item, for hans holbyn, paynter, ii_li._ q^{r} [~p]us [p-] warr." at christmas, in that year; "item, for hans holbyn, paynter, ii_li._ q^{r} [~p]us manibus." at midsummer, 1541, after his name "nihil q^{r} [~p]us" occurs. on another occasion his wages were also paid in advance; "item, paide by the kyngis highnes commaundement certefied by my lorde pryviseales lettres to hans holbenne paynter, in the advauncement of his hole yeres wagis before hande, aftre the rate of xxx_li._ by yere, which yeres advauncement is to be accompted from this present mich', and shall ende ultimo septembris next commynge, the somme of xxx_li._" among other curious entries in that ms. are, a new year's gift of a skreen to henry, from luke hornebaund, painter, who is mentioned by walpole, and whose wages were lv_s._ vj_d._ per quarter; and the following: the costs of the scaffold erected in westminster hall for the trial of the persons involved in anne boleyn's fate.; december 30, hen. viii. a^{o}. 1538, "item, payde to jamys nedeham by the kyngis commaundement certefyed by my lorde prvyseall for the costs and chargs of the scaffold made in the king[s] halle at west[^m] at the condempnacion of the late malefactors and traytours there, the some of xxviij_li._ xix_d._ ob. for the makinge and stuf of the saide scaffolde, as apperith by rekenyng therof made more at large doth appere, xxviij_li._ xix_d._ ob." january, 31 hen. viii. 1540, "to the quenes pleyers for playing before the kinge, iiij_li._;" also, "to the kingis pleyers for pleyng before the king, vj_l._ xiij_s._ iiij_d._;" "to the princis pleyers for playnge before the king, iiij_li._;" and a grant for life of 2_l._ 2_s._ 4_d._ per annum to "richard parrowe, one of the king's interlude players," in february, 1540. the expences of preparing beds at dartford and rochester, for the king and anne of cleves; january, 31 hen. viii a^{o}. 1540.--"item, to edward lloid yoman of the warderobe of beddes and john askowe grome of the same, for themself and a smythe that was with them to set up twoo bedds of the kingis, one at dertford and an other at rochestre, and for making redy there for the quenes grace, by the space of xxx days, the yoman at ij_s_ the dey, the grome at xx_d._ and the smythe at xij_d._ the day, as apperith by a bill, signed with the lorde chamberlains hande, vij_li._" in january, 32 hen. viii. a^{o}. 1541.--"to the ducke of suffolkis pleyers for pleyinge in the kingis hawle on twelf even, the somme of xx_s._;" and we learn from another entry that the names of three of the king's players were robert histow, george birche, and richard parrowe, and that the quarterly wages of the three were 1_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ henry's fondness for jewellery was profusely gratified; and in the period embraced by these accounts the enormous sum of 10,801_l._ 8_s._ 9_d._ was expended in precious stones, gold chains, &c. besides 1517_li._ to his goldsmith for plate. a considerable share of his attention was, it is well known, directed to his navy, and the few entries relating to it are of much interest. horses or geldings, particularly racing horses, and horses "that did run," as well as "riding boys," clothes bought for the boys "that ride the running horses," and riding caps for them, are constantly spoken of; and dogs for the chace were a frequent, and doubtlessly, acceptable present. at the christenings of the children of some of the chief noblemen, and of those of his favourites, henry was sometimes a sponsor; and the sums paid to the nurse and midwife on such occasions are carefully noticed. the inferior attendants of the court, as huntsmen, falconers, and those of the king's guard, received small presents on their marriages, which varied from two to five pounds, according to their situations, or the degree of favor which they enjoyed: on the marriage of the son of "master nevill", however, the king gave him ten pounds. gifts to minstrels, to the astronomer, to physicians, to the keepers of the clocks at the different palaces, to posts and servants for bringing letters, to copyists, to the master of his barge, and the keepers of his majesty's dogs, bears, hawks, &c. are very numerous. his fools, jester, and minions are prominent characters in these accounts, and the information afforded respecting them tends to illustrate the manners of the age. although it would be preposterous to follow a recent example of attempting to remove the stains on henry the eighth's character--stains which throw all common crimes into the shade--it would be no less absurd to deny him the common merit of having a few redeeming traits in his disposition. besides the instances which have been alluded to of his taste for architecture, music, painting, and literature, we frequently find payments which must have originated in the best feelings of the human heart; and of which it will be sufficient to cite, gifts "to an old poor man by the king's charitable alms that laboured to obtain a bill to be signed;" to a footman, "to relieve him in his sickness;" to a french fletcher, "towards his surgery;" to the almoner, "for two sick men at waltham;" to a "sick priest at hampton court;" to "a poor man that had thirteen children, for their relief;" to "little guilliam, in way of reward, because he was sick in london;" to "three sick women at greenwich;" to "a poor woman in chertsey, to purchase out the great seal;" to "a blind woman, being a harper;" "to a poor woman for to redeem her husband out of prison;" to "a poor woman, to obtain her husbands freedom, and hers in london;" to "a frantick man;" to "great william, for his surgery, when he was sick at london," &c. these could only have emanated from momentary emotions of benevolence; and they prove that, like even greater monsters, henry's heart was not entirely shut to the wants and sufferings of his fellow creatures. it is true that pity was a stranger to his breast when either his pride, or safety, or lust, or revenge was in question; but he was undoubtedly compassionate upon less selfish occasions. independently of gifts in charity, and to persons supposed to be healed by the king's touching them, payments of 10_l._ per month were regularly made to dr. baugh for his majesty's private alms. henry's principal associates, besides his fool, jester, thomas smith, mark smeton, the two williamses, domingo, and one or two other minions, all of whom appear to have been wholly supported and clothed at his expence, were his favorites, sir francis bryan, sir henry norris, lord rochford, sir francis weston, sir edward seymour, the serjeant of the cellar, and a few others; and on perusing the evidence here afforded of the favor which they enjoyed, and the intimacy to which they were admitted, the mind is impressed with horror at the reflection of how few of them escaped falling victims to his suspicion, jealousy, or revenge. but when the partners of his bed and throne met a similar fate, it would have been a subject of surprise had the companions of his hours of revelry and enjoyment, or the sharers of his sports and amusements been spared. of anne boleyn and her family, numerous curious particulars will be found, many of which tend to show the manner in which she was treated at court from november, 1529, until her elevation to the throne; and as every thing which relates to her is of great interest, the following abstract of them may be acceptable. the precise time when henry's attachment to her commenced is uncertain, but three years before her marriage, the master of the robes paid for some purple velvet for her; and on the 28th, for stuff prepared for her use. in december following, 180_l._ were given to her by the king's order: in april, 1530, her servant was paid for finding a hare;[141] and in may, the taylor and skinner were paid for her dresses; and bows, arrows, and other articles for shooting were bought for her.[142] the large share of the king's affection which she then possessed, and which was perhaps deemed to be the harbinger of her subsequent honors, is evident from the fact of the mayor of london having sent her a present of cherries on the 5th of june; and the servant who brought them was rewarded with 6_s._ out of the privy purse. more bows were purchased for her on the 10th of that month; and in an entry in july as well as in the december preceding a person called george taylor, is expressly styled, "my lady anne's servant." linen cloth for her was paid for in september, in which month ten shillings were given for a cow that one of her greyhounds had killed. a remarkable entry occurs in november, in that year, from which it appears that anne boleyn had pawned one of her jewels to her sister mary, and that henry ordered 20_l._ to be given to redeem it; a few days afterwards, about twenty yards of crimson satin were purchased for her use. in december, eight guineas were given for budge skins or furs for her; on the 21st of that month she received twenty shillings in silver: the next day linen cloth for her shirts was paid for, and she was repaid 5_l._, which she had given to henry webb by the king's command. on the 23rd, the same sum was given to her for playing money, in groats, and on the 30th, henry gave her 100_l._ as a new years' gift. in february, 1531, her mercer's bill was again paid, and on the 17th, her servant taylor, received 11_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._ to be "employed about my lady anne rochford's business;" before the end of which month a farm was purchased for her at greenwich, and for which 86_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ were given. her desk was garnished with laten and gold in april following; when her embroiderer was paid for work done for her. early in may, 40_l._ were given her "to play;" on the 22nd, having lost 12_l._ 7_s._ 6_d._ at bowls to the sergeant of the cellar, that sum was paid to him out of the privy purse by his majesty's commands; and on the 10th, eight yards of crimson cloth of gold were bought for her. from that time nothing more is said of anne boleyn until december, when her taylor's bill amounting to 28_l._ 6_s._ 4_d._ for her clothes was discharged; shortly after which her skinner's bill of 40_l._ 15_s._ 8_d._ was likewise paid. on the 29th of may, 1532, the king's watermen were remunerated for conveying her to durham house. in june a splendid cloak and night-gown were purchased, and the price of all the materials, is detailed with the minuteness of a milliner's bill of the present day, from which it seems that both were made of black satin; that the former was edged, and the latter lined with velvet of the same colour; and that the cloak cost altogether 9_l._ 4_s._ 8_d._; whilst the night-gown was lined with black taffeta, and cost 10_l._ 15_s._ 8_d._: at the same time sixteen yards of green damask were also purchased for her. in august in this year, her future elevation became so certain that the wife of one of the most distinguished courtiers of the time, in imitation of the example set nearly two years before by the mayor of london, endeavoured to propitiate her favour by a present; as on the 17th of that month, lady russell, afterwards countess of bedford sent her a stag and a greyhound, which she gave to the king, who ordered 40_s._ to be paid to the servant who brought them. on the 1st of september, anne boleyn was created marchioness of pembroke, and on the 19th of that month, the master of the robes was paid for stuff which was delivered to her servant, probably for the costume in which she appeared at the ceremony; and about a fortnight afterwards certain silks were provided by him for her apparel, the costs of which were 56_l._ she accompanied henry to calais in october, 1532; and her reception by francis the first as well as the prominent part which she performed in the festivities that attended the interview between the two monarchs, are fully described by hall. from these accounts we learn that the great master sent her a present of grapes and pears at calais on the 14th of october; that on the 11th of november, fifteen shillings were paid to her which she had won of henry at cards at that place; that on the 20th a few days after her return from france, she, sir francis bryan and sir francis weston, formed a party with the king at pope julius' game at stone castle in kent; and again on the 25th, 26th and 31st at greenwich, on which occasions his majesty was as usual unsuccessful; that on the 28th she won 11_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ of henry at cards; and on the 25th of december more stuff was bought for her clothes. it is to be observed, that according to some authorities, anne boleyn was privately married to henry, early in november, 1532, immediately after their arrival at dover from calais; but nothing is to be found in these accounts either corroborative of, or contradictory to, the assertion. during the three years the whole sum expended for her clothes, &c. was 468_l._ 6_s._ 1_d._, and within the same time she received in money 218_l._ these sums are not, it is true, remarkable for their amount, but they are sufficient to shew the manner in which she was treated by henry, and the place which she occupied in his affections. before concluding these observations relative to this celebrated woman, the singular manner in which her sister and herself are described must be pointed out. until december, 1530, she is merely spoken of as "my lady anne," but from february to may, 1531, with one exception, she is called "lady ann rochford," though from that time until her creation to the marquisate of pembroke, she is again styled "lady ann," after which event she is mentioned either as "my lady marquess," or "my lady marquess of pembroke." her sister mary too, though married, is called lady mary rochford. rochford was the title of their father when elevated to the earldom of wiltshire, and was then borne by their brother george, who having become involved in his royal sister's supposed crime, died, like her, upon a scaffold. before these proofs of the esteem in which anne boleyn was held by henry are contrasted with her subsequent fate, it is impossible to avoid reflecting on the little regard which was then paid to the virtuous katherine. that her name should be but twice mentioned speaks volumes on her secluded situation; and whilst all that wealth and power could command were lavished on the new favourite, the magnanimous wife was equally neglected by her husband, his satellites, and the world. remorse seems, however, at length to have touched henry's heart, for a few years after her death, namely, in november, 1539, the following entry occurs in the "book of quarterly payments," in the library of the royal society. "item, to mrs. blanch twyford, by the lord privy seal's letter, for her long and painful service done unto the princess dowager, by way of the king's reward--66_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._" mrs. twyford was bequeathed 10_l._ by katherine's will. the princess, afterwards queen, mary, is frequently noticed, but all which we learn is, that she was ill in june or july, 1531, and apparently again in march, 1532; and that from 10_l._ to 20_l._ were occasionally given to her for pocket-money, or to be distributed in charity. the duke of richmond, henry's natural son, is also spoken of; as well as his niece, the lady margaret douglas, daughter of the earl of angus, but she is here called lady margaret anguishe. a few entries are strongly indicative of the superstition of the age; the most striking of which are the king's offerings to the images of our lady at calais, boulogne, dover, walsingham and of the pue; and of persons being "touched for the evil," to whom 22_l._ 2_s._ 6_d._ were paid in three years, each having received 7_s._ 6_d._, and which proves the number "touched" in that period to have been fifty-nine. they came wherever his majesty was, whether in town, or on his progresses, and even at calais. a few entries require to be separately noticed, as well as being referred to in the index; namely, the presents brought to the king, the prices of labour, servants' wages and liveries, the value of land, house rent, and the different kinds of money which are mentioned. upon the presents brought, few remarks are required, for it will at once be seen that they chiefly consisted of articles of food of every description, including fish, poultry, game, baked lampreys, swans, pies, fruit, meat, puddings, brawn, cranes, birds; of dogs, horses, foxes, hawks, deer, mules, wild boars, and on one occasion, a lion; of fishing-rods, whistles, wood-knives, &c. and indeed whatever was then in common use. nor were these offerings sent only by the higher classes of society; even the poorest of henry's subjects presented him with something which they fancied would be acceptable to his palate. the bringer uniformly received a gratuity "in reward" proportionate to the value of the gift; thus, the german who brought a lion was paid 6_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._; he who brought a stag, 20_s._; lady sidney's servant for bringing quince pies, 6_s._ 8_d._; and dyrick's wife of greenwich received the same sum for a capon and chickens. similar gratuities were given to the gardeners of the king's different seats for bringing fruit and herbs; and as no gift was too contemptible to be accepted, the money thus paid "in reward" sometimes exceeded the value of the donation. in most cases these offerings were doubtlessly tendered as testimonies of respect, but in many the "reward" was, perhaps, the real motive. as the index contains a reference to every thing presented to henry, it is needless to enlarge on the subject. of the price of labour the best evidence, besides the wages of servants, which will be more particularly noticed, are the sums paid for different articles purchased. we learn, also, that two men in july, 1530, were paid 13_s._ 4_d._. for ten days' work in mowing, _i. e._, 8_d._ a-day each. in february, 1532, the hire of seven horses, and the expences of the same number of men for sixteen days, sent into wales, and other places, at 1_s._ 8_d._ per day for each man, amounted to 9_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._, and in july in the same year 1_l._ was paid for the hire of ten men for three days, in drawing the fishponds at ampthill, at 8_d._ a day each. the wages of servants differed of course according to their situations; those of a falconer were generally a groat a day, and he was allowed one penny a day for the food of each hawk intrusted to his care; but those of nicholas clamp, one of the principal falconers, were 10_l._ per annum. a huntsman received 35_s._ 5_d._ a quarter, and as well as most of the other servants, he had 4_d._ per day for his board wages. the allowance for the board of the boys of the stable was 1_s._ 8_d._ per week each; and of the boys that "run the king's geldings," or as they are sometimes called, "the king's riding boys," 2_s._ a week each, whilst on one occasion we find six days' meals for them paid for at the rate for each of them five pence a day. the keeper of the barbary horse was allowed 1_s._ 8_d._ per week for his board, his wages being 4_l._ a year; the hen-taker was however better paid, as he received 45_s._ 7_d._ a quarter. the regular wages of the king's watermen were 10_s._ a quarter; but it would appear that they were paid extra upon every occasion when they were employed. sexton the fool's, servant's wages, were 15_s._ a quarter. the gardeners of york place and of beaulie, or new hall, in suffolk, received about 12_l._ per annum; the gardener of greenwich 20_l._ a year; and the gardeners of windsor and wanstead 4_1._ a year. of the value of land, only one entry affords positive information. it relates to land bought to enlarge the little park of windsor, for which purpose 4_l._ were paid for two acres of meadow; but some idea may be formed on the subject from the following items: a farm at greenwich, purchased for anne boleyn in february, 1531, cost 66_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ but unfortunately we have no idea of its extent; in november, 1530, fourteen loads of hay, and six loads of oats cost, with the carriage to greenwich park, probably from the immediate neighbourhood, 6_l._ 2_s._ 8_d._; and in january, 1532, is an entry of 7_l._ 4_s._ 4_d._ for the same quantity of hay at 5_s._ 6_d._ the load, and of six loads of oats at 9_s._ the load, including the carriage to the same place: hence we find that the carriage cost 13_s._ 4_d._; but in may following oats were 6_s._ 6_d._ the load. of the rent of houses we have the subjoined particulars; that of a house for the henchmen, or to use the words of the ms. "of the house where the henchmen lie," was 2_l._ per annum, whilst that "of the one hired for lord rochford at greenwich was 10_l._ a year." when some ambassadors proposed going to waltham, a house was hired for them, and the owner was paid 20_s._; and it appears from "the book of quarterly payments" before mentioned, that "the rent of a house in london for the standing of the great standards with the rich coats of the guards for half a year" was 17_s._ 4_d._ liveries. independently of the falconers, huntsmen, watermen, and other servants, the king's painters regularly received liveries, the cost of which was generally 22_s._ 6_d._: this sum included 2_s._, the allowance for the badges which were affixed to them; but we find patch the fool's man, allowed 23_s._ 4_d._ for his livery coat, and to others 26_s._ 8_d._ were sometimes given for that purpose. the following are the sums accounted for monthly, from november 1529 to december 1532: £ _s._ _d._ 1529 november 1910 15 9 december 1449 9 6 1530 january 4120 13 6[143] february 4750 4 3[144] march 2561 6 7 april 881 18 0 may 667 11 9 june 421 12 4 july 418 12 9 august 130 4 9 september 309 9 11 october 1025 13 4 november 642 6 0 december 4464 16 9[145] 1531 january 943 8 7 february 528 8 2-1/2 march 500 10 3-3/4 april 516 17 6-1/2 may 632 7 8 june 393 6 6 july 399 19 9 august 1554 18 0 september 592 16 9 october 347 12 0 november 525 16 4 december 620 19 9 1532 january 3043 9 5[146] february 323 2 6 march 318 16 5 april 846 17 7 may 273 19 9 june 736 12 9 july 8007 9 11[147] august 645 15 1 september 525 4 1 october 2539 3 1[148] november 3954 7 9[149] december 961 10 6 ----------------- total amount accounted for, 53,488 5 4-3/4 besides pounds, shillings, pence, &c. the following coins are frequently mentioned, an account of the value of which between 1529 and 1532, may be acceptable:-angels.[150]--a gold coin of the value of 7_s._ 6_d._ angellots,[151] or angelet, is described to have been a half-angel, current for 3_s._ 9_d._; but in the only place where it is mentioned in these accounts, it must have been inserted by a mistake of the writer for _angel_, as eighteen angellotes are said to have amounted to 6_li._ 15_s._ i.e. 7_s._ 6_d._ each. crowns.[152]--a silver coin generally worth 5_s._; but all the entries in which it is mentioned prove that its value was then but 4_s._ 8_d._ crowns of the rose.[153]--gold pieces coined by henry the eighth in 1526: they were current for 4_s._ 6_d._ crowns of the sun.[154]--french gold coins, so called from the mint mark. they were current in this country for 4_s._ 6_d._ rials, or royals.[155]--a gold coin then worth 11_s._ 3_d._ a half and quarter real or royal were of proportionate value. sovereigns.[156]--a gold coin of the value of 22_s._ 6_d._ from 1518 to 1534; after which they were current for 20_s._ the only entry in which they are mentioned is of a person having in 1531 borrowed 11_li._ 5_s._ in "souferayns," _i. e._ ten sovereigns, for the king. footnotes: [3] hall, ed. 1809, p. 761. [4] p. 6. [5] p. 4. [6] p. 22. [7] p. 24. [8] p. 26. [9] p. 37. [10] see _addenda_. [11] p. 60. [12] p. 62. [13] p. 63. [14] p. 65. [15] p. 66. [16] p. 67. [17] p. 68. [18] p. 71. [19] _ibid._ [20] p. 72. [21] p. 74. [22] p. 80. [23] pp. 87, 89. [24] pp. 83, 87, 88. [25] hall, p. 774. [26] p. 93. [27] _ibid._ item the third. [28] p. 94. [29] see note in p. 294. [30] p. 98. [31] hall, p. 774. [32] p. 105. [33] p. 106. [34] pp. 108, 113. [35] p. 117. [36] p. 118. [37] _ibid._ [38] see note in p. 302 under books. [39] hall, p. 781. [40] p. 120. [41] p. 127. [42] _ibid._ [43] pp. 128-129. [44] p. 136. [45] p. 139. [46] p. 140. [47] p. 142. [48] p. 144. [49] p. 145. [50] p. 150. [51] p. 148. [52] p. 150. [53] p. 151. [54] _ibid._ [55] pp. 151-2. [56] p. 152. [57] _ibid._ [58] p. 156. [59] p. 154. [60] p. 159. [61] _ibid._ [62] p. 160. [63] _ibid._ [64] p. 161. [65] p. 163. [66] _ibid._ [67] p. 169. [68] hall, p. 787. [69] p. 170. [70] p. 171. [71] p. 172. [72] _ibid._ and p. 177. [73] p. 177. [74] p. 179. [75] hall, p. 784. [76] p. 180. [77] pp. 188, 189. [78] pp. 190-192. [79] p. 193. [80] p. 195. [81] p. 198. [82] hall, p. 784. [83] p. 205 [84] hall, p. 786. [85] p. 207. [86] pp. 208-9. [87] p. 210. [88] p. 213. [89] p. 215. [90] p. 218. [91] p. 230. [92] p. 218 to p. 230. [93] p. 230. [94] p. 236. [95] p. 238 [96] p. 239. [97] p. 242. [98] _ibid._ [99] p. 243. [100] p 246. [101] p. 247. [102] p. 248. [103] _ibid._ [104] p. 249. [105] p. 253. [106] p. 254. [107] hall, p. 789. [108] hall, p. 790. [109] p. 256. [110] pp. 260, 262. [111] p. 263. [112] hall, p. 790. [113] p. 266. [114] p. 267. [115] hall, p. 791 [116] hall, p. 794. [117] p. 273. [118] _ibid._ [119] _ibid._ [120] _ibid._ [121] _ibid._ [122] p. 274. [123] _ibid._ [124] _ibid._ [125] p. 275. [126] p. 277. [127] p. 278. [128] _ibid._ [129] p. 279. [130] p. 280, second item. [131] _ibid._ ninth item. [132] hall, p. 795. [133] p. 283. [134] pp. 251, 271, 281. [135] p. 265. [136] see "hounds," in the index. [137] see "fools," the two "williamses," "thomas smith," &c. in the index. [138] see "anne boleyn," in the index [139] as every thing mentioned in the following pages is referred to in the index, it has not been thought necessary to repeat the references to them. [140] _original letters_, first series, vol. i. p. 121. [141] see "addenda." [142] cardinal du bellai, in a letter to the grand master of france, the duke de montmorency, in 1532, says "sometimes madame anne joins our party, each equipt with the bows and arrows, as is, you know, the english style in hunting." "the lady anne presented me with a complete hunting suit, including a hat, a bow and arrow, and a greyhound." [143] of this sum, which is so much greater than the usual monthly disbursements, 1743_l._ 8_s._ were for the expences of an embassy to the emperor; 1340_l._ 7_s._ 6_d._ for the king's losses at play; 100_l._ paid into his own hands; 200_l._ advanced to one of his majesty's servants for henry's use, and 100_l._ for the wages of the crews of two of his ships. [144] this sum included 4400_l._ paid to sir bryan tuke, evidently for public affairs; probably embassies. [145] this includes 1333_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._ for the payment of the "retinue" or garrison of calais; 2490_l._ 1_s._ 4_d._ expended in jewels; and 100_l._ as a new year's gift to anne boleyn. [146] including 1886_l._ 15_s._ 4_d._ for jewellery and plate, and 833_l._ for other articles to a merchant stranger, and for cloth of gold. [147] the cause of this sum being so disproportionate to either of the others may be explained by there being included in it 2000_l._ lent to the cofferer of the household until michaelmas next following; 2000_l._ placed in the hands of thomas alvard "to be by him safely kept for his graces's use and behoof;" hence 4000_l._ of it cannot be considered to have been spent, a remark which also applies to a few other entries; and 2000_l._ for the king's buildings at westminster. [148] in this month henry's interview with francis the first, at calais, occurred, and which accounts for the increased expenditure. [149] of this sum 3587_l._ 17_s._ 8_d._ were paid for jewellery. [150] p. 121-192, and _sæpe_. [151] p. 100. [152] pp. 106, 107, 185, 192, 271, and _sæpe_. [153] _sæpe_. [154] _sæpe_. [155] p. 156. [156] p. 104. explanation of the abbreviations used in these accounts. cham[~b]r chamber charg[s] charges co[~m]aunde commandment co[^v] cover deli[^v]ed delivered di[^v] divers di' half e[^v]y every falco[~n]s falconers garde[~n] gardener g[s] k[s] t[s] &c gs, ks, ts, &c. _thus_, wag[s], wages; hawk[s], hawks; shert[s], sherts, &c. g[~c]e grace j[~h]u jesus ke[pf] keeper king[s] kings [-l]res letters [^m] } }master mais[^t] } [^m]cer mercer o^{r} our o[^v] over [pf] par, _thus_, [pf]ke, park pec[s] pieces po[^u] poor s'[^v]nt servant s'vice service s[=m] part[s] summa partis s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] }summa totalis solucionis hu[~i] mens' }hujus mensis v[s] vers, _thus_, plov[s], plovers, &c. walt[~h]m waltham west[^m] westminster w^{t} with iij^{xx} three times twenty, _i. e._ sixty iiij^{xx} four times twenty, _i. e._ eighty m^{l} one thousand m v c liiij 1554 m^{l} m^{l} m^{l} xliij 3043 iiij m d c xlix 4649, &c. an account of the expences of the privy purse of king henry viii. nov. mdxxix.-dec. mdxxxii. yet payment[s] in novembre. [1529.] i[~t]m the xvij day * * * * war to a s'[~v]nt of the * * * * the savoyes for bringing * * * unto the king[s] grace to york place * * * i[~t]m the same day paied to the king[s] watermen for wayting v dayes and iij nightes. |* * * i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to golde for certeyn doubelets and hosen made for the king[s] boyes as it dothe appere by his bille. * * * i[~t]m the xix daye of november paied to the carters that ca[^m] w^{t} the cariage from oxford and for ther cost[s] at london and homewarde * * * i[~t]m the same daye paied to ogle of the stabull for the bourde of thre boyes from the xviij daye of the laste monethe unto this day and for other costes as apperith by his bille xxxiiij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to phillip clampe for the mete of ij hawk[s] after the rate of ij d by the daye from the xx daye of aprill unto the xviij daye of novembre xxv [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xv [-l]i. xij [~s]. x d. yet payment[s] in novembre. [1529] i[~t]m the forsaied xx daye paied to the gardener of beaulie in rewarde for bringing herbes and rot[s] to york place vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king[s] watermen for xviij dayes wayting e[^v]y daye at vj [~s]. viij d. vj [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lady bulstrode for bringing cheses to the king[s] grace v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister walshe for snoffers that he bought for the king[s] grace ij [~s]. i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to cecill for a yerde and a quarter of purpill vellute for maistres anne xlj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied to john crepye jeweller for suche stuffe as the king boug[~h]t of him, as apperith by his bille iiij^{xx}.xvij [-l]i. xvij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to gui[~l][~l]m hoyson jeweller for suche stuffe as the king bought of him as apperith by his bille iiij^{xx}.ix [-l]i. xj [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to water walshe for certeyne stuf by him prepared for maistres anne of di[^v]s parsonnes as apperith by a bille ccxvij [-l]i. ix. viij d. s[=m] part[s] ccccxiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. yet payment[s] in novembre. [1529] i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied to hauky[^n] one of the fawco[^n] for mete for iiij hawk[s] after iiij d by the daye from the xxiiij daye of july to the xviij daye of this monethe x * * ij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde of westmorelande by waye of rewarde for bringing a spanyell to the king[s] grace * * * i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardyner of beawlie in rewarde for bringing glasses w^{t} waters to the king[s] grace vj *. i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde chamberlaynes in rewarde for bringing a wylde bore unto the king xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to sir edwarde seymore upon a reconnying betwene the king[s] grace and him iijc. xxxvij [-l]i. * * [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to ffrauncesse sydeney by way of the king[s] rewarde xiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a frencheman called peter lovel for xix pavic[s] of stele and other ware that the king[s] grace boug[~h]t of him xxxiiij [-l]i. xij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to will[=m] knevet by way of the king[s] rewarde x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to raulf mondy one of the hont[s] by way of rewarde xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to robert rydley taylo^{r} for makyng of certeyne garment[s] for sexten: and for the stuf iij [-l]i. xj d. s[=m] part[s], cccciiij [-l]i. x [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in novembre. [1529.] i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to john scut upon his billes as apperes by the same lj [-l]i. ix [~s]. ij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied by the king[s] co[=m]aundement to maister herytage xxx [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied by the king[s] co[=m]aundement to my lady carewe upon an emerawde iij^{xx}.vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one nicholas pandolphin frencheman for a pece of narow silver tyssue: and an other pece of brode silver tyssue iiij^{xx}. xviij [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to one by way of rewarde that pretended title unto brydewell xx [~s]. i[~t]m the laste daye paied to s^{r} thomas cheney for so moche money by him paid at the king[s] co[=m]aundement in rewarde to such as wer in maister treasorer ship when his grace went a borde vj [-l]i. xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to docto_{r} stubbes by the king[s] co[=m]aundem[~e]t for his bylding at yorke place cc [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the kings water men for viij dayes wayting liij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m to the same watermen for certeyn owers to s'[^v]e the king w^{t} all xviij [~s]. i[~t]m to the same watermen by waye of rewarde for ther lyverayes x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye to a s'[^v]nt of sir giles capell in rewarde for bringing cheses to the king[s] grace v [~s]. s[=m] part[s] cccciij^{xx}. vij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. x d. yet payment[s] in novembre. [1529.] i[~t]m the forsaied last day paied to fforde keper of the king[s] mastives for certey[^n] necessaryes boug[~h]t for the same mastyves vj [-l]i. xxij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to thomas westby clerc, one of the king[s] chapellaynes for certeyne stuf by him provided for the king[s] grace iiij [-l]i. x [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to uryan brereton in rewarde for one that broug[~h]t ij does from eltham * * * ij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to s. anthony browne by the king[s] co[=m]aundement iij [-l]i. xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to george taylo^{r} for the annuyte of wi[~l][~l]m morant iij [-l]i. x d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the maister of the barge for xvj newe orys price of e[^v]y oer xviij d. xxiiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to morgan ffenwolf jeweller for ix ounc[s] and iij quarters of parys warke xxvj [-l]i. xvj [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to ri[^c] gressam of london m'cer for certeyne bought of him as apperith by a bille ccl [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to ogull for so moche money by him layed oute xxiiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to humphrey of the pryvay bukhound[s] for chipping[s] for a monethe ix [~s]. s[=m]^{a}. part[s] cciiij^{xx}. xvij [-l]i. iiij [~s]. vij d. s[=m] to'[-l][s] hu[~i] } mdccccx^{[-l]} [-l]i. mens' novembris } xv [~s]. ix d. [signature: henry r] yet payment[s] in decembre. [1529.] i[~t]m the furste daye of decembre paid to elys the ffawconer for his lyveray xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the maister of the barge for brynging stuf from grene-wiche to west[^m]. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king[s] watermen for vj dayes wayting and for dressing ther bote * * iiij d. i[~t]m the ii^{de} daye paied to the gardy[^n] of beaulie in rewarde for bringing rot[s] to the king[s] grace to west[^m] vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the iiij daye paied to cicill grome of the king[s] robes for so moche money by him paied to a jeweller called morgan phenwolf xvj [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the v^{th}. daye paied to maister hennage for iij scolars of oxford at the king[s] co[=m]aunde^{t}. xx [-l]i. i[~t]m to the same maister hennage for the hinging o[^v] the gate at york place iiij [-l]i. i[~t]m the vj daye to docto^{r} reppe by way of rewarde at the king[s] co[=m]aunde^{t}. x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to docto^{r} goodryke by way of rewarde v [-l]i. i[~t]m the vij daye paied to my lorde of wilteshire by the king[s] co[=m]aundement upon a bille of his hande lxvj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to docto dyngley for thexhibicion of a scolar at parys called john mason iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] cxiiij [-l]i. ij [~s]. x d. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1529.] i[~t]m the viij daye paied to averay of the botelles for a guelding for the king[s] closet iiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to walshe for so moche money by him layed out for one goshawke and ij fawcons iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the ix daye paied to maister richard longe in wey of rewarde towardes his charges going into the countrey ayenst cristemas x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to docto^{r} baug[~h] for the king[s] pryvat almesse for one monethe to begynne at cristemas next x [-l]i. i[~t]m the x daye paied to maister kingstons s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing a present of bake lampreys to the king[s] grace v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to the yoman of the toyle by the king[s] co[=m]aundement vj [-l]i. i[~t]m the xij daye paied to sir ffraun[^c] bryan for the frenche man that cam w^{t} the popes ambassado^{r} for a perle xxij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to alart ply[^m] and john norman jewellers of parrys as apperith by a bille of ther handes vc liiij [-l]i. in angell[s] and xij [~s] iiij d. vlxix [-l]i. v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to copelande of london for a barde for the king[s] grace xl [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde by the king[s] co[=m]aundement to the scottishe gentilman xxxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the fawconer that cam w^{t} the scottishe gentilman vj [-l]i. xvij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] dccv [-l]i. xvij [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1529.] i[~t]m the forsaied xiiij daye paied to yonge weston for a great glasse for the king liij [~s] iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to george taylo^{r} s'[^v]nt to my lady anne for cokk[s] the fote man iij [-l]i vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to tho[=m]s cary by waye of rewarde ayenst cristemas * * [-l]i i[~t]m the same daye paied to anthony knevet for the rest of a payment the whiche was behinde to be paied to a jeweller for an emerade and a rubie x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} giles capell[s] in rewarde for bringing a present of fesaunt[s] and partrige to the king[s] grace vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to phillip wylde of the pryvay chambre by the king[s] co[=m]aundement iiij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the xv daye paied for v fawcons and a tarsell viij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to s^{r} edwarde boleyn knight upon a bille of s^{r} john rudstons knight iij^{xx}. xix [-l]i. iiij [~s]. vij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to cornelys hayes goldesmythe by the king[s] co[=m]ande^{t}. c [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to joh[~n]son maister of the king[s] barge by the king[s] co[=m]aundement xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king's watermen by way of rewarde xl [~s]. s[=m] part[s] ccxv [-l]i. v [~s]. v d. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1529.] i[~t]m the xvj day paied to pyne the hosier for ij paire of hosen for yonge weston and for vj payer for marke and the two guilliams xxx [~s]. i[~t]m for a paire of a quarterd hosen for the boye of the stabull ix [~s]. i[~t]m to the same pyne for a doubelet of worstede hosen and sarcenet w^{t} the making for sexten the fole xxxj [~s]. x d. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to john emson keper of the king[s] fole, for so moche money by him layed oute: as it dothe appere by his bille xv [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to the king[s] watermen for ther wayting by the space of xvj dayes v [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m to the same watermen for dressing of the barge vj [~s]. i[~t]m to the same watermen for fowre bayles for the saied barge iiij [~s]. i[~t]m to the saied watermen for vj men ij dayes viij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to yonge westo[=n] in rewarde ayenst cristemas v [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye to maister henry knevet by lyke rewarde ayenste cristemas liij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] xviij [-l]i. iiij [~s]. ij d. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1529.] i[~t]m the xx daye paied to thomas ogull for the bourde of ij boyes at wyndeso^{r} for iij wok[s]: and for the bourde of the same boys at grenewiche for vj wok[s] at xx d. the woke xxx [~s]. i[~t]m to the saied thomas ogull for the dyeting of the guelding[s] at wyndeso^{r} * * [~s]. vij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied by the king[s] co[=m]aundem[~e]t to di[^v]s straunge mynstrelles by way of rewarde l corons at iiij [~s] viij d le pece xj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied for the botehire of one that went for a potell of salet oyle for the king x d. i[~t]m for a potell of salet oyle ij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m for a botell and for russhes to brenne w^{t} the saied oyle iij d. i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to one newne of caunterbury for his cost[s] upon a bille signed by my lord of wilteshire iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye to vj new watermen for ther lyverary vj [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to my lorde conyars s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing a horse to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xxiij [-l]i. xviij [~s]. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1529.] i[~t]m the xxiij^{ti} daye paied for a perwyke for sexten the king[s] fole xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied in rewarde to a s'[^v]nt of maister wodales for bringing a dog to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one peter neghen in partie of payment of a more so[=m]e by the king[s] co[=m]aundement iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the princ[s] grace by the king[s] co[=m]aundement for to disporte her w^{t} this cristemas xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the tresorer of wolesnay and to audito^{r} of wynchest^{r}. in rewarde by the kings co[=m]aundem[~e]t xiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viii d. i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to the subdean of the king[s] chapell for iiij scolars the whiche the king gyvith exhibicion in oxford iiij [-l]i. i[~t]m the last daye paied to john wescote in rewarde for bringing a guelded dere unto the king[s] grace xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the laste daye deli[^v]ed by the king[s] co[=m]aundement to my ladye anne cx [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the ferymannes wif for carying o[^v] the king[s] horses at di[^v]s tymes at grenewiche vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m to s^{r}. thomas cheyney s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing a horse to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m to my lorde chamberleyne s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing a wylde bore to the king[s] grace xl [~s]. s[=m] part[s] clvj [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1529] i[~t]m deli[^v]ed to the king[s] grace owne handes for to game therw^{t} now at this tyme of cristemas c [-l]i. i[~t]m to the clerc of the king[s] closet for his botehire for fetching of certen stuf fro grenewiche to yorke place ij [~s]. i[~t]m the same laste daye of decembr^[9] paied to the s'geant of the pantrye for certen trenchars for the king * xxiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to marke and to the two guilliams by waye of the king[s] rewarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m a northern man by way of rewarde, called john a wylkinson xl [~s]. i[~t]m to wytham george lawson s'[^v]nt by waye of rewarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m to william locke for certen stuf the whiche was solde unto the king[s] grace as appereth by his bille iiij^{xx}. xix [-l]i. xviij [~s]. v * * i[~t]m to the pages of the king[s] chambr^[9] by way of rewarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m to the pages of the quenes cham[~b]r^[9] by way of rewarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m to the maister of the king[s] beres by waye of rewarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m to maister bryan for so moche money by him gyven in rewarde to a straunge mynstrell at yorke place xl [~s]. s[=m] part[s] ccxv [-l]i. xiij [~s]. x d. s[=m] to'[-l][s] hu[~i] } mccccxlix [-l]i. mens' decembris } ix [~s]. vj d. [signature: henry r] yet payment[s] in january. a^{o} xxi^{d} [1530.] i[~t]m the iiij daye paied to one ewstace a jeweller for a glasse x corons xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to x[~p]ofer the myllo[^n] for cliiij perles and for an emeraude ccclviij corons amounting in sterling to iiij^{xx} [-l]i. xij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to blew mante[~l][~l] an officer at armes for vij clothes of enbradery warke deli[^v]ed to water walshe xxxv [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to x[~p]ofer the milloner for certeyn bonett[s] for the king[s] grace and otherwise at his grac[s] co[=m]aundement iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye to the po^{r}veyo^{r} of hennes for the king[s] hawkes x [~s]. i[~t]m for a rewarde gyven to lovell the gardy[^n] at richemond for bringing swete water and frute x [~s]. i[~t]m the v daye paied to yonge mais[^t] weston for a rewarde by him gyven at the king[s] co[=m]aunde^{t} to my lorde of suffolk[s] mynstrell[s] l [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to john a wodde for his fellawe and him silf to bye there lyverayes xl [~s]. i[~t]m on the twelf night deli[^v]d to the king[s] grace at gamyng c [-l]i. in angell[s] cxij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the vij daye paied to anthony de bolayn [^m]chant of parys for certen stuf the whiche the king[s] grace bou[~g]ht of him xlv [-l]i. s[=m] part[s] cciiij^{xx} iij [-l]i. xvj [~s]. yet payment[s] in january. [1530.] i[~t]m the vij daye paied to the clerk of the kechen by the king[s] co[=m]aunde^{t}. for the charges of vj messes of mete at the mano^{r} of yorke place the ix daye of decembre xxxix [-l]i. viij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of john blont[s] in rewarde for bringing a horse to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m the viij daye paied to john [pf]ker yoman of the king[s] robes in rewarde for a clok that he gave the king iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister walshe for so moche money by him paid for goshawk[s] the whiche the king[s] grace bought upon the cage iij [-l]i. i[~t]m paied to the same maister walshe for so moche money by him paied to ij pouer folke the whiche the king[s] grace heled xv [~s]. i[~t]m the ix daye paied to blynde more and his ij fellawes for the king[s] rewarde at new yeres tyde xl [~s]. i[~t]m to the same more and his fellawes for ther lyverays at xx [~s]. a pece iij [-l]i. i[~t]m to the same more for badges to ther said lyverays at ij [~s]. a pece vj [~s]. i[~t]m the x daye paied to alart plymer the jeweller for certeyn stuf whiche the king[s] grace bought of him as it dothe appere by his bille iiij^{xx}. x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one that brought quicke dere fro rayley for to replenisshe grenewiche parke xxx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] cxliij [-l]i. xix [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in january. [1530] i[~t]m the for saied x daye paied to the keper of grenewiche parke for hey and cot[s] for the dere there iiij [-l]i. xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paide by the king[s] co[=m]aundement to domyngo for soo moche money as his grace loste to him at game iiij c [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied by the same co[=m]aunde^{t} to s^{r} thomas palmer for so moche money by the king[s] grace loste to him at game iij c xxxviij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister seymore by lyke co[=m]aunde^{t} for soo moche money by the king[s] grace loste to him at game iijc lxxvj [-l]i. xvij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xj daye paied to nicholas clampe for his wages by the space of iij quarters of a yere after x [-l]i. by the yere vij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m to the same nicholas for his bo^{r}de wages from the xxix daye of septe[~b]r unto the xxv daye of decembre that is iiij^{xx}. vij dayes at iiij d. by the daye xxix [~s]. i[~t]m the xij days paied to shere keper of the begles for his wages due for one monethe now ended v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m armerers wif for shert[s] for maister westo[^n], knevet, and the ij guilliams iij [-l]i. xij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to bowlande one of the stable in rewarde toward[s] his mariage xl [~s]. s[=m] part[s] m^{l} ciiij^{xx}. iiij [-l]i. xix [~s]. ij d. yet payment[s] in january. [1530.] i[~t]m the xv daye paied to s^{r}. john russell for so moche money by him paied to one peter mighen for di[^v]s book[s] iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to my lorde of suffolke for so moche money by the king[s] grace borowed of him at playe c [-l]i. in angells cij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the xvj daye paied in rewards to ogull and the ij boyes for rynnyng the king[s] guelding[s] xl [~s]. i[~t]m delivered to the king[s] grace owne handes the daye bifore his grace dud remove fr[~o] grenewiche to yorke place c [-l]i. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to copelande for certeyn silk[s] whiche the king[s] grace boug[~h]t of him lxij [-l]i. xj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xix daye paied to the keper of the great gardyne at beaulie for his quarter wages due at x[~p]emas iij [-l]i. x d. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of therl of northumberlande by way of rewarde for bringing glasses to the king[s] grace iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to basing for the depechement of the wages of the maryners of the mynynon and the mary guylford c [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to pyne for iij payer of hosen for maister weston xv [~s]. i[~t]m for marke and bothe the gui[~l][~l]ms for e[^v]y of them iij payer of hosen xlv [~s]. s[=m] part[s] ccc iiij^{xx}. ix [-l]i. ix [~s]. ij d. yet payment[s] in january. [1530.] i[~t]m paied to the same pyne for ij payr of hosen for patche x [~s]. i[~t]m paied to the same pyne for iiij payer of party hosen for the ij boys that ryd[s] the king[s] guelding[s] xviij [~s]. i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to one cok[s] s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing a brace of greyhound[s] to the king[s] grace vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to gui[~l][~l]m the crossbow maker for certeyne stone bowes stringes and pellett[s] * * [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied to purto[^n] yoman of the toyles for taking dere in raylaye and for the cariage xxvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to s^{r} bryan tewke by the king[s] co[=m]aundement for the depechement of my lorde of wilshire and other in there io^{r}ney toward[s] thempero^{r} m^{l}vijc. xliij [-l]i. viij [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied to doctour baugh for the king[s] pryvat almes for ij monethes begynnyng the xxij daye of this monethe xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to thomas alford by the king[s] co[=m]aundement to make up the so[=m]e of iijm^{l} [-l]i. then w^{t} him remaynyng cc vj [-l]i. ix [~s]. ij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to humfrey for chipping[s] for the king[s] pryvay buk hound[s] for one monethe ix [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to thomas ogull, for the bourde of iij boyes that rynne the king[s] guelding by the space of a monethe at ij [~s]. the woke xxiiij [~s]. s[=m] part[s] m^{l} dcccclxxv [-l]i. iij [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in january. [1530.] i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde brayes in rewarde for taking up of a fawco[^n] of the king[s] in bedfordeshire vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one of the ewry for finding a rynge of the king[s] iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to iiij pouer people that the king[s] grace heled of ther diseases at yorke place xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye deli[^v]ed to the king[s] grace for to playe at dyse c [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to nedes[=m] by the king[s] co[=m]aunde^{t} for the finisshing of the bridge at yorke place xiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to maister ffitzwi[~l][~l]m treasorer of the king[s] housholde for so moche money by him wonne of his grace at the bowles iiij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the last daye of january paied to thomas alford for ij baskett[s] to cary certeyne plate from yorke place to grenewiche iij [~s]. i[~t]m for botehire for to cary the same plate from thens to grenewiche ij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to ---for heling of the king[s] horses as apperith by his bille viij [-l]i. x v [~s]. s[=m] part[s] cxxviij [-l]i. xvj [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in january. [1530.] i[~t]m the forsaied last daye paied to alart p[-l]ymer jeweller of parrys for one zaphure whiche the king[s] grace bought of him lx corons xiiij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to sexten s'[^v]nt for wasshing of his shert[s] and other his necessaryes ix [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] xiiij [-l]i. ix [~s]. viij d. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] hu[~i] } m^{l}m^{l}m^{l}m^{l} mens' januarii in anno xxj^{o}. } cxx [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. vj d. [signature: henry r] yet payment[s] in ffebruary. [1530.] the furste daye paied to herasmus one of the armerers upon his bille for di[^v]s necessaryes by him boug[~h]t for to make viij candilstick[s] for the king[s] use xxvij [-l]i. ix [~s]. i[~t]m the ij^{de} daye paied to walshe for ij lood[s] of polles at v [~s]. the loode and for bynding rodd[s] and workemanship to the same xix [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the iij^{de} daye paied to ij nonnes of caunterbury by way of the king[s] gracieux rewarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to sir bryan tewke by the king[s] co[=m]aunde^{t} of suche money as was receyved at wyndeso^{r} of suche the king[s] treaso^{r} as was there remaynyng iijm [-l]i. i[~t]m the iiij^{th} daye of ffebruary paied to maister treasorer for so moche money by him lent unto his grace at gamyng w^{t} maister palmer xxij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the norse and to the midwif of my ladye of worcestre, by waye of rewarde iiij [-l]i. i[~t]m the v daye paied to the king[s] watermen for wayting ij dayes, one at the king[s] co[=m]yng fro grenewiche the other at his grac[s] going from yorke place to hampto[^n] courte xxj [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m to robert smythe for the bourde of the king[s] iij ryding boyes by the space of a fourtenig[~h]t after ij [~s] a pece xij [~s]. s[=m] part[s] m^{l}m^{l}m^{l} lviij [-l]i. xij [~s]. yet payment[s] in ffebruary. [1530.] i[~t]m the forsaied daye paied to thomas ogull for vj dayes meales for the saied boyes after v d. a daye a pece vij [~s]. i[~t]m the vij daye paied to joh[^n] scot for iij doubelett[s] of brug[s] satin and for iij doubelett[s] of fustian w_{t} the making and the lynyng for the iij boyes that rynnes the guelding[s] xxxviij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the viij daye paied to rydley page of the king[s] chambre by way of rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m the x daye paied to blak joh[^n] the hardewareman for bonett[s] for young westo[=n], and other children of the pryvat chambre xxiiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xij daye paied to frier nicholas by the king[s] co[=m]aundement iij [-l]i. xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one of the stable by lyke co[=m]aunde^{t} towardes his mariage xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to golde the hosyer for a dobelet and a payer of hosen for raulf mundy, and for a dobelet and a payer of hosen for henry elys xv [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to peter the scrivan upon docto^{r} stubbes reaporte xiiij [-l]i. ix [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to cornelys the king[s] goldesmythe by co[=m]aundement cc [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to bekensall a scolar of parys xx corons iiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] cc xxx [-l]i. iij [~s]. yet payment[s] in ffebruary. [1530.] i[~t]m the forsaied xiiij daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m awbray yoman of the crosse bowes for to discharge the bowyer and the fletcher v [-l]i. iij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one of the hardeware me[=n] for a myllain bonet and a nig[~h]t cappe for sexten the fole viij [~s]. i[~t]m the xv daye of ffebruary paied by the king[s] co[=m]aundement to my lorde of suffolke and to s^{r} bryan tewke for to be employed about[s] the king[s] affaires vjm^{l} corons amounting in money sterling m^{l}. iiijc [-l]i. i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to humfrey for chipping[s] for the king[s] pryvat hound[s] ix [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king[s] watermen for brynging his grace to batersaye and fro thens to yorke place ayen xxj [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m to shere keper of the begles for one monethe now ended v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the s'geant of the sello^{r} for iij tonne of white wyne of galiake xvj [-l]i. iiij [~s]. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied to one richard mason for taking up of a fawcon of the king[s] besides hartford vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to westby clerk of king[s] closet for vj masse book[s] and for vellute for to co[^v] them iij [-l]i. xj [~s]. s[=m] part[s] m^{l} ccccxxvij [-l]i. viij [~s]. x d. yet payment[s] in ffebruary. [1530] i[~t]m the xviij day paied to anthony knevet for a rewarde by him gyven to the fotemen by the kings[s] co[=m]aunde^{t} v [~s]. i[~t]m the xix daye paied to gui[~l][~l]m and his fellawes for ther botehire fro yorke place to hampton courte iij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister hennage for so moche money by him paied at the king[s] co[=m]aunde^{t} vj [-l]i. vij [~s]. ij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to phillip for lewte string[s] and other necessarys as apperith by his bille iiij [-l]i. xj [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king[s] watermen for wayting that daye and also the daye that the horses did rynne xxj [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to the taylo^{r} that made sextens cote for clothe lynyng and making xxj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to oxenbridge by the king[s] co[=m]aundement xj [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to x[=p]ofer the milloner for iij ryding cappes of blac vellute and xxij botons of golde to garnisshe them xlix [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to giles the grome of the crosbowes by way of rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to james the henne taker for hawk[s] mete x [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xviij [-l]i. v d. yet payment[s] in ffebruary. [1530.] i[~t]m the forsaied daye deli[^v]ed to the king[s] grace at hampto[^n] courte to perfo^{r}me up a so[=m]e xl. [~s]. i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to the gardy[^n] at hampton courte by waye of the king[s] rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the ij kepers of the parke at hampton courte xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the feryman at hampton courte x [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied to caundisshe for bringing instrument[s] to the king[s] grace xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to phillip of the pryvay chambre for a shalme xxvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to maister hennage for so moche money by him layed oute to my lorde of linco[~l]n s'[^v]nt and to maister secretary s'[^v]nt for bringing [~l]res to his grace xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister brownes in rewarde for bringing of a blac rynnyng guelding xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister lewke[^n]s in rewarde for bringing of a bucke x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister bedi[~l][~l][s] s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing [~l]res from oxford xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xj [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in ffebruary. [1530.] i[~t]m the laste day paied to bo^{r}ne one of the hont[s] toward[s] his mariage liij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of the clocke at hamptonco^{r}te xl [~s]. s[=m] part[s] iiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] hu[~i] mensis } iiijm^{l} dcci [-l]i. ffebruarij in anno xxj^{o} } iiij [~s]. iij d. [signature: henry r] yet payment[s] in marche. [1530] i[~t]m the furste daye of marche paid to john belson for the king[s] rewarde toward[s] sainct david feaste xl [~s]. i[~t]m the iij^{de} daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the abbot of glou[^c] in rewarde for bringing ij bake lampreys xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde of linco[~l]n for bringing lr[=e]s fro oxford vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the iiij^{th} daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde of suffolk[s] in rewarde for bringing [-l]res to the king[s] grace x [~s]. i[~t]m the v day paied to the henne taker for hawk[s] mete x [~s]. i[~t]m to iiij of maister skevingsto[~n] s'[^v]nt[s] in rewarde for bringing iij hobbyes to the king[s] grace iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the ix daye of marche paied to john droyt: john blanche and to ipolite iij of the king[s] mynstrell[s] in rewarde going into ther countrey x [-l]i. i[~t]m the xj daye of marche paied to garrat and richard the fawconers in rewarde for finding the herons x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to humfrey keper of the pryvat hound[s] for a monethe wages now ended ix [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to thomas ogu[~l][~l] for the bourde of iij children for the monethe ended the v daye of this monethe xxiiij [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xix [-l]i. x [~s]. x d. yet payment[s] in marche. [1530] i[~t]m the forsaied xj daye paied to maister hennage for so moche by him paid to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde barkeleys for bringing of bake lampreys to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister hennage for that he layed oute to certeyne me[^n] that fisshed afore the king[s] grace as he went on hawking v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the procto^{r}s of j[~h]u yelde in powles vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} wi[~l][~l]m sydneys in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xij daye paied to xvj of the king[s] watermen for ther wag[s] due for one quarter ended at our^[9] lady daye next ensueing at x [~s]. a pece viij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to lynney one of the king[s] children of the stable ij [~s]. and to launselot an other of the children xvj d. iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m to x[=p]ofer an other of the same ryding childre[^n] xvj d. i[~t]m to thomas ogull and to the dyatter of the king[s] rynnyng guelding[s] vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the boyes vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] x [-l]i. xvj [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in marche. [1530] i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to a pouer woman in rewarde by the king[s] co[=m]aundement xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister cofferer by the king[s] co[=m]aunde^{t} to be repaied at the feast of all sainct[s] next co[=m]yng m^{l}m^{l} [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to richard brandon for his lyveray cote xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m to the same richard for mete of a lauret for ij monethes v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to garet the shomaker for shoes and boot[s] for the children of the pryvat chambre xxix [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to nicolas clampe for hawk[s] mete as it dothe appere by his bille xxiiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister norrys for so moche by him paied for hoses for the king[s] boyes lix [~s]. i[~t]m the xv daye paied to the vice chaunceller of cambrige by the king[s] co[=m]aundement in rewarde vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to maister latymer that preched bifore the king the ij^{de} sonday of lent v [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the procto^{r} that cam w^{t} them from cambrige iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] m^{l}m^{l} xxiij [-l]i. ij d. yet payment[s] in marche. [1530] i[~t]m the xvij daye paied to cornelys the king[s] goldesmythe upon a further reconnyng betwene the king[s] grace and him c [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a smythe in depforde for heling and gyving drynk[s] to di[^v]s of the king[s] horse xxiiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to hauky[^n] one of the fawconers for his lyvery cote xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m to the same haukyn for hawk[s] mete for iij hawk[s] as apperith by his bille xxiiij [~s]. x d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to men of stanes in rewarde for bringing a fresshe samon to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to him that kepeth the begles for one monethe v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to x[=p]ofer ffawconer for his lyveray xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xix day paied to bryan talbot for a quarter wages due at our^[9] lady daye xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to stephen the hardewareman for iij nig[~h]t cappes for the boyes of the stable and for one for sexten vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m paied to the shomaker for showes and boot[s] for the saied boys x [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] cix [-l]i. xiiij d. yet payment[s] in marche. [1530.] i[~t]m the xx daye paied to tho[=m]s ogle for the bourde of the boyes that doo rynne the guelding[s] and for the dyeting of horses xxxiiij [~s]. x d. i[~t]m the same daye deli[^v]ed to the king[s] grace to playe at dyse w^{t} my lorde of norffolke, palmer, and domyngo xl [-l]i in angell[s] xlv [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to docto^{r} bawg[~h] for to distribute to pouer people by way of the king[s] charitable pryvat almes xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lady sideneys in rewarde for bringing of orange pyes vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to laborers that made clene the aleys in the [pf]ke at wyndeso^{r} x [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lady westons in rewarde for bringing ij bake breames to the king[s] grace v [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied to the sergeant of the sello^{r} by the king[s] co[=m]aunde^{t} for so moche money loste by his grace at dyce xxij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied to my lorde of norffolke for so moche by him layed out to one i[^n] skyppe v [-l]i. s[=m] part[s] iiij^{xx} xv [-l]i. vij [~s]. ij d. yet payment[s] in marche. a^{o}. xxj^{o}. [1530.] i[~t]m the xxv daye to john lynde one of the hont[s] for his quarter wages due at this daye xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m to john yardeley for his lyke wages then due xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m to the henne taker for his wages then due xlv [~s]. i[~t]m to s^{r} torche the king[s] bede man at the rod[s] in grenewiche for one yere now ended xl [~s]. i[~t]m to maister crane for the wag[s] and bourde wag[s] of robert pery for one quarter now ended xlij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xxvj daye deli[^v]ed to the king[s] grace at dyce w^{t} my lorde of norfolk palmar and domyngo xl [-l]i. in angell[s] xlv [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the maister of the roulles s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing of mewles to the king[s] grace xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied to the mylloner for certeyne cappes trymmed and garnissed withe botons of golde iij [-l]i. ix [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king[s] confesso^{r} by the king[s] co[=m]aunde^{t} xx corons iiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m to one that was my lorde of suffolk[s] mynstrell by way of rewarde xl [~s]. s[=m] part[s] lxvj [-l]i. x [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in marche. [1530] i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to nicolas clampe for his wages for one quarter now ended l [~s]. i[~t]m to the same nicholas for his bourde wages by the space of iiij^{xx}. ix dayes at iiij d by the day xxix [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m to the same nicholas for the mete of iiij hawk[s] during the space of iiij^{xx}. ix dayes at j d by the day e[^v]y hawke xxix [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxx daye paied to john a wodde for his quarter wag[s] now due after xij d by the day iiij [-l]i. xj [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardi[^n] at wanstede for his quarters wages now due xx [~s]. i[~t]m to humfrey of the pryvat buchound[s] for one monethe now ended ix [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m to my lorde of rocheford for so moche money by him paid in rewarde to ---xx angell[s] vij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the laste daye paied to sexten s'[^v]nt for wasshing of his shert[s], for shoes, for posset ale and other necessaries vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king[s] grace owne hand[s] of the money that ca[^m] fro calays vc corons in sterling money ijc. xvj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] ccxxxv [-l]i. xix [~s]. xj d. yet payment[s] in marche. [1530.] i[~t]m the forsaied laste daye paid to the feryman at dochet by the king[s] co[=m]aundement xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xx [~s]. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } ijm^{l}. vc. lxj [-l]i. hu[~i] mens' marcij } vj [~s]. vij d. [signature: henry r] payment[s] in aprill. [1530.] i[~t]m the furste daye of aprill paied by the king[s] co[=m]aundement to docto^{r} stubbes to be employed about[s] the king[s] buyelding[s] at yorke place cccc [-l]i. i[~t]m the ij^{de} daye paied in almesse to iij pouer women in eton v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to di[^v]s women that gadered for the churche of sainct laurence of upton v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jasper the gardyner at beaulie for his quarter wages due at o^{r} lady daye l [~s]. i[~t]m the iij^{de} daye paied by the king[s] co[=m]aundement to one richard atkyns by way of rewarde for writing xlvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the iiij^{th} daye paied to maister baynto[^n] for so moche money by him wonne of the king[s] grace by betting at tennes when his grace and [^m] knevet played ayenste [^m] seymore xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to my lady boulstrod[s] s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing a present of apulles xx d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardy[^n] of beaulie in rewarde for bringing erbes to the king[s] grace vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to barnardyn the gonner that gave the mastif to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] ccccix [-l]i. yet payment[s] in aprill. [1530.] i[~t]m the v^{th} daye paied to olde hug[~h] in rewarde when his hawk[s] went to the mewe xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to my lorde of rocheford for thuse of maist[s] weston for iiij games whiche he wanne of the king[s] grace at tennes at iiij angell[s] a game vj [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to iiij pouer people whiche the king[s] grace heled of ther sikenes at the more xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to james the henne taker for hawk[s] mete vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the water baily of londo[~n] for bringing a quycke sele to the king[s] grace at the more xxvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the vj daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m lewes for ij payer of virginall[s] in one coffer w^{t} iiij stoppes brought to grenewiche iij [-l]i. and for ij payer of virginall[s] in one coffer broug[~h]t to the more other iij [-l]i. and for a little payer of virginall[s] brought to the more xx [~s] vij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to domyngo by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} for so moche money loste at game iiij^{xx} [-l]i. in angell[s] and the same daye deli[^v]ed to the king[s] grace[s] owne hand[s] xx [-l]i. in angell[s] cxij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the vij daye paied to john evans for his bourde wag[s] for one quarter due at o^{r} lady daye laste paste xxx [~s]. v d. s[=m] part[s] cxxxij [-l]i. iij [~s]. ix d. yet payment[s] in aprill. [1530.] i[~t]m to the forsaied john evans for the mete of viij hawk[s] from the xxiiij daye of decembre unto the xxv daye of marche that is iiij^{xx}. x dayes at j d a daye for e[^v]y hawk iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the viij daye paied to one john bekensawe student at parys by the king[s] co[=m]aundement v [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to hewe elys, richard elys, philipp clampe, nicholas clampe, olde hew, yonge hew, thomas londo[^n], joh[^n] evans, walter fawco[^n], and humfrey raynzford, for ther lyverays, e[^v]y of them xxv [~s]. xij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the x daye paied to maist^{9} weston by way of the king[s] rewarde ayenst easter xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied by lyke rewarde to the two guilliams and phillippes boye for ther howsell x [~s] a pece xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the xij daye paied to hew harrys for his wages, and for his hawk[s] mete as apperith by his bille iij [-l]i. vij [~s]. x d. i[~t]m to the same hew for his cote xxv [~s]. i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to john pyne for ij payer of hosen for maister weston, and for viij payer for [^m]ke the two guilliams and phillippes boye, and for ij payer for sextene, and for iiij payer for the boyes of the stabull iij [-l]i. xviij [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xxxj [-l]i. x [~s]. x d. yet payment[s] in aprill. [1530.] i[~t]m the xv daye paied to shere that kepith the king[s] begles by way of the king[s] rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m to the same shere for his wag[s] for one monethe v [~s]. i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to [^m] halle s'[^v]nt that kept the white nag, by way of rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m to the boye that ranne the same nag, by way of lyke rewarde x [~s]. i[~t]m the xvij day paied for the appareling of yonge elys, one of the fawco[^n]s ayenst easter xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied in rewarde to the gardyner of hamptonco^{r}te for bringing herbes to the king[s] grace vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xix daye paied to elys the elder for his lyveray cote xxv [~s]. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to the gardy[^n] at wyndeso^{r} for one quarter wag[s] due at o^{r} lady daye xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to john scot for making cotes and doubelett[s] for the rynnyng boyes of the stabull xlix [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jasper the gardyner at beaulie in rewarde for bringing herbes vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to walshe the gardyner at grenewiche for weding delving and for laborers xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] x [-l]i. ij [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in aprill. [1530.] i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied by the king[s] co[=m]aundement to [^m] heritage to be employed about[s] the king[s] buyelding[s] at the more lx [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to marke in rewarde by the king[s] co[=m]aunde^{t} x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to an olde pouer man by the king[s] charitable almes, that labored to obteyne a bille to be signed x [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied to the smythe at depford for his cote xxv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to gui[~l][~l]m the king[s] ffletcher for arowes for my lorde of richemonde xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to john yardeley for ij monethes wag[s] xx [~s]. i[~t]m paied in almesse by the king[s] co[=m]aundement on good frydaye xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to v pouer people that the king[s] grace heled of ther sikenes xxxvij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m knevet by way of rewarde vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye to richard ap gui[~l][~l]s for his howsell at easter iiij [~s] viij d. i[~t]m to rutter one of the kepers of the forest of wyndeso^{r} for his anuyte due for one half yere at ij d by the daye xxx [~s]. v d. s[=m] part[s] lxxvj [-l]i. x [~s]. xj d. yet payment[s] in aprill. [1530.] i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied by the king[s] co[=m]aundement and by his grac[s] rewarde to john carys father x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to my lorde of richemond[s] norse in rewarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to my lorde of norfolke for so moche money by him layed out at the king[s] co[=m]aundement lix [-l]i. v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to m^{r} of the horses for the bourde of the rydyng boyes as apperith by his bille lviij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to him that kepith the armery in wyndeso^{r} xl [~s]. i[~t]m to raulf the honte by the king[s] rewarde iiij [~s] viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to thom the jester for his howsill, and for his lyveray cote xxv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the henne taker for his lyveray cote xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the friers of hounslowe by way of the king[s] charitable almes xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to a s'[^v]nt of [^m] bek[s] in rewarde for bringing a present of grene gees iiij [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] lxxix [-l]i. xviij [~s]. [_the following folio of the ms. is missing._] payment[s] in may. [1530.] the furste daye of may paied to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} giles capell in rewarde for bringing a doo to the king x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde of richemond at his going into ireland v [~s]. i[~t]m the v^{th} daye of may paied by the king[s] co[=m]aunde^{t} to hecto^{r} assheley of hounsden for to be employed about[s] the king[s] buyelding at hounsdo[~n] cc [-l]i. i[~t]m the vj day paied in almes to an heremyte upon the waye iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the vij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lady parres in rewarde for bringing a cote clothe of kenda[~l][~l] for the king[s] grace iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the ix daye paied to doctour baugh by the king[s] co[=m]aunde^{t} for to be employed about[s] his grac[s] charitable almes for ij monethes begynnyng the xiiij day of this monethe xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye to nicholas clampe for his bourde wages and hawk[s] mete as apperith by his bille lviij [~s]. i[~t]m the x daye paied to the henne taker for one monethe wages xv [~s]. s[=m] part[s] ccxxiiij [-l]i. xvij [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in may. [1530.] i[~t]m the xj daye paied to bryan talbot for one monethe wages xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister hennage for ij standard[s] for to cary plate fro yorke place to hampton courte iij [-l]i. xx d. i[~t]m to the same maister hennage for so moche money by him paied at the king[s] comaunde^{t} to a myner xl [~s]. i[~t]m to the same maister hennage for so moche money by him paied ta a s'[^v]nt of the abbot of glou[^c] for bringing a sturgeon to the king x [~s]. i[~t]m to the same maister hennage for so moche money by him paied to one of the quenes s'[^v]nt[s] for bringing cut the king[s] spanyell ayen x [~s]. i[~t]m the xij daye paied to humfrey of the king[s] pryvay buk hound[s] for his monethe wages now ended ix [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde barkeleys in rewarde for bringing a fresshe sturgeon to the king[s] grace to york place xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xiiij day paied to one in rewarde for bringing home ball the king[s] dog that was loste in the forrest of waltham v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to polling john for his quarter wages due at midso[^m] next co[~m]yng x [~s]. s[=m] part[s] x [-l]i. xij d. yet payment[s] in may. [1530.] i[~t]m the xv day paied to herasmus the armerer upon the content[s] of his bille as apperith by the same xxxviij [-l]i. xvj [~s]. i[~t]m the xvj day paied to culbert the king[s] apoticary upon the full content[s] of his bille as it shall appere by the same xxx [-l]i. xij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied by the king[s] co[=m]aunde^{t} to mais[^t] lubished by way of rewarde x [-l]i. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} edwarde boleyns by way of rewarde for bringing a guelding to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xix daye paied to the gardyner of beaulie in rewarde for bringing herbes to the king vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to vincent the paynter for trymmyng the kyng[s] new barge xv [-l]i iiij [~s]. ix d. i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to walter walshe for to depeche as well the taylo^{r} and skynner for certeyn stuf and workemanship for my ladye anne, as also to a prynter for di[^v]s bok[s] for the king[s] grace lix [-l]i. xviij [~s]. i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to pyne the hosyer for hosen for maister weston, marke, bothe the guilliams, patche, phillippes boy, the ij boyes of the stable iij [-l]i. ix [~s]. s[=m] part[s] c lix [-l]i. vj [~s]. xj d. yet payment[s] in may. [1530.] i[~t]m the xxiij day paied to wi[~l][~l]m locke mercer for certeyn silkes and di[^v]s other thinges as dothe appere by his bille cc xxxij [-l]i. x [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied to the olde gardyner of beaulie in rewarde for bringing herbes to the king[s] grace vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to him that wayt[s] upon sexten as well for his wages for half a yere at ij d by the daye, as also for wasshyng his shert[s] and other necessaryes lj [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to shere for chipping[s] for the king[s] begles for one monethe then ended v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied for the charges of talowyng rede and ruf nayle pytche tarre and other necessaryes for the trymmyng of the king[s] bote and barge xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jasper of beaulie the gardyner in rewarde for bringing streberyes to the king vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king[s] watermen for wayting xvj dayes at yorke place in the easter terme v [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m to the same watermen, for ther wayting fro yorke place to keyho w^{t} xvj oers when the king[s] grace removed fro yorke place to richemond x [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] cc xlij [-l]i. xvij [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in may. [1530.] i[~t]m the xxvj day paied to the subdene of the king[s] chapell for thexhibicion of iiij scolars in oxford viij [-l]i. i[~t]m paied to maister weston by the king[s] co[=m]aundement at his mariage vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m paied the same daye to one tho[~m]s avelande for ij acres of medowe taken in for to enlarge the little parke of wyndeso^{r} iiij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to v pouer people the whiche the king[s] grace heled of ther sikeness xxxvij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde of durisme in rewarde for bringing of a cele xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister browne for so moche money by him paied in rewarde to x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of john cheyneys in rewarde for bringing up of a felon xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a frier called ---by the king[s] co[=m]aundement xx corons iiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} to the fraternite of j[~h]s xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to wodall[s] s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing crabbes to the king[s] grace x [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xxvij [-l]i. ix [~s]. ij d. yet payment[s] in may. [1530.] i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to the gardyner of richemonde by way of rewarde iiij [~s]. viij. d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to scawseby for bowys arowys shaft[s] brode hedd[s] braser and shoting glove for my lady anne xxiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the laste day paied to the king[s] watermen for iij dayes wayting xxxij [~s]. s[=m] part[s] iij [-l]i. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } dc iij^{xx}. vij [-l]i. hu[~i] mensis maij. } xj [~s]. ix d. [signature: henry r] payment[s] in june. [1530.] i[~t]m the furste daye paied for a last and a lyne iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m in rewarde for the furste daye vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m paied in rewarde for the laste daye xx [~s]. i[~t]m the ij^{de} daye paied to john hawys one of the king[s] watermen for his quarter wages due at mydsomer next co[~m]yng x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to dyso another of the watermen for his quarter wag[s] due as afore x [~s]. i[~t]m the iij^{de} daye paied to william wylde john everingh[~m] john carter and thomas glover xx [~s]. i[~t]m the iiij^{th} daye paied to the chauncellers s'[^v]nt of ffraunce for ij tabull[s] and in rewarde l corons x [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the v daye paied to the gardy[^n] of grenewiche by way of rewarde v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to ij of my lady barkeleys s'[^v]nt[s] in rewarde for bringing hawk[s] to the king xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to a s'[^v]nt of the mayer of london for bringing cherys to my lady anne vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to hewe naylinghurste for xxv dousin skynnes of fyne pawmpelion lx [-l]i. s[=m] part[s] lxxvj [-l]i. v [~s]. yet payment[s] in june. [1530.] i[~t]m the vj daye paied to s^{r} john hurt and iij of his fellowes e[^v]y one of them xxij [~s] for ther cot[s] iiij [-l]i. viij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to humfrey raynezford for chipping[s] for the king[s] pryvat hound[s] for one monethe ix [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the prio^{r} of lantonys for bringing cheses to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to my lorde of wo^{r}cestr^[9] s'[^v]nt for bringing of hawk[s] to the king xx [~s]. i[~t]m the vij daye paied to wol[^v]stede of the armery for his lyveray cote xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied for a payer of trussing coffers for the king xxiiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister heritage by the king[s] co[=m]aundem[=e]t for to be employed about[s] the king[s] buyelding[s] at the more l [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of houneworthe parke for bringing of a buk to wyndeso^{r} v [~s]. i[~t]m the viij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lady of wilshires in rewarde for bringing a cast of hawk[s] xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same paide in rewarde to a docto^{r} being nephew to the busshop that was ambassado^{r} here fifty corons xj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] lxxij [-l]i. yet payment[s] in june. [1530.] i[~t]m the ix daye paied in rewarde to my lady darell[s] s'[^v]nt for bringing capons and pudding[s] to the king v [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to maister hennage for so moche money by him paied at the king[s] co[=m]aundement as apperith by his bille vij [-l]i xix [~s]. j d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to humfrey for to paye for the keping of the king[s] hound[s] at wodstok; and for his cost[s] for the conveyng of them xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to walshe of grenewiche for weding delving and ordering of the gardyne there xxiiij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the x daye paied in rewarde to jasper of beaulie for bringing of herbes to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king[s] bowyer for iiij bowes for my ladye anne at iij [~s]. iiij d a pece xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m to the king[s] fletcher for half a dousin of forked arowes and [~d]i^[9] dousin of shoting arowes vj [~s]. i[~t]m the xj daye paied to s^{r} john hurt by the king[s] co[=m]aunde^{t} in rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m to the same s^{r} john hurte for money loste at shotyng xxv [~s]. i[~t]m to pynner by way of rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m to wythers by way of rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m clayton the baker in rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m to shere maister weston s'[^v]nt in rewarde for keping of yonge hound[s] xv [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xviij [-l]i. ij [~s]. xj d. yet payment[s] in june. [1530.] i[~t]m the xj daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister saint john in rewarde for bringing a caste of hawk[s] xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to coton for a cote of kendall and a dobelet of fustian and for making and for lynyng of the same for patche xv [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to hans the fawconer for hawk[s] mete xiiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xij daye paied to john evans for his bourde wages for one quarter at iiij d by the daye xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m to the same john evans for hawk[s] mete for vj hawk[s] at one peny the day e[^v]y hawke from the xxiiij day of marche unto the xxiij daye of this monethe xlv [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m to the same john evans for taking of a caste of launers and one lauret x [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xiij daye paied by the king[s] co[=m]aundement to wi[~l][~l]m brereton xl [-l]i. i[~t]m the xv daye paied to a frenche man in rewarde for gyving the king[s] grace a payer of knyves xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to a s[^v]nt of the capitayne of the isle of wight for bringing hawk[s] to the king[s] grace x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to john lengar jeweller for ij clock[s] iiij glasses xv swerd[s] iij turkesses and di[^v]s other thing[s] as apperith by his bille l [-l]i. vij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] iiij^{xx}. xix [-l]i. xiij [~s]. vij d. yet payment[s] in june. [1530.] i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to yonge hug[~h] for his bourde wag[s] from o^{r} lady daye the the annunciacion unto midso[^m]; that is to saye for one quarter of a yere after iiij d by the daye xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the same hug[~h] for his wages by the same space af[^t] iiij d by the daye xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m to the same hug[~h] paied the same daye for the mete of v hawk[s] by the same space; e[^v]y hawke at one penny by the daye xxxviij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied to petit john and his fellawe in rewarde by the king[s] co[=m]aundement iiij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to the keper of sonnynghill parke vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the p[~r]oste of etons in rewarde for bringing cak[s] to the king[s] grace v [~s]. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to good of wyndeso^{r} for certeyne grounde the whiche was taken oute of the king[s] ferme and yuved for to enlarge the litle park of wyndeso^{r} iiij [-l]i. i[~t]m the xix daye paied to robert a lee for certeyne nett[s] and for the charges of the cariage of the same about[s] w^{t} the king[s] grace iiij [-l]i. vij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m crane for the wag[s] and bo^{r}de wag[s] of robert pery for a quarter ended at midso[^m] xliiij [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] xx [-l]i. iij [~s]. yet payments in june. [1530.] i[~t]m the same daye paied to patches man for his lyveray cote xxiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to thomas warde for so moche money by him employed about di[^v]s necessaryes at wyndeso^{r} xliiij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m to lynde one of the hont[s] for his wages due for one quarter ended at mydso[^m] after a grote a daye xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to henry birde by the king[s] co[=m]aundem[=e]t in rewarde xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye by lyke co[=m]aunde^{t} to the bowyer in rewarde x [~s]. i[~t]m in like rewarde to the ffletcher the same daye vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a frier of ffraunce that undertoke for to stoppe the breche at wolwiche vij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the prio^{r} of lanthony in rewarde for bringing cheses to the king[s] [~g]ce xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister walshe for bringing bok[s] from grenewiche to hamptoncourte vj [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxij day paied to wi[~l][~l]m armerers wif for vj shert[s] for marke and the two guilliams: and for one sherte for henry knevet l [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to henry the shomaker for shoes for marke the two guilliams and phillippes boye xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xviij [-l]i. iiij [~s]. vij d. yet payment[s] in june. [1530.] i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied to the maister of the horses as well for the charg[s] in sending for the king[s] harneys fro bullayne to myllayne: as also for bringing iij horses ij men and one boye fro mantwaye cc xlviij corons lvij [-l]i. xvij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m to the same maister of the horses for the bourde of the rynnyng boyes at grenewiche and wyndeso^{r} and for shert[s] for them xxxvij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to golde the hosyer for ij payer of hosen, a lether jerkyn, and a doublet of white fustian for raulf mundy xiiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to westcote keper of the litle parke at wyndso^{r} for di[^v]s necessaries done in the same parke xv [~s]. j d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} john bouchier in rewarde for bringing a caste of hawk[s] to the king[s] grace xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied to the gardy[^n] at wyndeso^{r} for his wag[s] due for one quarter now ended xx [~s]. i[~t]m to shere for his wages due for one monethe v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the fery man at datchet in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] lxiiij [-l]i. xv [~s]. v d. yet payment[s] in june. [1530] i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to xiiij of the king[s] watermen for ther quarter wag[s] ended at midsomer after x [~s] a pece vij [-l]i. i[~t]m to xvj of the same watermen for wayting at wyndeso^{r} and hamptoncourte iiij dayes at viij d to e[^v]y one a daye xlij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister russell watermen for carying of stuf from wyndeso^{r} to london xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king[s] watermen for a maste and a lyne iiij [~s]. i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lady princesse in rewarde for bringing of a bucke to the king[s] grace x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king[s] fletcher and bowyer in rewarde for wayting at wyndeso^{r} xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to ij mynstrelles at the king[s] co[~m]aundem[~e]t by waye of rewarde iiij [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the provoste of eton in rewarde for bringing cak[s] to the king[s] [~g]ce v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to h[~u]frey raynezford of the pryvay hound[s] for one monethe wages ix [~s]. i[~t]m to the coristars of wyndeso^{r} in rewarde for the king[s] spurres vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] xvj [-l]i. xvij [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in june. [1530.] i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied to a post that ca[^m] fro venice by way of rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of the gardyne at yorke place in rewarde for bringing of cherys to hamptoncourte iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to a gentilman of scotlande at the king[s] co[=m]aunde^{t} by waye of his grac[s] rewarde xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to jo[~h]n a wod that kepith the king[s] gosse hawke for his quarter wages at xij d by the daye, ended at the feaste of midso[^m] iiij [-l]i. xj [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to james the henne taker for his wages due for one quarter at vj d by the daye xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the last daye of june paied to the keper of yorke place for bringing cherys to hamptoncourte iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jasper the gardyner of beaulie for his quarter wag[s] due at midsommer iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the same jasper for bringing herbes to hamptoncourte vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] xxxj [-l]i. xij [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in june. [1530.] i[~t]m the forsaied daye paied to the gardyner of yorke place for bringing of cherys and herbes to hamptoncourte iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a frencheman called marens lesenture by way of rewarde iiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] iiij [-l]i. xviij [~s]. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } iiij c. xxij [-l]i. hu[~i] mens' junij } xij [~s]. iiij d. payments in july. [1530.] i[~t]m the furste daye paied to the keper of the gardyne in yorke place for bringing of lettuze and cherys to hamptoncourte iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the ij^{de} daye of july paied to candisshe the gardy[^n] at wanstede for a quarter wages ended at mydso[^m] laste xx [~s]. i[~t]m the iij^{de} daye paied to thomas alforde by the king[s] co[=m]aundem[~e]t upon a bille iij [-l]i. viij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the iiij daye paied for xij galy pott[s] bought by maister hennage iiij [~s]. i[~t]m the v^{th} daye paied to the clok maker at west[^m] for mending the clocke at hamptoncourte xx [~s]. i[~t]m the vj daye paied to bryan that kepyth the king[s] chast greyhound[s] for his wages due at midso[^m] xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the vij daye paied to the keper of sonnynghill in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the s'[^v]nt of the provoste of eton in rewarde v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to the queres[^t]s of wyndeso^{r} for the king[s] spurres vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one that broug[~h]t a lauret of the king[s] the whiche was taken up aboutes wynchestre x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to thomson for carying the king[s] stuf to hampton courte v [~s]. s[=m] part[s] ix [-l]i. xv [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in july. [1530.] i[~t]m the viij^{th} daye paied in rewarde to a frencheman that ca[^m] from the great maister that now is of the frenche king[s] children c corons xxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardy[^n] of yorke place for bringing herbes to oking v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to robt shere for his monethe wag[s] then ended v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to xvj of the king[s] watermen for wayting by the space of viij dayes v [-l]i viij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m to the same watermen for a maste and a lyne iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m to robert abbott[s] and john taylo^{r} the king[s] watermen for ther cotys xliiij [~s]. i[~t]m the ix daye paied to a poste that broug[~h]t newes fro the frenche king of the deli[^v]ey of his childre[^n] xxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to mathew the ffawco[^n] for his quarter wages due at midso[^m] xxij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to roche and naylinghurste for lviij elles and a half of arasse iij^{xx} viij [-l]i. v [~s]. i[~t]m the x^{th} daye paied to docto^{r} bag[~h] for the king[s] pryvay almes xxx [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to thomas cary in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundem[~e]t xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to godd[s]salve upon a bille by the king[s] co[=m]aunde^{t} vij [-l]i. iij [~s]. ij d. s[=m] part[s] c lxiij [-l]i. ix [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in july. [1530.] i[~t]m the xj day paied to rydley the taylo^{r} for a cote of kendall and for a hat, and for making and lynyng of the same xix [~s]. x d. i[~t]m the same daye to edmond the keper of grenewiche parke for the labo^{r} of ij men x dayes to mowe downe the brak[s] there xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to hecto^{r} assheley to be employed about[s] the king[s] buyelding at hounsden c [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye to the ij ke[pf]s at hampto[^n] courte in rewarde xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye to john pate for ferying at richemond vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister arundell[s] in rewarde for bringing a bucke to hampton co^{r}te vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xij daye to the gardy[^n] at hampton co^{r}te in rewarde iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye to the feryman at hampton co^{r}te in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde chamberlaynes for bringing a bucke to oking vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day to a s'[^v]nt of water walshes in rewarde for bringing a hawke that was eyred in elmeley x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} fraunc[s] bryan in rewarde for bringing the king a hounde x [~s]. i[~t]m the same day to john yardeley for his quar[^t] wag[s] due at midso[^m] xxx [~s]. v d. s[=m] part[s] c vj [-l]i. ix [~s]. j d. yet payment[s] in july. [1530.] i[~t]m the forsaied xij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde steward[s] in rewarde for bringing of a goshawke xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde chamberlayns in rewarde iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to george lovekyn at oking upon his bille by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xxv [-l]i. xij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xv daye to humfrey raynezford for a monethe wag[s] now due ix [~s]. i[~t]m to the same humfrey in rewarde for to bye him a jerken ix [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xvj daye of july paied to sextons man for his quarter wag[s] ended at midsomer xv [~s]. ij d. i[~t]m to the saied sextons man for di[^v]s necessaries the whiche he boug[~h]t for sexton x [~s]. vij d. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied to pyne the hosier, for hosen for marke and the ij guilliams iiij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to george taylo^{r} my lady anne s'[^v]nt to the use of wi[~l][~l]m moraunt of penshurste for his halfe yeres anuytie iij [-l]i. x d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to my lorde marques of excett^{r} s'[^v]nt keper of horsley parke in rewarde x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardy[^n] of the great gardyne at beaulie for his quarter wages due at midso[^m] iij [-l]i. x d. s[=m] part[s] xl [-l]i. xxij d. yet payment[s] in july. [1530.] i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde marques of excet^{r} in rewarde for bringing a couple of hound[s] to oking xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde of wilshire in rewarde for bringing of a tarsell and of a goshawke to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xix daye paied to herasm' one of the armerers upon his bille xxiij [-l]i. xviij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a frencheman that solde the king ij clock[s] at oking xv [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the two kepers at oking in rewarde xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to the keper of the paroke at oking in rewarde xij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of the place of oking in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of byflete parke in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister treasorers in rewarde for bringing of carpes and bremes to the king at oking iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxj daye to pery my lorde marques of excet^{r} s'[^v]nt in reward for bringing a blac hounde to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiij day to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde fferrers for bringing a caste of hawk[s] to guylford xxxvij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] xlvj [-l]i. vij [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in july. [1530.] i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to my lorde of norfolke to gyve a frier called anserois at ghiylford c corons of the rose by way of rewarde xij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the xxvj daye deli[^v]ed to my lorde of norfolke by the king[s] co[=m]aunde^{t} one hundrethe corons of the sonne xxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to the friers of guylford in rewarde v [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the iiij kepers of guylford parke in rewarde xxvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of henley parke in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m to chapman keper of hamptonco^{r}te gardyne in rewarde v [~s]. i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to a man in rewarde for bringing a glasse of rosewater fro guylford to wyndeso^{r} v [~s]. i[~t]m the laste daye paied to doctour layton by the king[s] co[=m]aunde^{t} vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to x[~p]ofer mylloner for bonett[s] for the king[s] grace and the boyes of his pryvat chambre as apperith by his bill lij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the provost of eton in rewarde for bringing cak[s] to the king[s] grace iij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] lij [-l]i. ix [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } iiij c xviij [-l]i. hu[~i] mensis julij } xij [~s]. ix d. [signature: henry r] yet payment[s] in august. [1530.] i[~t]m the furste daye paied to nowell one of the mynstrelles for his wag[s] to be repaied at michelmas next in the jewell house upon his wages payable there xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of the mote parke in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the second daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde fferrers in rewarde for bringing a couple of hound[s] xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde of suffolk[s] in rewarke for bringing bowys and arowes to the king[s] grace xl [~s]. i[~t]m the iij^{de} daye paied to one davy w^{t} a slyt nose by waye of rewarde x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the sergeant of the sello^{r} for bringing partriche to the king iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the iiij^{th} daye paied to tho[=m]s the foteman in rewarde for to releve him in his sicknes six corons xxviij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to the provoste of etons s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing cak[s] to the king[s] grace v [~s]. i[~t]m the vj daye paied to the dean of the chapell for the chape[~l][~l] feaste xl [~s]. s[=m] part[s] x [-l]i. xviij [~s]. yet payment[s] in august. [1530.] i[~t]m the vij daye paied to the six kepers of esthampstede parke and of fynez bailywike and ffynchamstede in the fforrest after the rate of vj [~s]. viij d a pece xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde awdeleys in rewarde for bringing a hownde to the king xx [~s]. i[~t]m the viij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde of reding in rewarde for bringing wodknyves to the king[s] [~g]ce xx [~s]. i[~t]m the x daye paied to the gardy[^n] of hamptonco^{r}te for bringing peres and damsons to the king vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xij daye paied to a frencheman called drulardy for iij dya[~l][~l][s] and a clokke for the king[s] grace xv [-l]i. i[~t]m the xiij daye paied in rewarde to james tylson of west[^m] for two angelyng rodd[s] that he broug[~h]t to the king[s] grace to hamptonco^{r}te x [~s]. i[~t]m the xiiij day paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister salisbury in rewarde for bringing of a leasshe of grey houndes to the king at hamptonco^{r}te xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paid to x[~p]ofer millaner for certeyne stuf for the king as apperith by his bille xxxj [-l]i. ix [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] liij [-l]i. vij [~s]. yet payment[s] in august. [1530.] i[~t]m the forsaied xiiij day paied to robert stonar keper in waltham fforrest for bringing of a stag to hamptonco^{r}te xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to john browne one of the showters for his cote xxij [~s]. vij d. i[~t]m the same daye to the keper of houneworthe parke in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xv daye to ij of the rangeo^{r}s of the forrest of wyndeso^{r} and to xxij other kepers by way of rewarde vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m to robert shere for a monethe wag[s] ended the vj day of august v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to humfrey raynezford for a monethe wag[s] ended the xij day of auguste ix [~s]. i[~t]m the xvj daye to the gardy[^n] of richemond in rewarde for bringing philbert[s] and damasons to the king to hampton co^{r}te iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to pyne the hosier for hosen for the king[s] children as apperith by his bille vj [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye to the gardy[^n] of yorke place for bringing frute to esthampstede iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye to mais[^t] hennage for the bird[s] mete xij d. s[=m] part[s] xvj [-l]i. ij [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in august. [1530.] i[~t]m the xvij day paied to thomas horden for shoting at wyndso^{r} on whitson-mondaye xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same day to humfrey raynezford by way of rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye to the keper of parlam parke by way of rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde of linco[~l]n in rewarde for bringing of sokat to the king vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} edward donnes for bringing of a bucke to the king at ashrige vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye to the keper of barkamstede parke in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xviij daye to edmonde the fote man for so moche by him gyven in rewarde at assherige to one that made the dogges to draw water iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye to roger for bringing a glasse of relike water fro wyndeso^{r} to hamptoncourte xij d. i[~t]m the xix daye paied to a woman in rewarde that gave the king forked hedd[s] for his crosbowe xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to thomas cary by way of rewarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to the frenche fletcher in rewarde towardes his surgery xl [~s]. s[=m] part[s] vij [-l]i. xix [~s]. yet payment[s] in august. [1530.] i[~t]m the xx daye paied to the keper of the southe parke at hamptonco^{r}te by waye of rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye to the keper of the northe parke at hamptonco^{r}te by way of rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye to chapman keper of the gardyne at hamptoncourte by waye of rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye to the clocke maker of west[^m] for mending of the clock[s] at hampton courte iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxj daye paid to a s'[^v]nt of maister bucleys s'[^v]nt, for bringing of hawk[s] and greyhound[s] to the king[s] grace to antyll xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same day to robert acton the king[s] sadler for bringing of ij white skynnes to antyll vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to richard cicyll grome of the robes for viij pec[s] of yolowe lace boug[~h]t for the king[s] grace v [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied to my lorde of rocheford for to gyve to george nod[s] and other the hont[s] lij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to the ke[pf] and his wif at antell for fisshing and to ij other men that holpe to ffisshe x [~s]. s[=m] part[s] vj [-l]i. xvij [~s]. x d. yet payment[s] in august. [1530.] i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied in rewarde to tregonnar and oly[^v] by the king[s] co[~m]aundement vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxvij daye to maister comptroller to gyve in rewarde to him that appeched massy x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to thomas the fote man for that he layed oute at antell by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} v [~s]. i[~t]m the last daye paied at antell to john elys maister of the king[s] myne at lantrissen in walys in glamorgan shire xxiij [-l]i. xvj [~s]. vj d to be employed upon the said myne xxiij [-l]i. xvj [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same last daye paied at antell to edmond lynde for his wages due at michelmas next co[~m]yng after a grote a daye xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m to james the henne taker for his quarter wages due at the saied tyme next co[~m]yng xlv [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xxxv [-l]i. iij d. s[^m] to'[-l][s] soluc[s] } cxxx [-l]i. hu[~i] mensis augusti. } iiij [~s]. ix d. [signature: henry r] yet payment[s] in septembre. [1530.] i[~t]m the furste daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} robert a leys in rewarde for bringing a greyhounde to the king to antell vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paid to giles grome of the crosbowes for so moche by him layd oute aboute the mending of the king[s] net vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye to peter ffawco[^n] for his lyveray cote xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the ij^{de} daye to the ij kepers of the great parke at antell in rewarde xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye to the keper of the litle parke there in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye to the keper of the parke of brokborowe in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aundement at antell to a s'[^v]nt of my lady princesse for hir use to make paystyme w^{t} all x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye to peter taberet and john bolenger the king[s] mynstrell[s] by waye of rewarde at antell iiij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye to robert shere keper of the king[s] pryvate begles for his monethe wages then due v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to richard amsham for vij yard[s] and di' of coton vj [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] xvij [-l]i. xv [~s]. vj d. [signature: henry r] yet payment[s] in septembre. [1530.] i[~t]m the iij^{de} daye paied to the friers of hochen by way of rewarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m the iiij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister rotheram in rewarde for bringing of a hawke that was taken up besid[s] northampto[^n] vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the v day to james hobart in rewarde for bringing of oranges and lymmons to the king to hartford xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to nicholas clampe for his wages for di' quarter after x [-l]i by the yere for the x^{th} daye of may to the xxiij of june xxv [~s]. i[~t]m to the same nicholas for the mete of iiij hawk[s] fro the x daye of maye unto the xxiij daye of june after one peny a daye for a hawke xv [~s]. i[~t]m to the same nicholas for his bo^{r}de wages from the x^{th} daye of maye unto the xxiij daye of june after iiij d by the daye xv [~s]. i[~t]m the vj daye to the keper of the parke of bedwell in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye to willy the ffawco[^n] for his lyveray cote xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye to the keper of hartford parke in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye to mason the king[s] scolar at parys for a hole yeres exhibucion ended at mic[~h]is next iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] xj [-l]i. iiij [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in septembre. [1530.] i[~t]m the vij daye at hartford paid to ffraunc[s] graunt by the king[s] co[~m]aundement by way of rewarde vij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day to jasper gardy[^n] at beaulie in rewarde for bringing archicokk[s] coco[^m]s and other herbes to the king to hartford vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the viij daye paied to the wif of the dove upo[^n] a reconnyng for lynne[^n] clothe for my lady anne x [-l]i. i[~t]m the x daye to the iij kepers of the iij park[s] at hounsdon in rewarde to e[^v]y keper vj [~s] viij d xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to robert lee ke[pf] of the parke where the pond[s] be for watchyng the fisshe vj [~s] viij d. i[~t]m the xij daye to robert actons s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing ij skynnes to the king to waltham v [~s]. i[~t]m the xiij daye to john nelson s'[^v]nt to maister bryan in rewarde for bringing a couple of hound[s] to the king to waltham xv [~s]. i[~t]m the xiiij daye to rowland one of the kepers in the forest of walth[=m] in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xv daye paied to my lorde of rocheford for shoting at hunsden ffyve pound[s] in angell[s] v [-l]i. xij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] xxv [-l]i. xij [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in septembre. [1530] i[~t]m the xvj daye to the hont[s] by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied by lyke co[~m]aundement to hector assheley keper of hounsden to be employed about[s] the the king[s] buyelding[s] there c xxxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied to humfrey raynezford for a monethe wages ended the iiij day of this instant ix [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied at walth[=m] for hosen for marke, the ij guill[=m]s phelippes boye and sexten xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the xviij daye to maister ffoxe for that he layed oute to [^m] latymer and other scolars of cambrige for ther cost[s] from cambrige to london and fro thens to cambrige ayen viij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye to thomas cary at waltham by way of rewarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xix daye to the king[s] hardwareman at walth[=m] upon his bille xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the xx daye to john yardeley for his quarter wages due at michelmas next co[=m]yng xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the same daye to robert lee and robert shere in rewarde for the finding of a buk and the hound[s] in waltham forest when they wer lost ix [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] c xlix [-l]i. iij [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in septembre. [1530.] i[~t]m the xxj daye to the rangeo^{r} and iij kepers in endefelde chace by waye of rewarde xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiij daye to a s'[^v]nt of john conysby in rewarde for bringing of carpes to the king xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to the keper of the more parke in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye to one that dud bringe a present to the king at more, in rewarde x [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye to the rangeo^{r} and iiij other kepers of waltham fforrest, in rewarde xxxvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m to the keper of pissow parke in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to george fferman of waltham in rewarde for his house that the ambassado^{r}s shulde have lyne in xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied for a cowe that uryren a breretons greyhound[s] and my ladye annes killed x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to water walshe upon his bille for that he layed oute to locke of london and to grislyn xj [-l]i. xx d. s[=m] part[s] xviij [-l]i. xx d. yet payment[s] in septembre. [1530.] i[~t]m the xxvj daye of septembre paied to sir anthony browne upon his bill layed out for the king vij [-l]i. xvij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied to byrde yoman of the bowys and to rolte yoman of the leshe for ther fees due at michelmas next co[=m]yng vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the lawnder that wasshith the children of the king[s] pryvat chambre xlviij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxviij daye to the gardyner at wanstede for his quarter wages due at michelmas xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to robert shere for his wages for one moneth then determyned v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to garret the shomaker for marke and the two guilliams xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to skyn[^n] that attend[s] upon sexten for his q[~r][^t] wag[s] due at michelmas and for di[^v]s necessaryes by him boug[~h]t for the same sexten liiij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m paied to [^m] hennage for that he layed oute at hamptonco^{r}te at the king[s] furste going in progresse to the ij kepers xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye to the gardy[^n] vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] xxij [-l]i. xviij [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in septembre. [1530.] i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to my lorde of norfolke for so moche money by him lent to the king[s] grace in play xxvij [-l]i. in angell[s] in sterling xxx [-l]i. vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister bryan for so moche money by him lent unto the king[s] grace in play whiche was c corons xviij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye to wi[~l][~l]m crane for the wages and bourde wages of wi[~l][~l]m pury for one quarter ended now at michelmas xliiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to water walshe for so moche money by him paied to my lorde of rocheford for shoting at hounsdo[=n] xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the last daye paied to x[~p]ofer myllo[^n] for edges of golde weyng ij unc[s] and iij quarters and iij [~s] at xj corons the o[z]. vj [-l]i. xix [~s]. j d. i[~t]m the same daye to the keper of richemond in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day to the feryman in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] lxiiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. ix d. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } cccix [-l]i. hu[~i] mensis septembris } ix [~s]. xj d. [signature: henry r] yet payment[s] in octobre. [1530.] i[~t]m the furste day paied to docto^{r} baugh for ij sike men at waltham xv [~s]. i[~t]m the ij^{de} daye to humfrey raynzford for his wag[s] ended for one monethe ix [~s]. i[~t]m the iiij daye to a sike preste at hampton courte by way of almesse vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye to maister secretarys s'[^v]nt for that he layd oute to s^{r} thomas dennys s'[^v]nt by way of rewarde for bringing [~l]res xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m rutter one of the kepers in the fforrest of wyndeso^{r} for his ffee for one half yere ended at michelmas after ij d by the daye xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the vj daye to the office of the haryars vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the vij daye paied to jasper the gardyner at beaulie for his quarter wag[s] ended at michelmas iii [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the same jasper in rewarde for bringing to chersaye artychokk[s] vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the viij^{th} daye paied to richard gibson by the king[s] co[=m]aundement for the making of a bed, w^{t} the appurten[~u]nc[s] xxj [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. x d. s[=m] part[s] xxxv [-l]i. xvj [~s]. ix d. yet payment[s] in october. [1530.] i[~t]m the ix daye paied to james taylo^{r} one of the king[s] watermen for his quarter wag[s] due at michelmas laste paste x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to john evans for the mete of viij hawk by the space of iiij^{xx} xvj dayes for e[^v]y hawke one peny a daye iij [-l]i. iiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the same john evans for his bourde wages fro mydso[^m] tyll michelmas after iiij d by the daye xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the x daye paied to ffowler keper of grenewiche for peter hart[s] bourde being in warde at the king[s] co[=m]aundement xxiij [~s]. iiij. d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the wif of wi[~l][~l]m armerers for shert[s] for maister weston [^m]ke and the ij guillams l [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m locke by the king[s] co[=m]aundement for certen silk[s] solde to the king[s] grace, as apperith by his bille cxxij [-l]i. vij [~s]. i[~t]m to penne of the chapell in rewarde for a present of olde aples v [~s]. s[=m] part[s] cxxxj [-l]i. ix [~s]. ix d. yet payment[s] in october. [1530.] i[~t]m the xj daye to the gardyner at hampton courte in rewarde v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king[s] watermen being xvij in noumbre for ther quarter wag[s] due at mic[~h]is after x [~s] a pece viij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m to shere for his wag[s] for one monithe for keping of the king[s] begles v [~s]. i[~t]m paied to maister hennage for a rewarde gyven by the king[s] grace unto the same shere xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the xij daye paied by the king[s] co[=m]aundement to walter walshe x [-l]i. i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to morgan wolf for xxv o[z] di' of parys ware at xj corons the o[z] lxx [-l]i. ij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to johnson the mayster of the king[s] barge for the rent of the house where the henxe men lye xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to the s'geant apoticary upon the contents of his bille as apperith by the same xxviij [-l]i. xvij [~s]. ij d. i[~t]m the same daye to rede [^m]shall of the king[s] halle for to dispose of the king[s] charite to such po[^u] folke as wer expelled the towne of the grenewiche in the tyme of the plage xviij [-l]i. viij [~s]. s[^m] part[s] c xxxix [-l]i. xviij [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in octobre [1530.] i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to the ke[pf] of the king[s] garden at wyndeso^{r} for his quarter wag[s] due at michelmas last paste xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to john a wod that kepith the king[s] goshawke for his quarter wag[s] ended as above iiij [-l]i. xj [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to james the henne taker for his quarter wag[s] ended as above xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to skyn[^n] that wayt[s] upon sexton for that he hathe laied oute for sexton upon his bille xiiij [~s]. i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to hobart[s] s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing of oranges and sydrons to the king at hampton courte iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} robert a leys for bringing of a foxe to the king at hamptonco^{r}te iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to john rede keper of the great gardyne at beaulie for a quarter wages ended at michelmas iij [-l]i. x d. s[=m] part[s] xij [-l]i. v d. yet payment[s] in octobre. [1530.] i[~t]m the xv daye paied to john rede gardyner at beaulie in rewarde for bringing swete waters to the king[s] grace at hamptoncourte xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to humfrey raynezford for his cote by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xvj daye paied for the caryage of the boyes to bery and taryng there xx wok[s] and for expenses co[~m]yng home and other necessaries xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to thomas cary in rewarde by the king[s] co[=m]ande^{t} iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to thomas aley[^n] by the king[s] co[=m]aundement x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to john bakhouse souldeo^{r} of calays by the king[s] co[=m]aundement xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied to laurence lee by the king[s] co[=m]aundement xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to ector assheley of hounsdon for to be employed about[s] the king[s] bylding there cc [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to john the hardewarman for ij payr of sleves, ij coffers, a payer of tabull[s] and chesses, a stele glasse, ix borders, a gyrdell, ij payer of beed[s], pois[s] xxij o[z] at xj corons the o[z] iiij^{xx} x [-l]i. iiij [~s]. s[=m] part[s] iij c xj [-l]i. viij [~s]. ij d. yet payment[s] in octobre. [1530.] i[~t]m the foresaied xvij daye paied to john parker yoman of the king[s] robys for certey[^n] silk[s] solde unto his grace by antony bouvice [^m]chant straunger c viij [-l]i. xvij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to --- for a thou[z]ande and xl perles at ij [~s] the pece c iiij [-l]i. i[~t]m to the same parson for xv brouches at viij corons the pece xxx [-l]i. i[~t]m the xix daye paied to w[~l][~l]m perpount of london draper for a pece of clothe of sil[^v] playne a pece of blac clothe of golde, and for a pece of tawney clothe of golde iiij^{xx} vij [-l]i. iij [~s]. ix d. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to [^m] cole sub dean of the king[s] chapell for thexhibucion of iiij scolars at oxford for one hole yere ended at michelmas viij [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to nedam the king[s] carpenter toward[s] the making of a pryvat bridge at yorke place x [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxij day paied to the clok maker of west[~m] in rewarde v [~s]. s[=m] part[s] iij c xlix [-l]i. v [~s]. v d. yet payment[s] in octobre. [1530.] i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied to bryan talbot for his quarter wages due at michelmasse laste paste xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied to john yardeley in prest upon his wag[s] for cristemas quarter xv [~s]. i[~t]m the xxv day paied to thomas ogull for the rydyng boyes bo^{r}de in grenewiche fro the viij daye of this monethe unto the v daye of novembre xvj [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to [^m] crane for the wag[s] and bourde wag[s] of robert pery for one quarter due at michelmas laste paste xliiij [~s]. i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to the feryman at hamptonco^{r}te by way of rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the wif that mak[s] the king poding[s] at hamptonco^{r}te vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to the keper of the gardyne at hamptonco^{r}te vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to pero and nowell the king[s] mynstrell[s] by his grac[s] co[~m]aundement iiij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister bryans in rewarde for bringing of a crosbowe, a quyver w^{t} arowes, and a hawk[s] glove xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xij [-l]i. iiij d. yet payment[s] in octobre. [1530.] i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m armerers wif for xxiij elles of cameryk for vj shert[s] for the king at vj [~s] the elle vj [-l]i. xviij [~s] i[~t]m for the making of the same six shert[s] at vj [~s]. the pece xxxvj [~s]. i[~t]m for vj yard[s] of ribande ij [~s]. i[~t]m paied to the same for six coyves for the king contenyng six elles xviij [~s]. i[~t]m for ij shert[s] for marke and for iiij shert[s] for the two guillams at vj [~s] viij d the pece xl [~s]. i[~t]m for iiij shert[s] for raulf at iij [~s] iiij d le pece xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the last daye paied to a scryvener in london by the king[s] co[~m]aundement ix corons xlij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a po[^u] man by the king[s] co[=m]aunde^{t} vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m walshe by the king[s] co[=m]aunde^{t} for laborers and weders in the great gaudyne at grenewiche xxx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xvj [-l]i. xvj [~s]. x d. yet payment[s] in octobre. [1530.] i[~t]m the laste day paied to nic[~h]is clampe for his wag[s] ended at michelmas after x [-l]i. by the yere l [~s]. i[~t]m paied to the same nicholas for his bourde wages for the saied quarter at a grote a day xxx [~s]. i[~t]m to the same nicholas for the mete of iij hawk[s] for iiij^{xx} xviij dayes after one peny a day for e[^v]y hawke xxiiij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same day paid to walter walshe by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye to [^m] russell for bringing of book[s] xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to [^m] baynton s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing of ij cranes to the king v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aundement to pyn[^n] by way of rewarde for his well shoting vij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] xvj [-l]i. xvij [~s]. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } m^{l}. xxv [-l]i. hu[~i] mens' octobris. } xiij [~s]. iiij d. [signature: henry r] payment[s] in novembre. [1530.] i[~t]m the furste daye paied to pyne the hosyer for ij payer of hosen for [^m]^{r} weston and for viij payer for marke the two guillams and for the childe that wayt[s] upon philip and ij payer for patche the king[s] fole, and for iiij payer for the children that ryd[s] the king[s] horses iij [-l]i. xv [~s]. i[~t]m the iiij daye paied to phillip of the pryvat chambre for ij sagbutt[s] ij tenor shalmes and two trebull shalmesse x [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the vj daye paied to the keper of grenewiche parke for xiiij lode of hey and for vj lode of oot[s] for the relief of the dere there, and for the cariage therof vj [-l]i. ij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the vij daye paied to anthony knevet for tennes monay l [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to my lorde fferrers s'[^v]nt in rewarde for taking of a trayto^{r} vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the x daye paied to ffraunc[s] sydeney by waye of rewarde x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to sextons man, for money by him layed oute for sexton, as apperith by his bille xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xj day to humfrey raynezford for his moneth wag[s] now ended ix [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xlij [-l]i. yet payment[s] in novembre. [1580.] i[~t]m the xij daye paied to [^m]^{r} hennage for sending twyes to grenewiche fro yorke place w^{t} a great bote and iiij owers for to bring o[^v] di[^v]s picturs and the bourde that stode in the cham[~b]r o[^v] the library xj [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} edward guldeford[s] in rewarde for bringing a fawco[^n] to the king at yorke place xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xv daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m locke for xxvj bonde[~l][~l][s] of fyne stele plate and for xxx yardes of brode taffata crymysin in greyn and for vij yard[s] of damaske crymysin in greyne, as apperith by his bille cij [-l]i. viij [~s]. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied to jo[~h]n scot for ij cot[s] of ffreze and for ij doubelett[s] of ffustyan and for making and lynyng of the same for henry elys the fawco[^n] xx [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to maister hennage for so moche money by him layed oute at the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} v [-l]i. iiij d. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to jasper of beaulie for bringing herbes to the king to yorke place vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king[s] watermen being xvij in noumbre for wayting ij dayes at yorke place xxij [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] cxj [-l]i. ix [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in novembre. [1530.] i[~t]m the xxj day paied to john phelippes smythe dwellyng at west[^m] in partie of payment upon his bille xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to my lady anne for the redempcion of a jewell whiche my lady mary rocheford had xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to the maister of the horses for the charges of iiij horses and guelding[s] sent to the french king to bloys xxxij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m to the same maister of the horses for certey[^n] horses by him boug[~h]t of george hennyngham to be sent to the frenche king xxxvij [-l]i. itm the same daye paied to --- for xix yard[s] and iij quarters of crymysin satin for my lady anne at xvj [~s]. le yarde xvj [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied to sir torche the the king[s] bedeman at the rood[s] in grenewiche for the king[s] rewarde for one yere xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to gui[~l][~l]em ottener jeweller for certey[^n] jewellex and stuf by the king[s] [~g]ce boug[~h]t of him as apperi[~t][~h] by his billes ix c xlviij corons ccxxj [-l]i. iiij [~s]. s[=m] part[s] iij c xlviij [-l]i. xvij [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in novembr. [1530.] i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied in rewarde to a s'[^v]nt of my lady of oxford for bringing cheses to the king at yorke place xxx [~s]. i[~t]m paied to joly jak for bringing the king[s] book[s] from yorke place to hampton courte v [~s]. i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied to robert shere in rewarde for bringing brawne and poding[s] to the king[s] grace fro my lady weston iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to a s'[^v]nt of the the abbot of reding in rewarde for bringing of an inventory of bok[s] to hampton courte v [~s]. i[~t]m the xxviij daye in rewarde to ij men that holpe to fisshe at hampton courte ij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye for vj payer of snoffers ij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister layto[^n] in prest by the king[s] co[~m]ande^{t} vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to the abbot of reding s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing book[s] to hamptoncourte xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister hennage for a rewarde by him gyven to a waterman for bringing book[s] fro yorke place to hamptoncourte v [~s]. i[~t]m to the same maister hennage for snoffers iiij [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xj [-l]i. vij [~s]. yet payment[s] in novembre. [1530.] i[~t]m the laste daye paied to a frenche man for vj dousin bowge skynnes wherof my lady anne had one dousin, xxxvj corons in sterling viij [-l]i. viij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to john large jeweller for certeyn jewellex and other stuf by the king[s] grace boug[~h]t of him, as apperith by his bille, iij c vij corons and iij [~s] in silver iij^{xx}. xj [-l]i. xv [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the clerk of the king[s] closet for certeyne necessaryes by him provided for the closet, as apperith by his bille iiij [-l]i. xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to tho[=m]s warde for di[^v]s necessaries by him done at wyndeso^{r} by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xxiiij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to docto^{r} dyngley for thexhibicio[^n] of the king[s] scolar in parys for one hole yere ended at michelmas laste paste iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to docto^{r} baug[~h] for the king[s] pryvat almes for ij monethes next ensueing xx [-l]i. i[~t]m paied to the king[s] watermen being xvij in noumbre for ther cotes at xxij [~s] vj d le pece xix [-l]i. ij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] c xxviij [-l]i. xij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] to'[-l][s] hu[~i] } dc xlij [-l]i. mens' novembris. } vj [~s]. [signature: henry r] payment[s] in decembre. [1530.] i[~t]m the furste daye paied in rewarde to my lady darrelles s'[^v]nt for the bringing of cheses to the king to hampton courte iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the iij^{de} daye paied in rewarde to s^{r} richard sandes s'[^v]nt for the bringing of a sakar to the king at hamptoncourte v [~s]. i[~t]m the iiij^{th} daye paied to john yardeley for his wages due at cristemas next co[~m]yng xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the v daye to john dobinson and richard halle fro the xvj daye of aprill to the vj daye of december for bothe ther bourde wages at iij [~s]. iiij d e[^v]y woke v [-l]i. xvj [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to vincent keney clokmaker for xj clokk[s] and diall[s] xix [-l]i. xvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the vj daye paied to guillam honyson jeweller for certeyn jewellex by him solde to the king[s] grace iiij^{xx} j [-l]i. xvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the vij daye paied to vincent the king[s] paynter for paynting of a plat of rye and hasting[s] iij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the maister of the horses for the bourde of the ij ryding boyes for one moneth ended the seconde daye of this monethe xiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] c xiij [-l]i. xij [~s]. ix d. yet payment[s] in decembr. [1530.] i[~t]m the viij daye paied to james the henne taker for his quarter wag[s] due at cristemas next co[~m]yng xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the ix daye paied to laurense lee one of the kepers of the king[s] hound[s] for a monethe wag[s] ended the xvj day of novembre ix [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the clok maker for mending of the clok at hamptoncourte xiiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to james hobart in rewarde for bringing of swete oranges and swete lemons to the king[s] grace to hamptonco^{r}te xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied for fyve ffawcons vij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the x daye paied to edmonde lyne for a quarter wag[s] ended at cristemasse next co[~m]yng xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the xj daye paied to jerom molyn s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing of ij packet of l[~r]es from venice xxvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to s^{r} anthony brownes s'[^v]nt for bringing of a doo to the kyng to hampton courte v [~s]. i[~t]m the xij daye paied in rewarde to robert hasilrigg[s] s'[^v]nt for the bringing of a doo to hamptonco^{r}te vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] xv [-l]i. iij [~s]. v d. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1530.] i[~t]m the viij daye paied in rewarde to a pouer man that had xiij childre for ther relief iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to maister treasorers s'[^v]nt for the bringing of a present to the king at hamptoncourte v [~s]. i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to vincent the clokmaker at hamptonco^{r}te xiiij [~s]. i[~t]m the xv daye paied to nedam the king[s] carpenter for the brige at yorke place iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to frier andrewe the italion l corons xj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to ffraunc[s] blake the foteman, in rewarde for bringing swete oranges to the king vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to roger wigston solicito^{r} of the staple of calayes for the payment of the retynue at calayes m. ccc xxxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied to a joyno^{r} for viij cupbourd[s] so[~m]e w^{t} ambreys and so[~m]e w^{t}oute xliij [~s]. i[~t]m for botehyre going and co[~m]yng w^{t} the same cupbourd[s] to grenewiche iiij [~s]. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to the sub dean of the king[s] chapell for money by him layed oute for wasshing and other necessaryes about[s] the chapell stuf iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. x d. s[=m] part[s] m^{l}. iij c. lviij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1530.] i[~t]m the xix daye paied to the keper of eltham park for bringing of a doo to grenewiche xx d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to pyne the hosier for the iij riding boyes, e[^v]y one of them ij payer of hosen and ij payer of stock[s] vj [-l]i. xij [~s]. i[~t]m the xx daye deli[^v]ed to the king[s] grace in playe xxxij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day to litle gui[~l][~l]m in way of rewarde by cause he was sike at london xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to emyson that wayt[s] upon sexto[~n] for that he layed oute for the fole, and for his wages at cristemas xliij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to the hardewareman for a bonet trymmed w^{t} ribbande and for a dogge cheyne iij [~s]. vij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to walshe the gardy[^n] at grenewiche for the wages of di[^v]s laborers weders and other necessaries xl [~s]. x d. i[~t]m the same daye to robert shere keper of the pryvay begles for his wages due for ij monethes ix [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the clok maker at hamptonco^{r}te by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xxvj [~s]. x d. s[=m] part[s] xvj [-l]i. xj [~s]. v d. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1530.] i[~t]m the forsaied day deli[^v]ed to my lady anne in silver xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to nicolas clampe for his wag[s] due for one quarter at cristemas next l [~s]. i[~t]m to the same nicholas for his bo^{r}de wag[s] for iiij^{xx} dayes at iiij d by the daye xxxj [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m to the same nicholas for hawk[s] mete xvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m to the same nicholas for his bourde wages for vij dayes more that is to say fro cristemas daye to new yeres daye iij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to hawky[^n] for mete of ij hawk[s] from the xij daye of june unto the xvj daye of decembre e[^v]y hawk j d by the daye xxxj [~s]. x d. i[~t]m the same daye to garrard the fawconer for his cote xxij [~s]. vj d i[~t]m the same daye to laurence lee for his cote xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m to x[~p]ofer villars s'[^v]nt by way of rewarde for bringing pome garnett[s] to yorke place for the king iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m to [^m] kingston s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing a bake lamprey iiij [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] xj [-l]i. ix [~s]. ij d. yet payment[s] in decembr. [1530.] i[~t]m the forsaied daye paied to yonge maister westo[~n] by the king[s] comandement in rewarde v [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye in rewarde by like co[~m]aunde^{t} to henry knevet xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to thomas alvord for so moche money by him layd oute for the kyng[s] busynes xv [~s]. vij d. i[~t]m the same daye to xvj watermen for wayting iij dayes to e[^v]y ma[=n] at viij d by the daye xxxij [~s]. i[~t]m to the saied watermen for dressing the bote and the barge x [~s]. i[~t]m to the said watermen for a new rother ij [~s]. i[~t]m to the same waterme[~n] for a maste and a lyne xx d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jasper the gardy[^n] at beaulie for his wag[s] due for one quarter ended at x[~p]emas iij [-l]i. i[~t]m to the same jasper in rewarde for bringing rot[s] and herbes to the king at grenewiche vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to bryan talbot for his wag[s] due for one quarter ended at cristemas next xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the xvij watermen for ther quarter wag[s] viij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m to hikman one of the watermen for his wag[s] being unpaied for the quarter ended at michelmas x [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xxiiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1530.] i[~t]m the forsaid daye paied to my lady anne for so moche money by hir paied to the wif of the dove for lynne[^n] clothe for shert[s] and other necessaryes xiij [-l]i. i[~t]m to my saied lady anne for mony by hir paied in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement to henry webbe v [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye to [^m] wellesbo^{r}ne by the king[s] co[~m]aundement by way of rewarde xxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to sir anthony browne toward[s] the reparacion of the bridge at byfelde xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day paied to the gardi[^n] at wanstede for his wages due for one quarter ended at cristemas xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to john baptist the italian jeweller for certeyn jewellex by him solde to the king[s] grace as apperith by his bille xijc iij^{xx} v corons in sterling ij c iiij^{xx} xv [-l]i. iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to robert amadas for so moche money by him deli[^v]ed to rasin' for to guylde xxij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to cornelys upon his reconnyng by the king[s] co[~m]aundement c [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the custard monger in rewarde for bringing frut[s] to the king[s] grace at di[^v]s tymes xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] iiijc iiij^{xx} j [-l]i. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1530.] i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied to giles of the crosbowes in rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m to my lady princesse at two tymes by the king[s] co[~m]aundem[~e]t for to disporte hir this x[~p]emas xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to john pyne the hosier for iij payer of hosen for maister weston, iij payer for marke, vj payer for the two guilliams, iij payer for phillippes boye, ij payer for henry elys, and iij payer for patche; at v [~s] every payer v [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day deli[^v]ed to my lady anne in grot[s] for playing money v [-l]i. i[~t]m to my lady margaret anguisshe by the king[s] co[~m]aundem[~e]t for to disporte her w^{t} all this x[~p]emas vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye to the maister of the horses for cot[s] doubelett[s] for the ryding boyes, and for making and lynyng of the same iij [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied to the yoman of the crosbowes for di[^v]s necessaries as apperith by his bille vj [-l]i. xix [~s]. ix d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to john a wodde for his quarter wages ended at cristemas iiij [-l]i. xj [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m paied for lading of iij hogghed of wyne and selared in the tour^{9} at blac hethe iij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] liij [-l]i. xx d. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1530.] i[~t]m the forsaied daye paied for the lading of ij hoggeshedd[s] of wyne and selard at [^m] cranes house ij [~s]. i[~t]m for the lading of ij tiers and one carte of wyne, and selard in the king[s] pryvat chamber ij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to alart plymmer the jeweller for certeyn jewellex by him solde unto the king[s] grace, as apperith by his bille vij m. iiij c. xxxvij corons, in sterling m.d. ccxxxj [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to jo: baptist the italian jeweller for certeyne perles whiche he solde unto the king[s] grace, as apperith by his bille m. vj c. and one coron in sterl[s] iijclxxiij [-l]i. xj [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to x[~p]ofer mylloner for di[^v]s bonett[s] aswell ryding bonett[s] as other, trymmed and untrymmed as his bill shewith v [-l]i. xj [~s]. ij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to s^{r} edward guldeford[s] for bringing of grene geese to the king[s] grace iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye to laurence lee for his wag[s] due for one monethe now ended ix [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to humfrey raynesford for his monethe wag[s] now ended ix [~s]. s[=m] part[s] ij m^{l}.c xv [-l]i. xix [~s]. ij d. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1530.] i[~t]m the xxvj daye of the same paied to maister crane for the wages of robert pery and for his bourde wag[s] due for one quarter now ended xliiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of [^m] bayntons in rewarde for bringing of a crane to the king[s] grace vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied to yonge the costard monger in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the prio^{r} of lanthony for bringing carpes to the king[s] grace v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the prio^{r} and provinciall of the white friers of londo[^n] xviij angellott[s] vj [-l]i. xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister gamyge for bringing of a red dere to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aundement in rewarde to phillip of the pryvat chambre xl [~s]. i[~t]m by lyke co[~m]aundement to [^m]ke xx [~s]. i[~t]m to great gui[~l][~l]m by lyke co[~m]an^{t} xx [~s]. i[~t]m to litle gui[~l][~l]m in rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to s^{r} wi[~l][~l]m pownder in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xl [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xviij [-l]i. xj [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1530] i[~t]m the forsaied daye paied to the pages of the quenes chambre by way of rewarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m more, and his fellawes for ther lyverayes iij [-l]i. vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the maister of the horses aswell for the bourde of the riding children for a monethe now ended, as also for shert[s] and cappes for them xxxiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxx daye paied to my lady anne by the king[s] co[~m]aundem[~e]t toward[s] hir new yeres gifte c [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye deli[^v]ed to the king[s] grace for playing money cc corons, in sterling money xlvj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the laste daye paied to maister cromewelle for the king[s] tumbe xiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to adingto[^n] the skynner for furres & furring of my lady annes gownes, as it apperith by his bille iiij^{xx} [-l]i. viij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to the king[s] prynter for di[^v]s printed book[s] deli[^v]ed at yorke place and hamptoncourte viij [-l]i. xj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] cc lvj [-l]i. xiiij d. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1530.] s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } iiij m^{l}. iiij c. lxiiij [-l]i. hu[~i] mens' decembris } xvj [~s]. ix d. [signature: henry r] yet payment[s] in january. a^{o}. xxij^{do}. [1531.] i[~t]m the furste daye paied to henry garard the shomaker upo[^n] his bill xxxj [~s]. i[~t]m the iiij^{th} daye paied to cornelys for certeyne plate, as apperith by the content[s] of his bille c xix [-l]i. xv [~s]. iij d [qr]. i[~t]m to the italian jeweller for a cheyne of golde weyng v o[z] and di' xiiij [-l]i. ij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the v^{th} daye paied to john langey jeweller for certeyn jewellex as dothe appere by his bille iiij^{xx} j [-l]i. x [~s]. vij d. i[~t]m the vij^{th} daye paied in rewarde to a woma[~n] that broug[~h]t iij hennes to the king[s] grace to grenewiche v [~s]. i[~t]m the viij^{th} daye paied in rewarde to the gardyner at wanstede for bringing of hethe cocke to the king v [~s]. i[~t]m the x daye paied to robert phillippes wif for ij lynnen bagg[s] for to kepe the king[s] shert[s] in, w^{t} the making ij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xj daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lady guylford[s] in rewarde for bringing of bake lampreys to the king[s] grace v [~s]. i[~t]m the xij^{th} daye paied to john rede the gardyner at beaulie for one quarter wag[s] ended at cristemas laste paste iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one peter chadwyke, the king[s] enbrawderer xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to bryan ansley upo[^n] his bille liiij [~s]. j d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the cardynall[s] that broug[~h]t the charyot horses xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] cc xxvj [-l]i. x [~s]. ix d [qr]. yet payment[s] in january. [1531.] i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the busshoppe of armaca[^n] that broug[~h]t ij hobbies to the king xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the wif of will[^m] armerer for ij dousin of handekerchers and shert[s] for them of the chambre, being at the king[s] finding v [-l]i. xj [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to s'[^v]nt of george lawsons in rewarde for bringing ij guelding[s] to the king xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde darcys in rewarde for bringing a nag to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xv daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the ambassado^{r}s that gave the king a hande gonne iiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to rede of grenewiche for will[^m] morles and his wif w^{t} vj s'[^v]nt[s] for ther^[9] charg[s] being banysshed the towne lvj [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to a fletcher that gave the king a cane staffe and a stone bowe xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister amadas for so moche money of him borowed in souferayns for the king xj [-l]i. v [~s]. i[~t]m to the same maister amadas for certey[^n] plate of him boug[~h]t, as apperith by his bille iij^{xx} xviij [-l]i. iiij [~s]. x d. s[=m] part[s] c ix [-l]i. x [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in january. [1531.] i[~t]m the foresaied xv daye paied to john ffrema[~n] for plate as apperi[~t]h by the content[s] of his bille lix [-l]i. xix [~s]. xj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to morga[~n] wolf goldesmythe, for certeyne plate as apperi[~t]h by the content[s] of his bille clxiiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. ix d. i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to rasmus the armerer upo[^n] the content[s] of his bill xix [-l]i. ij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to sampso[^n] s'[^v]nt of herith in rewarde for bringing swete oranges and pome granates to the king[s] grace x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to augustyne the fawco[^n] for viij hawk[s] at vj angell[s] a pece, whiche amountith to xviij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardi[^n] at wyndeso^{r} for his quarter wages due at cristemas laste paste xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied in rewarde to a gonnars wif of the tour^[9] for bringing oranges and wardeyns to the king[s] grace to yorke place vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to hug[~h] nalinghurste for xx yard[s] di' of crymysin tyshewe, and for xij tym[~b] of sables c iiij^{xx} vij [-l]i. xx d. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied in rewarde to maister leyto[^n] when he rode to oxford about[s] the king[s] affaires iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xix daye paied to humfrey rayne[z]ford one of the hont[s] for a monethe wag[s] then ended ix [~s]. s[=m] part[s] iiij c liiij [-l]i. x [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in january. [1531.] i[~t]m the xx daye paied to laurence lee, an other of the hont[s] for one monethe wages, then ended ix [~s]. i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to rig[~h]twise scole maister of poules by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xiij [-l]i. ix [~s]. i[~t]m the xxij^{ti} daye paied to alart plymer jeweller for certen jewell[s] solde to the king[s] grace at yorke place iiij c. xxj corons, in sterling iiij^{xx} xviij [-l]i. iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied to s^{r} rauf eldercar^[9] for the crystenyng of a childe at the king[s] co[~m]aundem[~e]t iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxiiij^{ti} daye paied to docto^{r} baugh upo[^n] his bille for the king[s] pryvat almesse xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxv daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aundement to godsalve one of the clerk[s] of the signet xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the abbot of gloucestr^[9] in rewarde for bringing of bake lamprees to the king[s] grace at yorke place x [~s]. i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the abbot of ramsay in rewarde for bringing bok[s] to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxviij^{ti} daye paied to the ambassado^{r} of fraunce s'[^v]nt, in rewarde for bringing perys to the king[s] grace, at yorke place xxiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] cxl [-l]i. ij [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in january. [1531.] i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to my lady russell s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing of a doo and a swanne to the king[s] grace to yorke place xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxx daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m grene, my lorde of norfolk[s] s'[^v]nt upo[^n] a bille subscribed by the said lorde, fourtie corons, in sterling ix [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the laste daye paied to thomas ogull for the dyet of the ij ryding children for one monethe, and for the dyet of the guelding[s] xxiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the maister of the quenes barge for reparacions of the king[s] bote xj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to byrde yoma[~n] of the king[s] bowes for making of the round[s] at totehill by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xij [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] xij [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } ix c xliij [-l]i. hu[~i] mens' januarij. } viij [~s]. vij d. [signature: henry r] yet payment[s] in ffebruary. [1531.] i[~t]m the furste day paied to thomas dawson upo[^n] a bille subscribed by the sergeant of the panetrye for xxiiij dousin of trencheo^{r}s xl [~s]. i[~t]m the second daye paied to john scot upo[~n] his bill for my lady anne rocheford xxxviij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the iij^{de} daye paied to maryo[~n] the blade smythe, upo[^n] his bille vj [-l]i. xvj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a po[^u] woman in rewarde, for bringing aye[^n] of cutte, the king[s] dog iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the same maryo[~n] in rewarde for keping of the king[s] swerdes xx [~s]. i[~t]m the iiij daye paied to [^m] walshe for xij snoffers for candilles iiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the prio^{r} of lantonys s'[^v]nt in rewarde, for bringing of ij bake lampreys to the king[s] grace x [~s]. i[~t]m the v^{th} daye paied to everingh[~m] one of the waterme[^n] for his wag[s] due at michelmas, whiche he was behinde and unpaied x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the do[~m]e man in rewarde, for bringing swete oranges to the king[s] grace at york place vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to richard a[~p] guilliams in rewarde by co[~m]aundem[~e]t xl [~s]. s[=m] part[s] lj [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in ffebruary. [1531.] i[~t]m the vj daye paied to james the porveyo^{r} for hennes, for his wages for one monethe then due xv [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the vij daye paied to james nedam the carpenter o[^v] and above xl [^m]k[s] that he had for making of a bridge at yorke place, in rewarde vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the viij^{th} daye paied in rewarde to a costard mongar that broug[~h]t pepyns to the king[s] grace vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the ix^{th} daye paied in rewarde to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde of north[^u][=b]land for bringing of a clocke to the king xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to henry johnson cordway[^n] unto the king[s] grace for ij clock[s] solde unto his saied grace vj [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to marke anthonys, upon his bill for the king vj [-l]i. ix [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to pyne the hosyer for hosen for the childre[~n] iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the x daye paied to john pate and rowland rigeley upon ther bi[~l][~l] iij [-l]i. iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xij daye paied to james hubert in rewarde for bringing swete oreng[s] lymmons and marmalade to the king xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the prio^{r} of sympringhams s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing of book[s] to the king[s] grace xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to pipewe[~l][~l] s'[^v]nt in rewarde, for bringing figg[s] resons and a vessell of sodde wyne vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] xxix [-l]i. vj [~s]. ij d. yet payment[s] in ffebruary. [1531.] i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to john the king[s] bargeman, for co[~m]yng twyes from grenewiche to yorke place w^{t} a great bote w^{t} book[s] for the king xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to adam sampsons s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing of oranges and [-l]ymons to the king xj [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde darcys in rewarde for taking up of a hawke of the king[s] and bringing hir to yorke place vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to petyt john in rewarde for litle gui[~l][~l]m of the pryvat chambre xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to phillip of the chambre, for wi[~l][~l]m lewys for v payer of virginall[s] viij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to evans the fawco[^n] for his bourde wages fro michelmas to x[~p]emas after a grote a daye xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of a gentilman of warwikshire in rewarde, for bringing a present of plo[^v]s and wardens to the king vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to robert phillippes wif of grenewiche for ij bagg[s] that she sent to yorke place v [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to brya[~n] talbot for ij monethes wag[s] due xxxj [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xv [-l]i. xiij [~s]. yet payment[s] in ffebruary. [1531.] i[~t]m the xv daye to robert shere for one monethes wag[s] then due v [~s]. i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to a spanysshe woman in rewarde for bringing of salt lampreys xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied to assheley of hounsdon to be enployd about[s] the king[s] buyelding[s] there cc [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to george taylo^{r} to be enployed about[s] my lady anne rocheford[s] busynes xj [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to cornelys smythe of the to^{r} of londo[^n] upo[^n] the content[s] of his bille xlix [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xix daye paied to henry romayne, smythe, for lock[s] and other necessarys at yorke place vj [-l]i. xj [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to galien the glasier for glasing at yorke place x [-l]i. xix [~s]. ij d. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to phelip the smythe of west[^m] for suche necessary yron warke, as he made for yorke place xx [-l]i. viij d. [ob] i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to pero the crosbow maker in rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied to john yardeley for his quarter wages to be due at easter next xxx [~s]. v d. s[=m] part[s] cc lv [-l]i. ij [~s]. xj d. [ob.] yet payment[s] in ffebruary. [1531.] i[~t]m the xxiiij^{ti} daye paied to henry webbe, by the king[s] co[~m]aundem[~e]t xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to humfrey raynesford for his wages due for one monethe now ended ix [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to laurence lee for his wages due for one moneth now ended ix [~s]. i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to the king[s] waterme[~n] for waiting wi[~t]h the barge ix dayes, and w^{t} the bote vij dayes vij [-l]i. ij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the lawnder that wasshi[~t]h the king[s] childre[^n] of the pryvat chambre xiiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to edward [~l][~l]oyd for the discharging of the ship, that broug[~h]t up my lorde cardinall[s] stuf xxij [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde lisles in rewarde, for bringing of the stalking oxe x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lady bulstrod[s] for taking up the king[s] blac sacre vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to clement armeston upo[^n] a bill signed w^{t} s^{r} john daunces hande xxj [-l]i viij d. [ob.] i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to the abbot of gloucestr^[9] s'[^v]nt for bringing of bok[s] to the king[s] grace x [~s]. s[=m] part[s] lv [-l]i. iij [~s]. ij d. [ob.] yet payment[s] in ffebruary. [1531.] i[~t]m the forsaied xxvij daye deli[^v]ed unto the king[s] grace at yorke place to play at card[s], and to be [=p]tiner w^{t} the sergeant of the se[~l][~l]o^{r} x [-l]i. i[~t]m the last daye paied to andrew wright upo[^n] a bille signed by s^{r} john daunce xlv [-l]i. ij [~s]. x d. [ob] i[~t]m the same daye paied to george taylo^{r} for po^{r}chasing of the ferme at grenewiche to the use of my lady anne rocheford iij^{xx} vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] cxxj [-l]i. xvj [~s]. ij d. [ob.] s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } v c xxviij [-l]i. hu[~i] mens' ffebr^[9] } viij [~s]. ij d. [ob.] [signature: henry r] yet payment[s] in marche. [1531.] i[~t]m the furste daye paied to the yomen of the king[s] garde toward[s] the charg[s] of saint david feaste xl [~s]. i[~t]m the ij^{de} day paied to the fery mannes wif at grenewiche by way of rewarde v [~s]. i[~t]m the iij^{de} daye paied to george taylo^{r} for the half yeres wages of --- of penshurste ended at cristmas laste paste iij [-l]i. x d. i[~t]m the vj daye paied to the king[s] watermen for waiting w^{t} the litle bote viij dayes, e[^v]y dayevj [~s]. viij d. and w^{t} the barge ij dayes e[^v]y daye x [~s]. viij d., s[=m] iij [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xj daye paied to docto^{r} stubbes upo[^n] a bille of his hande and upo[^n] a bille of his accompte subscribed by s^{r} john daunce c lxxv [-l]i. iiij [~s]. iij d. [qr]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to litle guilliam for his dyet and his s[^v]nt[s] being sike at pety jo[=h]ns iij [-l]i. xij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied for a rebecke for great guilliam xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to thomas ogull for the bourde of the riding children for one monethe and for the dyeting of the guelding[s] xxij [~s]. ij d. i[~t]m the xij daye paied to the procto^{r} of jhesus yelde in powles vij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] c iiij^{xx} x [-l]i. vj [~s]. v d. [qr]. yet payment[s] in marche. [1531.] i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to joh[^n] weste of the garde to ryde into the co[^n]try for an hawke by the king[s] co[~m]ande^{t} xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to s^{r} john hurte v angell[s] for that he bare w^{t} the king[s] grace in ij matches ayenst the duke of suffolke xxxvij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same day paied to the saied s^{r} john hurte for a gowne xxvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to pynner for his lyveray xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m in lyke wise to wethers xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m in lyke wise to browne xxvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m in lyke wise to cleyto[^n] xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m in lyke wise to ffowler xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xv daye paied to the sergeant of the sello^{r} for to play at the card[s] at yorke place, the king[s] grace and he to be coparty[^n]s togidres x [-l]i. i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to laurence lee and humfrey rayne[z]ford for ther wages due for one monethe ended at this present daye xviij [~s]. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied to s^{r} wi[~l][~l]m kingsto[~n] for suche charges as he susteyned when he went for to conduyt the cardynall up xlj [-l]i. x [~s]. x d. s[=m] part[s] lxij [-l]i. ix [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in marche. [1531.] i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to tho[~m]s alvord for richard gressa[^m] for silk[s] that he deli[^v]ed to the cardina[~l][~l] upon the saied alvord[s] reaporte xxij [-l]i. xij [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to thabbott[s] of evesham s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing of bok[s] to the king[s] grace xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to edmond lynde one of the hont[s] for his wag[s] to be due for one quarter at o^{r} lady daye than[^n]ciacion next xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the clerk of the keche[^n] for iij c xxxvj pounde of harde wexe, and xiiij [-l]i of fyne wex to make quariars for the king[s] grace viij [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to harrys one of the fawco[^n]s for hawk[s] mete for iiij hawk[s] at one peny dayly for e[^v]y of them during the space of iiij^{xx} and vij dayes xxix [~s]. i[~t]m to the same hugh harrys for his bourde wag[s] by the same space at iiij d e[^v]y daye xxix [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to joh[^n] evans for the dyet of vj hawk[s] by the space of iiij^{xx} vij dayes after the rate of j d by the daye for every hawke xlvj [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] xl [-l]i. xvij d. yet payment[s] in marche. [1531.] i[~t]m the xix daye paied to an almay[^n] that offred his s'vice to the king[s] grace, in rewarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister tresorer in rewarde for bringing archecokk[s] to the king[s] grace to yorke place iiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to s^{r} arthur darcy for the cristenyng of my lorde hussey childe iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to james hubert for bringing of swete oranges and marmalade to the king[s] grace at yorke place xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde barkeleys in rewarde for bringing of bake lampreys to the king[s] grace to york place xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to andrew the italian frier in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aund[~e]^{t} cc cor^[9] xlvj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to docto^{r} baug[~h] for the king[s] pryvate almes for ij monethes begynnyng this present daye xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m grisling [^m]cer for xxv yardes of crymysin satin and iij quar[^t]s at xvj [~s] the yarde xx [-l]i. xij [~s]. s[=m] part[s] iiij^{xx} xiiij [-l]i. xv [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in marche. [1531.] i[~t]m the xx daye paied to george coto[~n] for vij shott[s] loste by the king[s] grace unto him at totehi[~l][~l] at vj [~s]. viij d. the shotte xlvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to mais[^t] russell for so moche by him layd oute to henry parker s'[^v]nt to maister bryan xvij corons and to docto^{r} knight[s] s'[^v]nt j coro[~n] iij [-l]i. iiij [~s]. i[~t]m the xxij daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} to hanyba[~l][~l] [z]in[z]ano for drynk[s] and other medicynes for the king[s] horses viij [-l]i. xviij [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied to jo[~h]n a wod that kepit[~h] the king[s] goshawke for his quarter wag[s] due at o^{r} lady daye next co[~m]yng iiij [-l]i. xj [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the waterme[^n] for wayting xij dayes w^{t} the bote iiij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied for a great bote and x straunge watermen hyred to wayte upo[^n] the king[s] grace fro yorke place to brydewell and fro thens to totehill vij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] xxiiij [-l]i. vij [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in marche. [1531.] i[~t]m the xxiiij^{ti} daye paied to xvij watermen for ther wag[s] due for one quarter ended at o^{r} lady daye the annu[^n]ciacion at x [~s] a pece viij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to yardeley in the full payment of his wages due for one quarter now ended xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the pag[s] of the king[s] chambre in rewarde for newe yeres daye and forgoten xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to james the po^{r}veyo^{r} of hennes for his wag[s] due for ij monethes now ended xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to henry elys the boye w^{t} hug[~h] ffawconer for ij payer of hosen a doubelet a cote and a sherte and ij payer of shoes xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied in rewarde to jo[~h]n mason the king[s] scolar at parrys xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied to sir nicholas carew for one hobby and ij gueldyng[s] boug[~h]t of hevyng[~m] xlvj [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day paied to the same s^{r} nicholas carew for so moche money by him layed oute for the king[s] grace use v [-l]i. vij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] lxvij [-l]i. ij [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in marche. [1531.] i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to sakfelde the grome porter for stoles fo^{r}mes and skrenes xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to emyson that attend[s] upo[^n] sexto[^n] for his wag[s], and for di[^v]s necessaries that he hathe layed for the said sexto[^n] xxxviij [~s]. v d. [ob.] i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to george gifford for so moche money as he wanne of the king[s] grace at totehil at shoting xij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xxx daye paied to maister hennage for that he layed oute to the clok maker of west[^m] xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the ke[pf] of the gardyne in wyndeso^{r} for his wag[s] due for one quar[^t] then ended xx [~s]. i[~t]m the laste daye paied to anthony pene and bartilmew tate paynters for ther lyveray at xxij [~s] vj d a pece xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the watermen for wayting w^{t} the bote x days and w^{t} the barge one daye iiij [-l]i. xvij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of the great gardyne at beaulie for his wag[s] due for one quarter now ended at o^{r} lady daye laste paste iij [-l]i. x [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xv [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. j d. [ob.] yet payment[s] in marche. [1531.] i[~t]m the forsaied last daye paied in rewarde to barnard[s] wif for that she gave ij shert[s] to the king[s] grace liij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to marke and to the ij guillams ayenst easter for to take ther rig[~h]t[s] iij [-l]i. s[=m] part[s] v [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } vc [-l]i. hu[~i] mens' marcij. } x [~s]. iiij d. o[=b]. [qr]. [signature: henry r] yet payment[s] in aprill. [1531.] i[~t]m the furste daye paied to s^{r} torche that is the king[s] bedema[~n] at the rod[s] for his quarter wages due at easter laste passed xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to robert pury for his bourde and bourde wages due for one quarter ended as then xliiij [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the ij^{de} daye paied to dyso the king[s] waterman for the hyer of a barge for fetching stuf fro grenewiche to brydewell xvj d. i[~t]m for xviij watermen to fetche the saied stuf xij [~s]. i[~t]m the vj^{th} daye paied to the same dyso for cariage of the saied stuf frome brydewell to grenewiche ayen vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to pyne upon his bille for hosen for the children of the king[s] pryvat chambre vj [-l]i. vj [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardyner of wanstede for his wages due for one quarter ended at our^[9] lady daye the annunciacion laste paste xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the wif of wi[~l][~l]m armerer the king[s] foteman as apperith upon hir bille for the king viij [-l]i. xij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] xxj [-l]i. ij [~s]. vij d. yet payment[s] in aprill. [1531.] i[~t]m the vij^{th} daye paied to certeyn parsonnes for giving attendaunce upon the plate and stuf that was my lorde cardinall[s] by the space of ij wok[s] for ther bourde and other charges xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to rasmus one of the armerars for garnisshing of bok[s] and di[^v]s necessaryes for the same by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xj [-l]i. v [~s]. vij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the said rasmus for garnisshing of a deske w^{t} late[^n] and golde for my lady anne rocheford and for the stuf therunto belonging xliiij [~s]. vij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to thomas miles of the stable for bo^{r}ding of the ij morys vij wok[s] at xij d a day the pece iiij [-l]i. xviij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to thomas ogle for the bourde of the ryding boyes for one monethe ended the xxv daye of marche laste passd xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye to the same thomas ogull for botys shoys, bonett[s] and shertes for the same children xxix [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the viij daye paied to rasmus the armerer in prest for guyelding by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} to be bestowed about[s] the king[s] busynes in guylding xx [-l]i. s[=m] part[s] xlj [-l]i. x [~s]. x d. yet payment[s] in aprill. [1531.] i[~t]m the ix^{th} daye paied to walshe the keper of the king[s] gardyne at grenewiche for weders in the saied gardyne w^{t} other charges belonging to the same xxxij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to bouchier and his fellowe at ther going to calayes xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to my ladye pounder in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement v [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied in prest by the king[s] co[~m]aundement unto thomas alyn to be repaied at midso[^m] next as it dothe appere upon his bille xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the bokeler maker in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to marke of the pryvat chambre in rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to cutberde the king[s] apoticary upon his bille for suche necessary thing[s] as he hathe deli[^v]ed to and for the king[s] use and behofe xxx [-l]i. iij [~s]. x d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to stephen the king[s] enbrawderer upon his bille in partie of payment of a more so[~m]e c [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jasper the gardyner at beaulie for his wag[s] due for one quarter ended at o lady daye in lent laste paste iij [-l]i. and to the same jasper in rewarde the same daye for bringing herbes to the king vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] c lxv [-l]i. iij [~s]. ij d. yet payment[s] in aprill. [1531.] i[~t]m the x daye paied to johnson the maister of the king[s] barge for the rent of a house for one half yere ended at o^{r} lady daye in lent where the henxe men lye xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister cole subdean of the king[s] chapell towardes thexhibicion of iiij scolars in oxford viij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to s^{r} fraunc[s] bryan s'[^v]nt in rewarde as a tokeyn fro the king[s] grace unto the same s^{r} ffraunc[s] bryan l [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to john shere keper of the king[s] begles for ij monethes ended at this present daye x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to rede, marshall of the king[s] halle for thomas larder and his wif w^{t} iiij parsonnes w^{t} them being oute of grenewiche at the king[s] co[~m]aundement by the space of a monethe xxiiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to humfrey keper of the pryvat hound[s] for mete for the same for one monethe now ended ix [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to laurence lee for his hound[s] mete for one monethe then in lyke wise ended ix [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} in pryvat almes xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to gui[~l][~l]m langille being the king[s] fletcher for his lyveray xxij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] lxiiij [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in aprill. [1531.] i[~t]m the xj daye paied to henry [pf]ker s'[^v]nt unto maister bryan by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} xij corons of the sonne lvj [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to henry cordy[^n] upon his bille for [^m]ke and ij guilliams xxx [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to edwarde [~l][~l]oyd of the king[s] warderobe for the remayne of his bille for his charges in keping of my lorde cardynall[s] stuf xvij [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to yonge [^m] westo[~n] by the king[s] rewarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to mais[^t] henry knevet by lyke co[~m]aundement xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to thomas the jester by lyke co[~m]au[^n]de^{t} in rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xij daye paied to humfrey rayn[z]ford keper of the pryvat hound[s] for his cote xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to robert shere keper of the pryvat begles for his cote xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aundement to cock[s] the fote ma[~n] xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to laurence lee keper of the pryvat hound[s] for his cote xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to a woman that broug[~h]t the king[s] grace chekyns vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a man that broug[~h]t the king[s] grace wardeyns iij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] xv [-l]i. xvij d. yet payment[s] in aprill. [1531.] i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to v po[^u] men by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} in rewarde v angelles in money currant xxxvij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to a s'[^v]nt of my lord of oxford[s] for bringing of a red dere to the king[s] grace to grenewiche xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied in reward to edmonde wif keper of grenewiche [pf]ke for keping of the litle white bytche vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m knevet by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} at grenewiche iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to ffowler the keper of the mano^{r} of grenewiche for certeyn charges by him sustened about[s] the house as apperi[~t]h by his bille iiij [-l]i. vij [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} to my lady princesse to be disposed at hir pleas^{r} in almesse x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied by the same co[~m]andement to the ffriers of hounslowe by way of charite xx [~s]. i[~t]m t[~h]e same daye paied to x men in rewarde that rowed the king[s] grace from grenewiche to yorke place vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to xiij men that rowed in the grayhounde fro grenewiche to yorke place, e[^v]y man viij d. viij [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] xxij [-l]i. vj [~s]. ix d. yet payment[s] in aprill. [1531.] i[~t]m the xv daye paied to bocher the king[s] waterman for his wag[s] afore hande x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to ffrier andrew the italian frier for to bye him a horse iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a surgeo[~n] that heled litle guilliam xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to william lylgrave brawtherer upon his bill for stuf made for my lady anne xviij [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. ix d. ob i[~t]m the same daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m rutter one of the kepers of windeso^{r} forrest for his quarter wag[s] ended at oure lady daye in lent xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied to richard breme for the rent of a house in grenewiche wherin my lorde of rocheford lyet[~h] for ij yeres behinde and unpaied at easter laste paste after x [-l]i by the yere xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to the waterme[~n] for wayting w^{t} the bote iij dayes xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the waterme[~n] for bringing of stuf fro westmester to grenewiche xv me[~n] x [~s]. i[~t]m the xxij^{ti} daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m locke [^m]cer for certeyne stuf solde unto the king[s] grace, as apperith by his bille iiij^{xx} xiiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to pety jo[~h]n the mynstre[~l][~l], in rewarde at grenewiche iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] c xlv [-l]i. xj [~s]. iiij d. [ob.] yet payment[s] in aprill. [1531.] i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied in rewarde to john bolenger one of the sagbutt[s] xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to robert constans of grenewiche for that he his wif and xj parsonnes w^{t} him was banisshed the towne for one woke xiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to nicholas clampe one of the fawco[^n]s for his wages due for one quarter ended at easter laste paste l [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the said clamp for the mete of ij hawk[s] fro the xxv daye of decembre unto this daye the whiche amount[s] to c xviij dayes, at j d the pece a daye xix [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the same clamp for his bourde wages from the xxv day of decembre unto the laste daye of this monethe the which amoun[s] to c xxvij dayes, at iiij d by the daye xlij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to richard ha[~l][~l] and john dobinson of the stabull for ther bourde wag[s] fro the vij daye of decembre unto the xx daye of aprill after xx d a pece, the woke iij [-l]i. iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied to james the po^{r}veyo^{r} for hennes for his wages for one monethe now ended at vj d the daye xv [~s]. i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to x[~p]ofer the milloner upon his bille for the king[s] grace lj [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to draper of the jewell house for making of certen vestyment[s] for the king[s] use lvj [~s]. xj d. s[=m] part[s] xvij [-l]i. xj [~s]. iij d. yet payment[s] in aprill. [1531.] i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to nicholas clampe in prest upon his wages afore hande x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the same nicholas clampe by the king's co[~m]aundement at his going o[^v] the seas x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the same nicholas clampe for his lyveray cote xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the laste daye paied to jasper the gardyner at beaulie in rewarde for bringing herbes to the king[s] grace vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to nicholas the astronomer for mending of a clok vj [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} to grande gui[~l][~l]m xl [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xxiij [-l]i. * * * s[=m] to'[-l][s] sol * * hu[~i] mensis. * * * * * payment[s] in may. [1531.] i[~t]m the furste daye deli[^v]ed to my lady anne rocheford for to playe xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to john west one of the garde toward[s] his mariage by the king[s] co[~m]aundement iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the ij^{de} daye paied to s^{r} john the organ maker in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to arthur the lewter for a lewte for the duke of richemond xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister treasorer in rewarde for bringing wodcok[s] and chekyns to the king[s] grace iiij [~s]. viij d. * * the iiij^{th} daye paied to hug[~h] * * * [^n] for the borde of henry * * * * the space of xxv wok[s] * * * * * woke xxxiij [~s]. iiij d. * * * * * e paied to pyne the * * * * * ille signed w^{t} the * * * * * * * es hande for * * * * * * * * g boyes xxx [~s]. * * * * * * li[^v]ed to my lady * * * * * * play iiij [-l]i. * * * * * xv [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in may. [1531.] i[~t]m the vj daye paied to george henyngham for the mete of the king[s] white stalking guelding by the space of xxxviij wok[s] and for a doune hoby xiiij wok[s] vj [-l]i. xij d. i[~t]m the vij daye paied to fflode of the warderobe for bringing stuf fro brydewell to grenewiche vj [~s]. i[~t]m the viij daye paied to joh[^n] scot upo[^n] his bille signed by the maister of the horses for cotes for the ryding boyes iij [-l]i. v [~s]. i[~t]m the x^{th} daye paied to thomas ogull for a monethe bourde for the saied boyes xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maist[s] secretary for so moche money by him layed oute at the king[s] co[~m] * dement to davy sabellius * * to s^{r} laurence staker k * * * almayne . . . i[~t]m the same daye p * * * * * secretary for so m * * * * him layed oute at * * * * to nicholas wil * * * * duke joh[^n] of s * * . i[~t]m the same da * * * * * yardeley in pr * . . s[=m] * * * * yet payment[s] in may. [1531.] i[~t]m the x^{th} daye paied to thomas osbo^{r}ne of londo[^n] upo[^n] his bille for viij yard[s] iij quarters and the nayle of crymysin clothe of golde for my lady anne rocheford at xxxiij [~s]. iiij d. the yarde xiiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. ix d. i[~t]m the xj daye paied to pollo that kepith the barbary horse for his bo^{r}de for xvj wok[s] ended the iiij daye of maye at xx d. the woke xxvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to joh[^n] evans the fawco[^n] for his bourde wag[s] fro x[~p]emas till o^{r} lady daye in lent xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m to the same joh[^n] evans for the mete of iij hawk[s] from the xxiiij * aye of decembre till the xxiiij daye * arche xxij [~s]. vj d. * same daye paied to golde for * * * hosen for raulf mundy x [~s]. * * * aye paied to my lady * * * rewarde for bringing * * * * * ene to the king x [~s]. * * * * paied to humfrey * * * * * onethe wages * * * * * * s maye ix [~s]. * * * * t[s] xx [-l]i. ij [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in may. [1531.] i[~t]m the xij daye paied to laurence lee for his hound[s] mete for one monethe ended the iiij day of may ix [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to xvj of the king[s] watermen for wayting from grenewiche to west[~m] x [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to docto^{r} baug[~h] for the king[s] pryvay almes xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to cornelys hayes by the king[s] co[~m]aundement c [-l]i. i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to george coton for that he wanne of the king[s] grace at the roundes the laste daye of aprill iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to hug[~h] naylinghurste for xviij yard[s] and one quarter of white caffa for the king[s] grace vj [-l]i. vij [~s]. ix d. i[~t]m the xv daye paied to clays a mynstre[-l], by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to joh[^n] evans in rewarde toward[s] his maryage iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to antony ansley for the king[s] grace playing iij dayes at tennys xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] c xxxvij [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. j d. yet payment[s] in may. [1531.] i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to joh[^n] pount for diver[s] tertagat[s] solde to the king[s] grace lxj [-l]i. ij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m wyllys of the king[s] bargemen for mending of the king[s] barge xiiij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to the ambasado^{r} s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing of a clok to grenewiche v [-l]i. i[~t]m the xix daye gyven to iij sike women at grenewiche xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to rasmus in full payment of his bille xix [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to my lady pounder by the king[s] rewarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to hug[~h] harrys for his bourde wag[s] from cristmas till o^{r} lady daye in lent at iiij d the daye, and for the mete of iij hawk[s] by the same space at j d a daye e[^v]y hawke liij [~s]. j d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to bryan talbot in prest upo[^n] his wag[s] xv [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied to the king[s] atto^{r}ney by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one of the garde for shoting at grenewiche ij [~s]. s[=m] part[s] iiij^{xx} xiiij [-l]i. x [~s]. iij d. [signature: henry r] yet payment[s] in may. [1531.] i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to the king[s] watermen for wayting w^{t} the barge ij dayes and w^{t} the bote iij dayes liiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied for a payr of hosen, a dobelet, ij shirt[s], and a payer of shoes for henry elys xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to ector assheley for to be employed about[s] the king[s] buyelding[s] at hounsden cc [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to a s'[^v]nt of thomas odall[s] for bringing of a buk to the king at grenewiche x [~s]. i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to s^{r} arthur darcy for the cristenyng of [pf]cyva[~l][~l] hart[s] childe iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to shere for ij monethes for the pryvay begles ended the last daye of may x [~s]. i[~t]m the laste daye paied to a man in rewarde for bringing pescodd[s] to the king[s] grace iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the baron of deboye[^n] in irelande by the king[s] co[~m]aundement c xxxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] ccc xlj [-l]i. xij [~s]. viij d. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } vj c. xxxij [-l]i. hu[~i] mensis maij. } vij [~s]. viij d. [signature: henry r] payment[s] in june. [1531.] i[~t]m the furste daye of june paied by way of rewarde to my lady pounder v [-l]i. i[~t]m the ij^{de} daye of june paied to humfrey raynesford of the pryvay hound[s] for a monethe now ended ix [~s]. i[~t]m the iij^{de} daye paied to laurence lee one of the kepers of the king[s] hound[s] for a monethe now ended ix [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied for a payer of a hosen for raulf mundy iij [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to the yoman of the horse w^{t} my lorde of wilshire and to ij gromes iiij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to george coton for so moche money by him wonne of the king[s] grace at bett[s] in shoting vij [-l]i. ij [~s]. i[~t]m the iiij^{th} daye paied to walshe the gardyner at grenewiche upo[^n] his bille xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to peter scryvener for bying vellem and other stuf for the king[s] book[s] iiij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to the prio^{r} of spalding[s] s'[^v]nt for bringing book[s] to the king[s] [~g]ce xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} to docto^{r} cromer xxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] xlvij [-l]i. x [~s]. j d. yet payment[s] in june. [1531.] i[~t]m the v^{th} daye paied for ij chest[s] for the king[s] grace xxvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to anthony boulloigne [^m]chant of parys for certeyne jewelles that the king[s] grace boug[~h]t of him xxviij [-l]i. i[~t]m the vj daye paied to pyne the hosier for hosen for marke the ij gui[~l][~l]ms phelip sexten l [~s]. i[~t]m the vij daye paied to nedam the king[s] carpenter upo[^n] his bille xxix [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister cheyney for that he layed oute in rewarde to vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister magnus in rewarde x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to ffewater of the closet toward[s] his mariage xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to cornelys hayes for ij fyre pannes going upon wheles iiij [-l]i. xvj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied for xj payr of gloves ij [~s]. ix d. i[~t]m the viij daye paied to emyson sextons s'[^v]nt, as well for his wag[s] due at midso[^m], as also for certey[^n] stuf by him boug[~h]t for sexto[^n] xliiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] xlij [-l]i. xj [~s]. v d. yet payment[s] in june. [1531.] i[~t]m the x daye paied to henry the shomaker for shoes and botys for marke the ij gui[~l][~l]ms and sexten xxvij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to humfrey raynesford and laurence lee for to bye them kendall cot[s] xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to joh[^n] yardeley in full payment of his quarter wages ended at midsomer next co[~m]yng xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to joh[^n] angell the jeweller for suche jewell[s] as the king[s] grace boug[~h]t of him c lxxiij [-l]i. xij [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to the mais[^t] of the horses for a horse gyve[^n] to ---xx angell[s] vij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the xj daye paied to robert a lee yoman of the wafery for carying of the king[s] nett[s] for one hole yere ended the xvj daye of aprill laste v [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king[s] watermen for wayting w^{t} the bote from grenewiche to yorke place vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xij daye paied to the king[s] watermen for wayting w_{t} the barge to putney w^{t} xvj men x [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the wa[^t]men for carying of the king[s] stuffe from grenewiche to hamptonco^{r}te for xj men ij dayes xiiij [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] c iiij^{xx} xj [-l]i. x [~s]. yet payment[s] in june. [1531.] i[~t]m the said xij daye paied to the forsaied waterme[^n] for a maste and towing ij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to john dyso one of the king[s] watermen for his quarter wag[s] due at mydso[^m] next co[~m]yng x [~s]. i[~t]m the xv daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m crane toward[s] his cost[s] in io^{r}ney to provide childre[^n] iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to my lorde barkeleys s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing of hawk[s] to the king[s] grace to hampton courte xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jo[~h]n wescote in rewarde for bringing veneson fro wyndso^{r} to hamptonco^{r}te vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xvj daye at wyndeso^{r} for the king[s] offering xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to coristars of wyndeso^{r} in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye to haukyn for hawk[s] mete vj [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to joh[^n] evans for hawk[s] mete for iij hawk[s] for iiij^{xx} xj dayes xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m to the same joh[^n] evans for his bourde wages from o^{r} lady daye in lent till mydso[^m] at a grote a day xxx [~s]. v d. s[=m] part[s] x [-l]i. xxj d. yet payment[s] in june. [1531.] the xvij daye paied to the forsaid jo[~h]n evans for his cote xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to james hubart in rewarde for bringing pome garnett[s] oranges lymons to the kyng[s] grace at hamptonco^{r}te xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to mais[^t] hennage for so moche money by him paied at the king[s] co[~m]ande^{t} lix [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to grande guilliam by the king[s] co[~m]aunde xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to lynde one of the hont[s] for the quarter wag[s] due at mydso[^m] next co[~m]yng xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to [^m] pages gardyner in rewarde for bringing of streburys at di[^v]s tymes to hamptonco^{r}te x [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister walshes for bringing of laurett[s] to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} james wo^{r}sey in rewarde for bringing of a caste of lau[^n]s to the king[s] grace at hamptonco^{r}te xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied for the buryall of wi[~l][~l]m dodisworthe by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xvj [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to xv of the king[s] watermen for ther [qr]rter wag[s] due at midso[^m] at x [~s] a pece vij [-l]i. x [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xviij [-l]i. viij [~s]. vij d. yet payment[s] in june. [1531.] i[~t]m the same daye paied to the said watermen for wayting the same day the king ca[^m] fro west[^m] to putney viij [~s]. i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to james the henne taker in full contentac[~o]n of his wag[s] due at midso[^m] xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister alford[s] for bringing of glasses to hamptonco^{r}te xx d. i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m burdet for his cost[s] a ferro^{r} and ij men to helpe to cary the king[s] horses to grasse by the space of xxx dayes iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied to the gardyner of wanstede for his wag[s] due for one quarter ended at midso[^m] xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king of denmark[s] secretary by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxviij day paied to the keper of houneworthe in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to tho[~m]s of londo[^n] raulf mundy, humfrey raynezford, hugh harrys, and x[=p]ofer fawconer for ther lyveray cot[s], e[^v]y man at xxij [~s] vj d. v [-l]i. xij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jasper the gardy[^n] at beaulie for his wag[s] due at midso[^m] iij [-l]i. and to the same jasper for a rewarde for bringing archecokk[s] to the king vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] xxxviij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. yet payment[s] in june. [1531.] i[~t]m the xxviij daye of june paied to walshes doughter in rewarde for bringing cherys v [~s]. i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to joh[^n] averay of the sello^{r} in prest xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to thomas cary in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]ande^{t} xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to thomas a wodde toward[s] his maryage xl [~s]. i[~t]m the laste daye paied to the iij cotons for iij sett[s] the whiche the king[s] grace loste to the[^m] in grenewiche parke xx [-l]i. i[~t]m to the same coto[^n] for one up shotte that he wanne of the king[s] grace vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] xliiij [-l]i. xj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } ccc iiij^{xx} xiij [-l]i. hu[~i] mensis junij } vj [~s]. vj d. [signature: henry r] payment[s] in july. [1531.] the furst day of july paied to joh[^n] cavalcant in prest c [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to joh[^n] goug[~h] in rewarde for bringing of a lynet to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m the ij^{de} daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m locke [^m]cer upon his bille for certen stuf boug[~h]t for the king lxxvij [-l]i. v [~s]. ij d. i[~t]m the iij^{de} daye paied in rewarde to my lorde fferrers s'[^v]nt for bringing of a hound[s] to the king[s] grace at yorke place xl [~s]. i[~t]m the iiij daye paied to thomas cary for shoting money w^{t} the king[s] grace at hampto[^n] courte viij [~s]. i[~t]m the vj daye paied to lytle davy for shoting money w^{t} the king[s] grace at hamptonco^{r}te iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the viij daye paied to maister hennage for so moche money by him layed out by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} to sundrie parsons xxxiiij [-l]i. iij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to my lorde of rocheford for shoting w^{t} the king[s] grace at hamptonco^{r}te lviij [-l]i. i[~t]m the ix daye paied to maister secretary for so moche money as he paied to the italian frier by the king[s] co[~m]aundement v [-l]i. s[=m] part[s] cc lxxviij [-l]i. ij d. yet payment[s] in july. [1531.] i[~t]m the ix daye paied to george taylo^{r} for that he gave in reward for bringing cherys to the king iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to doctour baugh for the king[s] pryvay almes xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day paied to hug[~h] harrys for his bourde wages fro o^{r} lady daye in lent till mydso[^m] and for the mete of iij hawk[s] at j d a daye e[^v]y hawke xlviij [~s]. j d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde ferrers for bringing hawk[s] to the king to wyndeso^{r} xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister harte for the crystening of my lorde awdeleys sonnes childe iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the x daye paied to edward the gardy[^n] at wyndeso^{r} for his quarter wages ended at midso[^m] xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a po[^u] man that was sike in wyndeso^{r} vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same day paied to thomas warde for making of a payer of new butt[s] roundes and pryck[s] lj [~s]. ij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardyner at hamptonco^{r}te in rewarde v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to thomas cary for shoting money xx d. s[=m] part[s] xxxij [-l]i. iij [~s]. v d. yet payment[s] in july. [1531.] i[~t]m the xj daye paied to humfrey raynesford and raulf mundy by the king[s] co[~m]uande^{t} in rewarde ix [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xij daye paied to baker the pryncesse s'[^v]nt for doctour bartelot in rewarde for gyving his attendance when she was sike xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the s'[^v]nt of the abbot of glastonbery for bringing hawk[s] to the king xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to gui[~l][~l]m ffletcher for pellet[s] l [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to baker my lady princesse s'[^v]nt for thuse of hir grace vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xiij daye paied in rewarde to my lorde of arundell[s] s'[^v]nt for bringing hawk[s] to the king[s] grace xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied in rewarde to s^{r} water stonars s'[^v]nt for bringing hawk[s] to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jacson for certeyne gloves fetched by the sergeant apoticary iiij [~s]. x d. i[~t]m the xiiij day paied to maister walshe for bowes fet at wyndeso^{r} xviij d. i[~t]m the xv day paied to the feryman of dochet by way of rewarde xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xxxiiij [-l]i. xix [~s]. yet payment[s] in july. [1531.] i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to the feryman at hamptonco^{r}te in rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardyner at hamptonco^{r}te by way of rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to maister pages s'[^v]nt for bringing of streberys to hamptonco^{r}te v [~s]. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied in rewarde to the keper of the mote parke vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye to the keper of the litle parke of wyndeso^{r} vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xviij day paied in rewarde to maister joh[^n] apoticary s'[^v]nt for bringing of the king[s] bytche v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to michell smythe of wynso^{r} upo[^n] his bill iij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xix daye paied to the ke[pf] of dytton parke in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to the gardy[^n] of the great gardyne at beaulie for his quarter wages ended at midso[^m] iij [-l]i. x d. i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to pety jo[=h]n w^{t} v of his fellawes for ther cotes at xxij [~s]. vj d. a pece vj [-l]i. xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a pouer woman that gave the king apull[s] ij [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xij [-l]i. xviij [~s]. ij d. yet payment[s] in july. [1531.] i[~t]m the xxij daye paied in reward to a pouer woman in chartesaye for to po^{r}chace oute the grete seale xx [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to tho[~m]s warde for making of new butt[s] and pryck[s] at wyndeso^{r} liiij [~s]. ij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to sir anthony brownes coke in rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the ke[pf] of byflete parke in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the abbot of west[^m] s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing of relyke water to charsay to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of wi[~l][~l]m gonson in rewarde for bringing cherys to the king v [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied to the gardy[^n] at hamptonco^{r}te for bringing roses and cheres to the king v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister hennage for bringing a greyhounde to the king v [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to hug[~h] davy my lady princesse s'[^v]nt by way of rewarde xl [~s]. s[=m] part[s] viij [-l]i. xvj [~s]. ij d. yet payment[s] in july. [1531.] the xxv daye paied to shere keper of the king[s] pryvay hound[s] for ij monethes wag[s] ended this present daye x [~s]. i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to hall maister tresorers s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing of a tame dere to the king[s] grace xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the dean of the chapell for the king[s] rewarde to the chapell men xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to yardeley in prest upo[^n] his wages to be due at michelmas next co[~m]yng xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to raulf mundy keper of the pryvay hound[s] for his wag[s] for one monethe ix [~s]. i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied to ij s'[^v]nt[s] of my lady [^m]ques dorset in rewarde for bringing a cowpull of hound[s] and ij guelding[s] iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde [^m]ques of excet^{r} in rewarde for bringing a --- to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the abbot of twexbury s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing a caste of launners to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] x [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. yet payment[s] in july. [1531.] i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to a pouer childe the whiche the king[s] grace heled at wynso^{r} vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister westo[^n] in rewarde for bringing of two buck[s] to the king[s] grace vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxix day paied to the heremyte of depford toward[s] the reparacion of his chapell iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the friers of guldeford in rewarde v [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the iij kepers in guldeford parke xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of [^m] westo[^n] in rewarde for bringing of a present of fisshe to the king[s] grace v [~s]. i[~t]m the last day paied to a pour^[9] woman that asked of the king for the love of saint george iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to my lorde of norfolke for so moche money by him paied to a gentil man of italy xj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] xxij [-l]i. iij [~s]. x d. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } ccc iiij^{xx} xix [-l]i. hu[~i] mens' julij } xix [~s]. ix d. [signature: henry r] yet payment[s] in august. [1531.] i[~t]m the furste day paied to maist wellesburne for so moche money by him paied in rewarde to one of the garde xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the seconde day paied to x[~p]ofer myllo[^n] upo[^n] the content[s] of his bille iij [-l]i. iiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to a s'[^v]nt of [^m] bulkeleys in rewarde for bringing hawk[s] to the king xl. [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the ij kepers of the ij parks of farnh[~m] by way of rewarde xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the deputie of the holte and thre kepers w^{t} him: and to the debite of wolmer and iij kepers w^{t} him by way of rewarde iij [-l]i. iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to the keper of the place of farnh[~m] vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the iiij^{th} daye paied to the keper of odyam in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one that broug[~h]t a strene to the vyne fro pexhalles house xl [~s]. i[~t]m the v daye paied to the ke[pf] of baroper parke in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] xiij [-l]i. iiij [~s]. yet payment[s] in august. [1531.] i[~t]m the vj daye paied in rewarde to the keper of maister pawlet pawlett[s] parke vj [~s]. viij. d. i[~t]m the same day paied to the keper of my lord sand[s] parke vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lord marques of excetur in rewarde for bringing of hound[s] to the king[s] grace xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde chamberlaynes in rewarde for bringing of a stag to the vyne, whiche the kyng[s] grace had stryken before in the forrest of wol[^m] x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of pexall in rewarde at baroper parke xx [~s]. i[~t]m the viij day paied to walter one of the fawconers for his lyveray cote xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the x daye paied in rewarde to the keper of bagshot parke vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied unto james hubart in rewarde for bringing of oranges and lymons to the king to esthamstede xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] vj [-l]i. xij [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in august. [1531.] i[~t]m the xj day paied in rewarde to the abbot of reding s'[^v]nt for bringing wodknyves to the king xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xij daye paied to jo[~h]n thomas sergeant at armes for bringing up of prisoners vij [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to ij of s^{r} piers edgecombe s'[^v]nt[s] for co[~m]yng up w^{t} the same [~p]so[^n]s iiij [-l]i. xij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to henry cordyner upo[^n] his bille for marke and bothe the guilliams xxviij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of estamstede parke vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to s^{r} anthony browne for the king[s] rewarde for the xij kepers of the forrest of wynso^{r} iiij [-l]i. iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aundement to kelsay wif at esthampstede iij [-l]i. x d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the office of the harte hound[s] by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xij daye paied to one of the countrey for bringing of a hounde of the king[s] that was loste to esthampstede vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] xxiiij [-l]i. xiiij d. yet payment[s] in august. [1531.] i[~t]m the forsaid xij daye paied to humfrey of the bukhound[s] for canvas to co[^v] the carte to cary the same hound[s] vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same day paied to candishe my lorde of suffolke s'[^v]nt for bringing of a hounde to the king xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of ewelme in rewarde for bringing a hounde to the king xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to the king[s] whele write for a carte and all ma[^n] thinge belonging to it xij [-l]i. viij [~s]. ix d. i[~t]m the same day paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister brok[s] in rewarde for bringing cak[s] to the king v [~s]. i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to raulf mundy and humfrey to goo from ewelme to wodstok w^{t} the hound[s] vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same day paied to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} robert a legh in rewarde for bringing cheses to the king iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day paied by the king[s] co[~m]aundement by waye of rewarde to the rangeo^{r} of barnewod x [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to the ij kepers of barnewod by way of rewarde xiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] xvij [-l]i. xv [~s]. v d. yet payment[s] in august. [1531.] i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to the ke[pf] of barnewod parke in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to john bryce that sued to be foteman in rewarde to bringe him into his contre xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister brok[s] s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing cak[s] to the king[s] grace v [~s]. i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to basing to be employed about[s] provision of the king[s] wynes m^{l} [-l]i. i[~t]m the xvj day paied in reward to sergeant rolte for bringing of a stag to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied to franc[s] the jeweller for iiij unc[s] of goldesmythe warke after the rate of xj corons the o[z] xix [-l]i. xij [~s]. xj d. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to carter for dressing of a new barge for the king as apperith by his bille xij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the xx day paied to the hosyer for vj payer of hosen for the king[s] childre[^n] of his chambre at v [~s] a peyce xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxj day payed to the armerer in wyndeso^{r} for keping clene the king[s] harnes there iij [-l]i. ij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] m^{l} xxxix [-l]i. vj [~s]. xj d. yet payment[s] in august. [1531.] i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to a po[^u] laboring man in the harvest at wodstok by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister salisbury in rewarde for bringing a brace of dogges to the king[s] grace xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiiij day paied to cornelys hayes to be employed about[s] the king[s] busynes in his science c [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day paied to raulf and humfrey kepers of the king[s] pryvay hound[s] for a monethe wages ended this daye xviij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied for a carte for the king[s] hound[s] fro newelme to wodstok iij [~s]. i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to my lorde of norfolke for that he layed oute by the king[s] co[~m]ande^{t} as apperith by his bille iij^{xx} xviij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied by the king[s] co[~m]aundement to the garde for to eate a buc at wodstok xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to my lorde of rocheford for shoting money vj ryalles iij [-l]i. vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same day paied to a sike woma[^n] that the king heled vij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] c iiij^{xx} vij [-l]i. vij [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in august. [1531.] i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied to the office of the bukhound[s] for killing of the furste bucke vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to [^m]ke anthony a venecian by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xxij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the xxviij day paied by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} to guilliam otener the jeweller for di[^v]s jewelles boug[~h]t at wodstok c lvj [-l]i. xij [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to wi[~l][~l]m tyldesley grome of the chambre for lying oute to take hawkes by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister hennage for so moche money by him layd oute as apperith by his bille xxxvij [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to one in rewarde for finding of an hare at wodstok iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to gui[~l][~l]m bagot for viij m^{l} pellett[s] xxvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day to [^m] hennage for so moche money by him paied at buckingham to ij scolars of oxford iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of [^m] spencer [pf]ke in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] c iiij^{xx} vj [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. yet payment[s] in august. [1531.] i[~t]m the forsaid daye gyve[^n] to the wif of the forsaid keper by way of rewarde d[~i] angell iij [~s]. ix d. i[~t]m the last daye paied to my lorde of norfolke for so moche money by him layd oute by the king[s] co[~m]aundement iij^{xx} xviij [-l]i. v [~s]. v ... i[~t]m the same daye paied to gui[~l][~l]m bagot for certey[^n] bowes that he solde unto the king[s] grace xiiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the abbot of reding[s] s'[^v]nt for bringing wod knyves to the king[s] grace xiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] lxxix [-l]i. xvj [~s]. viij d. s[^m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } m^{l} v c liiij [-l]i. hui[s] mens' augusti. } xviij [~s]. [signature: henry r] payment[s] in septembre. [1531.] i[~t]m the furste daye of septembre paid to maister page for so moche money as he wanne of the king[s] grace at shoting xx [~s]. i[~t]m the ij^{de} daye paied to richard cicyll for iiij yard[s] of coto[^n] boug[~h]t at wodstok ij [~s]. i[~t]m the iij^{de} day paid to the same cicy[~l][~l] for ij lether guyrdell[s] viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to gui[~l][~l]m bagot for bowes solde to the king xiiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to gui[~l][~l]m otney for the cariage of the king[s] stuf fro wodstok to londo[^n] vij [~s]. i[~t]m for mayling clothes and cordes to trusse the same stuf xij d. i[~t]m the same day paied for bourdes and nayles of the cheste to cary the cheste and the handegonnes iiij [~s]. ij d. i[~t]m the iiij daye paied for ij dousin of hawk[s] hod[s] at iij [~s]. iiij d. le dousin vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied for ij hawk[s] gloves at vj [~s]. viij d. le glove xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied for ij lewars of crymysin vellute at vj corons le pece xxviij [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied for vj dousin gilte bell[s] at iij corons le dousin xliij [~s]. i[~t]m the v daye paied to docto^{r} baug[~h] for the king[s] pryvat almes xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to [^m] spensers s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing bromes to grafton iiij [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] xxvij [-l]i. xj [~s]. ij d. yet payment[s] in septembre. [1531.] i[~t]m the vj daye paied to vaughan grome of the chambre for the charg[s] of the ambassado^{r}s of hungarye at stony-stratford when they ca[^m] to the king[s] grace to grafton xvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to ij pouer women that wer heled of their sikenes xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the mayer of northampto[^n] in rewarde for bringing peres to the king[s] grace to grafto[^n] v [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to a pouer woman that gave the king[s] grace peres and nutt[s] in the forest iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to s^{r} robert bone o[^v]seer of the wark[s] at grafto[^n] for reparacions done there x [-l]i. i[~t]m the vij daye paied to the keper of grafto[^n] parke in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of potterspery parke xj [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to cokk[s] the fote-*man, humfrey rayne[z]ford and wat by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of hanslop parke in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same day paied to the rangeo^{r} of the shrobbe hauley and wakefelde x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the iij ke[pf] of the same xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xv [-l]i. xvij [~s]. vij d. yet payment[s] in septembre. [1531.] i[~t]m the viij daye paied to the ke[pf]s of norton wodd[s] and hasilborowe xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to wi[~l][~l]m a kent keper of the shrobbes vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of the new parke of hartewell vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of whittell wod in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the x daye paied to a pouer man that ca[^m] oute of wales v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one that broug[~h]t the king[s] grace a brace of greyhound[s] oute of wales xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to anthony anthony for a clocke in a case of golde x [-l]i x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to x[~p]ofer mylloner for ij knyves and ij shethes of vellute and gyrdell[s] to the[^m] l [~s]. i[~t]m the xj daye paied for a carte to cary the houndes from grafton to antyll after xv myles ij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to ij pouer folk[s] that wer heled of ther sikenes xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to ector asheley to be emplowed about[s] the buyelding[s] at hounsden cc [-l]i. i[~t]m the xij daye paied to thoffice of the bukhound[s] in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] cc xvij [-l]i. v [~s]. yet payment[s] in septembre. [1531.] i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to my lady pryncesse by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister skevingtons in rewarde for bringing hawk[s] oute of irlande xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to a s[^v]nt of maister harvy in rewarde for bringing of a stalking horse to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to yonge maister westo[^n] by the king[s] co[~m]andement in rewarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to humfrey rayne[z]ford wat and raulf by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied and lent to james by the king[s] co[~m]aundem[~e]t as apperith by a bille x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day paied to joh[^n] awod and cowpar kepers of the king[s] goshawk[s] for their lyveray cotes xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to maister longe for money loste upo[^n] a wager in honting vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xv daye paied in rewarde to the keper of brokborow parke vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of the great parke of antyll in rewarde xiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] xxix [-l]i. vij [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in septembre. [1531.] i[~t]m the xv day paied in rewarde to the keper of the litle parc of antyll vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to hauky[^n] the fawconer for hawk[s] mete as dothe appere by his bille xvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to wi[~l][~l]m locke for certey[^n] silk[s] boug[~h]t by the king[s] grace at antyll lxx [-l]i. vj [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to the same locke for a brouche w^{t} an amatas in it v [-l]i. i[~t]m the xvj day paid to one that broug[~h]t the stag from anty[~l][~l] to knebworthe v [~s]. i[~t]m the xvij day paied to henry byrde for his fee of the bowes iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to joh[^n] rolte for his fee of the leshe iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to ij pouer folke that the king[s] grace heled xv [~s]. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to a woman that gave the king, quene apulles at waltham iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to walshe of grenewiche for bringing cuc[~u]bres and artychokk[s] to the king to walth[~m] iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxiiij day paied to maister douglas by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} c [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day paied to [^m] longe for a wager lost upo[^n] honting vij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] c iiij^{xx} iiij [-l]i. xix [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in septembre. [1531.] i[~t]m the xxv day paied to stonars wif of walth[~m] forest in rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to ij kepers under the forsaied stonar xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxvj day paied to v pouer folk[s] the whiche the king[s] grace heled xxxvij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xxvij day paied to jo[~h]n carter one of the king[s] watermen for mending of the king[s] grete bote iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxviij day paied to xvj of the king[s] waterme[^n] for ther wag[s] due for one quarter ende this daye viij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day paied to edmond being in pension of a grote a day for one quarter now ended xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxix day paied to joh[^n] yardeley for one quarter nowe ended after a grote a day xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to thoffice of the haryers vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to an hosier for iiij payer of hosen for the two guilliams xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to the mais[^t] of the horses for so moche money by him paied at the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} vij [-l]i. xij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same day to sextons man upo[^n] his bille iij [-l]i. ij [~s]. vij d. s[=m] part[s] xxxv [-l]i. xix [~s]. iij d. yet payment[s] in septembre. [1531.] i[~t]m the laste daye paied to jacson the hardeware man upo[^n] his bille xl [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} to marke antony, loyes de jeronom, pylgry[^m] mai[~o]hu jas[p_] de jeronimo john de jeronimo vij [-l]i. xvij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same day paied to the gardi[^n] of grenewiche for his quart[s] wag[s] xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to humfrey raynezforde, raulf mondy, and water doddisworthe iij [-l]i. vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister cole for thexhibicion of iiij scolars at oxford viij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day paied to cutbert the apoticary upo[^n] his bille xxiiij [-l]i. ix [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to maister hennage for so moche money by him layed oute at the king[s] co[~m]a[~u]de^{t} iij [-l]i. vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same day paied to powle that kepith the barbaristo horse xxxiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the lawnder that wasshith marke and the ij guilliams xvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m to lovell the gardy[^n] at richemond in rewarde at ij tymes xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to one griffith that cam oute of irelande by way of rewarde xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] liiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. x d. yet payment[s] in septembre. [1531.] i[~t]m the foresaied last daye to robert shere keper of the pryvay begles by waye of rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to bryan talbot for his wag[s] due for iij quarters of a yere after vj d. a day vj [-l]i. xxj d. i[~t]m the same day paied to henry maynering for making of the king[s] armes viij [-l]i. xix [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m morant of tonbrige for his anuyte due for one half yere iij [-l]i. x d. i[~t]m the same day paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde lisle in rewarde for bringing of a glasse w^{t} orange water vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same day paied unto lyle yoman of the garde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement v [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardyner of the great gardyne at beaulie for his wag[s] due for one quarter ended at this daye iij [-l]i. x d. s[=m] part[s] xxvij [-l]i. ix [~s]. xj d. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } vc. iiij^{xx} xij [-l]i. hu[~i] mens[s] septembris } xvj [~s]. ix d. [signature: henry r] payment[s] in octobre. [1531.] i[~t]m the furste day paied to humfrey raynezford raulf and doddisworthe for mete of the pryvat hound[s] for the space of one monethe at ix [~s]. a pece xxvij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to joh[^n] a wodde for his quarter wag[s] ended at michelmas laste paste iiij [-l]i. xj [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the ij^{de} daye paied to a pouer woman in rewarde for bringing wardens to the king[s] grace v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one powe[~l][~l] a [^m]chant of londo[^n] by the king[s] co[~m]aundement v [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} joh[^n] neve[~l][~l][s] for bringing of a couple of hound[s] to the king[s] grace x [~s]. i[~t]m the iij^{de} daye paied to one floyed s'[^v]nt to maister rice by the king[s] co[~m]aundement iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to ro[~b]t shere for mete for the king[s] begles for one monethe now ended v [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to the gardy[^n] of wanstede for his wag[s] due for one quarter ended at michelmas xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied for a carte to cary the king[s] hound[s] fro anty[~l][~l] to waltham v [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xvj [-l]i. ix [~s]. xj d. yet payment[s] in octobre. [1531.] i[~t]m the iiij daye paied to my lorde of norfolke for so moche money by him paied at the king[s] co[~m]aundement v [-l]i. xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paid to henry webbe by the king[s] co[~m]aundement for to cristene my lorde of derby sonne iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paid to the gardi[^n] of richemond in rewarde for bringing of grapes to the king[s] grace vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the v daye paied to the keper of hounsde[^n] in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the vij day paied for a carte for the king[s] hound[s] fro antyll to knebbeworthe v [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to the gardyner of wyndeso^{r} for his quarter wages ended at michelmas xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to james the henne taker for his quarter wag[s] ended at michelmas xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paid to a blynde woman being a harper by the king[s] co[~m]aundement vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the viij day paied to cicyll for lethur gyrde[~l][~l][s] and a chape for the king[s] knyves xiiij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to sextons man for his wag[s] and for di[^v]s necessary things for sexto[^n] iij [-l]i. ij [~s]. vij d. s[=m] part[s] xvj [-l]i. xvj [~s]. iij d. yet payment[s] in octobre. [1531.] i[~t]m the ix daye paied to a frencheman that my lorde of norfolke dud bringe to the king unto the gardyne at waltham in rewarde vij [-l]i. x. [~s]. i[~t]m the x daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister worsley for bringing figg[s] of portugale and biskett[s] to the king x [~s]. i[~t]m the xj daye paied to my lord of norfolke for barley the preste, by the king[s] co[~m]aundement x [-l]i. i[~t]m the xij daye paied to jasper the gardyner at beaulie for his quarter wages, ended at michelmas laste iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to the saied jasper in rewarde for bringing of radisshe rotys letuze and artychok[s] to the king[s] grace vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to thomas hutton the foteman in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to joh[^n] carter one of the king[s] waterme[^n] for costes done aboutes the kinges barge as apperith by his bille v [-l]i. xvj [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to morgan wolf for certeyne parys ware of golde weing xxxj un[^c] di[^9] and di[^9] quarter at xj corons le o[z] lxxxj [-l]i. iij [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to phelip of the pryvay chambre upon the content[s] of his bille v [-l]i. ix [~s]. s[=m] part[s] cxv [-l]i. vj [~s]. iij d. yet payment[s] in octobre. [1531.] i[~t]m the foresaied xx daye paied to oly[^v] one of the kepers of the forrest of waltham in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to king the hosyer upon his bille for hosen for marke the two guilliams and for thomas smythe iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to cornelys hayes at havering upo[^n] a further rekonnyng, as apperith by his bille c [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to nowell de lasala one of the king[s] mynstrell[s] in prest, to be repaied upo[^n] the wag[s] of the same nowell in the jewell house as it dothe there amount and growe xiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxiij day paied to a pouer woman that the king[s] grace heled at haveryng vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to joh[^n] keper of henawde in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied to the keper of haveryng park in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to x[~p]ofer coo for ij curtall[s] of brasse valued at the king[s] pleasure xxvj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a pouer woman in rewarde for bringing a present of quync[s] v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to iiij new mynstrell[s] for ther costes going to southampto[^n] to fetche ther stuf xiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] c lviij [-l]i. x d. yet payment[s] in octobre. [1531.] i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to the scole maister of powles for the bourde wasshing and lernyng of a scolar of the king[s] called fraunc[s] from cristemas till michelmas laste ix [-l]i. iiij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to humfrey raynezford for his hound[s] mete for one monethe ended the xviij daye of this monethe ix [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to raulf mondy for his hound[s] mete for one monethe ended the forsaied xviij daye ix [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to wa[^t] dodiswor[^t] for his hound[s] mete for one monethe ended the forsaied xviij daye ix [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to tho[~m]s spert s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing of quync[s] oranges and pomegarnett[s] to the king at waltham vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same day paied to the wif where the king shot at a tame buk in the forest of walth[~m] vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of one jo[~h]n brig[s] in rewarde for bringing of quync[s] to the king iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to evans the fawco[^n] for his bourde wag[s] fro midso[^m] till michelmas xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m to the same evans for the mete of ij hawk[s] by the space of iiij^{xx} xvj dayes xvj [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xiij [-l]i. xvj [~s]. iij yet payment[s] in octobre. [1531.] i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to the sergeant rolte and olde stoner rangeo^{r}s of the forest of walth[~m] xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same day to the vj ke[pf]s there e[^v]y parsonne vij [~s] vj d a pece xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied by waye of almes to the burying of davy the foteman that dyed at richemond xv [~s]. i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to docto^{r} baugh for the king[s] charitable almes for two monethes to begynne the xxix daye of this monethe xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the laste day of octobre paied to maister hennage for that he layed oute in rewarde to the keper of hounsde[^n] and to suche as dud helpe to fisshe there xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to james hobart in rewarde for bringing of marmalade oranges and pome[~g]nat[s] to the king[s] grace to grenewiche xl [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xxvij [-l]i. ij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] to'[~l][s] solu[^c] } ccc xlvij [-l]i. hu[~i] mensis octobris } xij [~s]. [signature: henry r] payment[s] in novembre. [1531.] i[~t]m the furste daye paied in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement to a pouer woman v [~s]. i[~t]m the ij^{de} daye paied in rewarde to myne olde lady of oxford[s] s'[^v]nt for bringing of cheses to the king xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the iij^{de} daye paied to x[~p]ofer mylloner for ij myllain bonett[s] for marke and the two guilliams xvj [~s]. i[~t]m to the same x[~p]ofer for a gyrdle for a wodknyf of russet vellute and gilte garnisshed xv [~s]. i[~t]m the v daye paied to x[~p]ofer the myllaner for ij ryding cappes of blac satin and lyned w^{t} blac vellute for the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m the vj daye to the same x[~p]ofer for a wodknyf and a gyrdle gilte for the king[s] grace xl [~s]. i[~t]m the viij daye paied to barba joh[^n] and peter maria shakbutt[s] at ther departing into ther contreys xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to an other of the sagbutt[s] at his lyke de[pf]ting vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a pouer woman for to redeme hir housband oute of prisonne x [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to rede the baily of grenewiche for iiij [pf]sons being banysshed the towne by the space of vij wok[s] xxviij [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xxxiiij [-l]i. ix [~s]. x d. yet payment[s] in novembre. [1531.] i[~t]m the viij daye paied to the king[s] watermen for drynking money v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to antony tote and bartilmew penne for ther lyveray cot[s] xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the ix daye paied to the gardi[^n] of richemond in reward for bringing of grapes and aples to the king v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jo[~h]n wescote in rewarde for bringing the king[s] chaste greyhounde vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aundement to ector assheley for to be employed at hounsdon about[s] the king[s] buylding there ccc [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day paied to the clerk of the king[s] closet for so moche money by him bestowed in charite at o^{r} lady of the pewe and other necessaries as it dothe appere by his bille viij [-l]i. xx d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to antony the sagbut for his cost[s] going to southampto[^n] w^{t} the new sagbutt[s] liij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the mylloner for a knif for the king xl [~s]. s[=m] part[s] cccxv [-l]i. xvij [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in novembre. [1531.] i[~t]m the x daye of novem[~b]r paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde cobhams in rewarde for bringing of shovelard[s] to the king[s] grace iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xj daye paied to joh[^n] yardeley in prest upo[^n] his wag[s] xv [~s]. i[~t]m the xij day paied to bryan talbot for his lyveray cote xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xiij day paied to the ij guilliams for iiij payer of hosen xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xiiij day paied to a frier by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xxij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to the king[s] watermen for wayting iij days, one day to blac walle, and ij days fro grenewiche to west[^m] xxxij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a scot called thom scot, by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the xv day paied to the [^m] of the horses for so moche money by him paied in rewarde to a s'[^v]nt of [^m] norrys that broug[~h]t the king a horse xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paid to raulf mundy for bringing of whelpes to the king[s] grace xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to jo[~h]n dobinson and richard halle for ther bourde wag[s] for vij monthes and vij days at xx d a woke iiij [-l]i. xvj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] liiij [-l]i. xv [~s]. x d. yet payment[s] in novembre. [1531.] i[~t]m the xvj day paied to jasper of beaulie in rewarde for bringing salet herbes and rot[s] to the king vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the dome man in rewarde for the bringing of a sturgeon to the king[s] grace xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the wif of davy fote man by way of rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xvij daye of novembre paied to one alford[s] s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing sugo^{r} to the king[s] grace v [~s]. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to the gardyner at hampton co^{r}te for bringing peres and medelers to the king[s] grace vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xix daye paied for the bourde of the king[s] ryding children and other charge[s] as apperith by a bill subscribed by the maister of the horses iij [-l]i. ix [~s]. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to raulf mundy humfrey raynezford and water doddisworthe for ther hound[s] mete for a monethe xxvij [~s]. i[~t]m the xxj day paied to the keper of the parke of grenewiche for mowyng the launde, and for the new making of the butt[s] xxij [~s]. ij d. s[=m] part[s] ix [-l]i. xvij [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in novembre. [1531.] i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to x[~p]ofer myllo[^n] upo[^n] the content[s] of his bille xxxj [-l]i. xvj [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to ro[~b]t shere for his hound[s] mete for ij monethes at ix [~s] a monthe xviij [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied to the watermen whiche wer behynde for one daye to yorke place and aye[^n] w^{t} the king[s] stuf x [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied to thomson w^{t} his great bote w^{t} the king[s] stuf to hampton co^{r}te vj [~s]. xiij d. i[~t]m the same day to tebbes of depford for making the way in pekham lane ayenst the king shulde ryde that way vj [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiiij day paied to joh[^n] yardeley for his wag[s] due at cristemas next xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to ro[~b]t a lee for carying the king[s] nett[s] from waltham to hounsden ix [~s]. i[~t]m to james parsons for his quarter wages due at cristmas next co[~m]yng xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to walshe of grenewiche for the trymmyng of the gardyne xxv [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] xxxix [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in novebre. [1531] i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to humfry for keping of yonge hound[s] x [~s]. i[~t]m the xxvij day paied to a yong man that gave the king peres v [~s]. i[~t]m the xxviij day paied to a woman in rewarde for gyving to the king[s] grace a fat capon and a henne vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to a fellawe that broug[~h]t floures fro richemond to hampton co^{r}te xx d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a wheler of hownslowe in rewarde for gyving the king[s] grace apulles v [~s]. i[~t]m the last daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} in rewarde to a gentilman of almayne iij c corons lxx [-l]i. s[=m] part[s] lxxj [-l]i. ix [~s]. ij d. s[=m] to'[~l][s] solu[^c] } v c xxv [-l]i. hu[~i] mens' nov[~e]bris } xvj [~s]. iiij d. [signature: henry r] payment[s] in decembre [1531.] the iiij^{th} daye of decembre paid by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} to cornelys hayes upo[n] a further reconyng at hampton courte c [-l]i. i[~t]m the ix daye paied by the king[s] lyke co[~m]aunde^{t} to jo[~h]n cryspin jeweller for suche stuf as the king[s] grace dud bye of him as apperith by his bille iij c and lx corons of the sonne iiij^{xx} iiij [-l]i. i[~t]m the x daye paied to xvj of the king[s] watermen for ther lyverays to e[^v]y of them xxij [~s]. vj d. xviij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to e[^v]y one of the same watermen x [~s] for ther quarter wages ended at cristemas next co[~m]yng viij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the same watermen for wayting fro grenewiche to west[~m] one daye xj [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xij daye paied to antony antony for his costes going in a io^{r}ny by the king[s] co[~m]aundement as apperith by his bille viij [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to henry the king[s] cordyner upo[^n] his bille in lykewise for his costes in the said io^{r}nay vj [-l]i. vj [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to basyng po^{r}veyo^{r} of the king[s] wynes for the discharge of the ship and the mary[^n]s c [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day paied to george taylo^{r} to thuse of joh[^n] skut for making of apparell for my lady anne xxviij [-l]i. vj [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] ccc liij [-l]i. xviij [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1531.] i[~t]m the xv daye paied to my lorde of norfolke for so moche money by him deli[^v]ed at the king[s] co[~m]aundement to the erle of anguisshe at his departing fro grenewiche lxvj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to x[~p]ofer gonner in rewarde to by him a horse vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to the yoman of the crosbowes and to the grome upo[^n] ther billes x [-l]i. xij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to henry byrde yoman of the longe bowes upo[^n] his bill for the king[s] bowyer xj [-l]i. xij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day to the same henry byrde upo[^n] his bille for the king[s] fletcher vj [-l]i. xij [~s]. i[~t]m to the same henry byrde upon his bille for the king[s] stryngmaker iij [-l]i. xvj [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to the keper of the abbot of walth[~m] parke by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one that s'[^v]ed on the king[s] side at tennes at hampton-*courte, in rewarde v [~s]. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied to william rutter for iij quarters wag[s] ended at cristemas next co[~m]yng xlv [~s]. i[~t]m to edmonde lynde for one quarter wages after a grote a daye xxx [~s]. i[~t]m to humfrey raynezford raulf mundy and water dodisworthe for ther hound[s] mete for a moneth now ended xxvij [~s]. s[=m] part[s] c xj [-l]i. ij [~s]. x d. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1531.] i[~t]m the xviij day paied to haukyn for hawk[s] mete xiiij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to james hobart for bringing lymons pomegarnett[s] and oranges to the king xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardi[^n] at wyndso^{r} for his quarter wages due at cristemas next co[~m]yng xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister treasorer in rewarde for bringing a wylde bores hed to the king iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xix daye paied to the gardy[^n] at richemond in rewarde for bringing rose water and apull[s] to the king vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} giles capell for bringing of ffesaunts to the king x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to a s'[^v]nt of [^m] tresorer for bringing of a capon and a gose to the king v [~s]. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to nicholas clampe for his costes going into the lande of spruce o[^v] and above xx [-l]i the whiche the said nicholas had at his departing lvj [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to humfrey raynezford water dodisworthe, and raulf mundy for there lyvary cotys e[^v]y of them xxij [~s]. vj d. iij [-l]i. vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to carter one of the king[s] watermen in rewarde for dressing of the king[s] barge xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xij [-l]i. iiij [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1531.] i[~t]m the forsaied xx daye paied to the forsaied carter for coton lynyng for the king[s] bote xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to william grene for a bare hyde to co[~v] the king[s] barge viij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to xvj of the king[s] watermen for wayting ij dayes xxj [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to docto^{r} baugh for the king[s] p'vay almesse for ij monethes to begynne the xxv day of this monethe xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxiiij day paied to joh[^n] scot taylo^{r} for gere made for the children of the stabull iij [-l]i. xix [~s]. x d. i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to the gardyner at wanstede for a quarter wag[s] ended at cristemas xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the [^m] of the king[s] barge for the rent of his house wherin the henxmen doo lye, for one hole yere xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the wyne porters for laying in wyne into the king[s] pryvay #chambre# sello^{r} [_sic_] v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the baily of grenewiche for to rewarde ij women whiche wer banysshed the towne for sikenes ix [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] xxxvij [-l]i. xv [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1531.] i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to anthony ansley for costes of tennes playe for the space of vj dayes xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye deli[^v]ed to my lady princesse by the king[s] co[~m]aunde to passe the tyme in cristemas xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day to my lady margaret douglas by lyke co[~m]aundement vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to s^{r} wi[~l][~l]m pounder by lyke co[~m]aundement iiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to john a wodde that kepith the king[s] goshawke for his quarter wag[s] due at x[~p]emas iiij [-l]i. xj [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied to henry cordy[^n] for shoes and botys for [^m]ke the ij guilliams and one thomas xxxvj [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to george taylo^{r} for adingto[^n] the skynner for warke and stuf for my lady anne xl [-l]i. xv [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to plonfelde clerk of the warderobe of the bedd[s] xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to henry knevet by the king[s] co[~m]a[^u]de^{t} liij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to walshe a s'[^v]nt of the quenes in rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to polle for his bourde wages for iij monethes ended the xxij of this monethe xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to sextons man for certeyne necessary thinges for sexton, and also for his wag[s] lix [~s]. s[=m] part[s] iiij^{xx} x [-l]i. xxiij d. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1531.] i[~t]m the xxix day paied for viij hornes whiche cornelys trymned for the king[s] grace xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to a s'[^v]nt of myne olde lady guldeford[s] in rewarde for bringing of lampry pyes to the king[s] grace x [~s]. i[~t]m the xxx daye paied to elizabeth aynes in rewarde for bringing ij barell[s] of socado, and cak[s] to the king[s] grace xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to alexander the ryder by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} edward guyldeford by way of rewarde for bringing of a fawcon x [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} wi[~l][~l]m gammage in rewarde for bringing of a red dere ix [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the laste day paied to asmus the armerer for certeyne stuffe that he boug[~h]t for the king and for warkemanship vj [-l]i. xvij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to henry hurlowe in rewarde for a coffer of sypres that he gave to the king xl [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xv [-l]i. xvj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } vj c xx [-l]i. hu[~i] mens' decembris } xix [~s]. ix d. [signature: henry r] payment[s] in january. a^{o}. xxiij^{o}. [1532.] furste paied to joh[^n] evans one of the fawco[^n]s for his bourde wages for one quarter ended at cristemas laste paste after a grote a daye xxx [~s]. i[~t]m to the same joh[^n] for the mete of one hawke for lxxj dayes, and for the mete of iij hawk[s] by the space of xiiij dayes ix [~s]. v d. i[~t]m paied the seconde daye to hug[~h] harrys for his bourde wag[s] for one half yere ended at cristemas laste paste, and for the mete of iij hawk[s] by the same space, and for the mete of iij other hawk[s] by the space of one quarter of a yere v [-l]i. vij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied in almes by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xv [~s]. i[~t]m the iiij^{th} daye paied to baptist lemane jeweller and to x[~p]ofer the myllaner for such jewelles as the king[s] grace boug[~h]t of them m^{l} m^{l} cc lxx corons, in money currant v c xxix [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to alard the jeweller for such jewelles as the king[s] grace boug[~h]t of him m^{l} m^{l} m^{l} m^{l} v c xj corons, and iiij pens in sil[^v] m^{l} lij [-l]i. xj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to hubert moret jeweller, for such jewelles as the king[s] grace boug[~h]t of him cc xlij corons lvj [-l]i. ix [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] m vj c xlvj [-l]i. xv [~s]. ix d. yet payment[s] in january. [1532.] i[~t]m the v day paied to mathewe barnard [^m]chant straunger for so moche money by him deli[^v]ed to docto^{r} benet in exchaunge m^{l} m^{l} m^{l} corons vij c [-l]i. i[~t]m the vj daye paied to cornelys wif of the tower in rewarde for bringing of aples to the king[s] grace x [~s]. i[~t]m the vij daye paied to william fforde for colars and mosu[~l][~l][s] for the king[s] mastyves x [-l]i. xvij [~s]. x d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to rogers for xv games the whiche the king[s] grace loste to him at tenes at xl [~s]. a game xxx [-l]i. i[~t]m the viij daye paied to [^m] weston for ij games the whiche the king[s] grace lost to him at tenes at xl [~s]. the game iiij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to king the hosier for xvj payer of hosen for the children of the chambre iiij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the scole maister of powles for the charges of george ffraunc[s] the king[s] scolar iij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to henry byrde for his bourde wages in gyving attendance upo[^n] the king[s] grace the laste grece tyme xl [~s]. s[=m] part[s] vij c liiij [-l]i. xvij [~s]. x d. yet payment[s] in january. [1532.] i[~t]m the ix daye paied to william more, thomas bowman, thomas evans for ther lyverays iij [-l]i. vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m to the same wi[~l][~l]m more and his saied fellawes in rewarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to ro[=b]t shere for his begles mete for a monethe v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to fillip of the pryvay chambre by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the ij guilliams by lyke co[~m]aundement xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied by lyke co[~m]aundement to the pag[s] of the king[s] chambre xl [~s]. i[~t]m the x daye paied to one that broug[~h]t iij cranes ij bustard[s] and iij gese to the king[s] grace iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the sergeant berewarde in rewarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paid to humfrey raynezford raulf mundy water dodisworthe for ther hound[s] mete for one monethe now ended xxvij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to garard the fawco[^n] in rewarde for taking of a fawcon and a tarsell lvj [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paid to x[~p]ofer mylloner for certeyne stuf deli[^v]ed to [^m] hennage for the king[s] use lv [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xx [-l]i. xv [~s]. ij d. yet payment[s] in january. [1532.] i[~t]m the xj day paied to the abbot of glocestre s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing bake lampres to the king x [~s]. i[~t]m the xij day paied to the fellaw w^{t} the daunsing dogge in rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the french fletcher by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to cokk[s] the foteman by lyke co[~m]aunde^{t} xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to thomas aleyn by lyke co[~m]aundement vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to ambros barker mercer for iiij^{xx} viij yard[s] of clothe of golde at xxx [~s] the yerde, amount[s] to the so[~m]e of c xxxij [-l]i i[~t]m the same daye paied to morgan wolf, robert amadas, cornelys and joh[^n] freman for plate whiche the king[s] grace receyved of the[^m] cc xlviij [-l]i. xj [~s]. i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to my lord wylliam for that he wanne of the king[s] grace at shovillabo^{r}de ix [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to bryan talbot in prest upo[^n] his wages to be due at oure lady day next xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the xv daye paied to antony toto paynter by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to averays s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing of ij cranes to yorke place iiij [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] iiij c xxiij [-l]i. iiij [~s]. yet payment[s] in january. [1532.] i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to the boke bynder for bringing of bok[s] fro hamptonco^{r}te to yorke place iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to the frenche clok-*maker for ij clokk[s] xxxv corons, and rewarde xx corons in all lv corons xij [-l]i. xvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardyner of beaulie for his quarter wages due at cristemas iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to ambros barker mercer for a pece of crymysin vellute upon vellute cont[s] xiij yard[s] iij quarter[s] di' at xxvj [~s] viij d the yerde xviij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the xxij daye paid in rewarde to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde chamberleyns for bringing of a hynde to the king[s] grace x [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied in rewarde to a physicion that went to my lorde of richemond xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied to my lorde of rocheford for that he wanne of the king[s] grace at shovillabo^{r}de and by betting at the same game xlv [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to the keper of grenewiche parke for xiiij lod[s] of hey at v [~s] vj d the lode, and for vj lod[s] of otes at ix [~s] the lode, and for cariage of the same vij [-l]i. iiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] iiij^{xx} ix [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in january. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxv daye paied in prest to joh[^n] yardeley upon his wag[s] xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to mason the king[s] scolar in parys for his exhibicion for one yere vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day paid to domyngo for that he wanne of the king[s] grace at gamyng lxx [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to pety joh[^n] the mynstrell in rewarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the abbot of ramsays by way of rewarde for bringing of bok[s] to the king[s] grace xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to the sergeant of the sello^{r} for laying in wynes for the king xij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied for viij yard[s] of coto[^n] for to trusse the plate that was sent fro grenewiche to yorke place iiij [~s]. i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to marion the cutler upon his bille for the king[s] grace viij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the laste daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m hollys alderman of londo[^n] for a rema[~u]nt of clothe of golde of vij yard[s] iij quarters at xl [~s] the yarde xv [-l]i. x [~s]. s[=m] part[s] c vj [-l]i. iiij [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in january. [1532.] i[~t]m the laste day paied to dawson one of the marshall[s] of the king[s] halle for xxviij dosen cases of trenchars deli[^v]ed to the pantry xlvj [~s]. viij d. s[~m] pat[s] s[~m] to'[~l][s] solu[^c] } m^{l} m^{l} m xliiij [-l]i. hu[~i] mens' januarij } ix [~s] #ixd#^{v d.} [_sic_] [signature: henry r] payment[s] in february. [1532.] i[~t]m the furste daye paied to cornelys the king[s] goldesmythe upon his bille dated the xxix day of january the xxiij yere of the reigne of o^{r} so[^v]ain lorde king henry the viij^{th} l [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to johnson maister of the king[s] barge for bringing stuf fro grenewiche to west[^m] vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to docto^{r} yakisley and to an other phesician by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} iiij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to carter one of the king[s] watermen for wayting w^{t} a whery xiiij dayes at xvj d the whery e[^v]y day xviij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the ij^{de} daye paied to xvij of the king[s] watermen for wayting one daye fro grenewiche to west[^m] at viij d. e[^v]y one the daye xj [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to nicolas clampe for one hole yeres wages to ende at o^{r} lady daye in lent next x [-l]i. i[~t]m the iij^{de} daye paied to a stranger called jasper fawco[^n] for vj sakers and v sakerett[s] at viij corons a pece which amo^{t}[s] to iiij^{xx} viij corons xx [-l]i. x [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to my lorde of wilshire for a phisician called docto^{r} nicholas xx angell[s] vij [-l]i. x [~s]. s[=m] part[s] iiij^{xx} xiij [-l]i. xvij [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in february. [1532.] i[~t]m the iiij^{th} day paied to carter one of the king[s] watermen for the hyer of vij horses and for the cost[s] of vij men for the space of xvj days into wales and other plac[s] at xx d for e[^v]y man the daye ix [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the v daye paied to emyson sextons man for his quarter wag[s] to end at oure lady in lent next xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister coffyns in rewarde for bringing of a stag to the king at westmynster xx [~s]. i[~t]m the vj daye paied in rewarde to james hobart for bringing of lampreys orang[s] lymons to the king[s] grace at west[^m] xl [~s]. i[~t]m the viij daye paied to anthony ansley for the cost[s] at tennes for iij dayes that is to say the vj the vij and the viij dayes of february xx [~s]. i[~t]m the ix day paied to x[~p]ofer the mylloner for an owche of golde that the king[s] grace bought of him v [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardyners doughter of grenewiche for bringing of chekyns to the king iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to an almay[^n] for bringing of a lyon to the king[s] grace vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] xxv [-l]i. xix [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in february. [1532.] i[~t]m the x daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of docto^{r} chambres in rewarde for bringing hennes to the king[s] grace iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xij day paied to humfrey raynesford water dodisworthe and raulf mondy for one monethe wag[s], e[^v]y man ix [~s] xxvij [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to robert shere for his begles mete for one monethe now ended ix [~s]. i[~t]m the xiij day paied to a s'[^v]nt of the chief baro[^n] in rewarde for bringing of a bucke to the king vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to jo[~h]n fitzwater for his cost[s] for keping of the clock at hamptoncourte xxvij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of grenewiche parke for making of a hedge and a dyche on the bakside of the lodge iij [-l]i. xix [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xv daye paied to asamus the king[s] armerer for trymyng of his grac[s] gonne xxvij [~s]. x d. i[~t]m the same day paied to gyles of the crosbowe for the mete of the king[s] stalking horse for one yere xxiiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied by way of almesse to richard scot that was robbed xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xj [-l]i. vj [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in ffebruary. [1532.] i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to my lorde of rocheford upo[^n] his bille for that he wanne of the king[s] grace at shovillabourde xxxvj [-l]i. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied to alarde jeweller upo[^n] his bille for suche jewelles as the king[s] grace boug[~h]t of him iiij c lviij corons, in sterling cvj [-l]i. xv [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to andrewe oret the paynter for paynting of the king[s] barge, and the covering of the same xxx [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to maister hennage for the hyre of a bote to cary stuf of the king[s] fro grenewiche to west[^m] xvj d. i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to my lorde of rocheford for that he wanne of the king[s] grace at shovillabourde v [-l]i. xij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied to rowland rigeley for botehyre for carying of the king[s] stuf from grenewiche to west[^m] xvj d. i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to xvij of the king[s] watermen for wayting ij dayes betwene grenewiche and west[^m] at viij d the daye for e[^v]y man xxij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the prio^{r} of lantonys in rewarde for bringing of bake lampreys xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] c iiij^{xx} [-l]i. xiij [~s]. ij d. yet payment[s] in february. [1532.] i[~t]m the last daye paied to tho[~m]s ogull upo[^n] his bille subscribed by the maister of the horses xliiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister hennage for that he paied to the armerer that scowred the king[s] harnesse vj [-l]i. xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the procto^{r} of jesus yelde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied by way of rewarde to one fraunc[s] a poste xl [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xj [-l]i. vj [~s]. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } ccc xxiij [-l]i. hu[~i] mens' ffebruarij } ij [~s]. vj d. [signature: henry r] payment[s] in marche. [1532.] i[~t]m the furste daye paied to the gardyner of beaulie for his quarter wages due at cristmas laste paste iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one of the garde toward[s] sainct david feaste xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied in almes by the king[s] co[~m]aundement x [~s]. i[~t]m the seconde daye paied to the clockmaker of west[^m] by the same co[~m]aundement iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the iij^{de} daye paied to the wif of wi[~l][~l]m armerer upo[^n] hir bille for the king[s] grace xiij [-l]i. xviij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the said wi[~l][~l]m armerers wif upo[^n] hir bille for shert[s] for marke and the two guilliams vij [-l]i. vj d. i[~t]m the vj daye paied to the norice and the mydwif of sir nicholas harvy chielde iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the vij daye paied to hanyba[~l][~l] upo[^n] his bille subscribed by the maister of the horses ix [-l]i. ij [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to henry the king[s] cordyner for shoes for marke and the two guilliams xxxvij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] xliij [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. x d. yet payment[s] in marche. [1532.] i[~t]m the viij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the duc of fferrers in rewarde for bringing of a caste of fawcons to the king[s] grace at west[^m] xxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to x[~p]ofer hawte one of the fawconers for hawk[s] mete xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to carter one of the king[s] watermen for wayting w^{t} a whery by the space of xxiiij dayes xxxij [~s]. i[~t]m the ix daye paied to humfrey raynesford, doddisworthe and rauf mondye for ther hound[s] mete for a monethe now ended xxvij [~s]. i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to joh[^n] cavalcant in full payment of cxliiij [-l]i x [~s] for xx yard[s] and iij quarters of clothe of golde tyssue xxiiij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the xv daye paied to phelip fawco[^n], hauky[^n] fawco[^n], richard fawco[^n], and nicholas clampe for ther lyveray cotys at xxij [~s] vj d every of them iiij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to thomas of londo[^n] one of the fawco[^n]s for his lyke lyveray cote xxij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] lvij [-l]i. iij [~s]. ij d. yet payment[s] in marche. [1532.] i[~t]m the xvij day paied to one cycile a wydowe for vij cloke cases at xxv [~s] a pece as apperith by hir bille subscribed by thomas alvord viij [-l]i. xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to polle that kepith the barbary horse by way of rewarde xviij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day paied in rewarde to the boye that ranne the horse xviij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to thomas ogull by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to a taylo^{r} of london for a doubelet and a pety cote for sexten viij [~s]. i[~t]m the xix daye paied to x[~p]ofer mylloner for iij men that made a tabull of wod v [-l]i. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to yardeley one of the hont[s] for his quarter wag[s] due at o^{r} lady daye next xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to james the henne taker for his quarter wages in lyke wise to be due xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to robert shere for his begles mete for one moneth ended the x day of [^m]che v [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xx [-l]i. xix [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in marche. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to maister ratclif by the king[s] co[~m]aundement in way of prest and loon, to be by him repaied unto his grac[s] use at cristemas next co[~m]yng c [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to nicolas clampe for hawk[s] mete xvj [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied to jo[~h]n a wod for his quarter wag[s] now due iiij [-l]i. xj [~s]. i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to the king[s] hosier for hosen for maister henry knevet, marke and the ij gui[~l][~l]ms vj [-l]i. xviij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to walter in rewarde for a jerfawcon that dyed xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one that toke up a launer that had been lacking a hole yere x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jasper the gardyner at beaulie for his quarter wages now due iij [-l]i. i[~t]m to the same jasper in rewarde for bringing herbes to the king vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to the subdean of the king[s] chapell in rewarde for him and his company by his grac[s] co[~m]aundement xxij [-l]i. iij [~s]. ix d. s[=m] part[s] cxl [-l]i. v [~s]. ix d. yet payment[s] in marche. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied to xvij of the king[s] watermen for wayting w^{t} the great bote ij dayes at viij d a pece every daye xxij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to xj of the saied watermen for wayting w^{t} the great bote v dayes, e[^v]y man after the rate above saied xxxvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to the said xvj watermen for ther quarter wag[s] due at o^{r} lady daye laste passed, at x [~s] a pece viij [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxviij daye paid to carter one of the saied watermen for wayting w^{t} a whery at west[^m] ix dayes, for e[^v]y daye xvj d. xij [~s]. i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to phelip of the pryvay chambre upo[^n] his bille for lewte strynges iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to pynner and joh[^n] browne ij of the shoters for ther lyveray cot[s] xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the xxx daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lady sydeneys in rewarde for bringing of quynce pyes to the king vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardy[^n] of wyndeso^{r} for his quarter wages due at oure lady daye laste past xx [~s]. s[~m] part[s] xviij [-l]i. ix [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in marche. [1532.] i[~t]m the forsaied xxx daye gyve[^n] by the king[s] co[~m]aundement to my lady princesse x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to my lady princesse phisicion in rewarde xxvj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to lynde one of the hont[s] for his wages due for one quarter ended at our^[9] lady daye last paste xxx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xxxviij [-l]i. iij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } ccc xviij [-l]i. hu[~i] mens' marcij } xvj [~s]. v d. [signature: henry r] payment[s] in aprill. [1532.] i[~t]m the furste daye paied to gararde the fawconer for his lyveray xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the ij^{de} daye paied to ix po[^u] men that the king[s] grace heled iij [-l]i. vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to patryke of the stable for ferying of the king[s] horse at lamhethe at di[^v] tymes iij [~s]. i[~t]m the iij^{de} daye paied to cutberde the king[s] apoticary upo[^n] his bille for stuf by him deli[^v]ed for the king[s] grace from the laste day of septem[~b] unto the laste daye of marche xxxviij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to george taylo^{r} to the use of wi[~l][~l]m morant for his half yeres annuyte due unto him at cristemas last passed iij [-l]i. x d. i[~t]m the iiij^{th} daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aundement to thomas aley[^n] by way of rewarde xiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to s^{r} wi[~l][~l]m pounder in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister henry knevet in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the v^{th} daye paied to the frenche fletcher by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to james hobart for bringing of oranges dates and other plesurs to the king[s] grace xxij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] lxvij [-l]i. xviij [~s]. x d. yet payment[s] in aprill. [1532.] i[~t]m the vj daye paied to joh[^n] dobinson and richard halle for ther bourde wages from the xviij daye of novembr^[9] unto the laste daye of marche that is to saye by the space of xix wok[s] iij [-l]i. iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to poule that kepith the barra horse for his bourde for iij monethes xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to the said poule for a bathe for the same horse vij [~s]. ij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to robert shere in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to tho[~m]s jestar by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied by lyke co[~m]aunde^{t} to awdeley the king[s] s'[^v]nt in way of rewarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m the vij daye paied to josselyn grome of the chambre in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to domyngo ij c corons for so moche money by the king[s] grace loste unto him at play at west[^m] the xx daye of ffebruary laste paste xlvj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] lvij [-l]i. vj [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in aprill. [1532.] i[~t]m the viij daye paied to edmonde astell keper of grenewiche parke for thornes and for laborers warke iij [-l]i. xvij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to nowell one of the mynstrell[s] in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jo[~h]n scot for making of gere for the king[s] fole xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to umfrey raynesforde raulf mondy and water doddisworthe for mete for ther hound[s] for one monethe ended the laste daye of marche xxvij [~s]. #i[~t]m the ix daye paied to domyngo for so moche money as he wanne of the king[s] grace in playe at his mano^{r} of west[^m] iij c corons# [_sic_] #lxx [-l]i.# i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s[^v]nt of my lady sydenors in rewarde for bringing of orange pyes to the king[s] grace to grenewiche v [~s]. i[~t]m same daye paied to the scole maister of powles for the bourde of george ffraunc[s] the king[s] scolar and other charg[s] v [-l]i. iij [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to sexton man for so moche money by him layed oute for the same sexton xlj [~s]. ix d. s[=m] part[s] xv^{#xx#} [-l]i. iiij [~s]. iij d. [_sic._] yet payment[s] in aprill. [1532.] i[~t]m the x daye paied to willy the ffawconer for his lyveray cote xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a northern man in rewarde, that ca[^m] fro the lorde dacres of the northe xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one other norther northerne man in rewarde for bringing of a boye to the king[s] grace fro the saied lorde dacres iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the two guilliams and to marke of the pryvay chambre by waye of rewarde iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m knevet upo[^n] his annuytie for one quarter ended at easter last paste v [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardyner of wanstede for his wag[s] due for one quarter ended at easter last paste xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the ke[pf] of grenewiche for the keping of the ffowle in the garden, and for wedyng and making clene of the house for one hole yere iiij [-l]i. x d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of the king[s] tennes playe for the cost[s] at tennes for iiij dayes xxvj [~s]. viij d. s[~m] part[s] xx [-l]i. xvj [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in aprill. [1532.] i[~t]m the xj daye paied in rewarde to one garett[s] wif for being banysshed the towne by reason of the plage x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to henry hadstone for being banysshed the towne his wif and iij s'[^v]nts xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the subdean of the king[s] chapell for thexhibicion of iiij scolars at the king[s] finding in oxford viij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day paied to tho[~m]s ogull for the bourde of the king[s] rynnyng boyes xlj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xij daye paied in rewarde to dyryk[s] wif of grenewiche for bringing of a capo[^n] and chekyns to the king[s] grace vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one cowley in rewarde for bringing of a prisoner from stafford xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xiij daye paied in rewarde to one that ca[^m] to the king[s] grace fro my lorde barnes xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to the gardyner of beaulie for his wag[s] due for one quarter ended at easter laste paste iij [-l]i. x d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to walshe the gardy[^n] of grenewiche for the wag[s] of dygars and weders in the garden xviij [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] xix [-l]i. xij [~s]. x d. yet payment[s] in aprill. [1532.] i[~t]m the xv daye paied to docto^{r} baugh for the king[s] pryvate almes for ij monethes, begynnyng this same daye xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to x[~p]ofer mylloner for a gyrdell for the king[s] grace, iiij myllayne bonett[s] and vj payer of gloves xxix [~s]. i[~t]m the xvj daye paied in rewarde to the ffryers at hounslowe by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to x[~p]ofer hawe one of the fawco[^n]s for his lyveray xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to umfrey raynesford in rewarde towards his mariage by the king[s] co[~m]a[^u]dement xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to carter one of the king[s] watermen for bringing up of stuf fro grenewich to west[^m] w^{t} a greate bote v [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king[s] watermen for wayting w^{t} the greate barge fro grenewiehe to west[^m], w^{t} xvij men xj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to carter for a whery that broug[~h]t two coffars of the king[s] fro grenewich to west[^m] xvj d. s[=m] part[s] xxvj [-l]i. ix [~s]. x d. yet payment[s] in aprill. [1532.] i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to jasper the gardyner of beaulie in rewarde for bringing of herbes to the king[s] grace to west[^m] vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the yoman of the henxman for ther lodging at ij tymes at west[^m] xij [~s]. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied to my lorde of wilshire for that, that he, my lorde of rocheford, maister bryan, and maister baynto[^n], wanne of the king[s] grace at ij tymes at shovillabourde xxxvj [-l]i in angell[s] xl [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to s^{r} jo[~h]n hurte richard whether, samson cleyton, and to john ffowlar for ther lyveray cotes to e[^v]y of them xxij [~s] vj d iiij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the xix daye paied to peter taberet in rewarde toward[s] his mariage by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to my lorde of wilshire for that he w^{t} my lorde of rocheford wanne at the bowles of the king[s] grace and [^m] baynton ix [-l]i. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to my lorde of rocheford for that he layed oute in the tennes playe by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} vij [~s] vj d. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to george hennyngam for ij palfreys whiche he deli[^v]ed for the king[s] grace at the co[~m]aunde^{t} of the maister of the horses xx [-l]i. s[=m] part[s] lxxviij [-l]i. xij [~s]. x d. yet payment[s] in aprill. [1532.] i[~t]m the xx daye paied to my lorde of rocheford for that he wanne of the king[s] grace at bowles xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to one that gave the king[s] grace an instrument xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to my lorde of wilshire for that he and my lorde of rocheford wanne of the king[s] grace ij games at the bowles at xx marke in angell[s] a game xxx [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied to grande gui[~l][~l]m of the pryvay chambre in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} xxiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to raulf mondy humfrey raynesford and water doddisworthe for ther hound[s] mete for a monethe now ended xxvij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jo[~h]n cryspin jueller of ffraunce for certeyn jewell[s] which the king[s] grace bought of him as apperi[~t]h by his bille, m^{l} corons of the sonne ccxxxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. v.. i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to keys s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing a hawke to the king[s] grace to grenewiche vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied to maister wellysbo^{r}ne by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} in prest, to be repaied unto his grace w^{t}in the space of iij yeres as apperith by iij se[^v]all obligacions lx [-l]i. s[=m] part[s] iij c xxx [-l]i. ix [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in aprill. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to the keper of grenewiche parke for dyching of the newe grounde to the saied parke iiij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to ecto^{r} assheley by the king[s] co[~m]aunde[~m]et to be employed upo[^n] his grac[s] buyelding[s] at hounesdon cc [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister bryan for that he wanne of the king[s] grace at bowles ix [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to carter one of the king[s] watermen for talowing and brennyng of the king[s] barge and bote twies xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the said carter for half a steme and for a steme locke to the bote iiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the said carter for ij dayes wayting w^{t} the barge fro west[^m] to grenewiche and fro grenewiche to west[^m] w^{t} xvij men xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the laste daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde dacres of the southe in rewarde for bringing of a horse to the king[s] grace xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to my lorde of wilshire for that he wanne of the king[s] grace at bowles xij [-l]i in angell[s], in sterling xiij [-l]i. x [~s]. s[=m] part[s] cc xxx [-l]i. vj [~s]. vj d. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } viij c xlvj [-l]i. hu[~i] mens' aprilis } xvij [~s]. vij d. [signature: henry r] payment[s] in may. [1532.] i[~t]m the furste daye paied to my lorde of norfolke for so moche money as he wanne of the king[s] grace at bowles the xxvij daye of aprill as apperith by his bille xxj [-l]i i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister bryan for that he layed oute at the king[s] co[~m]aundement to one fflorence iiij [-l]i. in ange[~l][~l][s] iiij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the seconde daye paied to x[~p]ofer mylloner upo[^n] his bille for stuffe for the king[s] grace xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to bryan talbot in prest upo[^n] his wages to be due at midso[^m] next co[~m]yng xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the iiij^{th} daye paied to jo[~h]n evans one of the fawco[^n]s for his bourde wages fro cristemas to oure lady daye in lent, last paste xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the same joh[^n] evans for the mete of ij hawkes by the space of one quarter of a yere xv [~s]. i[~t]m the v daye paied to tho[~m]s ogull for the bourde of iiij boyes by the space of one monethe after xx d. a pece by the woke xxvj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] xxxij [-l]i. xvij [~s]. j d. yet payment[s] in maye. [1532.] i[~t]m the vj daye paied to walshe the gardyner of grenewiche for the charges of workemen and other laborers in the gardey[^n] there xxviij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the vij daye paied to x[~p]ofer mylloner upo[^n] his bille for stuf solde to the king[s] grace iij [-l]i. xviij [~s]. i[~t]m the viij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my ladye sydenays in rewarde for bringing of bake quynses to the king[s] grace to west[^m] vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the ix daye paied to ij pouer folke that wer heled of the king[s] sykenes xv [~s]. i[~t]m the x^{th} daye paied to edmond astyll for vj lood[s] of oot[s] for the dere in grenewiche parke at vj [~s]. vj d. the lode xxxvj [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the same edmond astyll for xiiij lood[s] of hey for the dere in grenewiche parke at iiij [~s]. x d. the loode iij [-l]i. xij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xij daye paied to the same edmonde astyll for making of the newe walle upo[^n] the newe dyche at the blac hethe xxij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to robert shere for mete of the king[s] [~p]vay begles for ij monethes x [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xiij [-l]i. viij [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in maye. [1532.] i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to robert a lee for certeyne nett[s] and for the charges of the cariage of them by the space of one hole yere v [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jo[~h]n yardeley for his wages to be due at midsomer next co[~m]yng xxx [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the proctours of saint sepulcres yelde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to maister ffoster for to gyve in rewarde for the cristenyng of s^{r} willia[^m] pounders chielde iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to asmus the armerer for the garnisshing of iiij^{xx} vj bok[s] as apperith by his bille xxxiiij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to hans pyper and bartholomew his ffellawe dromslades for their lyverayes xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the preste at hounsdo[^n] for the tythe of the two park[s] xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister garneys for the king[s] offerring to oure lady of walsingham vij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] xlix [-l]i. xij [~s]. xj d. yet payment[s] in maye. [1532.] i[~t]m the xv daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the busshop of excet^{r} in rewarde for bringing certeyne money to the king[s] grace xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to a woman that presented the king w^{t} chekyns at grenewiche vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to thomas assheley s'[^v]nt to my ladye anne rocheford for the use of will[^m] reding for xxxij flemysshe elles of golde aras at xlvj [~s]. viij d. the elle lxxiiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to one vincent quenay a clokmaker for suche stuf as he solde to the king xj [-l]i. viij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xix daye paid to ridley a taylo^{r} of londo[^n] for making of geyre for sexten, and for the stuf iij [-l]i. ij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king[s] watermen for wayting dayes w^{t} the barge and the great bote xxiiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to carter for wayting w^{t} a whery at west[^m] by the space of xxij dayes xxxvj [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to nycolas curcean a clockemaker for stuf made for the king[s] grace v [-l]i. iij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to humfrey raynezforde raulf mondy and water doddisworthe for ther hound[s] mete for one monethe now ended xxvij [~s]. s[=m] pat[s] cj [-l]i. xxiij d. yet payment[s] in maye. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to x[~p]ofer hawte one of the fawconers for the mete of iij hawk[s] by the space of lxj dayes at iij d. the daye xv [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister bryan for so moche money by him wonne of the king[s] grace at the bowles xx [-l]i in ange[~l][~l][s] xxij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister cheyney for so moche money by him wonne of the king[s] grace at the bowles vij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to the s'geant of the sello^{r} for that he wanne of my lady anne at the bowles, and paied by the king[s] co[^m]aundement xij [-l]i. vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied in rewarde to a woman that gave the king[s] grace arow hedd[s] x [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiiij day paied to the gardyner of richemond in rewarde for bringing salat erbes to the king v [~s]. i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to thomas ogle for the bourding of the iiij childre[^n] by the space of a monethe xxvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to dobinson richard halle and haringto[^n] for ther dyet xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to rogers for so moche money by him wonne of the king[s] grace at bowles xlv [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xlix [-l]i. ix [~s]. v d. yet payment[s] in maye. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to joh[^n] scot upon the content[s] of his bille for making of certeyne aparell and for the stuf vij [-l]i. xj [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to alile of the jewell house for xxviij^{ti} bagg[s] to trusse in plate v [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied to the coffer maker for ij blak coffers xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxviij day paied to wi[~l][~l]m armerers wif for certeyne stuf of hir boug[~h]t as apperith by hir bill x [-l]i. xij [~s]. x d. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to an armerer at his departing into his countrey xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to edmond astyll for so moche money by him layed oute about necessaries in the parke of grenewiche xxviij [~s]. i[~t]m the xxix daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aundement to thomas ogle by way of rewarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to sexto[^n] man for his lyveray xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the laste daye paied to iij pouer people that the king[s] grace heled xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to xvj the king[s] watermen for wayting upo[^n] my lady anne to durisme house vij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] xxvij [-l]i. ix [~s]. xj d. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } cc lxxiij [-l]i. hu[~i] mens' maij. } xix [~s]. ix d. [signature: henry r] payment[s] in june. [1532.] i[~t]m the furste daye paied to a woman in rewarde that broug[~h]t benes and chekyns to the king[s] grace to eltham vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the seconde daye paied to walshe the gardy[^n] of grenewiche in rewarde for bringing of letuze and archechokk[s] to eltham v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one dompue peter tremesin that dud ryde ij horses at ones, by waye of rewarde c corons xxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the iij^{de} daye paid to jo[~h]n holande of the garde by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} toward[s] his mariage v [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jacson the hardewareman for ij scarlet nig[~h]t bonett[s] deli[^v]ed to maister wi[~l][~l]m a brereto[^n] iiij [~s]. i[~t]m the iiij^{th} daye paied to polle the keper of the barbare horse for his bourde wages for ij monethes ended the laste day of may xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the v daye paied to robert a lee for the charges of the making of the bowlyng aley at eltham iiij [-l]i. iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one frencheman called vincent ans for certeyne jewelles as the king[s] grace boug[~h]t of him at eltham vj c corons of the sonne c xl [-l]i. s[=m] part[s] c lxxiiij [-l]i. xiiij d. yet payment[s] in june. [1532.] i[~t]m the vij daye paied to maister hennage for that he gave to a pouer woman to obteyne hir husband[s] fredome and hurs in londo[^n] xxvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the viij daye paied to henry arnolde the cordy[^n] for shoes and buskyns for maister henry knevet, marke, the ij guilliams and tho[~m]s smythe iiij [-l]i. xviij d. i[~t]m the ix daye paied to king the hosyer for hosen for mais[^t] henry knevet xlj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to the same hosyer for hosen for marke, the ij guilliams, and thomas smythe iij [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the x daye paied to tho[~m]s ogle for hosen for the iiij childre of the stable xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to robt shere keper of the begles for one monethes wages v [~s]. i[~t]m the xj daye paied to jasper the gardyner at beaulie for his quarter wages to ende at midso[^m] next co[~m]yng iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the xij day paied to xvj the king[s] watermen for ther quart^[9] wages to ende at mydso[^m] next viij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the said watermen for wayting w^{t} the grete bote when the fisshe was honted at grenewiche vij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] xxiiij [-l]i. xvij [~s]. yet payment[s] in june. [1532.] i[~t]m the xij daye paied to the gardi[^n] of beaulie in rewarde for bringing of letuze and archechokk[s] to eltham vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paid to gui[~l][~l]m for pellett[s] for the stone bowe v [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a pouer woman in rewarde for bringing capons to the king[s] grace x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to vincent annys for jewelles that he solde unto the king[s] grace m^{l} corons of the sonne ccxxxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to a man in rewarde for bringing lantony cheses to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to ansh[~m] for tabu[~l][~l][s] fo^{r}mes and stoles that he broug[~h]t to eltham xv [~s]. i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to jo[~h]n node in rewarde for bringing of a stagge to eltham to the king vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to sir wi[~l][~l]m pykering for a course that he wanne of the king[s] grace in eltham parke ayenst his dogge xl [~s]. in angell[s] xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paid to ---for bett[s] that he wanne of the king[s] grace in eltham parke xxij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] cc xxxix [-l]i. xix [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in june. [1532.] i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to the gardy[^n] at hamptoncourte in rewarde for bringing streburys to eltham vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye to one ambros paynter to the quene of navara for bringing of a picture to the king[s] grace to eltham xx corons iiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye gyven to my lady princesse by the king[s] co[~m]ande^{t} x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to two of my lorde of wilshires s'[^v]nts in rewarde for bringing of a leshe of laurett[s] to the king at elth[~m] xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to ij po[^u] children that the king[s] grace heled of ther sikenes xv [~s]. i[~t]m the xv daye paid to nicolas clampe for one quarter wages to ende at midsomer next co[~m]yng l [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to the same nicolas for his bourde wages by the space of one quarter of a yere at iiij d. by the day xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the same daye to the same nicolas for hawk[s] mete for two hawk[s] by the space of iiij^{xx} xij days at ij d. a daye for them bothe xv [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to richard alberton fawconer for mete for iij hawk[s] by the space of iiij^{xx} xiij dayes, at iij d. by the day for all xxiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] xxij [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. j d. yet payment[s] in june. [1532.] i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to hauky[^n] one of the king[s] fawconers for hawk[s] mete for iij hawk[s] during the space of c v dayes at iij d. for e[^v]y daye for them all xxvj [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to raulf mondy humfrey raynezford and water doddisworthe for ther hound[s] mete by the space of one moneth xxvij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jo[~h]n malte for xij yard[s] of blacke satin for a cloke for my lady anne at viij [~s]. the yarde iiij [-l]i. xvj [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied for the making of the same cloke v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied for a yerde of blac vellute for edging of the same cloke xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jo[~h]n malte for ij yard[s] and iij quarters of blac vellute to lyne the colar and the vent[s] at xiij [~s]. iiij d. the yarde xxxvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jo[~h]n malte for ij yard[s] of blac satin to lyne the sleves of the same cloke, at viij [~s]. the yarde xvj [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied for xj yerd[s] of bruges satin to lyne the rest of the same ---at ij [~s]. iiij d. the yarde xxv [~s]. viij d. s[~m] part[s] xij [-l]i. v [~s]. xj d. yet payment[s] in june. [1532.] i[~t]m the forsaied xvj daye paied for ij yard[s] of buckeram to lyne the upper sleves of the saied cloke ij [~s]. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied to joh[^n] malt for xiij yard[s] of blac satin for a nig[~h]t gowne for my lady anne at viij [~s]. the yarde v [-l]i. iiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the same joh[^n] malte for making of the same nig[~h]t gowne vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied for viij yard[s] of blac taffata to lyne the same gowne at viij [~s]. the yarde iij [-l]i. iiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied for iij yard[s] of blac vellute for to border and edge the same gowne, at xiij [~s]. iiij d. the yarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m for ij yard[s] of buckeram for to lyne the upper sleves of the same gowne xij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied for xvj yard[s] of grene damaske and di^[9] that was deli[^v]ed to joh[^n] skut for my lady anne use, at viij [~s]. the yarde vj [-l]i. xij [~s]. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to a frencheman in rewarde for bringing of a brase of greyhound[s] fro the frenche king to the king[s] grace to e[-l]th[~m] xx corons of the sonne iiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] xxij [-l]i. iij [~s]. yet payment[s] in june. [1532.] i[~t]m the xix daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} james a wo^{r}sley in rewarde for bringing of a lesshe of laurett[s] to the king[s] grace to the eltham xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde of kyldare in rewarde for presenting of a couple of hobyes to the king at grenewiche xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister norrys in rewarde for presenting of a gray guelding to the king[s] grace at grenewiche xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister norrys in rewarde for bringing of a blac guelding to the king[s] grace in elth[~m] parke xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one maister ratclif a scolar w^{t}in cambrige by the king[s] co[~m]ande^{t} xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to the gardyner of beaulie in rewarde for bringing archechokk[s] to the king[s] grace to eltha[^m] vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister cromewell in rewarde for bringing sucado and marmalado to the king[s] grace to eltham xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the abbot of glastonbery for bringing of a yonge horse and a nag to eltham to the king xl [~s]. s[=m] part[s] x [-l]i. ij [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in june. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied to thabbot of glastonbury s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing v lyverett[s] to the king[s] grace to eltham xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied to hug[~h] harrys for his bourde wages fro the xxv day of decembre unto this present daye that is to say for c lxxiij dayes at iiij d by the daye lvij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the same hugh harrys for hawkes mete for ij hawk[s] for c lxxiij dayes at ij d a daye for them bothe xxvij [~s]. x d. i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to walshe the gardyner of grenewiche in rewarde for bringing cherys to the king[s] grace to eltham iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxvij day paied to [^m] baugh for the king[s] pryvat almes for iiij monethes to co[~m]e xl [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a po[^u] woman that the king[s] grace heled of hir sykenes vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to the gardyner at hamptoncourte for bringing of cherys to the king vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to humfrey elderton fawco[^n] for to bye him a cote by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xlvij [-l]i. iij [~s]. yet payment[s] in june. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to one andrewe mancyo[^n] for ij antik[s] that he brought to the king[s] grace to eltham xx corons iiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one harrys s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing of pescodd[s] to the king[s] grace v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardy[^n] of wyndeso^{r} for his [~q]rt[s] wages due at midsomer paste xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to james the henne taker for his [~q]rt[s] wages due at midsomer laste paste xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to raulf mondy humfrey raynezford and water doddisworthe for ther^[9] ly[^v]eys iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to my lorde of rocheford for so moche money by him wonne of the king[s] grace at the pryck[s] and by betting xvj [-l]i. in aungell[s], in money currant xviij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day paied to anthony kingston for viij shott[s] of iij angell[s] a shotte whiche he wanne of tho[~m]s cary shoting on the king[s] side, the whiche is viij [-l]i in angell[s] s[=m] ix [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the mayer of londo[^n] in rewarde for bringing of a sturgeon to the king[s] grace to eltham xxx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xxxix [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in june. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to rutter maister weston s'[^v]nt for his [~q]rter wages due at midso[^m] laste paste xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m browne for so moche money as he and other being matched w^{t} him wanne of the king[s] grace and of his matche at the pryck[s], and by bett[s] in eltham parke di[^v]s and sundrye tymes as apperith by his bille subscribed w^{t} his hande the so[~m]e of iij c liiij angell[s] c xxxij [-l]i. xv [~s]. i[~t]m the last daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m crane for so moche money as he wanne of the king[s] grace at pryck[s] xix angell[s], in money currant vij [-l]i. ij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jo[~h]n evans for his bourde wages for one [~q]rter ended at midso[^m] laste xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m to the same evans for mete for ij hawk[s] for iiij^{xx} xij dayes at ij d a daye for them bothe xv [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] c xliij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iij d. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } vij c xxxvj [-l]i. hu[~i] mens' junij } xii [~s]. ix d. [signature: henry r] yet payment[s] in july. [1532.] i[~t]m the furste day of july paied to the cofferer of the king[s] moste hono^{r}able housholde in waye of prest and [~l]oon to be repaied unto his grace in the terme of sainct mychaell tharkangell next comyng m^{l} m^{l} [-l]i. i[~t]m the ij^{de} daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aundement to thomas alvard for to be employed about[s] his grac[s] buyelding[s] at west[^m] m^{l} m^{l} [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the taker of ratt[s] at grenewiche in rewarde xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to walshes doughter in rewarde for bringing cherys to the king[s] grace vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jo[~h]n yardeley one of the hont[s] in prest upon his wages xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a woman in reward for bringing cak[s] to the king[s] grace vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to rasmus upo[^n] the content[s] of his bille x [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king[s] waterme[^n] for wayting vj dayes w^{t} the greyhounde iij [-l]i. iiij [~s]. s[=m] part[s] iiij m^{l} xvj [-l]i. iiij [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in july. [1532.] i[~t]m the ij^{de} day paied to humfrey raynezford water doddisworthe and raulf mondy for the mete of ther hound[s] for one monethe now ended xxvij [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to antony kingsto[~n] for iiij bett[s] that he dud wynne of the king[s] grace at shoting at iij angell[s] the bett iiij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to the ke[pf] of hamptonco^{r}te parke in rewarde for bringing a buc to the king vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to bukwort[~h] in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to joh[^n] savmo[~n] [^m]chant in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a woman in rewarde that broug[~h]t chekons to the king[s] grace vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king[s] watermen upon ther bill iij [-l]i. iiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to joh[^n] rolte for reparacions of the king[s] house at eltham by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xij [-l]i. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister weston for that he wanne of the king[s] grace at bowles at elt[~h]m iiij [-l]i in angell[s] iiij [-l]i. x [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xxviij [-l]i. v [~s]. x d. yet payment[s] in july. [1532.] i[~t]m the iii daye paied to the ke[pf]s in elth[~m] parke in rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m the iiij^{th} day paied to one that broug[~h]t chekons to the king[s] grace to waltham vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the v daye paied to thomas ogull upo[^n] the content[s] of his bille for the bourding of iiij boyes of the stabu[~l][~l] for one monethe ended the xxiiij daye of june last paste at xx d. a pece for every woke xxvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the viij^{th} daye paied to jo[~h]n jo[=h]nson maister of the king[s] barge for the house rent for the henxe men for one half yere xx [~s]. i[~t]m the x daye paied to the gardiner at wanstede for his quarter wages ended at midso[^m] laste paste xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xij daye paied to the keper of grenewiche parke for mowyng of the brak[s] there x [~s]. i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to the saied keper of grenewiche parke for scowring of the new pale of the parke there iij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] v [-l]i. vij [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in july. [1532.] i[~t]m the xviij daye of july paied by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} to roger basing for to make provision of wynes for the king[s] use m^{l} v c [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to tho[~m]s alvard by lyke co[~m]aunde^{t} to be by him savely kept for his grac[s] use and behofe m^{l} m^{l} [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the scole maister of poules for the exhibucion of george ffraunc^[9] vij [-l]i. v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to walshe of grenewiche for bringing cherys to the king[s] grace iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} john bowchers in rewarde for bringing of a caste of hawk[s] to the king[s] grace x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jo[~h]n a wod for his quarter wages ended at midso[^m] laste paste iiij [-l]i. xj [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to robert shere for mete for his begles for one monethe now ended v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to sextons s'[^v]nt upon the content[s] of his bill xlvij [~s]. x d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to walshe keper of the gardyne at grenewiche for divers necessary thing[s], by him there done, as apperith by his bill xxij [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] m^{l} m^{l} m^{l} v c xvj [-l]i. v [~s]. j d. yet payment[s] in july. [1532.] i[~t]m the xix daye paied to maister westo[^n] in prest to be repaied unto the king[s] use at bartylmew tyde next co[~m]yng xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to my lorde of rocheford for the king[s] hont[s] for ther charges by ordinary use going into susse[^x] vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde fferrers in rewarde for bringing of a cowple of hound[s] to the king[s] grace xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to my lady pounder in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to [^m]^{r} bryans s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing of a bucke to the king xj [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister walshes for bringing of a caste of lanerett[s] to the king[s] grace, in rewarde x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardyner of beaulie in rewarde for bringing of archechokk[s] to the king[s] grace vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m gonson s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing of cherys to the king v [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xxxvj [-l]i. xix [~s]. vij d. yet payment[s] in july. [1532.] i[~t]m the xx daye paied to arthur the lewtar in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to litle gui[~l][~l]m by the king[s] co[~m]aundement for to gyve unto grande gui[~l][~l]m xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to richard lyle one of the garde in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to x[~p]ofer morys gonner, cornelys jo[~h]nson, the maister smythe, and henry jo[~h]nson for ther cost[s] in ryding to portismouthe to viewe the king[s] orde[~n]uc[s] there by the space of x dayes at x [~s]. the daye v [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to richard elys by the king[s] co[~m]aundem[~e]t for his lyveray cote xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to humfrey raynesford for x elles of canvasse for to cover the carte w^{t} the king[s] hound[s] v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the same humfrey for ---for the saied carte xij d. s[=m] part[s] xiiij [-l]i. ix [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in july. [1532.] i[~t]m the forsaid xx daye paied to the forsaied humfrey for iij c nayles for the saied carte vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the said humfrey for bourd[s] to make a cheste w^{t}in the carte, and for the carpenters labo^{r} iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m to the same humfrey for the removing daye ij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to tho[~m]s wolverd armerer in prest to be repaied to the king[s] use at all halowntyde next co[~m]yng xij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the lawnder for wasshing of bothe the guilliams xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the hardewareman upo[^n] the content[s] of his bille xxx [~s]. ij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to rob^{t} troughto[^n] in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye, paied to gui[~l][~l]m the frenche fletcher in rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to pety joh[^n] for a countrey man of his that gave the king a tree of wax at west[^m] place xl [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xviij [-l]i. xix [~s]. ij d. yet payment[s] in july. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to my lorde georg[s] s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing of nytingales to the king x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of ector assheleys of hounsdo[^n] for wading the ponde there, in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to olde stonar of walth[~m] fforrest in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]ande^{t} vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m to smythe one of the ke[pf]s vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m to rowlande an other ke[pf] there vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m to olyver an other ke[pf] there vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to david vanryketson s'[^v]nt to s^{r} laurence stabar for bringing of [-l]res to the king[s] grace xl corons ix [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of george hennyngham that dud bringe ij nagg[s] to the king[s] grace in rewarde xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jo[~h]n rede keper of the great gardyne of beaulie for his quarter wag[s] due at midsomer laste paste iij [-l]i. x d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the sergeant rolte in rewarde for bringing of a stag to the king vij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] xv [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in july. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister spenser that broug[~h]t a greyhounde to the king to antyl[~l], in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister spenser for bringing of a lauret to the king grace in rewarde v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister luk[s] in rewarde for bringing a present of mete to the king[s] grace to antyll vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to humfrey raynesford water doddisworthe and raulf mondy for ther hound[s] mete for one monethe ended the xxiiij daye of july at ix [~s] a pece xxvij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to cornelys the king[s] goldesmythe upo[^n] a reconyng by the king[s] co[~m]aundement c [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied to haukyn one of the fawco[^n]s for the mete of iij hawk[s] by the space of xlj dayes and for e[^v]y hawke one peny by the day x [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the xxv day paid to x[~p]ofer hawte for ij hawk[s] mete for iiij^{xx} v dayes e[^v]y hawke at j d. by the daye xiiij [~s]. ij d. s[=m] part[s] ciij [-l]i. xj [~s]. v d. yet payment[s] in july. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} robert a lee in rewarde for bringing cheses and aples to the king[s] grace at antyll v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the abbot of mistelden in rewarde for bringing a tarsell and a goshawke to the king xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxvj day paied to a po[^u] chielde that the king[s] grace heled of his sikenes vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aundement at hantyll to browne the [^m]chant for so moche money as he dud wynne of the king[s] grace at shoting as aperith by his bi[~l][~l] xxij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied to king the hosier for v payer of hosen for maister henry knevet at v [~s]. a payer xxv [~s]. i[~t]m to the same hosier for iiij payer of hosen for marke at lyke price xx [~s]. i[~t]m to the same hosier for ij payer of stock[s] for marke v [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xxvj [-l]i. xij [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in july. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to the forsaied hosier for iiij payr of hosen for thomas smythe xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the same hosier for iiij payer of hosen for sexto[^n] xx [~s]. i[~t]m to the same hosier for soo moche money as remayned due unto him upo[^n] his last reconyng vij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the ij kepers of antyll park[s] in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]ande^{t} xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of brombery parke in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]ande^{t} vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the kepers wif of brongbery [pf]ke in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]andement for mete and drynke xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to ro[~b]^{t} a lee for the hire of x me[^n] by the space of iij dayes drawing the king[s] pondes in anty[~l][~l] at viij d. a man e[^v]y daye xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to humfrey raynezford removing w^{t} the carte w^{t} hound[s] from antyll to grafto[^n] ii [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the smythe that caryeth the lock[s] about w^{t} the king in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] vj [-l]i. xix [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in july. [1532.] i[~t]m the last daye paied to the frenche fletcher in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aundement to a monke that broug[~h]t a [-l]re in a purse to the king[s] grace to grafto[^n] xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] iiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } viij m^{l} vij [-l]i. hu[~i] mens' julij } ix [~s]. xj d. [signature: henry r] yet payment[s] in august. [1532.] i[~t]m the furste daye of august paied to peter ffawconer for his cote by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied by lyke co[~m]aundement to mathew the fawconer for his cote xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the iiij^{th} daye paied to my lorde fferrers s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing of a hounde to the king[s] grace to grafto[^n] xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} to miche[~l][~l] pylleson that gave an angle rodde unto the king[s] grace at grafto[^n] xv [~s]. i[~t]m the v daye paied to the ke[pf] of anslope parke in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the ke[pf] of pottersbury in rewarde by lyke co[~m]aundement vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of hartwell parke by lyke co[~m]aundement in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] vj [-l]i. ij [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in august. [1532.] i[~t]m the v daye of august paied to the lieuten[~u]t of whitylwod by the king[s] co[~m]aundement in rewarde x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the ke[pf] of the shrubbes by lyke co[~m]ande^{t} vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m to the keper of grafton [pf]ke in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]ande^{t} vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the lieuten[~u]t of the forrest of sawcy in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]ande^{t} x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the iij kepers of the saied forrest of sawcy in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the vj day paied to humfrey raynezford for bringing the carte w^{t} the hound[s] fro grafto[^n] unto wodstok iij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the saied humfrey wa[^t] doddisworthe and raulf mondy in rewarde xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied in prest upo[^n] his wages to james pulter xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardy[^n] of beaulie in rewarde for bringing cocu[^m]s to the king vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to mais[^t] russell for reparacions by him done at grafto[^n] xxxij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m knevet for his anuyte for one quarter ended at midso[^m] v [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day in rewarde to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde leonard[s] for bringing a hound to the king xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xij [-l]i. x [~s]. x d. yet payment[s] in august. [1532.] i[~t]m the vj daye paied to the keper of maister spencer [~p]ke in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the kepers wif of maister spencer parke in rewarde vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of the house of buckingham in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]an^{t} vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one water smythe for bringing of a leshe of greyhound[s] to the king[s] grace to buckingham in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the viij daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]ande^{t} to a woman that gave the king[s] grace a present of chekyns apulles and ffylberd[s] x [~s]. i[~t]m the x daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} robert a lee in rewarde for bringing of a hounde to the king[s] grace to wodstok vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xj daye paied to maister dean of the king[s] chapell the olde ordinary rewarde for the chapell feaste xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a pouer ma[^n] in rewarde for bringing ffylbert[s] to the king iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day paied by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} to walshe of grenewiche in rewarde for bringing cocomers to the king vj [~s]. viij d. s[~m] part[s] iiij [-l]i. xv [~s]. x d. yet payment[s] in august. [1532.] i[~t]m the xij day paied to dawson one of the [^m]shall[s] of the king[s] halle for xx dousin trenchars deli[^v]ed to the king[s] pantrye xxxiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to william colyns the frantike man by the king[s] co[~m]aundement at wodstok iiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye at nig[~h]t deli[^v]ed to the king[s] grace to playe at dyce at wodstok c corons xxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} to maister bryant for so moche money as he wanne of the king[s] grace at dyse xxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to a pouer woman that broug[~h]t damasons and fylbert[s] to the king[s] grace to wodstok iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to mais[~t] bryan for so moche money as he wanne of the king[s] grace at dyce at wodstocke xxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister docto^{r} chambre for the scolars of oxforde by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} lvj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to anthony desseforte a frenche marchant that solde certeyne hinging[s] and other marchandizes to the king[s] grace at wodstok as apperith by a bille of the saied anthonys hande iij c corons lxx [-l]i. i[~t]m the xv daye paied to ij children that the king[s] grace heled of ther sikenes at wodstocke xv [~s]. s[=m] part[s] cc j [-l]i. viij [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in august. [1532.] i[~t]m the forsaied xv daye paied to the children of the new colledge of oxford in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied in prest to maister bryan upon his obligacion to be repaied to the king[s] use at the feast of sainct michaell next co[~m]yng lxvj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister asto[^n] in rewarde for bringing a caste of tassell[s] to the king[s] grace x [~s]. i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to the comtroller of wodstok parke in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to iiij ke[pf]s there by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} in rewarde xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to humfrey raynezford for carying the carte w^{t} hound[s] fro wodstok to langeley xiiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the same humfrey, water doddisworthe and raulf mondy for ther houndes mete for one monethe to ende the xxj day of this monethe xxvij [~s]. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of joh[^n] williams in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement for bringing of iiij whelpes of gyngell[s] kynde to the king[s] grace vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the smythe that caryeth lock[s] about w^{t} the king in rewarde by his grac[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} vij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] lxxj [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. yet payment[s] in august. [1532.] i[~t]m the xvij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lady russelles that broug[~h]t a stag and a greyhounde to my lady anne whiche she gave unto the king[s] grace: and his grace co[~m]aunded to gyve the bringer in rewarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to graunde guilliam by the king[s] co[~m]aundement for his surgery, whe[^n] he was syke at londo[~n] xxx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to romsaye in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} at wodstocke vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one in rewarde that caryed the stagge to wyndeso^{r} xv [~s]. i[~t]m the xviij daye of august paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde of suffolk[s] in rewarde for bringing of a horse that my lorde sent unto the king[s] grace to wodstocke xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to vincent the clokmaker upon his bille of reconyng w^{t} v corons the whiche his grace gave him in rewarde. and his reconyng amounted to lv corons whiche mak[s] in all lx corons xiiij [-l]i. s[=m] part[s] xx [-l]i. xij [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in august. [1532.] i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to the king[s] owne handes at langley to playe at dyse c corons xxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to robert shere for ij monethes wages after v [~s]. the monethe x [~s]. i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to humfrey raynesford for the cart w^{t} houndes fro langeley to abendo[^n] ij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied to humfrey raynesford water doddisworthe and raulf mondy by way of rewarde xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} to the keper of cornebury parke vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of langley parke in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aundement in rewarde to the rangeo^{r} of the fforrest of whichewod xj [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to viij of the kepers of the forrest of whichewod in rewarde by the king[s] grac[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} viij angell[s] iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the ke[pf] of whitney chace in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement vij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] xxix [-l]i. vij [~s]. ix d. yet payment[s] in august. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxv day paied to john carter one of the king[s] watermen for repayring of the king[s] barge and for all maner of stuf and workemanship as apperith by his bil[~l] iiij [-l]i. ix d. i[~t]m the same daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} at abendon to the erle of anguisshe in rewarde c [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} to s^{r} richard tempest at abendo[^n] x [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied in rewarde to the haryers by the king[s] co[~m]ande^{t} for ther cot[s] vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to thomas ogull for the bourde of the iiij boys of the stabu[~l][~l] for one monethe ended the xviij daye of this monethe, for every one of them at xx d. a woke xxvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to grene sexton s'[^v]nt for brede and drynke by the way for the fole, all the hole progresse ix [~s]. vij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to halle dobinson and harington of the stabul[~l] for ther bourde wages for iij monethes after xx d. a woke every one of them s[~m] iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to poule the ytalian for his bourde wages for xij wok[s] at xx d. a woke xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] c xxvj [-l]i. x [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in august. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied to the ke[pf] of the parke of newelme in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the frenche quene sacbutt[s] in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xxviij [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} symond harco^{r}te in rewarde for bringing of a brace of greyhound[s] to the king[s] grace at newelme vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same day paied to an ytalian in rewarde for presenting the king w^{t} a myllon at abendo[~n] v [~s]. i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the abbot of reding in rewarde for bringing wodknyves to the king when his grace was at reding vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xxix daye of august paied to maister westo[~n] for that that he wanne of the king at dyce at langley cc corons, in sterling xlvj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to ffloure for reparacions necessary done upon the king[s] mano of wodstok lx [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to henry byrde for making pryck[s] at antyl and at grafton by the king[s] co[~m]aundement vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to humfrey raynezford for carying the cart w^{t} hound[s] fro abendon to newelme xvj d. s[=m] part[s] c x [-l]i. ix [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in august. [1532.] i[~t]m the laste daye paied to humfrey raynezford for carying of the saied carte fro newelme to reding ij [~s]. i[~t]m to the saied humfrey for the said carte fro reding to wyndeso^{r} ij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye to thomas briges for necessary reparacions at the king[s] mano^{r} of langeley lx [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day paied to the keper of cawsham parke in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister hennage for so muche money by him paied to a pouer woman that the king heled at langley vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to chapman of hamptonco^{r}te in rewarde for bringing of peres to the king to wyndeso^{r} vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardy[^n] of richemonde by the king[s] co[~m]andement in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] lxj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. viij d. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } vj c xlv [-l]i. hu[~i] mens' augusti } xv [~s]. j d. [signature: henry r] yet payment[s] in septembre. [1532.] the furste day of septembre paied to george taylo^{r} for the use of will[^m] morant of tonbridge iij [-l]i. x d. i[~t]m the ij^{d} day paied to my lorde of norfolke for to gyve to a scotisshe ambassado^{r} at wyndeso^{r} the so[~m]e of l corons xj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the iiij^{th} daye paied to a pouer woma[^n] that brought the king a present to wyndeso^{r} iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the v daye paied to welshe the gardy[^n] of grenewiche for bringing a present of ffylberd[s] and coco[^m]s to wyndesour^{9} vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to robert shere for one monethes wages v [~s]. i[~t]m the vj daye paied to maister gifford for that he wanne of the king[s] grace at shoting iiij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to x[~p]ofer drombeslade and his fellawe for ther lyveray coot[s] xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the vij day paied to thomas warde for the charges of the making of the butt[s] at wynso^{r} xxxj [~s]. i[~t]m the viij daye paied to the maister of the horses for horses bought for the king[s] grace liij [-l]i. s[=m] part[s] lxxvj [-l]i. xvj [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in septembre. [1532.] i[~t]m the ix daye paied to the king[s] apoticary for suche stuf as he hathe delivered for the king[s] use xxv [-l]i. iiij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the x daye paied to one that gave the king a mastif that is a caryar xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xj daye paied to candisshe s'[^v]nt to my lorde of suffolke in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the smyth for boltes and rynges for the king[s] chamber dores all the tyme of the progresse xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to anthony tote for his lyveray cote xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xij daye paied to my lorde wi[~l][~l]m in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]ande^{t} xl [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a frencheman for certeyne loking glasses and darte hedd[s] iiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to thomas scassebrig one of the pytcher house in rewarde towarde his maryage iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to doddisworthe humfrey raynesford and raulf mondy for ther hound[s] mete for one monethe xxvij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king[s] watermen for serving his grace the vj daye of septembre xj [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to ix of the king[s] watermen for bringing stuff fro the toure to wyndeso^{r} and for wayting by the space of vj days xxxvj [~s]. s[=m] part[s] iiij^{xx} iij [-l]i. xvj d. yet payment[s] in septembre. [1532.] i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to xvj of the king[s] watermen for ther cot[s] at xxij [~s]. vj d. a pece xviij [-l]i. i[~t]m the xv daye paied to a pouer woman in rewarde for bringing peres to the king[s] grace iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to the rangeo^{r} of the great parc of wyndeso^{r} by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} in rewarde x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to v kepers of the saied parke in rewarde at vij [~s]. vj d. a pece xxxvij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of the mote parke in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye to the keper of the litle parke of wyndeso^{r} in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the feryman at dochet fery in rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardi[^n] at wyndeso^{r} for his quarter wages to ende at michelmas next co[~m]yng xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to one of the scullery in reward for bringing of quynses to the king[s] grace vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to joungevello one of the frenche mynstrell[s] by the king[s] co[~m]aundement in rewarde x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the clockemaker by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} at wy[^n]sour xxvj corons vj [-l]i. xvj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one baret by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} to goo about[s] his grac[s] busynes vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] xxxvj [-l]i. xviij [~s]. yet payment[s] in septembre. [1532.] i[~t]m the xvij daye paied to ij pouer folke that the king[s] grace heled of ther disease xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to jacson of wyndeso^{r} in rewarde for a whistill that he gave unto the king[s] grace x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the queresters of wyndeso^{r} in rewarde for the king[s] sporres vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xviij day paied to chapman of hamptonco^{r}te in rewarde for bringing of peres to charsaye vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lady westo[^n] in rewarde for bringing a present of wyld foule iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to the ke[pf] of woking parke in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of byrches in rewarde for bringing a present of peches to the king iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xix daye paied to stafforto[~n] one of the rangeo^{r}s of the forrest of wynso^{r} in rewarde x [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to humfrey raynezford for the carte w^{t} hound[s] fro wyndeso^{r} to chartesaye ij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to haukyn for the mete of iiij hawk[s] by the space of xl dayes xiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] iiij [-l]i. xvj d. yet payment[s] in septembre. [1532.] i[~t]m the same xix daye paied to x[~p]ofer ffawconer for the mete of iij hawk[s] by the space of xl days x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the vj kepers of the forrest of wynso^{r} in rewarde at vij [~s]. vj d. a pece xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to [^m] hennage for the king[s] use ix [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to [^m] parker of the robes for stuf delivered to george taylo^{r} for my lady marques of pembroke xxx [-l]i. xviij [~s]. x d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to docto^{r} baug[~h] for the king[s] pryvat almes for ij monethes xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to tho[~m]s ffoteman in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to the buchont[s] in rewarde xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardyner of richemond in reward for bringing of grapes and peres to the king to hamptonco^{r}t vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xxij daye paid to olyver one of the kepers of the forrest of waltham for bringing of a stag to hamptoncourte vij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] lvij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. ij d. yet payment[s] in septembre. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied to x[~p]ofer waleston boye in rewarde for bringing of partriges to the king ij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the harte hont[s] in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister hennage in rewarde for bringing a present of mete to the king[s] grace iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied for sending of certeyne book[s] to the king[s] bokebynder ij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister treasorer in rewarde for bringing of a stag to the king vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of houneworthe in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to the ij ke[=p]s of the park[s] at hamptoncourte in rewarde by comaunde^{t} xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of the new gardyne at hamptoncourte in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye to the fery man at hamptoncourte vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to a po[^u] woman that gave to the king a present of chekyns vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] iiij [-l]i. xix [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in septembre. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to a pouer man by the king[s] co[~m]ande^{t} by way of almes vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde of derby in rewarde for taking up of an hawke of the king[s] vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxvij day paied to barnard[s] wif for making of viij shert[s] for the king[s] grace liij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister henry knevet in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} xl [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to the sergeant porter in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the keper of grenewiche parke for mowing of the brak[s] x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a pouer woman in rewarde for gyving quynses to the king vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardyner of beaulie in rewarde for bringing letuze to the king vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of ffytton in rewarde for bringing of a brace of greyhound[s] to the king to grenewiche vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] liiij [-l]i. xvij [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in septembre. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of benton in rewarde for bringing of a greyhounde to the king[s] grace vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardyner of beaulie for his q[~r]ter wages ended at michelmas iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to a po[^u] woman in rewarde for bringing of rose water to the king iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a woman that gathered for a churche vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the office of the bukhound[s] in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the maister of the horses in ful[-l] payment upon his bil[~l] for horses and saddell[s] provided for the king[s] grace xxvj [-l]i. xj [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to robert a lee for his half yeres rewarde ended at michelmas for carying of the king[s] nett[s] xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to morgan wolf [^m]chant for certeyne parys warke of golde as apperith by his bille lxxv [-l]i. xj [~s]. x d. i[~t]m to the same wolf for other parys warke of golde as dothe appere in lyke wise by bille vij [-l]i. xv d. s[=m] part[s] cxvij [-l]i. ij [~s]. xj d. yet payment[s] in septembre. [1532.] i[~t]m the forsaied xxix daye paied to the ij kepers of eltham parke in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a po[^u] woman in rewarde fo a present of apull[s] and peres iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m to an other pouer woman that gave the king[s] grace peres and apull[s] iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to james hobart in rewarde for bringing of oranges and pomegarnett[s] to the king[s] grace xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a po[^u] woman in rewarde for bringing of peres and barburys to the king iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to joh[^n] a wodde for his quarter wages ended now at michelmas iiij [-l]i. xj [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the same daye to xvj of the king[s] watermen for ther quar[^t] wages now in lyke wise due at x [~s]. a pece viij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jo[~h]n yardeley for the rest of his wag[s] due at michelmas xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to james the henne taker for the rest of his wag[s] due at michelmas xxx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xvij [-l]i. x [~s]. iij d. yet payment[s] in septembre. [1532.] i[~t]m the laste daye paied to henry the shomaker for shoes and botys for maister knevet, marke, the two guilliams and thomas smythe iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. j d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to hugh harrys the fawco[^n] for his bourde wages for one quarter ended now at michelmas at iiij d. by the daye xxx [~s]. i[~t]m to the same hug[~h] for the mete of iiij hawk[s] by the space lxxxxvij dayes for e[^v]y hawke j d. a daye xxxij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to joh[^n] evans for his bourde wages for one quarter ended now at michelmas xxx [~s]. i[~t]m to the same joh[^n] evans for the mete of iiij hawk[s] by the space of lxxxxvij dayes for e[^v]y hawke one penny by the daye xxxij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to thomas ogull for the bourde of iiij boyes of the rynnyng guelding[s] by the space of vj wok[s] at xx d. a woke for e[^v]y of the[^m] xl [~s]. i[~t]m paied to the scole maister of poules for the bourde, scole hire, and other necessaryes for nicholas ffraunc[s] vij [-l]i. v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to rasm^{s} and one other of the armery for ther cot[s] at xlv [~s]. a pece iiij [-l]i. x [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xxiij [-l]i. v [~s]. ix d. yet payment[s] in septembre. [1532] i[~t]m the forsaied laste daye paied to iij of the vyall[s] for ther lyvery cot[s] at xxij [~s]. vj d. a pece iij [-l]i. vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king[s] watermen for wayting one daye to west[^m] and aye[^n] xj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the subdean of the king[s] chapell for thexhibucion of the king[s] iiij scolars in oxford viij [-l]i. i[~t]m to robert shere for his wages for one moneth now ended v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardy[^n] at wanstede for his wag[s] due for one quarter now ended xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the maister of the horses for iij mewlett[s] at l corons a pece xxxv [-l]i. i[~t]m to humfrey raynesford for his carte w^{t} hound[s] fro hamptoncourte to grenewiche ij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king[s] watermen for wayting on the king[s] grace whe[^n] his grace viewed his shippes xj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] xlviij [-l]i. xviij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } v c xxv [-l]i. hu[~i] mens' septembris } iiij [~s]. vij d. [signature: henry r] payment[s] in octobre. [1532.] i[~t]m the iiij^{th} day paied to wi[~l][~l]m locke of londo[^n] [^m]cer for suche stuf as the king[s] grace boug[~h]t of him as apperith by his bille c lij [-l]i. iiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to richard gressam of londo[^n] mercer for suche stuf as the king[s] grace boug[~h]t of him as apperith by one bylle iij c viij [-l]i. xij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to --- the jeweller for suche jewelles as the king[s] grace bought of him iij c iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to maister cromewell by the king[s] co[~m]ande^{t} lxv [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m knevet by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} upon his annuyte v [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to tote the paynter by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to george taylo^{r} for certeyne silk[s] by him provided for apparell for my lady marques of pembroke lvj [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day paied to the same george, for the skynner for stuf of furres and for the furryng of the same apparell xxxviij [-l]i. x [~s]. x d. i[~t]m the same day paied to wi[~l][~l]m armerers wif for shert[s] for maister henry knevet, marke the ij guilliams and smythe iiij [-l]i. x [~s]. s[=m] part[s] ix c xlvj [-l]i. viij d. yet payment[s] in octobre. [1532.] i[~t]m the v daye paied to docto^{r} butt[s] for the use of docto^{r} thirlby by the king[s] co[~m]aundement x [-l]i. i[~t]m the vj daye paied to jo[~h]n carter for ores for the king[s] bote and his barge xviij [~s]. i[~t]m to the same carter for his expenses in gyving attendaunce whiles the king[s] bote was in paynting xj [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m to the king[s] watermen for s'vyng his grace the v day of octobre to west[^m] xj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to [^m]ke in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]ande^{t} iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to my lady princesse by lyke co[~m]ande^{t} x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day paied to x[~p]ofer mylloner for suche stuf as he deli[^v]ed to the king[s] use xvij [-l]i. iij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the vj daye paied to cornelys the king[s] goldesmythe by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} c [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied for an anker a cabull and a saile for the king[s] bote v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jo[~h]n carter for xviij men going downe w^{t} the king[s] grace to shepey and co[~m]yng aye[^n] by the space of six dayes vj [-l]i. xviij [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to wi[~l][~l]m for certey[^n] silk[s] by him solde unto the king[s] grace, and for a brouche set w^{t} an amatas lxxv [-l]i. vj [~s]. s[=m] part[s] ij c xxv [-l]i. xviij d. yet payment[s] in octobre. [1532.] i[~t]m the vj day paied to rede, baily of grenewiche for rewarde that the king[s] grace gave of his charite to suche pouer folk[s] as wer^[9] banysshed the towne vj [-l]i. ij [~s]. i[~t]m the same day deli[^v]ed to the king[s] grace to play at prymero w^{t} my lorde of rocheford and [^m] bryan v [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to my lorde of rocheford for a wager that he wan of the king[s] grace w^{t} a brace of greyhound[s] at mote [pf]ke xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the feryman at grenewiche vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jo[~h]n rolte for the fee of the leshe iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to henry byrde for the fee of the bowes iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to mason the king[s] scolar at parys for his exhibucion for one yere vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied for viij payer of hosen for iij boyes of the rynnyng guelding[s] at iij [~s]. iiij d. the payer xxvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied for shoes for the saied iiij boyes xiiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye to elto[~n] one of the king[s] waterme[~n] in prest x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to walshe the gardyner at grenewiche for laborers and wedars xxvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to burdet for carying of the king[s] horse to grysse and for medicynes iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] xxxiiij [-l]i. xvij [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in octobre. [1532.] i[~t]m the vij day of octobre paied to my lorde of norfolke for to gyve to the --- in rewarde ix [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to a pouer woman by way of almesse v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jo[~h]n rede ke[pf] of the great gardyne at beaulie for his quar[~t] wag[s] iij [-l]i. x d. i[~t]m the viij daye paied to a pouer woma[^n] that gave the king[s] grace chekyns v [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to a pouer woman in almesse v [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to a s'[^v]nt of the cardynall of lorayne by waye of rewarde xiiij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to george taylo^{r} for certey[^n] pec[s] of diaper for table clothes and towell[s] xj [-l]i. v [~s]. i[~t]m paied to the gardyner at hampton courte in rewarde for bringing myllones and cokemers to the king[s] grace vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardyner at richemond in rewarde for bringing grapes and peches to the king[s] grace vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to henry the shomaker for shoes and bot[s] for maister knevet, marke and the two guilliams iij [-l]i. vij [~s]. j d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a po[^u] woman that had the king[s] sikenes vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m paied to a pouer woman that gave the king[s] grace, quync[s] v [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xliij [-l]i. ij [~s]. j d. yet payment[s] in octobre. [1532.] i[~t]m the vij day paied to humfrey raynesford, doddisworthe, raulf mondy for ther monethes wages xxvij [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to a pouer woman that presented the king w^{t} apul[~l][s] v [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to maister weston for that he wanne of the king[s] grace at imperiall vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to the ij ke[pf]s in eltham park in rewarde xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to a s'[^v]nt of maister cheneys for bringing fesaunt[s] to the king vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same day paied to henry byrde for di[^v]s bowes and shaft[s] for the king[s] grace for one yere xvj [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day paied to grene and skynner for mete drynke and horsmete for sexton fro abendon unto grenewiche and other necessaryes xliij [~s]. ij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to king the hosier for hosen for maister knevet [^m]ke and t[=h]omas smythe iij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a po[^u] woman that gave the king[s] grace a present of wardeyns vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to the king[s] ffletcher for arowes for his grace viij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the viij daye paied to johnson for a quarters rent of a house for the henxemen xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to thomas foteman to dispose in almesse by the way toward[s] shepey iij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] xl [-l]i. vij [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in octobre. [1532.] i[~t]m the ix daye paied to pero the boye upo[^n] his wages by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a po[^u] woman in almes at stone v [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied in rewarde to s^{r} wi[~l][~l]im pounder xl [~s]. i[~t]m the x daye paied to the keper of maister cheneys parke in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to mais[^t] cheneys s'[^v]nt[s] in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} among[s] them vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xj day paied to the wayt[s] of caunterbury in rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same day paied to the keper of the house that the king[s] grace laye in at caunterbury by waye of rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same day paied to a pouer woman in rewarde for gyving a present of apull[s] wardeyns and quync[s] to the king[s] grace v [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to a s'[^v]nt of maister cheneys in rewarde for bringing fesaunt[s] to the king v [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to jo[~h]nson maister of the king[s] barge for s'vyng the king[s] grace to shepey w^{t} xxvj me[~n] xj [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jo[~h]n carter for s'vyng the king[s] grace to shepey w^{t} xviij men for iiij dayes iij [-l]i. xij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied in prest to nowell the mynstrell to bee repaid upon his wag[s] x [-l]i. s[=m] part[s] xxxvj [-l]i. ix [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in octobre. [1532.] i[~t]m the xij day paied to one reno[~l][~l] in rewarde for bringing bi[~l][~l][s] assigned to dover by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} xxiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde wardeyns in rewarde for bringing of a purpesse and carpes to calys x [~s]. i[~t]m the xiij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} joh[^n] neve[~l][~l][s] in rewarde for bringing of pastes of red dere to the king to calays vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same day paied to jacson the harde-*wareman for a dousin and a halfe of spanysshe gloves vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to maister cromewe[~l][~l] by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} for bowe-*staves for his grac[s] use v [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[~v]nt of the great maister in rewarde for bringing of grapes and peres to my lady [^m]ques to calys xlvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied to cornelys by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} and maister cromwell knowing to what use it should be employed unto xlvj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied unto the king[s] owne hand[s] whiche his grace loste at dyce w^{t} my lorde of norfolke, palmer and domyngo at calays iiij c corons iiij^{xx} xiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xix daye paied to maister cromewell by the king[s] co[~m]ande^{t} xxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of pages in rewarde for bringing of a nag to the king to calys xx [~s]. s[=m] part[s] clxxiiij [-l]i. xx d. yet payment[s] in octobre. [1532.] i[~t]m the xx day paied to a frenche man for a cheyne made for a gyrdle of golde weing iij unc[s] at xj corons the unce whiche amount[s] to xxxiij corons vij [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. i[~t]m the xxij daye of octobre paied to the cardynall de larenno and mouns^{r} le guyse for so moche money by the king[s] grace loste unto the[^m] at tennes in boley[^n] xlvj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to the king[s] owne hand[s] whiche his grace loste at dyce in boley[^n] to the said cardyna[~l][~l], my lorde of norfolke, my lorde of suffolke and the great maister cxvj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxiij day paied for a hatte and a plume for the king in boley[^n] xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied for the garnisshing of ij bonett[s] and for the said hatte xxiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} to [^m] cromwell at boley[^n] iij m^{l} corons vij c [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to maister ratclif for vj forfet horses and for the childrens expenses xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to the syngers of the frenche king[s] pryvay chambre in rewarde iiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye deli[^v]ed to the king[s] grac[s] owne hand[s], whiche he toke oute of one of the bagg[s] one hondrethe corons xxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] ix c j [-l]i. xij [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in octobre. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxvij day paied to parker yoman of the robes for doubelett[s] for the garde to wrestle in bifore the king and the frenche king at calys xliiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to the frenche king[s] jester in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} xl corons ix [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde to the singers of the cardynall[s] de larena xx corons iiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m osbarne skynner for certen furres whiche he solde unto the king[s] grace at calays iiij^{xx}xvij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to fforde at calys by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} xvij [-l]i. xix [~s]. ij d. i[~t]m the last daye paied to philip for thomas smythe by the king[s] comaundement v [-l]i. ix [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to miche[~l][~l] one of the garde for carying the king[s] stuf fro dovar to calys iij [~s]. x d. s[=m] part[s] c xxxvij [-l]i. x [~s]. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } ij m^{l} v c xxxix [-l]i. in mens' octobris. } iij [~s]. j d. [signature: henry r] payment[s] in novembre. [1532.] i[~t]m the seconde daye paied to richard gibson for masking gere when the king was at calys xj [-l]i. iij [~s]. j d. i[~t]m the iij^{de} daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the frenche king[s] in rewarde for bringing hawk[s] to the king[s] grace to calys c corons xxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the iiij daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of the frenche king[s] in rewarde for bringing a ---to the king[s] grace to calys l corons xj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jo[~h]n carter in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} to boworthe in rewarde at calys xx corons iiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to alart plumer the jeweller for suche jewelles as the king[s] grace boug[~h]t of him at calys vij m iiij c xvj corons w^{t} iij [~s]. iiij d. in money m^{l} vij c xlix [-l]i. iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the king[s] owne hand[s] whiche his grace loste at dyce in calys to domyrigo and pal[^m] c corons xxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the v daye paid to latronet jeweller for suche jewelles as the king[s] grace boug[~h]t of him at calys m^{l} corons cc xxxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. v* i[~t]m the same day paied to symon quanden jeweller for suche thing as the king[s] grace boug[~h]t of him at calys m^{l} v c xxx corons iij c lvij [-l]i. s[=m] part[s] ij m^{l} iiij c xiiij [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. v d. yet payment[s] in novembre. [1532.] i[~t]m the v^{th} daye paied to jenyns the jeweller for suche thing[s] as the king[s] grace boug[~h]t of him at calayes v m^{l} corons m^{l} c lxvj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to joh[^n] de grane jeweller for suche thinges as the king[s] grace boug[~h]t of him at calayes iij c l corons in sterling iii^{xx} j [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xj daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} edward guldeford in rewarde for bringing of ffesaunt[s] to the king[s] grace to calays x [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to skynner for the foles lodging and expenses at calays vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of my lorde lisle in reward for bringing of a ---to the king x [~s]. i[~t]m the vij daye of novem[~b]r paied to maister weston for that he dud wynne of the king at dyce at calys xlvj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the smythe in rewarde for carying lock[s] w^{t} the king to calays vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the ix daye paied to the king[s] owne handes at calays iij c corons lxx [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to parker of the robes for so moche money by him layed oute for the king xxxj [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the x daye paied to phillip of the pryvay chambre in rewarde by the king[s] co[~m]aundement iiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] m^{l} iij c lxxij [-l]i. xix [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in novembre. [1532.] i[~t]m the xj daye paied to my lady marques of pembroke for that the king[s] grace loste to hir in calays at card[s] xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a chielde that the king heled of his sikenes at calays vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the cutler for dressing of the king[s] swerd[s] at calays xxxj [~s]. j d. i[~t]m the same daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aundement in rewarde to s^{r} edward nevell xxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xij daye paied to maister treasorer for that he layd oute in almes to a pouer woman upo[~n] the walles at calays iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to my lorde chamberlayne for the king[s] offering at oure lady of boley[^n] xj [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to my lorde chamberlayne for the king[s] offering at o^{r} lady in the walle at calays v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied for a bote to bringe the king a bourde and than a lande at calays v [~s]. i[~t]m the xiij daye paied for bringing of the king[s] stuf to the water side and than for a bote v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye at nig[~h]t deli[^v]ed to the king[s] grace to playe w^{t} maister weston at tabull[s] iiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] xxxij [-l]i. iiij [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in novembre. [1532.] i[~t]m the forsaied xiij daye paied for bringing more of the king[s] stuffe to the water side and than for a bote iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied for a bote to bringe the king a bourde the ship at calays iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xiiij daye paied to the king[s] owne hand[s] for his offering to o^{r} lady in the rocke at dover iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xv daye paied to stephan lile for co[~m]yng over from calays to dover in rewarde ix [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye del[^v]ed to the king[s] grace to playe at tabull[s] w^{t} robert seymore at dover iiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to the prio^{r} of dovar s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing a present to the king iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the fesaunt breder in rewarde ix [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied in rewarde for bot[s] for bringing the king on lande at dover iiij corons xviij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to one as the king rode to sandewiche by waye of charitable rewarde iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the friers at sandewiche by way of rewarde xv corons iij [-l]i. x [~s]. i[~t]m the xvij daye paied for a bote to bringe the king over the water at sandewiche in rewarde xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to the ke[pf] of my lorde ffeneux house in can[^t]bery by waye of rewarde vij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] xij [-l]i. xj [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in novembre. [1532.] i[~t]m the forsaid xvij daye paied in rewarde to a pouer woma[~n] for bringing medelers to the king iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to the abbot of saint austeyns s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing a boke to the king at caunterbury iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to skyn[^n] for the foles expenses at can[^t]bery iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xix daye paied to the waytes at caunterbery in rewarde xviij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the wif of the lyon in sytingbo^{r}ne by way of rewarde iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a maryner in rewarde at sitingbo^{r}ne iij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a pouer woman in rewarde for bringing wardons to the king[s] grace to stingbo^{r}ne vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xx daye deli[^v]ed to the king[s] grace at stone whiche his grace loste at pope julius game to my lady marques, [^m] bryan and maister weston ix [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to miche[~l][~l] one of the garde for carying of the king[s] stuf from dover to the castell ix [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxij daye paied to cicyll for a payer of sloppes for the king[s] grace vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied for that the king gave in almes as he ca[~m] upo[^n] the waye iij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] xij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in novembre. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxiiij day paied to westcote s'[^v]nt to maister norrys in rewarde for bringing a greyhounde to the king to eltham x [~s]. i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to the preste the fesaunt breder at elth[~m] in rewarde ij corons ix [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to mais[~t] longe for thexpenses of the fawconers and the hawk[s] that the frenche king sent to the king at calays xlij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye deli[^v]ed to the king[s] grace whiche he loste at pope july game to my lady [^m]k[s] and maister bryan xx corons iiij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxvj day paied to the king[s] grac[s] owne handes whiche he played and loste at popes july game to my lady marques [^m] bryan and maister weston at grenewiche iiij^{xx} corons xviij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jo[~h]n yardeley one of the hont[s] in [pf]tie of payment of his wages to be due at cristemas next co[~m]yng xv [~s]. i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to water doddisworthe humfrey raynezford and raulf mondy for ther wages for ij monethes now ended liiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to robert shere for iij monethes wages now ended at v [~s]. the monethe xv [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xxx [-l]i. xij [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in novembre. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxviij day paied to the king whiche his grace loste at grenewiche to my lady marques at card[s] l corons xj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to ogu[~l][~l] for iiij boyes bourde that ryde the rynning guelding[s] for viij wok[s] at xx d. a woke a pece liij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the preste that singith at the rhod[s] for his hole yeres annuyte ended at michelmas last paste xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of wi[~l][~l]m lock[s] in rewarde for bringing ij botell[s] of new wyne iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to my lorde of wilshire for that he wanne of the king[s] grace at grenwiche iiij [-l]i. vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same day deli[^v]ed to the king[s] grace whiche he loste at pope july game at grenewiche vij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} to alexander of the stabull for certey[^n] thing[s] necessary as apperith by his bille x [-l]i. xiij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same day paied to maister baugh for the king[s] pryvay almes for ij monethes to be ended the last daye of decembre xx [-l]i. i[~t]m the laste daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} edward guldeford in rewarde for bringing of a present of ffezaunt[s] to the king ix [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] lix [-l]i. xx d. yet payment[s] in novembre. [1532.] i[~t]m the laste day deli[^v]ed unto the king[s] grace whiche his grace lost at pope july game w^{t} my lady marques and [^m] weston xvj cor^[9] iij [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to a s'[^v]nt of my olde lady of oxford by way of rewarde for bringing cheses to the king[s] grace to grenewiche xviij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to mais[^t] nevell[s] sonne toward[s] his mariage by the king[s] co[~m]aundem[~e]t x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day paied in rewarde to a woman that wolde have gyven a popingay to the king[s] grace x [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to jo[~h]n scot for cot[s] and dobelett[s] for launcelet and leonard the two ryding boyes iij [-l]i. xix [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to jo[~h]n carter for carying the king to west[^m] w^{t} xj me[^n] at viij d. a pece of them vij [~s]. iiij d. s[=m] part[s] xix [-l]i. x [~s]. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] } iij m^{l} ix c liiij [-l]i. hu[~i] mens' nov[~e]bris } vij [~s]. ix d. [signature: henry r] payment[s] in decembre. [1532.] the furste day of decembre paid to joh[^n] carter for s'vyng the king w^{t} xvij men to the toure of londo[^n] xj [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to ij yong children that had the king[s] sikenes xv [~s]. i[~t]m the vij day deli[^v]ed to the king[s] grace whiche he lost at card[s] and at dyce to maister bryan and maister weston l corons xj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the ix day paied to [^m] bryan for that he wanne of the king at bowles in grenewiche xv [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the sergeant of the sello^{r} for that he wanne of the king at imperial[-l] xj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the x daye paied to evans the fawco[^n] for his quar[^t] wag[s] to ende at cristemas next xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the same evans for mete for iij hawk[s] for iiij^{xx} vj dayes at j d. a daye xxj [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xij day paied to a pouer woman by way of almes v [~s]. i[~t]m the xiij day paid to hue harys for his quarter wages to ende at cristemas next xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m for hawk[s] mete for iij hawk[s] by the space of iiij^{xx} vj dayes at j d. by the day for e[^v]y hawke xxj [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xiiij day paied to cock[s] the foteman by the king[s] co[~m]ande^{t} vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to pole for his bourde wag[s] fro the xx day of august to the viij day of this monethe at xx d. a woke xxvj [~s]. viij d. s[=m] part[s] liij [-l]i. xxij d. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1532.] i[~t]m the xv day paied to halle and dobynson and rowland heringto[^n] for ther bourde wag[s] for iiij monethes a pece at xx d. a woke iiij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day paied to bentley for thexpenses of the frenche fawco[^n]s by the space of a monethe lviij [~s]. x d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to maister longe for so moche by him paied for hawk[s] mete for the said fawco[^n]s xiiij [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to james hobart in rewarde for bringing of oranges to the king x [~s]. i[~t]m the xvj daye paied to a s'[^v]nt of s^{r} edward guldeford by way of rewarde for bringing a present of wildefoule to the king xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jo[~h]n fawconer for to bye him a cote of the king[s] lyveray xxiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xviij daye paied to carter for s'vyng the king w^{t} the grete barge and xvij men to the toure twyes xxij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xix daye paied to the said carter for s'vyng the king twyes to westmynster xxij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xx day paied to yardeley for the rest of his wages to be due at cristmas next xv [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to xvj watermen for ther quarterage to ende at cristemas next viij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paid to parker of the robes for a payer of nyte hosen for the king vij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] xxj [-l]i. xiiij [~s]. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxj daye paied to docto_{r} baugh by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to maister chamley in rewarde at york place iij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to maister carew for so moche money by him paied in rewarde to the yoman of the horse w^{t} my lady marques for bringing of a horse to the king iij [-l]i i[~t]m the same daye paied to the scole maister of poules for thexhibucion of nicholas fraunc[s] vij [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day paied to giles of the crosbowes upo[^n] his bill for the fletcher and crosbow maker xv [-l]i. ix [~s]. ij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to s^{r} jo[~h]n the organ maker in rewarde xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to wi[~l][~l]m ilgrave the king[s] browderer for embrowdering as apperith by a bille cc lvij [-l]i. v [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the xxij day paied to the frenche preste the fesaunt breder for to bye him a gowne and other necesarys xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to a s'[^v]nt of the marques of mantway in rewarde for bringing of mares to the king to grenewiche xlvj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the gardyner of wyndeso^{r} for his quarter wages ended at x[~p]emas xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxij day paied to nicholas clampe for his quarter wges due at cristemas v [-l]i. i[~t]m to the same nicholas for his bourde wages for half a yere iij [-l]i. iiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to jo[~h]n crepyn the jeweller for suche jewell[s] as he solde to the king xxviij [-l]i. s[=m] part[s] iij c iiij^{xx} #xij# [-l]i. xij [~s]. vj d. [_sic._] yet payment[s] in decembre. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxiij daye paied to s^{r} wi[~l][~l]m pownder in rewarde at grenewiche vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to wi[~l][~l]m knevet for his anuyte due for one quarter at cristemas v [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day paied to humfrey raynezford, raulf and water to e[^v]y of them xxij [~s]. vj d. for ther^[9] cot[s] iij [-l]i. vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same day paied to brya[^n] talbot for his wages due for iij quarters of a yere vj [-l]i. xvj [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied to carter for dressing of the barge and for matting of the bote xxiij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the same carter for s'vyng the king fro west[^m] to grenewiche xj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to my lady princesse for the king[s] rewarde xx [-l]i. i[~t]m to my lady margaret douglas by lyke rewarde vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same day to joh[^n] a wod for his quarter wag[s] due at x[~p]emas iiij [-l]i. xj [~s]. iij d. i[~t]m the same day paid to arnolde the shomaker for shoes for mais[^t] knevet marke, and the ij gui[~l][~l]ms xxxv [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to a smyth that caryed lock[s] to calys, and for his charges all the way xlvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied for the wasshing of shert[s] for sexto[^n] and for new shert[s] doblett[s] and for other necessaryes, and also for skynners wag[s] iiij [-l]i. viij [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paid to jo[~h]n scot for cot[s] doubelett[s] and for the making and lynyng for the boyes of the stabull viij [-l]i. viij [~s]. s[=m] part[s] lxxj [-l]i. xv [~s]. vij d. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxv daye paied to a po[^u] woman in rewarde for bringing a present of apull[s] to the king[s] grace v [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to fforde in partie of payment upo[^n] his bille of reconnyng[s] x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day paied to humfrey raulf and water the hont[s] for ther^[9] hound[s] mete for one monethe xxvij [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to parker of the robes for suche stuf as he dud bye of locke and of barker for my lady marques xvj [-l]i. xvj [~s]. i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied to s^{r} george lawson s'[^v]nt in rewarde for bringing of a horse to the king[s] grace xl [~s]. i[~t]m the xxvij day paied to james the henne taker for his wag[s] due for one quarter ended at x[~p]emas xlv [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to thomas ogul[-l] for a monethe bo^{r}de wag[s] for the iiij boyes of the stable aft^[9] xx d. a woke for a pece xxvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the same day paied to the same thomas ogull for a guelding for the frenche fawconer xlvj [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the xxviij day paied to the gardyner of wanstede for his quarter wag[s] due at cristmas xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the clerc of the king[s] closet for so moche money by him distributed to pouer people and to prest[s] iiij [-l]i. xj [~s]. s[=m] part[s] xli [-l]i. xvii [~s]. iiij d. yet payment[s] in decembre. [1532.] i[~t]m the xxviij daye paied to my lorde of norfolke for so moche by him paied to maister vicecham[~b]lay[^n] at his going norward by the king[s] co[~m]aundement iij c xl [-l]i. i[~t]m the xxix day paied to ansley of the tennes play for cost[s] of ball[s] vj tymes at calays and grenewiche xl [~s]. i[~t]m the same day paied to ogu[~l][~l] for shert[s] cappes, hosen point[s] and shoes for the boyes of the stable iij [-l]i. x [~s]. xj d. i[~t]m the last day paied to a pouer woma[~n] in rewarde for bringing a present of apull[s] to the king v [~s]. i[~t]m the same day delivered to the king[s] grace at nig[~h]t at grenewiche ij c corons xlvj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. s[~m] part[s] iij c iiij^{xx} xij [-l]i. ix [~s]. iij d. s[~m] to'[~l][s] solu[^c] } ix c lxj [-l]i. hu[~i] mens' dec[~e]bris } x [~s]. vj d. [signature: henry r] wages paied to fawconers hount[s], and other by the king[s] commaundement from the laste daye of decembre a^{o} xx^{mo} [1528.] as herafter dothe ensue furste paied by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} the xxiij^{ti} daye of january to hug[~h] harrys one of the king[s] fawco[^n]s for his bourde wages for one half yere that is to saye fro midso[^m] to x[~p]emasse after a grote a daye lij [-l]i. x d. item the same daye paied to the same hug[~h] harrys for the mete of viij hawk[s] fro midso[^m] to x[~p]emasse, that is for e[^v]y hawke j d. a daye vj [-l]i. xx d. item the same daye paied to humfrey of the pryvay houndes for the mete by the space of one monethe ix [~s]. item the same daye paied to x[~p]ofer an other of the fawco[^n]s for one hawk[s] mete for iiij monethes after j d. by the daye x [~s]. item the same daye paied in preste to bryan talbot in [pf]tie of payment of his quarter wages xv [~s]. s[=m] part[s] --- s[=m] solu[^c] istius mens' } x [-l]i. januarij a^{o} xx^{mo} [1529.] } xvj [~s]. vj d. [signature: henry r] payment[s] in february. a^{o} xx^{mo} [1529.] item the xvij daye of ffebruary paied by the king[s] co[~m]aundement to nicholas clampe for his bourde wages from o^{r} lady daye in lent unto the xxv daye of decembre, that is for cc lxxv days at a grote a day iiij [-l]i. xj [~s]. viij d. item the same daye paied to the same nicholas for his boyes bourde wages by the same space amounting to xxxix wok[s] at xvj d. the woke lij [~s]. item the same daye paied to jo. yardeley one of the hount[s] for his wages due for one quarter of a yere to be ended at the feaste of the anun[^c] of o^{r} lady next xxx [~s]. v d. item the xxviij daye paied to parsons the henne taker for his wages due for one quarter of a yere to be ended at the feast of the anun[^c] of o^{r} lady next, after vj d. by the daye xlv [~s]. vij d. s[=m] part[s] s[=m] solu[^c] istius mens' } x [-l]i. ffebruarij a^{o} predic[^t] } xix [~s]. viij d. [signature: henry r] payment[s] in marche. a^{o} xx^{mo} [1529.] i[~t]m the vj daye of the same monethe paied by the king[s] co[~m]aundement to the gardy[^n] of wyndeso^{r} for his quarter wages due at the feaste of the anu[^n]ciacion of o^{r} ladye after iiij [-l]i. by the yere xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to wi[~l][~l]m rutter for his fee of ij d. by the daye, due for one half yere then due as afore for his rowme w^{t}in the forrest of wyndeso^{r} xxx [~s]. x d. i[~t]m the xij daye paied to edmonde lynde for his wages due for one quarter as afore, after a grote a daye xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the xx daye paied to the king[s] watermen being x in noumbre for ther^[9] wages for one quarter then due, after x [~s]. a pece v [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied to elys one of the fawco[^n]s for the bourde of henry elys by the space of xiiij wok[s] at xvj d. the woke xxj [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to joh[^n] evans one of the fawco[^n]s for his bourde wages after iiij d. by the daye, from the feaste of cristemas unto the feaste of thanu[^n]ciacion of o^{r} ladye, that is to say for one quarter xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the same joh[^n] evans, during the same tyme amo[^n]ting to iiij^{xx} and tenne dayes for vj hawk[s] mete at one peny by the daye for e[^v]y of them lij [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] xiiij [-l]i. v [~s]. vj d. yet payment[s] in marche. a^{o} xx^{mo} [1529.] i[~t]m the xxiiij daye paied to joh[^n] awod for his quarter wages then due after xij d. by the daye iiij [-l]i. xj [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to joh[^n] notte grome of the king[s] crosbowes for his quarter wages then due at a grote a day xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to jasper the gardyner at beaulie for his quarter wages then due after x [-l]i. by the yere l [~s]. i[~t]m the xxvj daye paied by the king[s] co[~m]aunde^{t} to tenne of his fawconers for to bye them new cot[s], that is to say philip clampe, and nicholas clampe, john evans, and richard brando[^n], hauky[^n], and walter, hug[~h] harrys, thomas of londo[^n], and x[~p]ofer hawte and olde hug[~h], ix of them at xxij [~s]. vj d. a pece and olde hug[~h] at xxv [~s]. xj [-l]i. vij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the po^{r}veyo^{r} of hennes for his lyveray cote xx [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to robert shere for his wages due for one monethe for keping of the king[s] begles v [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to crane the maister of the childrene for the wag[s] of robert pury for one quarter now due at iij d. by the daye xxij [~s]. vj d. i[~t]m for the bourde wages of the same robert for ix wok[s] and iij dayes at xx d. a woke xv [~s]. ix d. s[=m] part[s] xxiij [-l]i. ij [~s]. ij d. yet payment[s] in marche. a^{o} xx^{mo} [1529.] i[~t]m the xxvij daye paied to the gardyner at wanstede for his quarter wages then due at iiij [-l]i. by the yere xx [~s]. i[~t]m the xxviij day paied to joh[^n] awod in preste for his quarter wages adv[~u]ced before hande whiche shalbe due at the feaste of the nativite of sainct joh[^n] baptiste next co[~m]yng iiij [-l]i. xj [~s]. i[~t]m the same daye paied to joh[^n] rede keper of the great gardyne at beaulie for his wages due for one quarter at viij d. by the daye iij [-l]i. x d. i[~t]m the xxix daye paied to hug[~h] harrys one of the fawco[^n]s for his bo^{r}de wages from cristemas to o^{r} lady daye after the rate of iiij d. by the daye xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m to the same hug[~h] harrys for mete for vj hawk[s], by the same space at one penny a daye for e[^v]y hawke xlv [~s]. vij d. i[~t]m the xxx daye of [^m]che paied to robert elton one of the king[s] watermen in prest upo[^n] his wages xx [~s]. i[~t]m the laste daye paied to nicholas clampe for his wages due for one hole yere now ended at o^{r} lady day laste paste x [-l]i. i[~t]m the same daye paied unto the same nicholas for keping of a lauret called cutte, for one hole yere at j d. a daye xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m to the same nicholas for his bourde wages from cristemas till o^{r} ladye daye, at a grote a daye xxx [~s]. v d. s[=m] part[s] xxvj [-l]i. viij [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] in marche. [1529.] i[~t]m the laste daye paied to haukyn for the mete of iiij hawk[s] for one monethe aforehande at j d. a daye for e[^v]y hawke x [~s]. s[=m] part[s] ---x [~s]. s[=m] to'[-l][s] solu[^c] istius } lxiiij [-l]i. mens' marcij a^{o} [~p]dict[s] } vj [~s]. iiij d. [signature: henry r] payment[s] in april may and june. [1529.] i[~t]m the last daye of aprill paied to bryan talbot for his wages for iij monethes ended the same daye at xv [~s]. a monethe and the laste daye of june for his wages for ij monethes then ended that is to say for may and june after xv [~s]. a monethe iij [-l]i. xv. [~s]. i[~t]m to robert shere for the kin[s] begles for ij monethes ended the laste daye of june x [~s]. i[~t]m to humfrey raynezford for chipping[s] for the king[s] pryvate hound[s] for ij monethes the whiche be ended the laste daye of june xviij [~s]. viij d. i[~t]m the laste daye of june paied to hug[~h] harrys for his bourde wages at iiij d. by the daye from the feaste of the anu[^n]ciacion of o^{r} lady unto the feast of sainct jo[~h]n baptist xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the same daye paied to the saied hug[~h] harrys for the dyeting of vj hawk[s] at j d. by the daye for e[^v]y of them from the feast of thanu[^n]ciacion of our^[9] lady unto the feaste of sainct john baptist xlv [~s]. vj d. s[=m] part[s] viij [-l]i. xix [~s]. viij d. yet payment[s] by the saied space. a^{o} xxj^{mo} [1529.] i[~t]m the last daye of june paied to john evans for his bourde wag[s] for iij monethes ended at the fest of the nativite of sainct john baptist at a grote a daye xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the same daye to joh[^n] yardeley one of the hont[s] for his wages due for one quarter ended at midso[^m] after a grote a daye xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the same daye to edmonde lynde an other of the hont[s] for his wages due for one quarter ended as then after a grote a daye xxx [~s]. v d. i[~t]m the same daye to humfrey the fawconer in preste upo[^n] his wages xiij [~s]. iiij d. i[~t]m the same daye to the king[s] tenne watermen for ther wag[s] as then due for one quarter ended at midso[^m] after x [~s]. a pece v [-l]i. i[~t]m the same day paied to wi[~l][~l]m crane [^m] of the children for the wag[s] of robert pury for one quarter ended at midso[^m] after iij d a daye xxij [~s]. ix d. i[~t]m to the same maister crane for the bourde wages of the same robert pury for viij wok[s] and iij dayes after xx d a wok xiiij [~s]. j d. s[=m] part[s] xij [-l]i. xvij d. index and notes. abbots robert, a waterman, 59. abingdon, 246, 247, _sæpe_, 248. acton robert, the king's sadler, 68, 72. adington, the skinner, 101, 183. alard ----, a jeweller, 185, 195. alberton richard, a falconer, 221. aleyn thomas, 81, 124, 188, 203. from the entry, in p. 124, it would appear that this individual was a tradesman. alleys, for cleaning the, in windsor park, 32. alford master thomas, 19, 20, 58, 142, 176. see also alvard. alile, 217. a person attached to the jewel house. alms, the king's private, 9, 19, 32, 36, 41, 42, _bis_, 59, 90, 106, 117, 125, 134, 145, 159, 173, 174, 182, 185, 194, 197, 208, 225, 254, 256, 264, 266, 272, 273, 274, 276, 278. ----, paid in, on good friday, 40. ----, money given to the princess mary to be distributed in, 127. ----, expences of a funeral paid by way of, 172. ----, money given to be distributed in alms during the king's journey, 265. upon the large sums expended in charity, some remarks will be found at the commencement of the volume. almayne, to an, _i.e._ to a german, 117, 193. almayne, to a gentleman of, 178. alvard thomas, 96, 116, 199, 228, 231. this appears to be the same person who is sometimes called thomas alford. see _alford_. he is supposed by mr. ellis to have been keeper of cardinal wolsey's wardrobe, and which opinion is confirmed by the entry in p. 116. a very interesting letter from him to cromwell in 1529, detailing the particulars of the last interview between wolsey and the king, has been printed by mr. ellis, and also by mr. singer. if the conjecture be correct that he was the individual who is noticed in other parts of the book by the name of alvord and alford, it is manifest that after the cardinal's decease he held an office of trust under the king. amadas master robert, 97, 104, _bis_, 188. apparently a jeweller. ambassador, the pope's, 9. ambassador, to a doctor, being nephew to the bishop, who was ambassador here, 49. from the manner in which this payment is mentioned it may be inferred that it was a gratuity to the individual, in consequence of his relationship to the ambassador. ambassadors, paid for the rent of a house intended for them, 74. the king being then, september 25, 1530, at waltham abbey, a house was engaged for the use of some ambassadors who were to have had an audience there, but they evidently did not occupy it. ambassadors, to servants of, 104, 106, 135. ambassador of france, 106. ambassadors of hungary, for the expenses of the, 160. the only embassy from hungary noticed by hall was in march 1527, when the count of ottonbrough, john burgrave, and others had an audience of the king at greenwich. after which, that chronicler says, "they were well cherished and diverse tymes resorted to the courte and had greate chere and good rewardes, and so the 3rd. of maie next ensuying they toke their leave and departed homeward." if this entry related to them, it is evident that they were on one occasion received by henry at grafton. ambassador, money paid to the scotch, 250. like the gratuity to the relation of the ambassador, in p. 49, this appears to have been a present. ambreys, eight cupboards, some with _ambreys_ and some without, 93. "a cuppborde of waynscote with _ambries_."--_harl. mss._ 1419, f. 55. this word is supposed to have meant originally, a little purse wherein money was put for the poor, and at length was used for any hutch or close place to keep meat left after meals; a cupboard for keeping cold victuals.--_todd's johnson._ it is evident however from the manner in which the word is here used that it was part of a cupboard rather than the cupboard itself, though it might have been appropriated, as a sort of safe, for the keeping of cold meat. mr. markland suggests that in the present instance "_ambreys_ meant cupboards within cupboards, or places of more secure concealment." ambrose, a painter, 221. see "painter." ampthill. see antill. amsham richard, 70. apparently a draper. anchor for an, for the king's boat, 262. the small sum paid for an anchor, a cable, and a sail, five shillings, is worthy of attention as shewing the value of such articles at the period. andrew, the italian friar to, 117, 128. angell john, the jeweller, 139. angling rods given to the king, 65, 240. the proof which these entries afford that henry the eighth was an angler, must interest the disciples of isaac walton. but henry was not the only english monarch who was attached to the pursuit, charles the second, as well as his present majesty having frequently sought relief from the cares of state in that tranquil amusement. anguisshe lady margaret, 98, 183, 281. ---earl of, 180, 247. archibald douglas, 6th earl of angus, in scotland, who, in 1514, married margaret queen dowager of scotland and sister of henry the eighth, from whom he was divorced before 1526. angus had fled into england and placed himself under the protection of henry, who, in 1532, settled an annuity of 1000 marks upon him; and he remained in england until the death of james, king of scotland. the earl died in 1556. lady margaret angus was evidently the issue of that marriage, and consequently the king's niece. she was at the time, when some pocket money was given her, little more than fifteen years old. this distinguished woman was the mother of henry lord darnley, father of king james the first, and progenitrix of every subsequent monarch of this country. annys or ans vincent, a jeweller, 218, 220. anservis, a friar at guildford, 63. ansham, 220. ansley bryan, 103. apparently a tradesman. ansley anthony, 134, 183, 193, 283. all the entries in which this person's name occurs relate to the expences of playing at tennis, hence it may be inferred that he was the keeper of the ground; or perhaps the marker. anthony anthony, 161, 179. a person of these names was master of the ordnance to henry the eighth, and made the celebrated drawing of the "henry grace de dieu."--_see a note to archæologia, vol._ vi. anthony mark, 109, 157, 165. apparently a venetian merchant. anthony a sackbut, 174. anticks, for two brought to the king, 226. two buffoons, or two grotesque figures, might be meant by this entry, for shakspeare seems to use the word in both senses, "we can contain ourselves were he the veriest _antick_ in the world."--_induction, taming the shrew._ "indeed three such _antics_ do not amount to a man."--_hen. v. act_ iii. _sc._ 2. dr. meyrick, however, with more probability, suggests that it referred to "two antiques," the taste "for articles of that description being then at its height in england, as it had been previously in italy, on the revival of the arts." in old inventories, "one _antick_ head piece," "one _antick_ armour," often occur. milton also, says, "_antick_ pillars massy proof." _il penseroso._ antill 68, _bis_, 69, _sæpe_, 70, _sæpe_, 161, 163, _bis_, 167, 168, 236, 237, 238, 248. ----, keeper of the parks at, 70, 162, 163, 238. ampthill, in the hundred of redbornstoke, in bedfordshire. in 1441, william beauchamp, lord st. amand, possessed it in right of his wife, and sold it to sir john cornwall lord fanhope, one of the heroes of agincourt, and who, according to "leland, builded the castelle of antehill of such spoils as it is said he won in france." in 1453 henry duke of exeter, son of fanhope's wife, by her first husband, entered into a bond of 6000 marks to abide by the arbitration of sir thomas bourchier respecting the manor of ampthill and some other estates. in 1524, roger de grey earl of kent, alienated it to the crown. it was made an honor by act of parliament, the preamble to which states, that it was henry the eighth's intention "to erect, build, and edifie upon his grace's manor of ampthill, sumptuous, stately, beautiful, and princely buildings." ampthill has derived a mournful interest from its having been the residence of the unhappy katherine, during the early part of the proceedings relative to her divorce, and she was cited from thence to attend the commissioners at dunstable. henry was evidently at ampthill in august 1530, september 1531, and july 1532. mr. lysons, says, no account of the manor is to be found during several subsequent reigns. the palace was allowed to go to decay. james the first bestowed the honor on the earl of kelly, but it soon reverted to the crown. the custody of the great park was granted to lord bruce in 1613, and his descendants became lessees of it, in whom it continued until 1738, when the lease was purchased by the duke of bedford, and it was exchanged in 1800 to the late earl of upper ossory. in the 17th century a family of nicholls were lessees of ampthill great park, and after the restoration it was given by charles the second to mr. john ashburnham. in 1720, his descendants sold it to lord fitz-william, from whom it was purchased, in 1736, by lady gowran, grandmother of its late owner, the earl of upper ossory, who died in 1818. that nobleman erected a column, in 1770, on the scite of ampthill castle, upon which are inscribed the following beautiful lines by horace walpole. "in days of yore here ampthill's towers were seen, the mournful refuge of an injur'd queen; here flow'd her pure but unavailing tears, here blinded zeal sustain'd her sinking years; yet freedom hence her radiant banners wav'd, and love aveng'd a realm by priests enslav'd. from katherine's wrongs a nation's bliss was spread, and luther's light from henry's lawless bed." _lysons' bedfordshire._ apothecary, sergeant, to the, 79, 146. one of these entries is curious, as the sergeant apothecary appears to have brought some gloves to the king. they were probably _perfumed_ gloves. ----, culberd or cutberd, the king's, his bills paid, 44, 124, 165, 203, 251. ----, master john, the, 147. apparel for lady anne, paid for making, 179. apparelling for the, of a falconer, 39. appeached [query impeached], to one that impeached massy, 69. apples brought, 36, 78, 147, 178, 181, 186, 237, 242, 258, 265, 266, 282, 283. apples, quene brought, 163. armacan, bishop of, 104. the bishop of armagh, in ireland, which see was then filled by john kite, who resigned it in 1531. armerer, william the king's footman's wife, 17, 78, 84, _bis_, 104, 122, 197, _bis_, 217. armeston clement, 112. armourer at windsor, to the, 155. armourer to the, 44, 184, 194, 196, 234. ----, paid the, for garnishing books, 214. the word garnish is used very indefinitely; it here seems to have meant placing clasps on books. armoury at windsor, the keeper of the, 41. armoury, to two persons of the, 259. arms the king's, to henry maynering for making the, 166. from the charge 8_l._ 19_s._ as well as from the word "making," it would seem that the royal arms were in this instance carved. arnolde henry, the shoe-maker, 219, 281. arras for, 59, 215. arrows for, 40, 47, 265. ----, paid for shooting, 50. ----, paid for forked, 50. ----, brought, 64, 83. arrow head's given the king, 216. arthur the luter, 131. artichokes brought, 72, 77, 117, 142, 163, 169, 218, 220, 224, 232. arundel earl of, 146. william fitz alan, k.g., who succeeded to that dignity in 1524, and died in 1543. arundell master, 60. probably sir john arundel, ancestor of the present lord arundel of wardour. he was made a knight of the bath in 1495, and a knight banneret at tournay, and died in 1545. ashrigge, 67, _bis_. assheley hector, keeper of hounsdon, 42, 60, 73, 81, 111, 136, 161, 174, 211. all the payments to this individual were for the buildings at hounsdon, which will be more particularly alluded to. asshley thomas, 215. servant to lady ann rochford. astell edmond, keeper of greenwich park, 205, 213, _bis_, 217. these payments relate to greenwich park, or for the food of the deer in it. aston master, 244. astronomer, to nicholas the, for mending a clock, 130. atkins richard, 36. attorney to the king's, 135. the attorney general in may, 1531, was christopher hales, but it is not certain that the payment was to that officer. audley lord, 65. john tuchet, who was restored to that dignity in 1512, and died _ante_ 1558. -------, his son's child christened, 145. john tuchet, lord audley, above mentioned, had issue, three sons, george, edward, and richard. george succeeded to the dignity in 1558, and had a son henry, who also became lord audley, and it was probably that henry who was christened in may 1531, and which would fix the date of his birth to that year, a point which has not been ascertained. richard, the 3rd son of lord audley, also had issue, to one of whom this entry might relate, but the former is most likely. the state of the pedigree of that family is however so very confused and imperfect, that it throws no light on the point. audley, the king's servant, 204. augustine, the falconer 105. st. austins, _i. e._ augustines canterbury, abbot of, 274. john sturvey, _alias_ essex, who was abbot from 1523 until the dissolution. avelande thomas, 46. this individual seems to have been the proprietor of some land, which was bought to enlarge one of the parks at windsor. it consisted of two acres of meadow; the sum paid for which, 4_l._, is worthy of notice, as shewing the price of land at the period. averay of the botelles, 9, and averay john of the cellar, 143. clearly the same person. he appears to have been attached to the cellar, and from the way in which he is described "of the bottles," they were perhaps entrusted to his custody. averay, 188. query,--if thomas avery, who in the 17th. hen. viii., was one of the gentlemen pensioners.--_household ordinances temp. king hen. viii._ p. 168. awbray, yeoman of the crossbows, 24. aynes elizabeth, 184. badges on liveries paid for, 16. it is scarcely necessary to remark, that the servants or retainers of eminent personages were distinguished by peculiar badges, which were placed on the arm and other parts of their dresses. bag for keeping the king's shirts in, 103. bags paid for, 110. bagot william, 157, 158, 159. a seller of bows, pellets, or shot, &c. bagshot park, to the keeper of, 152. baynton master, 100. baker ---servant to the princess mary, 146, _bis_. bakhouse john, a soldier, 81. "ball" the king's dog for finding, 43. balls tennis, paid for, 283. "banished" to families sent out of greenwich, 104, 125, 129, 173, 273, _bis_. the last entry excepting one on this subject confirms the opinion relative to the former, namely, that they were families in which an infectious disease had appeared, and which were consequently sent out of greenwich lest it should extend to the court, and endanger the royal person. the king however seems always to have borne the expences attending their removal, and which are deserving of notice as showing what was considered a sufficient sum for the purpose. some of the persons thus "banished" were evidently above the lower orders, for we find that william morley had six servants, and hadstone, three. baptist john, an italian jeweller, 97, 99. barba john, a sackbut, 173. barbariste horse [i. e. barbary horse], to powle that keeps the, 165. barbary horse, to the keeper of the, 133, 199, 204. henry's attachment to horses is manifested by numerous entries, and this horse, which is in one place called a "barra horse," and in another the "barbaristo horse," was apparently a favourite arabian sent from some part of barbary, from which it derived its appellation. shakespeare also speaks of a "barbary horse:" "when bolingbroke rode on _roan barbary_, that horse that thou so often had bestrid." _rich._ ii. a. 5. sc. 5. "you'll have your daughter cover'd with a _barbary horse_." _merry wives of windsor_, a. ii. sc. 2. barberries brought, 258. barde, for a, 9. or barbe, explained by dr. johnson to be the trapping of a horse, also dressed in a warlike manner, caparisoned: "if the _barded_ horses ran fiercely." _hollingshed._ that citation as well as those by arch. nares, tend to prove that it was "a general name for the several pieces of defensive armour with which the horses of knights were covered in war." little light is thrown upon the word by the manner in which it is used in this instance, excepting that it is spoken of in the singular number, and that it was for the king's use; but as copeland is mentioned in another place, p. 18, as a mercer, it may be inferred that "the bard" was of cloth or silk, and which, if it was for a horse, renders it almost certain that it was a trapping or ornament, rather than a piece of armour. this idea is confirmed by the following passage in hall: "the king kept a solempne justes at his manour of grenewiche, he himself and xi wer on the one part and the marques of exsceter with xi wer on the other parte. the kynges _barde_ and base and all his bend wer of cloth of gold and silver richely embraudered, with a mannes harte," &c. p. 707. dr. meyrick observes, "the _barde_ was the complete armour for the horse, though sometimes confined to the poitrail, which when made to reach up to the pomel of the saddle, was called _haute barde_." this horse armour was often covered with silk or cloth of gold. baret, ----, 252. barge, the king's, johnson the master of, 7, 8, 10, 125, 182, 192, 230. ----, to the master of the queen's, 107. ----, the king's new, 44, 155. ----, for repairing the king's, 45, 135, 169, 247. ----, for dressing the king's, 96, 155, 181, 281. i. e. cleaning and perhaps ornamenting the barge. ----, paid to watermen for waiting with the, 112, 114, 120, 136, 139, 211, 215. ----, paid for the hire of a, 122. ----, for a hide to cover the king's, 182. ----, for trimming the, 44, 45. ----, for painting the, 44, 195. ----, the great, 208. ----, for tallowing and brenning the king's, 211. this item refers to the process by which the bottom of an uncoppered vessel is cleaned. in the sixteenth century barges were as important parts of royal and noble establishments, as carriages are in the nineteenth. henry frequently removed from westminster to greenwich and richmond, and was almost always conveyed by water. his equipage was sent in a similar manner, hence the frequent charges for the great and little barges, boats, watermen, &c. the royal barge was doubtlessly extremely splendid, for it appears that the painting cost upon one occasion 30_l._ and upon another vincent the painter was paid for the "trimming," by which is probably meant slightly painting and ornamenting, 15_l._ 4_s._ 9_d._ the best idea of its appearance is perhaps conveyed by the barges which now belong to the city companies, many of which are beautifully painted with allegorical figures, landscapes, &c. and gorgeously ornamented. barge, to the master of the king's for conveying his majesty to shepey, 266. ---great, for serving the king with the, 279. bargeman, john, the king's, 110. bargeman, to one of the, for repairing the king's barge, 135. barker ambrose, mercer, 188, 189, 282. barley ----, a priest, 169. barnard matthew, a foreign merchant, 186. barnard's wife, 121, 256. upon one occasion she made a present of two shirts to the king, and on the other was paid for making eight shirts, 2_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ barnardin, the gunner, 36. barnes, i. e. berners lord, 207. john bourchier, second and last lord berners, the well known translator of froissart and other works both from the french and italian. he died on the 16th march, 1533. _see_ bourchier. barnwood park, to the ranger of, 154, _bis_, and keepers of, 155. baron the chief, 194. richard lyster or leicester, who held that office from the 15th may, 1530, until 1546. baroper park, to the keeper of, 151. -------, 152. beaurepaire, still called baroper, situated between reading and andover, the seat of the ancient family of brocas, from the conquest to the present time.--m*. barra horse, i. e. barbary horse, to the keeper of the, and for a bath for it, 204. _see_ barbary. bartelot doctor, 146. a physician. basing, 18, 155, 231; ---purveyor of the ship, 179. baskets to carry plate, 20. bath for a horse, paid for a, 204. this item is not a little curious; 7_s._ 2_d._ for a bath for a horse shows the great attention which was paid to henry's stud; yet it must be remembered that it was for the favourite arabian before noticed as the barbary horse. battersea, 24. baugh doctor, one of the king's almoners, 9, 19, 32, 42, 59, 77, 90, 106, 117, 134, 145, 159, 174, 182, 208, 225, 254, 276, 280. the large sums expended by the king in charity have been elsewhere noticed. bayles for the king's barge, 11. a bail is a kind of small bucket, used for emptying the water which accumulates at the bottom of a boat. to "bail out a boat" is the expression still used by sailors for that operation. baynton master, 36, 85, 209, _bis_. beagles, robert sheere, keeper of the, 17, 24, 31, 39, 45, 70, 79, 94, 125, 136, 219, 290. these entries relate to the sums paid either as wages to the keeper of those animals, or for their food. his wages are said in some places to have been 5_s._ a month, but in others the 5_s._ a month is stated to be for meat for them, and as the latter entry never occurs near the former, and is uniformly the same in amount, it cannot be determined which is meant. that sum could scarcely have included both his wages and food for the dogs. occasionally a reward of 20_s._ seems to have been bestowed upon him. beagles' meat, for 187, 199, 213, 231. beans brought, 218. bears, [beres] to the keeper of the king's, 14. if, as can scarcely be doubted, by "beres" is meant bears, this item proves that henry had a kind of private menagerie, for it is not likely it could refer to the animals in the tower. beaulie, the gardener of, 4, 5, 8, 18, 36, _bis_, 39, 44, 45, _ter_, 50, 56, 61, 72, 77, _bis_, 80, 81, 87, 96, _bis_, 103, 120, 124, 130, 142, 147, 166, 169, 176, 188, 197, 200, 207, 209, 219, 220, 224, 232, 235, 241, 256, 257, 264, 287, 288. "new hall, a magnificent mansion not far from woodham walters, formerly belonging to the butlers, earls of ormond, after to thomas bollen, earl of wiltshire, of whom henry viii. purchased it by exchange, and making costly additions to it, gave it the name of beaulieu, which, however, never prevailed among the generality."--_gough's camden_, vol. ii. p. 44. new hall, or beaulieu, is about five miles s. e. by e. of maldon, on the side of the æstuary of the blackwater.--"leland states that when henry 'ædes sibi comparassit coeperunt in immensum excrescere ingentibus principis impensis, novumque juxta ac elegans nomen _belli loci_ adsumere.' camden informs us that the new name never prevailed among the common people; and after the king's death, it is presumed, the place resumed its original appellation of new hall." m. bed, and appurtenances, paid for the making of a, 77. some curious descriptions of the beds of our ancestors will be found in the "testamenta vetusta" _sparsim_, from which an idea can be formed of their magnificence. even in this era of luxury our beds are far inferior in splendour to those of the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries.--"in the inventory of household furniture of skipton castle, taken in 1572, we have proof that a state bedchamber of that period 'was not inferior in magnificence, as far as its accommodations went, to the same apartment in a modern nobleman's house.'--whitaker's crav. p. 328. a 'bed of downe with a bolster' is there valued at c_s._ 'the teaster of tynsell and blake vellvett with armes, havynge curtains of sylke, with frynges, 20_l._'"--m. bedesmen, s^{r}. torche the king's at the rood of greenwich, 33, 188, 122. a beadsman, it is scarcely requisite to remark, is an individual who is bound to pray for the person by whom he is supported. from the title "sir" being applied to henry's beadsman, it seems that he was a priest, and we learn that he received 40_s._ a year. bedill master, 26. bedwell, keeper of the park of, 71. beads, for two pair of, 81. bekensell, or bekensaw, a scholar of paris, 23, 38. beks master, 41. bells gilt, for hawks, paid for, 159. they appear to have cost 7_s._ 2_d._ the dozen, or about seven pence three farthings each. belson john, 28. it is quite evident, notwithstanding his name does not indicate it, that this individual was a welshman, but of what situation in life does not appear. benet doctor, 186. benton ----, 257. berewarde sergeant, 187. berkeley lord, 29, 43, 117, 140. thomas lord berkeley, who succeeded his brother in that dignity in 1523, and died on the 28th january, 1583. berkeley lady, 48. apparently the wife of that nobleman, namely cecilia, widow of richard rowdon, esq. berkhampstead park, in the county of hertford, to the keeper of, 67. betting money, lost by the king, in bets at shooting, tennis, &c. 36, 137, 189, 220, 226, 227, 229. these entries are more fully noticed under "gambling." bill, to a poor man that endeavoured to get one signed, 40. bills for bringing such as were assigned, 267. "bill", in both instances appears to be orders for payments. in the last, 23_s._ 4_d._ was probably allowed for the bearer's travelling expenses from london to dover, and the former was a charitable donation to some unfortunate man, who was endeavouring to get an order signed. bird henry.--see byrde. biscuits brought, 169. bitch, for keeping the little white, 127. ----, the king's brought, 147. blackheath, for placing wine in the cellar, in the tower at, 98. ----, for making a wall upon the new ditch at, 213. black john, the hardwareman, 23. blackwall, 175. blade smith, maryon the, 108. a sword-cutler. blake francis, 93. a footman. blanch john, 28. a foreign minstrel. blind woman, to a, being a harper, 168. blount john, 16. blue mantle, 15. john norbonne, who was created to that office, at bridewell place, by the duke of norfolk, earl marshal, on allhallows-day, 1528, and was promoted to be richmond herald in 1586. he died in the tower, but for what reason he incurred the royal displeasure is unknown. the embroidery work for which he was paid 35_l._ was probably of the king's arms or badges. boar, a wild boar's head brought, 181. boars wild, brought, 5, 13. board, the, that stood in the chamber over the library at greenwich, brought to york place, 87. boards and nails paid for, 159. boats, for the hire of, 12, 14, 25, 87, 93, 118, 177, 195, _bis_, 208, 215. boat for tallowing and brenning the, 211. ---and barge, for oars, anchor, and cable, &c. and for expenses whilst painting the, 262. ----, paid for a, for the king's embarkation and landing at calais, and likewise for that of his stuff, 272, 273. ---paid for, for the king's embarkation at calais, landing at dover, and crossing the water at sandwich, 273. ----, for matting the, 281. this probably means covering the bottom of the boat on the inside with mats, to prevent the baggage and other articles put on board it from being rubbed or wetted. ----, to "dressing" the king's, 8, 96. ----, for repairing the king's, 45, 107. ----, a great load of books brought, 110. ----, paid to watermen for waiting with the, 112, 114, 120, 128, 136, 139, 201, _bis_, 215, 219. ----, for mending the king's great, 164. ----, for cotton for lining the king's, 182. this is a singular entry. lining a boat with cotton may either mean that cotton was used instead of oakum for caulking, or the inside of the after part of the boat might have been lined for the purpose of comfort in sitting, or leaning against the sides. the note on barges applies in some degree to these frequent notices relative to boats, excepting that the former were chiefly used for the conveyance of the king and persons of consequence, whilst the latter carried his "stuff," that is, the necessary household goods, &c. and servants. bocher, the king's waterman, 128. bokeller-maker, _i. e._ buckle-maker, 124. bolenger john, a minstrel, 70, 129. in one place he is merely called a minstrel, but in the other he is specifically described as a sackbut. bolayn anthony de, a merchant of paris, 15. boleyn sir edward, knt. 10, 44. apparently the uncle of the celebrated ann boleyn. he married ann, daughter and heiress of sir john tempest, but little more seems to be known of him. boleyn lady ann, 4, _bis_, 13, 44, 47, 50, 61, 72, 74, 88, _bis_, 90, 95, 97, _bis_, 98, _bis_, 101, 128, 179, 183, 217, 222, 223, 245.--see pembroke. some observations on these entries will be found at the commencement of the volume. bolougne, 268, _sæpe_. ----, paid the king's offering to our lady of, 272. the king was at bologne in november, 1532, and offered 11_s._ 3_d._ to the image of our lady of that place. bolts and rings for, 251. we learn from this entry that when the king was in progress, a smith attended with rings and bolts for his majesty's sleeping apartments. bone sir robert, 160. this individual was overseer of the buildings at grafton, from which it would seem that he was an architect. the title "sir," probably implies that he was a priest, knighthood being then too highly estimated to be conferred upon any but persons of consequence. bonnets for the king, 15. ---paid for, 23, 63, 94, 99, 123. the word bonnet was used nearly synonymously with hat. they were usually made of cloth, and were sometimes ornamented with feathers, gold buttons, &c. ---milan, for, 24, 173. what a milan bonnet was, does not exactly appear. in both instances they were bought for the king's fool. ---night, for two scarlet, 218. bonvice anthony, 82. books paid for, 18, 44. ----, mass, 24. the price of six mass books with velvet to cover them was 3_l._ 11_s._ ---brought, 85, 89, _ter_, 106, 109, 110, 112, 116, 137, 190, 274. with the exception of the last entry of a book given to the king at canterbury, in november 1532, all the notices refer to books sent by abbots and priors, or of the removal of boat loads of books from one palace to another, between october 1530 and january 1532, but chiefly early in 1531, and there can be little doubt that they related to the subject which then occupied henry's mind, his divorce. ----, inventory of, brought, 89. the inventory in question was clearly the catalogue of the library in the abbey of reading, and was doubtlessly sent to enable henry to ascertain if it contained any thing relative to the theological point in which he was then so deeply interested. ----, for printed, 101. ----, paid to an armourer for garnishing, 123, 214. probably for putting on clasps. ----, paid for vellum and other "stuff" for the king's, 137. ---sent to the bookbinder, 255. bookbinder, paid the, 189. boots, paid for, 30, 31, 123, 139, 183, 259, 264. bone ----, one of the hunt, 26. botelles, _i. e._ bottles to averay of the, 9.--see averay. bottle for a, to contain salad oil, 12. boucher to, and his fellow on going to calais, 124. bourchier sir john, 54, 231. apparently lord berners.--see berners. bouilloigne anthony, 138. a french merchant. bowge skins, for, 90. budge skins. fur, but more properly lamb's fur. they appear to have cost about 2_s._ 3_d._ per dozen. bowland, one of the stable, 17. bowls, money won of the king at, 20, 209, 210, _bis_, 211, _bis_, 212, 216, _sæpe_, 229, 278. bowling alley, at eltham, for making the, 218. a bowling alley is a covered space for that game instead of a bowling green; the expenses of making the one at eltham are said to have been 4_l._ 4_s._ 8_d._ bowman thomas, 187. boworth, 270. bows for, 47, 50, 64, 158, 159, 265. ----, stone, brought, 104. a bow for shooting stones. ----, yeoman of the king's, 75, 107. ---fetched, 146. ----, paid to bird for his fee, for the, 163, 263. ----, paid for pelletts, _i. e._ shot for the stone, 220. bowstaves for, for the king's use, 267. bowyer the, 24, 50, 55, 180. boys of the stable, 3, 11, 12, _bis_, 18, 19, _bis_, 22, 23, _bis_, 29, 30, 31, 39, 44. these items all appear to refer to the same persons, who seem to have been boys maintained for the purpose of riding race horses. boy, to one, that ran a nag, 39. ---of the private chamber, 63. ----, the carriage of, to bury, and their expenses at, paid for, 81. boy, a, sent from lord dacres to the king, 206. considerable trouble is said to have been used in procuring boys for the purpose of riding the king's racing horses, and for his chapel; and the expenses of sending one from the borders of scotland appear to have amounted to 3_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._ brace of dogs brought, 156. brakes for mowing those in greenwich park, 230, 256. brakes are explained both by dr. johnson and archdeacon nares to be a thicket of brambles or thorns. the privilege of "mowing the brakes" is still reserved to the keepers of the royal parks in the instrument by which they are appointed. it possibly meant cutting the underwood. brandon richard, 30, _bis_, 287, a falconer. braser, for a, 46. worn by archers on their left arms. brass, paid for two curtalls [_i. e._ quintals] of, 170. brawn brought, 89. browtherer, _i. e._ the embroiderer's bill, 128. bray lord, 20. edmund, first lord bray. he was summoned to parliament in 1529, and died in 1539. breams brought, 62. ---bake, brought, 32. breech at woolwich. see woolwich. breme richard, 128. brennyng the barge, &c. for, 211. see barge. brereton bryan a, 17, 74. brereton william, 51. a "master brereton" who was a gentleman of the privy chamber, was sent from the king to wolsey at southwell after his disgrace.--see cavendish's life of wolsey, p. 253. it was apparently this individual who was executed in consequence of his supposed connexion with ann boleyn. bridewell, to one that pretended a title to, 6. henry the eighth erected a magnificent house on the scite of the ancient one of st. bride, for the reception of charles the fifth, in 1522, and called it bridewell. the king often lodged there, and held a parliament in it in 1525. it was the residence of katherine in 1529, pending the proceedings relative to her divorce. edward the sixth gave it to the corporation of the city of london for an hospital. why a person who pretended to have a title to it should be rewarded with 20_s._ it is difficult even to guess. ----, 118, 122, 132. bridge, for a private, at york place, 20, 82, 93, 109. cavendish, in his life of wolsey, speaking of the cardinal's entertainments of henry at york house, now whitehall, says, "they thereupon looking out of the windows into thames, returned again and showed him that it seemed to them there should be some noblemen and strangers arrived at _his bridge_ as ambassadors from some foreign prince." ed. singer, v. 1, p. 151. whether it was this bridge which needham was paid for finishing in january, 1530, is uncertain, but in july following he was employed to build a _private_ bridge. briges thomas, 249. ---john, 171. broaches for, 82. broach with an amethyst, for a, 163, 262. broadheads for, 46. brockborow park, to the keeper of, 70, 162. apparently, brogborough park, near amphill, in bedfordshire. brokes master, 154, 155. brombery park, to the keepers of, in reward and to their wives for meat and drink, 238. query, if this be not intended for brogborough park. brooms brought, 159. brown john, a shooter, 65. query, a game-keeper. brown william, 227. brown ----, 115, 237. browne sir anthony, 7, 26, 46, 75, 92, 97, 148, 153. this well known favourite of henry the eighth was some years afterwards appointed master of the horse, and created a knight of the garter, and died in 1540. ---john, 201. bruges satin, doublets of, 23. ---for, 222. bryan sir francis, 9, 60, 72, 76, 83, 209, 211, 212, 216, 232, 243, _bis_, 244, 263, 274, 275, _bis_, 278. many of the entries respecting sir francis bryan, one of the brightest ornaments of henry's court, tend to confirm the idea of the intimacy between him and his sovereign. they show that he was constantly the king's companion in his amusements at shovel board, bowls, dice, primero, and other games; and on one occasion we find 50_l._ was given to his servant as "a token from the king to him," an expression which no where else occurs, and which, it would seem, was a delicate manner of making him a pecuniary present. he was the only son of sir thomas bryan, who died in 1517, and was one of henry the eighth's gentlemen of the bedchamber. bryan was the author of some sonnets which are inserted amongst those of the earl of surrey; and he is consequently noticed by dr. nott, in his elegant edition of that nobleman's productions. hall also states many curious facts respecting him, particularly of the loss of one of his eyes at a tilting match. bryan, keeper of greyhounds, 58. bryce john, 155. bucks brought, 26, 49, 55, 60, _bis_, 67, 136, 150, 194, 229, 232. ----, paid to the guard for eating a, 156. why the guard should have been paid 40_s._ for eating a buck is not easily explained. if the guard consisted of very few persons, it might have been a sort of wager. buck, to the wife, where the king shot at a tame, 171. buckhounds, the king's private, 19. ----, for canvas to cover a cart for carrying the, 154. when the king went to ampthill, it seems that his hounds were sent there also, for the purpose of hunting. ----, paid to the office of the, for killing the first buck, 157. ----, to the office of the, 161, 257. buckhunts, paid to the, 254. so little is known of the regulations of this office, that the editor acknowledges himself ignorant of the cause of these payments. buckingham, 157, 242. ----, to the keeper of the house at, 242. buckram for, 223, _bis_. buildings for the king's, 161. ----, the king's at york place, money for, 36. ----, the king's, at the more, 40, 49. ---at hounsdon, for the, 42, 60, 73, 81, 111, 136, 174, 211. ---at westminster, for the king's, 228. henry's taste for building has been often noticed, and these payments were for its gratification. bukworth ----, 229. bulkeley master, 151. bulloyne, [bologne], 54. bulstrode lady, 4, 36, 112. burdet william, 142, 263. burial, paid the expenses of william doddesworth's, 141. ----, paid by way of alms at that of davy the footman, 172. we are here presented with the expences attendant on the funeral of two menial servants; in one case it was sixteen, in the other fifteen shillings. bury, 81. business, the king's, money laid out for, by thomas alvord, 96. ----, to one sent on the king's, 252. bustards brought, 187. butter william, a keeper of windsor forest, 77, 128. buttons of gold for caps, 25, 33. butts doctor, 262. from the following passage in cavendish's life of wolsey, we learn that he was one of the king's physicians. "at christmas he [wolsey] fell sore sick that he was likely to die. wherof the king being advertised was very sorry therefore, and sent doctor buttes, his grace's physician, unto him, to see in what estate he was." cavendish then gives a conversation between henry and the doctor on the cardinal's illness. vol. i. pp. 220, 1, 2. there is also in that valuable work an engraving of a contemporary illumination, representing butts receiving tokens of favour from ann boleyn for wolsey. dr. butts is honourably commemorated by fox, as the friend of bishop latimer. see also gilpin's life of latimer, p. 42-45. butts, to a new pair of, 145, 148, 250. mounds of earth erected for the purpose of a target, against which arrows were shot for amusement. byfield, to the repairs of the bridge at, 97. byflete park in surrey, keeper of, 62, 148. query, byfield in northamptonshire. byrch ----, 253. byrde henry, yeoman of the bows, 53, 75, 107, 163, 180, 186, 248, 263, 265. cable, for an anchor, sail, &c., 262. see anchor. caffa white, for, 134. a rich stuff. "in his gallery there was set divers tables, whereupon a great number of rich stuffs of silk in whole pieces, of all colours, as velvet, satin, damask, _caffa_, taffeta, grograine, sarcenet, and of other not in my remembrance."--cavendish, vol. i. p. 182. cage, a goshawk upon the, 16. cakes brought, 52, 55, 63, 64, _sæpe_, 154, 155, 184, 228. calais, 267, _sæpe_, 269, 270, _bis_, 271, _sæpe_, 272, _sæpe_, 273, 281, 283. ----, of the money that came from, 34. ----, a soldier of, 81. ----, solicitor of the staple of, 93. "the staple of wool was fixed at calais by edward iii. in 1362.--ellis' _letters_, second series, vol. ii. p. 2."--m. ----, paid in charity on the walls of, 272. ----, paid the king's offering to the image of our lady in the wall at, 272. cambric, ells of, 84. cambridge, the vice chancellor of, 30. john watson. ----, to mr. latimer and other scholars of, 73. this item is of much interest. gilpin, in his life of latimer, says, that dr. butts, the king's physician, being sent to cambridge relative to the divorce, applied to latimer for his opinion and that of his friends upon the abstruse points in dispute, and finding them favourable to his wishes, brought latimer with him to court. it is possible that the entry in question referred to that circumstance; but it is most probable from the words of it that latimer and the other scholars were afterwards sent for, instead of accompanying butts. candish, servant of the duke of suffolk, 26, 154, 251. candisshe, 58. the gardener at wanstede. candles, paid for snuffers for, 108. candlesticks, paid for materials to make, 22. cane staff, a, brought, 104. canterbury, 266, 273, 274. canvas, for, to cover the cart with the hounds, 154, 233. capell sir giles, 6, 10, 42, 181. ancestor of the present earl of essex. he was knighted for his valour at the battle of spurs, and is said to have attended henry to calais in 1532. capon, a fat, given, 178. capons brought, 50, 181, 207, 220. caps. see night and riding. ---for, 33, 283. ---for the riding boys, 101. ----, riding described, paid for, 173. cards, money delivered to the king to play at, 113, 115. ----, money lost at, 272, 276, 278. the use of cards in england was very common long before the period here alluded to, and it is only necessary to refer those who wish for ample information, to mr. singer's interesting inquiries on the subject. the following notices had however escaped his researches, though one of them is alluded to in a letter in the appendix to his work. in the 1 edward iv. 1461, it was enacted, "that noo lord nor other personne of lower astate condicion or degree, whatsoever he be, suffer any dicyng or pleiyng at _cardes_ within his hous or elles where he may be let it, of any of his servauntes or other oute of the xij dayes of cristmasse, and yf any presume to doo the contrarie at any tyme that he avoyde hym oute of his hous and service." it is then provided that, "noon hosteler, tavener, vitailler, artificer or housholder or other use any such play or suffre to be used any such play in their houses or elleswhere upon payne of prisonement and other arbitrarie at the kynges wille."--_rot. parl._ vol. 5, p. 488. in the 3 and 4 edw. iv. 1463-4, "_cardes_ for pleiyng" were forbidden to be imported and sold in this country, "upon peyne to forfeit theym."--_ibid._ p. 507. in the 12th and 14th years of the same monarch, in a statute respecting the scarcity of bow staves it is said, "that the occupation of shotyng is thus discontynued and almost lefte, and the said yomen in defaute of such bowes, nowe usen unlawfull occupations as pleiyng at the _cardes_, dise plaiyng," &c.--_ibid._ vol. vi. p. 156. the games at which henry played appear to be primero and imperial. "specimens of the court cards of a pack of the time of henry vii. are given in strutt's _sports and pastimes_, from the originals in the possession of francis douce, esq."--m*. cardinal, a servant of the, 103. it is too generally known to require repetition, that when wolsey fell into disgrace, the king seized upon all his effect. this item informs us that the servant who brought the cardinal's chariot horses received 20_s._ ----'s goods, the expenses of a ship for bringing the, 112. this entry must refer to the expenses of bringing such part of the cardinal's effects as were either at york or winchester; but most probably the former, in which case it may be concluded that they were shipped at hull. ----, to sir william kingston for his expenses when he was sent to bring up the, 115. sir william kingston was sent by henry to bring up, or in fact to take the cardinal into custody, in november 1530, and found him at sheffield park, under the _surveillance_ of the earl of shrewsbury. the particulars of his interview and subsequent proceedings, until death released his prisoner from the fangs of his tyrannical master, on tuesday the 29th of that month, are fully related by cavendish.--_ed. singer_, vol. i. p. 302, _et seq._ kingston's expenses on that journey were, it seems, 41_l._ 10_s._ 10_d._; but which were not paid him until the ensuing march. cardinal, paid for silk, for the, 116. this entry must have referred to a transaction which took place many months before. ----'s plate and stuff, paid people for attending to the, 123. ----'s stuff for keeping the, 126. we learn from this entry that edward lloyd, a person belonging to the king's wardrobe, was entrusted with the charge of all the cardinal's goods. see also the item on the subject in p. 112, which has just been noticed. carew sir nicholas, 119, _bis_. a knight of the garter, master of the horse, and lieutenant of calais. he was, says the most elegant of living biographers, "henry's constant companion in all the splendid and romantic sports of his court, administered successfully to his pleasures, and was not without some secret share in his councils."--_lodge's illustrious portraits._ carew, however, like so many of his contemporaries, afterwards incurred the royal displeasure, and that displeasure was, in his case too, but the prelude to disgrace and death. he was arrested upon a suspicion of high treason, and beheaded on the 3rd march, 1539. he married elizabeth, the sister of sir francis bryan, who has been before mentioned in these notes, by whom he left issue. whether it was this lady or her mother-in-law, magdalen, daughter of sir robert oxenbridge, widow of sir richard carew, who is alluded to in the following entry, is not certain, but most probably the latter. ---lady, 6. carpenter, to needham, the king's, 82, 93, 109, 138. ---labour, for, 234. carpes brought, 62, 74, 100, 267. carriage the, that came from oxford, 3. what "the carriage" was which is here mentioned is unknown. carriage of deer, for the, 19. ---of nets, for the, 52. ---of boys to bury, 81. ---of the king's stuff, paid for the, 58, 159. carrier, a dog given, which was a, 251. evidently a dog which had been taught to fetch and carry. cart, paid for a, and things belonging to it, 154, 156. ---with the hounds for covering &c., for the, 233, 234. carter john, a waterman, 47, 155, 164, 169, 181, 182, 193, 197, 201, 208, 211, _ter_, 215, 247, 262, 266, 270, 277, 278, 279, _bis_, 281. carters, to the, that came from oxford, 3. cary thomas, 10, 59, 67, 81, 143, 144, 145, 226. the greater part of these entries relate to money given "in reward," but two or three of them are of shooting money, whence it may be inferred that he was "one of the shooters" or game keepers. ---john, 41. cast of lanretts brought, 141, 149. a cast of lannerets, is a couple or set of hawks.--_see lannerett, infra._ ---of falcons brought, 198. a couple of falcons. catalogue of books brought, 89. see books. cavalcant john, apparently a merchant, 144, 198. cawsham park, to the keeper of, 249. caversham park, in oxfordshire. cecill richard, groom of the robes, 4, 8, 68, 159, 168, 274. the father of william the first and celebrated lord burleigh. he was groom and afterwards yeoman of the robes, and received several grants of lands from henry the eighth. he died in may, 1552. cele, _vide_ seal. cellar, serjeant of the, 24, 32, 113, 115, 190, 216, 278. only two of these entries relate to expenses connected with this individual's official situation. the others were payments of money lost to him by the king at dice, cards, and bowls, excepting on one occasion, when money was paid him to be his majesty's partner at one of these games. it is thus manifest that he enjoyed a large share of the king's personal favour. his name has not been precisely ascertained. richard hill, whose widow remarried sir john mason, chancellor of the duchy of lancaster, was serjeant of the cellar in this reign, but in what years is uncertain. ----, the king's privy wine laid in, 182. cellaring wine, paid for, 98, 99, _bis_. chadwyke peter, embroiderer, 103. chain, for a gold, 103. ----, for a, 268. chamber, the children of the king's, 155. ----, to a groom of the, 157, 159, 204. chamberlain, lord, 5, 13, 60, 61, 152, 189, 272. chambers doctor, 194, 243. a physician. chancellor of france, 48. chape, a, for knives, paid for, 168. a chape, is explained in todd's johnson to be "the catch of any thing by which it is held in its place, as the hook of a scabbard by which it sticks in the belt; the point by which a buckle is held to the back-strap;" also, "a brass or silver tip or case that strengthens the end of the scabbard of a sword." "'chape' is sometimes applied to the hook of a scabbard, and at others to what is by heralds termed the crampet, in which case the other metallic pieces on the scabbard are called lockets. chape like chapter, seems to be derived from caput."--m*. chapel, master cole, subdean of the kings, 13, 82. ---feast, for the, 64, 242. ----, stuff for washing the, 93. the surplices, vestments, &c. ---men, to the, 149. ----, to the hermit of deptford, to repair his, 150. ----, to the dean of the king's, for the chapel feast, "the old ordinary reward," 242. chapman keeper of the garden at hamptoncourt, 63, 68, 249, 253. chariot horses, brought, 103. doctor percy in his notes on the northumberland household book conjectures that a chariot "bore no resemblance to the modern carriage of that name, nor was intended for the same use, but was simply a large waggon drawn by six or seven of the stronger kind of horses, called, on that account, 'large trotting horses.'" mr. markland, in his dissertation on carriages in england, _archæologia_, vol. xx. p. 405, coincides with the view taken of the point by bishop percy, and has cited several proofs in confirmation of it. unfortunately the entry in question throws no light on the point, for the words "the chariot horses," might be used in the modern acceptation or in that of those gentlemen, who are however borne out in their opinion by the authorities which they have adduced, and which are farther supported by the will of bartholomew lord burghersh, in 1369, who speaks of the "chariot" which shall carry his corpse to the grave. humphrey, earl of hereford, in 1861, left legacies to his "vj charetters." charity, _vide_ alms. chartesaye, _i. e._ chelsea, 77, 148, _bis_, 253. chamley master, 280. "chast greyhounds," the king's brought, 58, 174. what was meant by the king's chaste greyhounds is difficult to explain. that certain part of the greyhounds should be confined to perpetual chastity, is not a little curious, if such was the fact; but might not the word chaste have been used for "chace," _i. e._ greyhounds kept for the sole purposes of coursing, as distinguished from those which were admitted to the parlour, and to the presence of their royal master? chelsea, _vide_ chartesaye. cherries brought, 47, 56, _bis_, 57, 58, 143, 145, 148, _bis_, 225, _bis_, 228, 231, 232. cheses, lanthony brought, 220. ---brought, 4, 6, 49, 53, 89, 91, 154, 173, 237, 277. chess tables and men, 81. chest, paid for a, 138, 234. ---for the hand guns, for a, 159. cheyney john, 46. ---sir thomas, 6, 10, 238, 216, 265. the governor of rochester castle, and afterwards a knight of the garter, warden of the cinque ports, and treasurer of the household to edward the sixth. in the 12th hen. viii. he was one of the challengers against all gentlemen in feats of arms for thirty days, at the meeting of the cloth of gold, and as is evident from one of these entries, was frequently admitted to the society, and stood high in the favour of henry, who it would seem, from the next entry, stopped at his house in kent, on his road to calais, in 1532. he died in 1559. ----'s park, to the keeper of, and to his servants, 266, _bis_. chickens brought, 126, 131, 193, 207, 215, 218, 229, 230, 242, 255, 264. child, to a poor, that the king's grace healed, 150. children of the king of france. see france. ---of the privy chamber, 23, 30, 75. ----, for the board of, 28. ---of the stable, 29. ----, riding, 29. ----, the king's, 66. ----, hosen for the, 109, 122, 155, 186, 219. ---to the lawnder, that washes, 112. ----, paid to one for his expenses on his journey to provide, 140. ---of the stable, for gere, for the, 182. ----, to a poor man that had thirteen, 93. ----, to the master of the, 287, 291. from the ordinances made at eltham, for the regulation of the household, it appears, that he was the head of the "gentlemen of the chapel," and was allowed 30_l._ per annum for his wages. ----, expenses for the, 268. see boys. chippings for hounds, paid for, 7, 19, 24, 45, 49. fragments for their food. choristers of windsor, 58, 140, 214. christening of a child, paid on the, 106, 117, 136, 145. it may perhaps be inferred that on each of these occasions the king was one of the sponsors. christmas, money given against, 11, _bis_. christopher, milliner, 25, 63, 65, 76, 99, 151, 173, _bis_. citrons brought, 80. clamp nicholas, a falconer, 17, 30, 34, _ter_, 38, 42, 71, _ter_, 85, _ter_, 95, _sæpe_, 129, _ter_, 130, _ter_, 181, 192, 198, 200, 221, 280, 285, 287, 288, _ter_. all of these numerous entries were either payments of his wages or for food for the hawks. ---philip, 3, 38, 287. clayton the baker, 50. clays, a minstrel, 134. clerk of the closet, 90. ---of the kitchen, 116. ---of the beds, wardrobe of the, 183. cleyton, 115. ---samson, 209. cloak, paid for a, for lady ann, all the materials of which are minutely noticed, 222, 223. the manner in which even the most trifling article connected with this cloak is mentioned is not a little amusing. the whole expence attending it was 9_l._ 4_s._ 8_d._ clock, to the keeper of, at hampton court, 26. ----, paid for a, 16, 51, 62, 65, 91, 109, 189. ----, for mending, 58, 68, 92. ---brought, 109, 135. ----, paid to the astronomer, for mending a, 130. ----, for a, in a case of gold, 161. ----, for the expenses of keeping the, at hamptoncourt, 194. ---cases, for, 199. clockmaker, to vincent the, 93. ----, to the, 94, 245, 252. ---of westminster, to the, 58, 68, 82, 120, 197. ----, paid the french, 189. ----, to a, 215, _bis_. about the reign of henry the eighth clocks became a favourite article of luxury, and these entries shew the heavy sums which that monarch spent in the purchase of them. at the royal palaces of hampton court and westminster it seems a person was specially appointed to regulate the clocks. "we have the price of a clock at a very early period, anno 1292, _novum orologium magnum in ecclesiâ (cantuariensi) pretium_, 30_l._"--dart's cant. app. p. 3. "mr. walpole has in his possession a clock, which appears by the inscription to have been a present from henry viii. to anne boleyn. poynet, bishop of winchester, gave an astronomical clock to the same king.--buckman's _his. invent._ vol. i. p. 454."--m. closet, the king's, a gelding for, 9. ----, westby, clerk of the king's, 14, 24, 90, 174, 282. ----, to the clerk of the king's, for necessaries, for the, 90. cloths, of embroidery, 15. ---paid for, to the taylor, for sexton's coat, 25. ----, of silver, plain, a piece of, 82. ----, of gold, black and tawney, a piece of, 82. ----, of gold, for, 133, 188, 190. ----, of gold tissue, for, 198. coats, for, 38, 40, 49, 66, 81, 95, 98, 119, 126, 132, 147, 225, 240, _bis_, 277, 281. ----, for making, 39. ---of kendall, 42, 51, 139. ----, livery, for, 130, 141, 142, 152, 162, 174, 175, 181, 198, 233, 250, 251, 252, 259, 260, 279, 281, 287. cobham lord, 175. george brook, lord cobham, k.g. he succeeded to that dignity in 1529, and died in 1558. cocks, the footman, 9, 19, 126, 160, 188, 278. cofferer, master to the, 30, 228. coffer maker, to the, 217. ----, _i. e._ box, 37. ----'s, trussing, for a pair of, 49, 81. ----, two, belonging to the king, brought to westminster, 208. coffer of cypress wood, a, 184. cypress seems to have been held in much esteem for boxes from an early period. we find that john of gaunt, in 1397, speaks of "a little box of cypress wood," in his will. the following extract from "an account of church plate money, gold, and silver images," &c. delivered to henry the eighth, printed in "memoirs of the antiquities of great britain, relating to the reformation," from the original, in the bodleian library, is a curious illustration of "coffers."--"paid, william grene, the king's coffer maker for makyng of a coffer, covered with fustyan of naples and beinge full of drawe boxes lyned with red and grene sarcynet to put in stones of diverse sorts vj _li._ xviij _s._ j_d._ and to cornelys the lock smythe for making all the iron worke, that is to saye the lock, gymowes, handels, ryngs to every drawe boxe, the price xxxvj_s._ iv _d._ sum total, vij _li._ xiv _s._ v _d._" coffyn master, 193. cole mr., subdean, of the king's chapel, 82, 125, 165. colins, william, 243. collars, for the king's mastives, 186. comptroller, master, 69. confessor, to the king's, 33. coningsby john, 74. constans robert, 129. conyers lord, 12. christopher lord conyers, who succeeded his father in that dignity, in 1529, and died in 1538. coo christopher, 170. cook, to sir anthony browne's, 148. the payment of 20_s._ in reward to sir anthony brown's cook, must be considered to have arisen from his having on some occasion peculiarly gratified the king's palate. copartners. see partners. copeland, of london, a mercer, 9, 18. cords, for, 159. cordener (cordwainer), to the, 109, 126, 153, 179, 183, 197, 219. cornbury park, to the keeper of, 246. cornelius, the king's goldsmith, 23, 31, 97, 103. cornelius hays. ---of the tower, 186. costardmonger, to the, 97, 100, 109. cots, for deer, 17. though the word appears to be so written, and is therefore thus printed, there can be little doubt from the context and from other entries, that it was meant to be "oots," oats. cotton, 51. ---george, 118, 134, 137. cottons, to the three, for sets lost to them at greenwich, 143, _bis_. it does not appear in what rank of life either george or the two other cottons were, but all these entries relate to money won by them of the king at shooting. ----, paid for several yards of, 70, 159. ----, for lining the king's boat, 182. see boat. ----, paid for to truss plate, 190. cow, paid for one killed, by greyhounds, 74. the value of a cow, in 1530, seems to have been ten shillings. cowley, 207. cowpar, a falconer, 162. course, a, won of the king, 220. evidently a race won by sir james pickering against his dog, on which henry seems to have betted 2_l._ 5_s._ coyves for the king, 84. coifs; linen bought, perhaps for night caps, or to wear under his bonnet. crabs, brought, 46. crane, master william, 33, 52, 76, 83, 98, 100, 140, 227, 287, 291. cranes brought, 85, 187, 188, 300. a crane was a favourite article of food, and formed an important dish at all great dinners. crepyne, or cryspyn, john, jeweller, 4, 179, 210, 280. cromer doctor, 137. cromwell master, 101, 224, 261, 267, _ter_, 268. this individual was afterwards the celebrated earl of essex. it is well known that he was taken into henry's service on the fall of his former master, wolsey, and was knighted in the year when his name first occurs in these accounts, after which time he made rapid progress in the king's favour. these entries respecting cromwell add in no other way to what is recorded of him, than as they confirm the opinion that he was frequently employed on services which were of a secret nature. the one relating to the payment of the king's tomb will be more fully noticed elsewhere, and in june, 1532, we find him presenting henry with "sucado and marmalade;" but the most remarkable entries are of large sums paid to him "by the king's commandment," without mentioning for what purposes. indeed, on one occasion, there is a particular appearance of mystery in the disbursement. it is a payment to the king's jeweller of 46_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._, "maister cromwell knowing to what use it should be employed unto." the entries alluded to all occur in october, 1532, and the sums paid to him amounted to 826_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._, which may be supposed to have been privately expended at boulogne, in relation to the interview with the french monarch; but it must be remembered that henry is, by some writers, supposed to have married anne boleyn early in the november following; hence, it is possible that these payments were in some way connected with that event. crossbows, giles, yeoman of the, 24, 98, 180, 194. ----, groom of the, 25, 70, 180, 287. crossbow, forked heads for a, 67. "these, in the time of henry the eighth, were confined to the chase. a specimen is preserved in the collection of mr. meyrick, and which is engraved in skelton's _illustrations_. the bow of the cross bow used with this arrow was wood instead of steel. see the representation of maximilian i. in derweiss kunig." m. ----, a, brought, 83. ---maker, to the, 111, 208. crowns of the rose. coined by henry the eighth in 1526, and were current for four shillings and sixpence. ---of the sun. were french gold coins, so called from the mint mark. they were current in this country for four shillings and sixpence. cryspin john, a jeweller, 170, 210. _vide_ crepye. cucumbers brought, 72, 163, 241, 242, 250, 264. cupboards, for, with and without ambreys, 93. this entry is more particularly noticed under "ambrys," but a few words will here be said on the word "cupboard." some grounds exist for considering that it formerly meant a very different piece of furniture than a "case with shelves," as dr. johnson describes it, and as it is explained by archd. nares. the entry referred to in these accounts, it is true, appears to have been of an article resembling a modern cupboard; but it is by no means certain that such is the fact. from the following passage it would seem that the word was used for a kind of closet. speaking of lord shrewsbury having appeared before the privy council of queen elizabeth to vindicate himself from some charges brought against him, a writer of the period says, "yet, for that he did so instantly require to have their aunswere to that which he had propounded, his lordship was desired to withdrawe himselfe from the table to the _cupbord_, which he did, and so uppon some consultacion amonge the reste of their lordships then sittinge, his lordship beinge agayn called to his place, it was," &c.--_lodge's illustrations_, vol. ii. p. 298. it could scarcely have been meant that shrewsbury merely quitted the council table and went to where the cupboard was placed, at a distant part of the room. the following extract however does not support the opinion, that a cupboard was a closet; but it could not have resembled the modern piece of furniture of that name. cavendish, speaking of the chamber in which cardinal wolsey died, says "the windows being close shut, having wax lights burning _upon the cupboard_," &c. vol. i. p. 318. it is quite certain that an article called a cupboard was sometimes moveable. robert frevyll, by his will dated in 1521, gives his son john, among other articles, "a stone cobard in the hall."--_testamenta vetusta_, vol. ii. p. 575. hall thus uses the word. "the dutchmen bring over iron, tymber, lether, and weynskot ready wrought, as nayles, lockes, basketts, _cupbordes_, stools, tables, chestes, gyrdels with poyntes," &c. p. 587. in the account of the furniture of henry the eighth's palaces, in the _harleian_ ms., 1419, the word "cuppbord" frequently occurs; and the following extract supports the opinion, that it did not resemble the article now known by that name. "item, one large cuppbord carpet of grene clothe of gold, with workes lyned with bockeram, conteyning in lengthe three yards iij q'ters, and three bredthes of the same cloth of gold," f. 20. curcean nicholas, 215. curtalls (_i.e._ quintals), of brass for, 170. "cut," the king's spaniel, 43. "cutte," the king's dog, paid for finding and bringing, 108. "cutte," a lanneret, so called, 288. cutberd, the king's apothecary, 44, 124, 165, 203. cutler, paid the, 190, 272. cypress wood, a coffer of, brought, 184. see coffer. dacres lord, of the north, 206, _bis_. william, lord dacre, of gillesland, alias of the north, who succeeded to that title on the death of his father in 1525, and died in november, 1563. ---lord, of the south, 211. thomas fienes, lord dacre. he succeeded his grandfather in 1484, and died in 1534. damask crimson, ingrain, 87. ---for green, 223. damsons brought, 65, 66, 243. dancing-dog, paid to a fellow with a, 188. darcy lord, 104, 160. thomas darcy. he was summoned to parliament as lord darcy in 1509, and became a knight of the garter; but having delivered pontefract castle to the rebels under robert aske, he was arraigned on a charge of high treason, found guilty, and beheaded on the 20th june, 1538. ---sir arthur, 117, 136. second son of lord darcy just mentioned. dugdale says, that in september, 1534, he was made captain of jersey, and in the 5 ed. vi. lieutenant of the tower of london. it is singular, that in the only instances in which he is noticed in these accounts, it should be on similar occasions, the repayment of money which he had disbursed at christenings. he died in 1561, s. p. darell lady, 50, 91. dart-heads for, 251. datchet, [co. bucks,] to the feryman at, 35, 54, 146, 252. dates brought, 203. daunce sir john, 112, 113, 114. david st. money given for keeping his feast, 28, 114, 197. these were probably gifts to welshmen, to enable them to celebrate the feast of their tutelar saint. in mr. ellis's _original letters_, first series, v. i. p. 273, the following notice occurs among the expences of the household of the princess mary between 1536 and 1545, and which tends to illustrate these entries: "item, geven amongs the yeomen of the king's guard, bringing a leke to my lady's grace on saynt david's day, xv_s._"--m. davy hugh, servant to the princess mary, 148. ---little, 144. ----, with a slit nose, 64. this elegant soubriquet seems to have been used to distinguish him from hugh davy and little davy--all of whom had perhaps the same baptismal name. ---the footman, paid for his burial expenses, 172. ---the footman's wife, to, 176. a gratuity given to the widow of the servant whose burial expenses are just mentioned. dawson thomas, 108. ---marshall of the king's hall, 191, 243. dean sub, of the king's chapel, to the, 46, 64, 149. deboyen baron, in ireland, 136. it is difficult to say who was the individual referred to. the only name at all resembling it in the irish peerage, about the period, is dunboyne; but that title was not conferred until 1537, six years after the date in question, when sir edmund butler was so created. deer gelded, a, brought, 13. ---"quick," brought, 16. deer with young. ----, for taking and removing, 19. ---red, brought, 100, 184. ----, a tame, brought, 149. ---in greenwich park, paid for oats and hay for the, 17, 86, 213. delving for, 39, 50. see diggers. denmark, to the king of denmark's secretary, 142. denny sir thomas, 77. depeche, i. e. dispatch, to pay, 44. deptford, 31. deptford, the smith of, 40. ----, to the hermit of, 150, _bis_. derby earl of, 168, 256. edward stanley, third earl of derby, to which title he succeeded in 1521, and died in 1574. the first entry is of 3_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._ paid at the christening of his lordship's son on the 4th october, 1531. the earl had issue four sons, but as the date of their births does not occur in the peerages, it is impossible to say to which this item referred. desk a, garnished with laten and gold, 123. dessefort anthony, a brush merchant, 243. dials for, 65, 91. dice, money given to the king to play at, and money lost by him at, 20, 32, 243, _bis_, 246, 248, 267, 268, 270, 271, 278. dice has been a favourite amusement in this country for many centuries, and mr. singer, in his interesting volume on playing cards, gives many curious particulars on the subject. under the word "cards" _ante_, extracts from the statutes restricting the use of them in the reign of edward iv. have been inserted, to which the following from the rolls of parliament, of the 2 hen. iv. 1410, may be an acceptable addition. the commons prayed that servants and labourers who offended against the statute prohibiting them to play at "coites, _dys_, gettre de peer, kayles, and autres tieux jeues," should be enforced; to the enactments in which that parliament added a punishment of six days, whilst such mayors as neglected to enforce it were to be fined 20_s._ and constables 6_s._ 8_d._--vol. iii. p. 643. in the 17 ed. iv. 1477, a statute was enacted prohibiting "newe ymagined pleys called closshe, keyles, half bowle, handyn and handowte, and queke borde," it was recited that "the lawes of the lond" forbad "any unlawful plays, as _dise_, coyte, fote ball, and such like plays, but that every person myghty and able in bodie should use his bowe by cause that the defense of this lond stondeth much by archers." diet [food] of geldings, for the, 107, 114. ---for little guilliam's, 114. dieting of hawks, for the, 290. ---of horses, for the, 32. diggers, paid to, 207. disport, to "disport," i. e. for pocket money, 98, _bis._ ditch and hedge, for making a, at greenwich park near the lodge, 194. dobinson john, 91, 129, 175, 204, 216, 247, 279. a person attached to the stable, probably a groom. dodisworth walter, 160, 162, 165, 167, 171, 176, 180, 181, 187, 194, 197, 205, 210, 215, 222, 226, 229, 236, 241, 244, 246, 251, 265, 275, 281, 282. a huntsman. ---william, his funeral expenses paid, 141. does brought, 7, 42, 92, _bis_, 94, 107. dogs called "cut" and "ball," for finding, 43, 108. ---brought, 13, 156. ----, paid to a person for making dogs draw water, 67. this is the second entry relative to dogs being taught to perform certain tricks, for a dog has been before spoken of "that was a carrier." ----, collars and muzzles for, 186. dog-chain, for a, 94. ----, a race run against a, 220. dome man, _i. e._ dumb man to the, 108, 176. domingo, 17, 32, 33, 37, 190, 204, 205, 267, 270. this individual is thus noticed by skelton: ----al his trust hanges in balthosor, which healed _domingo's_ nose, that was wheled: that lumberdes nose mean i that standeth yet awry, it was not healed alderbest. it standeth somwhat on the west, i meane _domingo lomelyn_ that was wonte to win muche money of the kyng at the cardes and haserding. balthasor that healed _domingo's_ _n_ose from the puskilde pocky pose, &c. skelton's poems, "why come ye not to court," ed. 1736, p. 175. the above extract presents us with the surname of domingo, states that he was a lombard, and had been under the professional care of dr. balthazar. most of the entries in which he is mentioned relate to payments of money that he had won from the king at cards and dice, and which in less than three years amounted to above 620_l._ as the circumstance is alluded to by skelton, the accuracy of that part, at least, of his account of domingo is established. he was, like palmer and others, one of henry's "diverting vagabonds," and seems to have accompanied his majesty wherever he went, for we find that he was with him at calais in october, 1532. dompue, to one who rode two horses at once, 218. this word does not occur in any of the usual glossaries of dictionaries. in the absence of any thing positive as to its meaning, a conjecture may be hazarded, and if erroneous perhaps forgiven. "domter un cheval" is to break in a horse. might not then a _dompue_ or _dompne_, for it is doubtful in which way the word is spelt, mean a horse breaker, and which would fully agree with the sense in which it is here used? donne sir edward, 67. dorset marchioness of, 149. probably margaret, widow of thomas grey, marquess of dorset, k.g. who died in 1530. doublets for, 3, 11, 23, _bis_, 39, 51, 54, 87, 98, 119, 136, 199, 277, 281, _bis_. douglas master, 163. douglas lady margaret, 98, 183, 281. the king's niece. see angus. "dove," to the wife of the, 72, 97. to the woman who kept an inn with the sign of the dove. both these entries are to the same purpose, of money paid for linen cloth for anne boleyn, and which amounted to 23_l._ between september and december, 1530. dover, paid into the king's hand for his offering to our lady of the rock of, 273. ----, 273, _sæpe_. ---prior of, 223. ---castle, paid for carrying the king's stuff to, 274. all these entries relate to money expended at dover, when henry landed there on his return from france in november, 1532. draper ----, 129. ----, to the, for table cloths, 264. dressing" the king's boat and "barge, 7, 11, 96, 155, 181, 281. see boat. drinking money, paid the king's watermen for, 174. drombeslade, to christopher and his fellowe, 250. ----, to two, 214. a dromslade is explained by dr. burney to be a species of drum:--"and there they weere set forthe be five in a ray with standards born a fore them and _drounslats_ playing afore them alle the way."--fragment of a chronicle, temp. hen. viii. _cotton._ mss. vespasianus, a. xxxv. droyt john, a minstrell, 28. drulardy, a frenchman, 65. dumb man, to a, 108, 176. durisme, [durham,] bishop, of 46. cuthbert tunstall, who was translated to durham from london in march, 1530. he was deprived in 1552, restored in 1553, again deprived in 1559, and died in november, in the same year, aged eighty-five. durisme, i.e. durham house, 217. dyatter, i.e. dieter of the king's geldings, 29. dyngley doctor, 8, 90. dyso john, 122, _bis_. one of the king's watermen. dyrick's wife, 207. easter, paid against, 121. edgcombe sir piers, 153. ancestor of the present earl of mount edgcombe. he was made a knight of the bath at the creation of prince arthur in 1489, and a knight banneret at therouenne, and died on the 14th august, 1539. the entry relating to him is of 7_l._ 14_s._ paid to his servants for bringing two prisoners from cornwall to london. a similar payment was made to him in 1491, "item, to the servants of piers edgecombe that brought unto us two prisoners, fyve marks." ellis's _original letters_, 2nd series, vol. i. p. 173. edmond, keeper of greenwich park, 60. ----, a footman, 67. ----, 164. edward, the gardener, 145. elderton sir ralph, 106. ---humphrey, a falconer, 225. eltham, 218, _bis_, 220, _bis_, 221, 223, 224, _sæpe_, 225, 226, 227, 229, 275. ----, for repairs of the king's house at, 229. ---park, 220. ----, to the keepers of, 94, 230, 258, 265. elton robert, a waterman, 263, 288. elys henry, a falconer, 8, 23, 87, 98, 119, 136, 286. ---john, master of the king's mine in wales, 69. see mine. elys richard, a falconer, 38, 233. ---the elder, 39. ----, young, 39. embroidery, clothes of, 15. embroiderer, to the king's, 103, 124, 128, 280. emerald, paid for an, 6. emperor, embassy to the, 19. lord herbert says, on the "8th december, 1529, he (the king) writ letters with his own hand to the bishop of worcester and sir gregory casilis, then with the pope, to tell them that he had sent sir thomas bolen, newly created earl of wiltshire and ormond, with john stokesley, elect bishop of london, and edward lee, as his ambassadors to the emperor," on the subject of the divorce. the payment of the money for their expences was not however made until the 24th january following. we here learn that it amounted to 743_l._ 8_s._ emyson, sexton's servant, 11, 94, 120, 138, 193. enfield chase, the rangers and keeper of, 74. erasmus an armourer, 22, 44, 62, 105. erbes. vide herbs. esthampstede, 66, 152, 153, _sæpe_. ---park, to the keeper of, 65, 153. eton, to poor women of, 36. ----, the provost of, 52, 55, 58, 63, 64. each of these entries excepting one, are of payments to the servant of the provost for bringing cakes to the king, for the making of which we may infer that his servant was celebrated. evans john, a falconer, 37, 38, 51, _ter_, 78, _bis_, 110, 116, 133, _bis_, 140, _bis_, 141, 144, 171, 185, 212, 227, _bis_, 259, 278, 286, 287, 291. all these entries were of payments for his wages, board wages, or for food for the hawks in his custody. evans thomas, 187. everingham john, a waterman, 48, 108. evesham, abbot of, 116. ewelm, to the keeper of, in oxfordshire, 154. ewry, one of the, 20. ewstace, a jeweller, 15. exeter, bishop of, 213. john voysey, dean of windsor. he was appointed to that see in august 1519, and resigned it in 1551. exeter, marquess of, 61, 62, _bis_, 149, 152. henry courtenay, eleventh earl of devon, who was elevated to the marquisate of exeter in 1525. this distinguished nobleman was the son of william, earl of devon, by katherine, youngest daughter of king edward the fourth, and was consequently first cousin to henry, a relationship which placed him much too near to the crown to be compatible with his safety; and, in 1538, he was suspected of high treason. suspicion was then equivalent to guilt, and the marquess was beheaded on tower hill, on the 9th of january 1539. "of all victims of the jealous tyrant," the elegant gibbon justly remarks, "the marquess of exeter is one of the most noble and guiltless." the entries in these accounts throw no light upon his character, nor are they of much interest, for they consist merely of rewards to his servants, or bringing presents of hounds to the king. exhibition of scholars at oxford, for the, 125. ---of scholars, 90, 125, 231. for some remarks on this subject, see under scholars, infra. eyred, for bringing a hawk that was, 60. "to eyre," in falconry, is to build or rather to brood; hence we must infer that this entry related to a hawk that had been hatched at elmley. falcons, for taking up, 20, 24, 187. ----, paid for, 9, 10, 92. these items afford much information on the value of falcons at the period. two falcons and a goshawk cost 3_l._ five falcons and a tarsell were worth 8_l._ and five falcons 7_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._; so that the value of a tarsell was about 13_s._ 4_d._ ---brought, 87, 184, 198. falconer, paid to a, 129. ---to, for their coats, 142. ----, and hawks given by the king of france, for the expences of the, 275, 279. falcons and hawks appear to have been the most frequent, as well as most valued presents, from one prince to another. these accounts present two instances of the kind, the one of the payment of 23_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._ to the bearer of a cast of falcons from the duke of ferrara, and the other of a gift of several to henry, from francis the first, at calais. upon that occasion falconers seem also to have been transferred to henry's service; for we find a payment of 2_l._ 2_s._ 8_d._ for their exences, (p. 275) whilst some idea may be formed of the number of birds given to henry from the item of 2_l._ 18_s._ 10_d._ for the expences of them for one month only. "the best falconers were flemings, and even those who have attended hawks in england, until a late period, were procured from a particular district of flanders."--m. farm at greenwich purchased for lady ann rochford, 113. this entry is more fully noticed at the commencement of the volume, when speaking of anne boleyn, to whom it related. farnham, to the keeper of the place of, 151. ---park, to the keepers of, fees of the yeomen of the bows and of the leshe, 75, 163. felon, paid for bringing up a, 46. the only thing remarkable in this entry is, that such payments should be made out of the king's privy purse, or if that was the source of such disbursements that there should be so very few entries of the kind in as many years.--see prisoner and traitor. feneux lord, to the keeper of his house, 273. it is almost certain from this item that henry lodged at lord feneux's house when at canterbury. from the title of "lord" being applied to him, it would appear that it was the house of sir john feneux, who was lord chief justice of england from 1496 to 1526. fenwolf morgan, jeweller, 7, 8. "probably a welshman; his name would be written phenwolf, i. e. wolf's-head."--m. ferman george, of waltham, 74. ferrara duke of, 198. ferrers lord, 62, 64, 86, 144, 145, 232, 240. walter devereux, seventh lord ferrers of chartley, k.g. he succeeded his father in that dignity about 1497; in february 1550 he was raised to the dignity of viscount hereford, and died in 1558. all the entries respecting this nobleman refer to presents of dogs, &c. sent to the king, excepting one, when his servant had seized and brought up a traitor. ferror a, [query, a farrier,] 142. ferry-man's wife at greenwich, to the, 13, 114, 263. ferrymen, 35, 54, 76, 83, 146, 147, 252, 255. ferrying paid for, 60. ---the king's horses for, 203. fewater of the closet, to, 138. figs brought, 109. ---of portugal brought, 169. filberts brought, 66, 242, _bis_, 243, 250. fire pans, "going upon wheels" for two, 138. vessels for conveying fire from one apartment to another. "pannes to make fyre in: item, twoo rounde pannes of iron made six-square grate wise being uppon wheales to make fyre in."--_account of the furniture in henry viii.'s palaces_, _harl. mss._ 1419. a. f. 30. fish, paid for watching a pond with, 72. ----, to men who helped to, 98, 172. ---brought, 150. ----, expences of the watermen for attending at hunting the, at greenwich, 219. fished, to men that fished before the king, 29. fishing for, 68. it has been already remarked under "angling," that henry seems to have been fond of fishing, but those notices perhaps refer to drawing nets. fitzwater john, 194. fletcher the, 24, 40, 50, 53, 55, 125, 146, 180, 265, 280. ---the french, 67, 188, 203, 234, 239. ---to a, 104. flode ----, 132. florence ----, 212. floure ----, 248. flowers brought, 178. floyd ----, 167. fool, the king's, 11, 86. ----, paid for making gere for the king's, 205. ----, paid the expences for food of the king's, 247. ---the, paid for his lodging and expences at calais, 271. ----'s expences, paid the, at canterbury, 274. the subject of "fools" has been so ably discussed by mr. douce in his _illustrations of shakespeare_, that it is unnecessary to say more on it here than what the entries in these accounts suggest. the only names of henry's fools which have reached us are, william somers, sexton, and williams. sexton is however the only one of them who is mentioned in these pages, unless the others were described under the names of "great and little guilliam of the privy chamber," of whom there are numerous entries, though the honourable addition of "the king's fool," never once occurs to their names. those to whom that appellation is given are "patch and sexton," and the manner in which they are spoken of is strongly corroborative of mr. douce's opinion, that "patch" was another designation for "a fool." in one page (86,) we find "patch the king's fool" and sexton both noticed. but this by no means contradicts the idea that they were names for the same individual. sexton, mr. douce says, was presented to henry by cardinal wolsey, and the anecdote related by cavendish of his having given another fool, who, it has been observed, was called williams, to the king after his disgrace, and the poor wretch's attachment to his master is well known. it is manifest from these accounts that the fool had a man to wait upon him; for we find john emyson frequently noticed as "the man that waits or attends upon sexton," "the keeper of the king's fool," "sexton's man," and in others, "sexton's servant." all payments for the fool's food, travelling expences, &c., for it seems he accompanied henry wherever he went, were made to his servant or keeper, whose wages were ij_d._ a day, (p. 45,) or about 3_l._ per annum (p. 193,) and he was allowed, like the falconers and huntsmen, 22_s._ 6_d._ for his livery. emyson appears however either to have died or to have been dismissed from his occupation before august 1532, for in that month, as well as in the october following, green is described to have been sexton's servant, but skynner evidently attended him on his journey to calais with henry, in november in that year, and who is also mentioned as waiting upon him as early as september 1530, though emyson was his keeper in december, 1529. it is remarkable that every entry relating to the fool should be for his clothes, food, or other personal expences, and that he should never once have received a gratuity or "reward," of which there are so many examples to others. it has been conjectured that the witty sallies of these degraded creatures were frequently rewarded by handsome presents, but no proof of the fact in relation to sexton occurs. besides emyson we find "thomas the jester" sometimes mentioned, who seems to have been more fortunate than "the fool," for he received 20_s._ on one occasion, and 22_s._ 6_d._ on another, "in reward;" whilst henry gave the french king's jester at calais the large sum of 9_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._ on the day the king of navarre, the cardinal of lorrain, &c. dined with him. according to the ordinances of the royal household made at eltham, in the 17th henry viii. the king's fool was allowed one hackney. footmen paid to the, 25, 254. footman, to one that "sued to be" a, 155. ford william, keeper of the king's mastives, 7, 186. forde ----, 269, 282. forfeited horses paid for, 268. this singular entry must be left to the reader's superior sagacity. it clearly refers in some way to the "riding boys," or as they are there called, "children of the stable," but its meaning has escaped the editor's research. forked heads for the king's cross-bow, 67. "see a former remark. they were for the arrows shot from the cross-bow".--m. forms, tables, &c. for, 220. foster master, 214. fowl, paid for keeping the, in the garden at greenwich, 206. fowler, 115. ---james, keeper of the manor of greenwich, 78, 127. ---john, 209. fox, master edward, 73. the king's almoner, and provost of cambridge in 1532. he was elected bishop of landaff in 1535, and died in may 1538. fox a, brought, 80. france king of, notices about his children, 59, _bis_. francis the first, king of france, his wife and children, were taken prisoners by the emperor at the siege of pavia in 1525. the queen and the children remained in his hands until 1529, when it was agreed by the treaty of cambray that they should be delivered to francis on the payment of two millions of crowns. the money was soon raised, and hall gives us a circumstantial account of the execution of the treaty, from which it appears that the spanish commissioners met the great master of france at bayonne, in march 1530, but the former objected to part of the coin on account of the weight, and therefore removed the children from fountroby into spain. the affair being thus delayed from march until june, henry sent sir francis bryan to pledge himself as security for the payment, and on the 1st of july queen eleanor and the children were placed in the great master's hands. in july, hall adds, "fyers were made in london and divers other places for the same consideracion and cause;" and it is worthy of remark, as a curious example of the change in the national policy, that precisely the same rejoicings took place when they fell into the emperor's power after the battle of pavia a few years before. _hall_, pp. 693, 772. from these accounts we learn that news of the event reached london on the 8th of july, 1530, by a frenchman dispatched from the great master, and that on the 9th another messenger, probably from sir francis bryan, arrived with similar information. each of them received the same sum for their journey, namely, 23_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._ ---king of, sent a brace of greyhounds as a present, 223. -------, sent hawks to the king, 270. ---queen of, 248. ----, to the king of france's singers and jester, 268, 269. francis the jeweller, 155. francis, george, the king's scholar at st. pauls, for his expences, 171, 186, 205, 231. francis, nicholas, 259, 280. also a scholar at st. paul's school. frantic man, to the, 243. fraternity of jesus, to the, 46. freedom of london, money given to a woman to obtain her husband's and her own, 219. freeman john, a jeweller or silversmith, 105, 188. french ambassador, 106. ---priest, to the, the pheasant breeder, 280. ---falconer, a gelding bought for the, 282. frenchman, paid to a, 169. friars, to, 41, 46, 71, 150, 175. friar andrew, an italian, 93, 144. frieze, coats of, 87. "the materials of which the clothes of persons of rank were composed about this time consisted of velvet, satin, sarcenet, gold lace, and fur."--see whitaker's _craven_, 325. from the well known lines written on the marriage of charles brandon with the queen dowager of france, to mary: cloth of gold do not despise, to match thyself to cloth of _frise_. to charles: cloth of _frise_ be not too bold, though, thou art match to cloth of gold. "we might presume that frieze rarely formed the dress of persons of rank, but jamieson in voce (supplement) quotes from an inventory of 1539, 'ane goone of _freis_ claith of gold.' in the following century frieze was more generally adopted. fuller speaks of it as a coarse kind of cloth, manufactured in wales, 'then which none warmer to be worn in winter, and the finest sort thereof very fashionable and gentile. prince henry had a frieze sute out of it,' &c. he adds, 'it will daily grow more into use, especially since the gentry of the land, being generally much impoverished, abate much of their gallantry.' _worthies_, 553."--m. fruit brought, 15, 66, 97. furs, for furring lady ann boleyn's gowns, 101. ---for, 261, 269. see _minsheu_ in voce "furre," notes to way's _fabliaux_, and _testamenta vetusta_, for notices of furred garments. numerous legislative enactments were made from the reign of edward iii. confining the use of fur to people of rank. see _rolls of parliament_, vol. ii. pp. 278, 279, 281, 282. vol. iii. p. 63, vol. v. p. 505, vol. vi. 221. fustian, doublets of, 23, 51, 54, 87. fynchhampstede, 65. fyney, bailiwick of, 65. fytton, ----, 256. galiake, white wine of, 24. gaillac, a town in the department of tarn in languedoc, celebrated for its wines. three tons then cost 16_l._ 4_s._ see wines. galien, the glasier, 111. gallipots, 58. gambling, see play, ----, 14, 15, 17, 18, 20, 22, 32, _bis_, 33, 36, 37, 50, 76, _bis_, 94, 98, 101, 113, 115, 118, 120, 131, 134, 143, 144, 159, 162, 163, 186, 188, 189, 190, 195, 204, 205, 209, 210, 211, 212, 216, 220, 226, 227, 229, 237, 243, _bis_, 246, 248, 250, 265, 267, 268, _bis_, 270, 271, 272, _bis_, 273, 274, 275, _bis_, 276, _bis_, 277, 278, _bis_, 283. every entry relating to money lost at any kind of game is referred to under this head, in order that there might be one complete reference on the subject. as they are fully noticed at the commencement of the volume, any remarks here would be superfluous. gammage, sir william, 100, 184. garard or garet, henry, shoe-maker, 30, 75, 103. -------, the falconer, 28, 95, 187, 203. garden at greenwich, for keeping the, in order, 50. ----, paid for trimming the, 177. garett's wife, paid to, 206. garney master, 214. garnish, buttons to garnish caps, 25, 33. "these buttons were placed on the under side of the rim of the cap. see the portraits of the period."--m. garnishing and a desk, paid for, 123, _bis_. ---books, paid for, 214, 123, _bis_. the word is thus used by skelton. speaking of a book he says, "to beholde, howe it was _garnished_ and bound encovered over with gold of tissue fine. the claspes and bullions were worth a m pound," p. 46. see book. ---of two bonnets, &c. paid for, 268. the four last references are inserted to show the different ways in which the word "garnish" was used. gathered for a church, to women that, 36, 257. collections for some pious purpose. geese, green, brought, 41, 99. ---brought, 181, 187. gelded deer, a, 13. geldings, for, 12, 119, 282. ----, the boys of the running, 259, 263, 276. ----, for the diet of the, 107, 114. gelding, paid for a, for the king's closet, 9. ---brought, 26, 44, 104, 149, 224, _bis_. ----, stalking, meat for a white, 132. gentleman of italy, to a, 150. george, st. to a poor woman that begged in the name of, 150. gere, paid for, for the children of the stable, 182. gere for sexton the fool, for, 205, 215. ----, for making, 270. as in three out of the four instances in which this word is used it evidently referred to fantastic dresses or the appendages to them, it may be inferred that the children of the stable were ludicrously habited, and which is the more probable if the conjecture which has been hazarded be correct, that they were employed in riding racing horses. _gere_ was, however, sometimes used for the ornamental parts of dress, for louis xii. king of france, is described in a letter from the earl of worcester in 1514, as "devysing new collers and goodly _gere_ for" the queen his bride.--ellis's _original letters_, second series, vol. i. p. 236. mr. markland observes "this word, _per se_, meant clothing simply. from the days of spenser to those of swift, when magnificence or ornament is implied, the word is accompanied with some epithet; thus 'gorgeous gear' in the former, and 'glittering birth-day gear' in the latter. see _masking_." shakspeare, however, uses the word in the sense which it is supposed to be employed in the text: "let us complain to them what fools were here disguis'd like muscovites, in shapeless _gear_." _love's labour lost_, a. 5. sc. 2. chaucer uses _gere_ for articles of any kind, but in one instance he applies it to articles of dress: "and for that nothing of her olde _gere_ she shulde bring into his hous, he bad that woman should despoilen her right there of which these ladies weren nothing glad to handle hire clothes wherin she was clad." _the clerkes tale_, _l._ 8248. gibson richard, 77, 250, 270. gifford, master george, 120. gilding, paid for, 97, 123. giles, the groom of the crossbows, 25, 70. girdles, leather, paid for, for knives, 161, 168. ---to a, for a wood-knife, 173, _bis_. girdles, for a, 81, 208. ----, for a chain made for a, 268. these girdles were undoubtedly a splendid part of dress, and were in some cases proportionably expensive. several notices of girdles occur on the _rolls of parliament_, and in the _testamenta vetusta_. among the expenses of peter martyr in 1547 was, "for riband for a gyrdel 1_s._ 2_d._" _archæologia_, vol. xxi. p. 472. glamorganshire, 69. glasier, paid to the, 111. glass, paid for a, 10, 15, 51. glasses brought to the king, 18, 142. it is difficult to say whether these entries referred to looking or drinking glasses. see looking-glasses. ---of rose water brought, 63. ----, a steel, 81. a mirror of polished steel. ---with orange water, brought, 166. ---with waters brought, 5. glastonbury, abbot of, 146, 224, 225. gloucester, abbot of, 28, 43, 106, 112, 188. glove, hawk's, 83. ----, shooting, for a, 46. gloves, paid for, 138, 146, 208. ---spanish, for, 267. by the parliament which met in the 3 and 4 edw. iv. 1463-4, gloves were forbidden to be imported, _rot. parl._ vol. v. p. 507, and which is the only notice of them in those records. in the bill of the expenses of ochin and martyr in 1547, gloves are frequently mentioned; for "a hatt and _glovys_ for bernardinus at basell, 9_s._ 3_d._" "for a pair of furryd _glovys_ for p. marter, 13_s._" and at london, "for two payer of glovys for them, 15_s._"--_archæologia_, v. xxi. p. 472. glover thomas, 47. godsalve, clerk of the signet, 59, 106. gold, the hosier, 3, 23, 54, 133. ---edges of, paid for, 76. goldsmith's work paid for, 155. goldsmith, the king's paid, 192, 236, 267. ----, to cornelius the, 262. gonson william, 148, 232. good friday, alms on, 40. good ----, of windsor, 52. goodryke, doctor, 8. goshawk, paid for a, 9. ----, for a, upon the cage, 16. ---a, brought, 60, 62, 237. ---to the keepers of the king's, 56, 80, 118, 162, 183. gough john, 144. gown, for a, 115. ----, to a priest to buy himself a, 280. grafton, works at, 160. ----, 159, 160, _bis_, 161, 238, 239, 240, 241, 248. ---park, to the keeper of, 160, 241. grane john de, a jeweller, 271. grapes brought, 168, 174, 254, 264, 267. ----, &c. brought to the marchioness of pembroke, 267. grass, paid for taking the king's horses to, 142. graunt francis, 72. great seal, vide seal, 148. ---master of the french king's children, to the, [anne de montmorency,] 59. see france. "grece time," for attendance on the king during the last, 186. thus also used by cavendish: "my lord continued at southwell until the latter end of _grease-time_," p. 255. probably grass-time, as both these notices refer to about the middle of june. we find in these accounts an entry of "taking the king's horses to _grysse_," for grass. grene william, 107, 182. grene, ----, 247, 265. greenwich, 13, 14, 16, 17, 18, 20, 23, 33, 39, 47, 50, 53, 54, 60, 78, 79, 84, 86, 87, 88, 93, 94, _bis_, 96, 103, 110, _bis_, 113, 114, 122, 127, _sæpe_, 128, _bis_, 132, 134, 135, 139, 175, 179, 190, 192, 195, 205, 210, 211, 213, 215, 219, 224, _sæpe_, 228, 256, 275, 276, _bis_, 278, 280, 281, 283, _bis_. ----, paid to poor people of, who were expelled at the time of the plague, 79, 104, 125, 129, 173, 182, 207, 262. see banished. ----, for the expenses of the house at, 127. ----, the bailiff of, 263. ----, to the bailiff of, for people banished that town, 173. ----, paid for trimming the garden at, 177. ----, to the daughter of the gardener of, 193. ----, walsh, the gardener of, 165, 207, 213, 218, 225, 231, _bis_, 242, 250, 263. ----, paid for keeping the garden and house there clean, 206. ----, paid for thorns and labourers for, 205. ---park, to the keeper 17, 176, 189, 194, 230, _bis_. ----, to the wife of the keeper of, 127. ----, for necessaries for, 217. ----, paid to the keeper of, for mowing the brakes, 265. see brakes. gresham richard, mercer of london, 7, 116, 261. father of the celebrated sir thomas gresham, the founder of the royal exchange, and, whom mr. lodge happily terms, "the great patriarch of commerce and of commercial finance." this richard gresham was a mercer in london, and, according to the same elegant writer, was "agent for the crown with the trading interest, or, as it was called, king's merchant, an office of the highest importance and trust, inasmuch as it united the duty of raising money for the royal occasions by private loans, with that of protecting and cherishing the sources from which they were derived." he was knighted, and became mayor of london in 1537, and died in 1548. see also ward's _gresham professors_. greyhounds brought to the king, 19, 65, 70, 148, 161, 223, 236, 242, 245, 247, 256, 257, 275. greyhounds, chaste, 58, 174. see chaste. ----, to ten men that rowed in the, 127. ----, for waiting with the, 228. a boat so named. griffiths ----, 165. grisling william, mercer, 74, 117. groom porter, the, 120. grooms, paid to two, 137. grysse, [_i. e._ grass,] the king's horse sent to, 263. guard, to the yeomen of the king's, 114. a list of the yeomen of the guard in the 17 hen. viii. will be found in the _ordinances for the royal household_ made in that year. ----, one of the, sent to fetch a hawk, 115. ----, to one of the, on his marriage, 131, 218. ----, to one of the, for shooting, 135. "they were originally archers." --m. ----, to one of the, 151, 197, 223, 269. guard, paid to the, for eating a, buck, 156. see buck. guilford, 62, 63, _sæpe_. ----, to the friars of, 150. ---park, to the keepers of, 150. ---sir edward, 87, 99, 184, 276, 279. apparently the father-in-law of john, afterwards duke of northumberland. he was marshal of calais, lord warden of the cinque ports, and master of the ordnance, and married eleanor, sister and co-heiress of thomas west, lord de la warr, and who was probably the lady referred to in the next article. ---lady, 103, 184. guilliam, the crosbow maker, 19. ----, 25. ----'s richard ap, 40, 108. ---the king's fletcher, 40. ----'s, the two, 11, 14, 17, 18, 38, _bis_, 44, 53, _bis_, 61, 73, 75, 78, 84, 86, 98, 121, 126, 138, 139, 153, 164, 165, 170, 173, 175, 183, 187, 197, _bis_, 200, 206, 219, _bis_, 233, 234, 259, 261, 264, 281. ----, little, of the private chamber, 100, 110, 114. ----, little, to, because he was sick, 94. ----, little, to a surgeon for curing, 128. ----, grand, of the privy chamber, 114, 130, 141, 210, 245. of these two individuals little, or rather nothing is known, beyond the fact established by these accounts, namely, that they were entirely supported at the king's expence; hence it may be inferred that they were favourite servants, or "diverting vagabonds," to the king, perhaps a character a shade more respectable than his jester and fool. see, however some conjectures about the two guilliams under fool, _ante_. gun, a hand, brought, 104. "the name of _hand gun_ succeeded to that of hand-cannon, and when the lock was added, was superseded by that of arquebus." see specimens of each kind in skelton's _"illustrations of arms and armour."_ m. ----, for trimming the king's, 194. gunner's wife, of the tower, 105. ----, to a, to buy a horse, 180. ----, to a, 233. guylde, [i. e. gild,] to, 97. gyngell's kind, [i. e. gingell's breed] whelps, of, brought, 244. guyse, monsieur, 268. hadstone henry, 207. hall mr., 39. hall richard, 91, 129, 175, 204, 216, 247, 279. apparently a groom. ----, the treasurer's servant, 149. ----, marshall of the king's, 243. hampton court, 22, 25, 27, 43, 53, 55, 56, _bis_, 57, 58, _bis_, 60, _sæpe_, 65, _bis_, 66, 67, 68, _bis_, 75, 77, 79, 80, _bis_, 83, _sæpe_, 89, _ter_, 91, _bis_, 92, _sæpe_, 93, _sæpe_, 101, 139, 140, _bis_, 141, _sæpe_, 142, 144, 145, 147, _sæpe_, 177, 178, 180, 189, 254, _sæpe_, 255, _sæpe_. ----, the ferryman at, 147. ----, gardener of, 26, 75, 176, 221, 225, 255, 264. ---park, to the keeper of the, 26, 68, 75, 229, 255. hand guns, paid for a chest for the, 159. see gun. handkerchiefs for, 104. hannibal ----, 197. hans, the falconer, 51. hanslop park, to the keeper of, 160, 240. harcourt sir simon, 248. ancestor of the present earl harcourt. he distinguished himself at the sieges of therouenne and tournay, was knighted at the battle of spurs, and died on the 16th january, 1547. collins's _peerage_. ed. 1779. vol. v. p. 268. hardwareman, to the king's, 24, 31, 73, 81, 94, 218, 234, 267. many of the articles which the "hardwareman" sold prove that the trade to which the word is now applied, differs materially from what it was at the period in question. hare, paid for finding a, 157. harington ----, a groom, 216, 247. harness, [_i. e._ armour "from the celtic word haern." m*] expences of bringing from bologne, 54. ---paid to the armourer for keeping clean the king's, 155, 196. harper, paid to a blind woman being a, 168. harriers, to the, 247. ----, to the office of the, 77, 164. harris hugh, a falconer, 38, _bis_, 116, _bis_, 135, 142, 145, 185, 225, _bis_, 226, 259, 278, 284, _bis_, 287, 288, 290. hart peter, 78. hart sir, percival, 136, 145. one of the sewers of the king's chamber. hart hounds, to the office of the, 153, 255. hartford, 71, 72. ---park, keeper of, 71. hartwell park, to the keeper of, 161, 240. harvy master, 162. harvy sir nicholas, to the nurse and midwife of his child, 197. ancestor of the marquess of bristol. he was gentleman of the privy chamber to the king, and one of his favorites. sir nicholas was thrice married and had issue by each wife; but it does not appear which child was honored by having the king for one of its sponsors. hasilbone, to the keeper of, 161. hasilrigg robert, 92. hastings and rye, for a plat of, 91. as every entry relating to the fine arts is of peculiar interest, this is deserving attention; though from the word "plat" it would appear, that it was a plan rather than a painting. the sum paid for it to vincent, the king's painter, was 3_l._ 10_s._ see plat. hat, paid for a, 60, 268. havering, 170. ---park, to the keeper of, 170. hawe christopher, 208. see hawte. hawks, the king's, 15. ---brought, 47, 49, 51, 54, 62, 105, 145, 146, _ter_, 151, 162, 210, 231. ---a, that was eyred, 60. see eyred. ---a, found, 70, 110. ----'s glove, 83. ----, paid for fetching a, 115. ----, paid for "lying out to take," 157. ----'s hoods and hawk's gloves for, 159. ----, meat for, 3, 5, 25, 28, 30, 31, 34, 38, 42, 51, _bis_, 52, 71, 78, 85, 95, _bis_, 116, _bis_, 129, 133, 135, 140, _bis_, 163, 171, 181, 185, _bis_, 198, 200, 212, 216, 221, _bis_, 222, 225, 227, 229, 236, _sæpe_, 253, 254, 259, _bis_, 278, _bis_, 279, 284, _bis_, 286, 288, 289. these numerous items of money for hawks' meat are more fully noticed at the commencement of the volume. ----, paid for taking up a, 256. hawks brought from the king of france, 269; the expences of them, 275, 279. ---to the mew, 37. the mew was a close place in which hawks were confined whilst moulting. "the mews at charing cross were so called because henry the eighth used them for his hawks on those occasions."--m. hawkyn, a falconer, 5, 31, 95, 140, 163, 181, 222, 236, 253, 287, 289. hawte christopher, a falconer, 198, 216, 236, 287. hawys john, 47. hayes cornelius, goldsmith, 10, 134, 138, 156, 170, 179, 184, 188, 192. hay, paid for, 17, 86, 189, 213. healed, to the people that the king, 156, 160, 161, 163, 164, 170, 203, 213, 217, 221, 225, 243, 249, 253, 264, 272, 278. these entries were of payments made to persons whom the king touched for the evil. it appears that they uniformly received 7_s._ 6_d._ each; a gratuity which at that period, and to poor persons, was very considerable. it tends also in a great measure to account for the prevalence of the custom; for a more convenient superstition could scarcely be devised. heath cock, for a, 103. hedge and a ditch, for making a, 194. henawd [_i. e._ henault] park, to the keeper of, 170. henley park, keeper of, 63. henchmen, for the rent of a house for the, 79, 125, 182, 209, 230, 265. no word has been more commented upon than "henchmen," or henxmen. without entering into the controversy it may be sufficient to state, that in the reign of henry the eighth it meant the pages of honor. they were the sons of gentlemen, and in public processions always walked near the monarch's horse: a correct idea may be formed of their appearance from the representation of them in one of the pictures in the meeting room of the society of antiquarians. it seems from these entries that they lodged in the house of johnson, the master of the king's barge, and that the rent of it was 40_s._ per annum. observations on the word will be found in spelman's _etymol:_, pegge's _curiala_, from the liber niger edw. iv., lodge's _illustrations_, vol. i. p. 359, the _northumberland household book_, blount's _glossary_. henchmen, to the yeoman of the, 209. hennage sir thomas, 8, _bis_, 25, 26, 29, _bis_, 43, _sæpe_, 50, 58, 66, 75, 79, 87, _bis_, 89, _bis_, 120, 141, 144, 148, 157, _bis_, 165, 172, 187, 195, 196, 219, 249, 254, 255. one of the gentlemen of the privy chamber, and apparently the same individual, who was afterwards vice-chamberlain and chancellor of the duchy of lancaster to queen elizabeth. his only child elizabeth, who married sir moyle finchard, was created countess of winchelsea, by charles the first. henyngham george, 88, 132, 209, 235. he was evidently attached in some way to the stables, as these items are of payments of money to him for horses, or provender for them. hens, to the purveyor of, 109, 119, 129. ---brought, 103, 178, 194. hen taker, james parker, the, 15, 25, 28, 33, 37, 41, 42, 56, 80, 92, 142, 168, 199, 226, 258, 282, 285, 287. the hen taker and the purveyor of hens was probably the same person. his wages to which all these entries refer, were it seems 9_l._ per annum. herbs brought, 4, 36, 39, _bis_, 44, 45, _ter_, 50, 56, 57, 59, 72, 87, 96, 124, 130, 200, 209. heremyte, [_i. e._ hermit] to a, 42. hermit of deptford, to the, 150, _bis_. herington rowland, 279. herytage maister, 6, 40, 49. query, if not intended for sir thomas hennage just mentioned. herons, for finding, 28. hertford, 24. hide, for a bare hide to cover the king's barge, 182. hind a, brought, 189. "hinging" over the gate, paid for the, 8. hingings to a merchant, for hangings and other merchandize, 243. apparently from the price, hangings of silk or rich stuff. a perfect idea of the richness and splendour of hangings at that period, may be formed from the description of those in the palaces of henry the eighth, in the harleian ms. 1419, a. & b.; whilst of those used in the early part of the fifteenth century, a full account is given in the list of henry the fifth's effects on the rolls of parliament, vol. iv. hobart james, 71, 80, 92, 109, 117, 141, 152, 172, 181, 193, 203, 258, 279. it does not appear who this individual was, but as every entry relating to him is of a payment for bringing marmelade, dates, sweet oranges, lemons, and "other pleasures," it may be inferred that he was a kind of pastry-cook. hobby, a dun, for meat for, 131. ----, for a, 119. hobbies brought, 28, 104, 224. hogsheads of wine, 98, 99. holand john, 218. hollys william, alderman of london, 170. afterwards sir william hollis. his will is printed in the _testamenta vetusta_, whence it appears that he died in 1542. he was lord mayor of london in 1539. holt, to the deputy of the, 151. honyson guilliam, jeweller, 91. horden thomas, 67. horns trimmed [probably for mounted] by the jeweller, for, 184. horses. see gelding. ---brought, 12, 13, 16, 54, 175, 211, 224, 245, 282. ----, for healing the king's, 20. ----, the day on which they ran, 25. ----, for drink given to the king's, 31. ----s' medicines, for the king's, 31, 118. ----, food for, 132. ---barbary, to the keeper of the, 133. see barbary. ----, to the yeoman of the, 137. ----, paid the expenses of taking the king's to grass, 142, 263. ----, food for the stalking, 194. ----, a stalking, brought, 162. see stalking. ----, paid for the hire of, 193. ----, to a boy that ran the barbary, 199. see barbary. ----, to the keeper of the barbary horse, and for a bath for it, 204, 218. ----, to a dompne, for riding two at once, 218. see dompnu. ----, paid for, 88, 128, 139, 180, 250, 257. "we cannot gather the _prices_ of horses from these accounts as often as it is desirable. gilbert talbot, afterwards earl of shrewsbury, in 1578, offers 33_l._ for two fryseland horses."--lodge's _illustrations_, ii, 171. "there was particular attention paid in this reign, as appears by several laws, to promote the breed of large and strong horses. mr. barrington on statutes (p. 499) conjectures that tournaments and other magnificent pageantries being in vogue in the early part of this reign might have prompted these measures. certainly the strength of the horses would contribute to render tournaments more safe to those engaged in them as well as heighten the general effect of the scene." m. notices of the value of horses towards the end of the reign of edward the first, will be found on the _rolls of parliament_, vol. i. p. 228, 245; and in the _liber quotidianus contrarotulatoris garderolæ_, of the 28th edw. i. _sparsim._ but particularly p. 77 _et seq._ they appear to have varied in price from one to ten pounds, and are minutely described both as to their colours and the purposes for which they were destined. henry the fifth's chariot horses, "chivalx de charrettz," were sold for 95_l._ 14_s._ 10_d._ _rot. parl._ vol. iii. p. 237. by statute 11 hen. vii. chap. xiii. it was prohibited to export mares or horses beyond the sea. we find from these payments that on one occasion 37_l._, and on another 53_l._ were paid for horses; and that 7_l._ 10_s._ 3_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._ and 6_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._, were given at different times, for the purchase of a horse. in 1547 two of the horses which brought bernardinus ochin and peter martyr from basell, were sold in smithfield for 4_l._ 13_s._ 6_d._ _archæologia_, vol. xxi. p. 473. horse, master of the, 41, 54, _bis_, 88, 89, 91, 100, 132, 139, 164, 175, 176, 196, 197, 209, 250, 257, 260. sir anthony browne, knt. horsley park, keeper of, 61. hosen, for, 11, _bis_, 18, _bis_, 19, 23, 30, 38, 44, 54, 61, 66, 73, 86, 94, 98, 109, 119, 122, 133, 136, 137, 138, 155, 164, 170, 175, 186, 200, 219, _bis_, 237, 238, _bis_, 263, 265, 279, 283. hosen points, 283. strings to fasten the hosen. hounds, the king's private, 49. ---at woodstock, for conveying and keeping of the, 50. ----, for keeping young, 50, 178. ---brought, 60, 62, _bis_, 64, 65, 72, 144, 149, 152, 153, 154, _bis_, 167, 232, 240, 241, 242. ----, paid for finding the, 73. ----, to the keeper of the king's, for his wages, 92. see raynesford. ----, paid for sending the, from ewelme to woodstock, 154, and, _ibid._ to oxford, 156. ----, meat for, 125, 133, 171, _bis_, 177, 180, 187, 198, 205, 210, 215, 222, 244, 251, 282. ----, paid for removing them, 161, 165, 167, 168, 232, 234, 238, 241, 244, 246, 248, 249, 253, 260. ----, to the keeper of the king's private, 290. hounslow, to the friars of, 41, 127, 208. hounsdon, 72, 73, 76, 81, 177, 235. ----, for the king's buildings at, 42, 60, 111, 136, 161, 174, 210. ----, to the keeper of, 72, 168, 172. ----, to the priest at, for tythes, 214. hounworth park, keeper of, 49, 66, 142, 255. house, paid for the rent of a, for ambassadors, 74. ----, for the rent of a, 79, 125, 182, 209, 230, 265. see henchmen. ----, for the rent of a, at greenwich, for lord rochford, 128. house, to the keeper of that in which the king slept at canterbury, 266. howsell, for, 38, 40, 41. the only explanation given of "housel" in the usual dictionaries and glossaries, "the eucharist," could not possibly apply to either of the instances in which it is used in these accounts. it was evidently a payment made to the king's favourite minions, the jester and the two williamses, but the precise meaning of the word has not been ascertained. hoyson william, jeweller, 4. hubart, james. see hobart. hugh, old, 37, 38. hugh, young, 38, 52, _bis_. hungary, for the expenses of the ambassadors of, at stoney-stratford, 160. hunting, money lost at a wager in, 162, 163. ---fish at greenwich, 219. hunts, to the, 73. ---to the, for their expenses going into sussex, 232. hurlow henry, 184. hurt sir john, 49, 50, _bis_, 115, _bis_, 209. from the appellation "sir," being attributed, and the notice of a gown having been given to this individual, it would seem that he was a priest; but this conjecture cannot be reconciled with his having been paid 22_s._ 6_d._ for his livery coat, nor, perhaps, with the frequent bets won by him at shooting. in one instance too "his fellowes" are spoken of. it is, however, certain, that he was one of henry's numerous minions, in whose society he forgot the cares and dignity of a sovereign. hussey lord, his child christened, 117. john lord hussey of sleford. he was beheaded in june, 1537, for being concerned in the insurrection in lincolnshire. lord hussey left several children, one of whom appears to have been born in march, 1531, and to whom the king was very probably a sponsor. hutton thomas, 169. jacson ----, 146, 218, 253, 267. ----, the hardwareman, 146, 165. james, the hen taker. see hen-taker and purveyor of hens. jasper, falconer. ----, the gardener of beaulie. see beaulie. jenyns ----, a jeweller, 271. jerfalcon, [_i. e._ a gerfalcon] paid in reward for one that died, 200. jerkyns leather, for, 54, 61. jeronom, loyes, jasper, and john de, 165. jester, thomas the, to, 41, 126, 204. ----, to the french king's, 269. see fools. jesus, to the fraternity of, 46. ---aisle in st. paul's, proctor of, 114, 169. jewell house, 64. ----, for the redemption of a, 88. this item admits of an inference which would establish a curious fact in the lives of anne boleyn and her sister mary, namely, that the former had pawned a jewel to the latter, for the redemption of which 20_l._ was paid by the king's orders. jewellery, for, 4, _bis_, 7, 8, 9, 10, 15, 16, 21, 82, 88, 90, 91, 97, 99, _bis_, 103, 106, 138, 139, 155, 156, 157, 169, 170, 179, 185, _ter_, 193, 195, 210, 218, 220, 236, 257, _bis_, 261, 268, 270, _ter_, 271, 280. the immense sums expended in plate and jewellery have been noticed in the remarks at the commencement of the volume. jewel house, 170, 217. ilgrase william, 280. impeached, 69. see appeached. imperial, money lost by the king at the game of, 265, 278. of this game nothing is known, and perhaps these entries are the earliest, if not the only instances in which it is alluded to. instruments brought to the king, 26, 210. clearly musical instruments. henry's attachment, and indeed proficiency in music, has been established by a note to mr. ellis's valuable _original letters_, second series, vol. i. p. 271, 272, where an account of his majesty's musical instruments from the harl. ms, 1419, a. is printed, and which are satisfactorily explained by that eminent music master, mr. ayrton. john, duke of s----, 132. johnson, 265, 266. ---henry, cordwainer, 109. ---henry, 233. ---john, master of the king's barge, 10, 79, 125, 192, 230. joiner, to a, 93. joly jack, 89. who mr. "jolly jack" was does not appear. joungevello ----, a french minstrel, 252. journey, paid the costs of a, 179, _bis_. joselyn, groom of the chamber, 204. ipolite, a minstrel, 28. ireland, hawks brought from, 162. iron work for york place, paid for, 111. italian friar, to the, 144. kelsay's wife, 153. kendall, coats of, 42, 51, 60, 139. keney, vincent, clockmaker, 91. kent william a, 161. keyho, 45. keys ----, 210. kildare, earl of, 224. gerald fitz-gerald, ninth earl of kildare. his lordship was at this time in london. a curious account of the horses presented by him to different individuals is given in his household book in the british museum. harl. ms. 3756. king's evil, vide sickness and healed. king the hosier, 170, 186, 219, 237, 265. kingston master, 9, 95. ---to, for his expenses when he was sent for cardinal wolsey, 115. see cardinal. sir william kingston, k. g. a memorable person in this reign. he filled the office of comptroller of the household, and constable of the tower of london, and was a privy councillor. he died in 1541. ---anthony, 226, 229. probably the individual whom boswell, in his _lives of the knights of the garter**_, confounds with sir william kingston, and who was provost martial to the forces sent to quell the rebellion in cornwall in 1547. see some remarks relative to the error in question in the _testamenta vetusta_, p. 693, and in lodge's _illustrations of british history_, vol. i. p. 16. note. kitchen, clerk of the, 16, 119. knebworth, 163, 168. knevet anthony, 10, 25, 86. ---sir henry, 11, 17, 36, 53, _bis_, 96, 126, 183, 200, 203, 219, _bis_, 237, 256, 259, 261, 264, 265, 281. one of the gentlemen of the privy chamber, and evidently a particular favourite of the king's. ---william, 5, 40, 127, 206, 241, 261, 281. probably the individual who is described in an inscription in stepney church as a gentleman of the privy chamber, and as having married avise, the widow of nicholas gibson. see _weever's funeral monuments_, 4to, p. 309. he enjoyed an annuity from the king of 20_l._ knight, doctor, 118. knives, for, 51, 174. ----, and sheathes of velvet, with girdles to them, 161. knives, paid for girdles and a chape for, 168. knives were worn at a very early period. in the 6 edw. iii. john lord grey of rotherfeild, is stated to have been committed to prison for drawing his knife partly out of its sheath on william lord zouch, of ashby. _rot. parl._ vol. ii. p. 656. _long knives_, or other suspicious arms, were forbidden to be worn in the city of london or westminster in 1351 during the sitting of parliaments _ibid._ p. 235.^{a} in 1363 the _knives_ of trades-people and artificers were prohibited from being adorned with gold or silver, or precious stones. _ibid_, p 278,^{b} 281,^{b} and in the 3 edw. iv. _knives_ were forbidden from being imported, _ibid._ vol. 5, p. 507. thomas earl of warwick, in 1400, speaks of _knives_ for the king's coronation in his will; and chaucer's allusion to the sheffield whittle is well known, "a shefeld thwitel bare he in his hose." among the expenses of ochin and martyr, in 1547, before cited, is a payment of 2_s._ 8_d._ for "two payer of _tunbridge knives_." the knife was placed in the girdle. labourers, to, 30, 39, 84, 94, 205. lace, yellow, for, 68. lampreys, baked, brought, 9, 28, 29, 95, 103, 106, 108, 117, 188, 193, 195. ---salt, brought, 111. ---pies brought, 184. lamhethe, [lambeth,] 203. launcelot, a child of the stable, 29. langille william, the king's fletcher, 125. langey john, jeweller, 103. langley park, to the keeper of, 246. ----, 244, 246, _bis_, 248. ----, paid for repairs at, 249. lanthony, [in monmouthshire,] prior of, 49, 53, 100, 108, 195. lanthony cheses, brought, 220. lantrissen in glamorganshire, 69. larder thomas, 125. larenno cardinal de, 264. ----, money lost to him at dice and tennis, 268, _bis_. ----, to his singers, 269. the cardinal of lorrain. tennis and dice seem almost as unsuitable to a cardinal as a band of singers. on the 28th of october, 1532, when henry ordered 9_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._ to be given to the french king's jester, and 4_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ to the cardinal's singers, hall states that the king of navarre, the cardinal of lorrain, and the great master and admiral of france, dined with henry at calais; and these payments were evidently made for the amusement which they had afforded the party. large john, 90. lasala nowell de, a minstrel, 170. last, and a line, for a, 48. query, if not a mistake of the writer for mast and a line. see mast. laten, a desk garnished with, 123. laten, or latton, was, mr. todd informs us, a mixed kind of metal, made of copper and calamine, said by some to be the old orichalc. the meaning of the word has, however, puzzled our best antiquaries. mr. douce says it is always used for brass, whilst dr. meyrick thinks it was copper gilt. see some observations on the subject in a note to the _archæologia_, vol. xxi. pp. 261, 2. in the 3 edw. iv. it was prohibited to import "harneys for gurdels, of iron, of _laton_, of stele, of tyn, or of alkamyn." _rot. parl._ vol. v. p. 507,^{a} whilst in the 3 hen. iv. girdlers were prohibited from garnishing girdles with stones or metal "q' de _laton_, baterie, feer, et asser." _ibid._ vol. iv. p. 73. in the 2 hen. vi. the commons complained that people had made "diverse workes of brauderie of unsuffisaunt stuff, and undwely wrought, as well upon velowet, and cloth of gold, as upon all other clothes of silk wrought with gold or silver of cipre, and gold of luk, or _spanyssh laton_." _ibid._ p. 255.^{a} on the rolls of the 12 and 13 edw. iv. we find "basons _conterfete of latyn_, and two other basons of _laten_" spoken of. _ibid._ vol. vi. p. 37. fabian, by his will in 1511, ordered that a stone of marble should be laid on his grave, "about the borders whereof i will be fastened a _plate_ of laton, within that plate graven thies words," &c. and lady mauley, in 1438, bequeathed xx marks "for a marble stone with her portraiture thereon in copper or _latten_ gilt." in the agreement for the tomb of the earl of warwick in the 28 hen. vi. it is covenanted that certain parts shall be made of the _finest latten_, and to be gilded, and which latten was to cost x_d._ per pound.--dugdale's _warwick_. it was used for crosses, candlesticks, plates for tombs, effigies, basons, &c. _testamenta vetusta_, pp. 148, 235, 261, 268, 510, 511, 610, 713. from these extracts it is almost certain that latten, or laton, was neither iron, steel, tin, alkamain, or _baterie_, but the conjectures of dr. meyrick, mr. douce, and mr. todd, remain uncontradicted. the metal itself still exists on the tomb of the earl of warwick just mentioned, hence there are means of settling the question. latimer master, his expences in coming from and returning to cambridge, 73. ----, for preaching before the king, 30. these entries are of much interest. the first has been before noticed under cambridge, and it is only requisite, in illustration of the latter, to observe, that it is evident this distinguished martyr preached before henry on the second sunday in lent, namely the 13th march, 1530, and was rewarded with 5_l._ a sufficient proof that the king was pleased with his doctrines. "his crosier is still preserved in st. john's college, oxford."--m. latronel, a jeweller, 270. lanners, [i.e. laneretts,] brought, 51, 58, 141, _bis_, 149, 221, 224, 232, 236. ----, paid to persons for taking up, 51, 200. ----, for meat of a, 30. ----, for keeping a, called "cutte," 288. launder, that washes the children of the privy chamber, 75, 112. a laundress. ----, to the, 165, 234. some curious particulars relative to the king's laundress occur in the _ordinances of the household_ in the 17 hen. viii. p. 215, who was, it appears, then called ann harris. her wages were originally 10_l._ per annum, but she obtained an addition of 6_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ more on one occasion, and on another, 66_s._ so that she ultimately was paid 20_l._ per annum. she was bound to provide "as much sweet powder, sweet herbes, and other sweet thinges as shall be necessary to be occupied for the sweet keeping" of the articles entrusted to her; and it was expressly stated that she was to find wood and soap and every thing else out of her wages. two "standard chests" were, however, delivered to her, "the one to keep the cleane stuff, and the other to keep the stuff that hath been occupied." lawson sir george, 14, 104, 282. layton doctor, 63, 89, 105. probably richard layton, who became dean of york in january, 1539, and died in 1544. his journey to oxford in january, 1531, doubtlessly related to the king's divorce. lee lawrence, keeper of the hounds, 81, 92, 95, 99, 106, 112, 115, 125, 126, 134, 137, 139. ---robert a, yeoman of the wafery, 52, 72, 73, 139, 177, 214, 218, 257. ----, [or leigh,] sir robert a, 70, 80, 154, 237, 242. leman, baptist, jeweller, 185. lemons brought, 71, 92, 109, 110, 141, 152, 181, 193. lengar john, jeweller, 51. leonard lord, 241. apparently lord leonard grey, younger brother of henry duke of suffolk. lesenture marens, 57. leshe, yeoman of the, 75. ----, paid for fees for the, 163, 262. ---of lanneretts, a, brought, 221, 224. letters brought to the king, 26, 28, 235. ----, two packets of, paid for bringing from venice, 92. letter, one, brought in a purse by a monk, 239. this is a curious entry, and may be explained by considering that it was deemed the most respectful, and perhaps the safest, manner of conveying a letter. lettuze, [lettuce,] brought, 58, 169, 218, 220, 256. lewers of crimson velvet, 159. hawk's lewers; they appear to have cost 14_s._ each. lewkenor master, 26. lewte, see lute. lewys william, 37, 110. library at greenwich, 87. "the highest library" at greenwich contained, according to the inventory in the harleian ms. 1419, a. f. 62, three hundred and twenty-nine volumes. lile stephen, 273. lincoln, lord of, 26, 28, 67. john longland, bishop of lincoln. he was appointed to that see on the 20th may, 1520, and died 7th may, 1547. line, and a last for a, 47, 55, 59. see mast. linnen for lady anne boleyn, for, 72. ---cloth, for, 97. ---bags, for, 103. linnet, a, brought, 144. linzano hannibal, 118. lion a, brought, 193. ---of sittingbourne, paid to the wife of the, 274. the woman who kept the inn with the sign of the lion at sittingbourne, at which henry seems to have stopped on the 19th nov. 1532, on his return to greenwich from calais. lisle lord, 112, 166, 271. it is very difficult to say who was the personage to whom this title is here attributed, but most probably arthur plantagenet, natural son of king edward iv. though the patent creating him viscount lisle was not dated until the 26th april, 1533. liveries, badges on, 16. ----, for, 8, 12, 15, 30, 31, 38, 39, 41, _bis_, 49, 53, 70, 71, 81, 101, 115, _sæpe_, 120, 179, 187, 201, 203, 205, 208, 209, 214, 217, 226. lock william, mercer of london, 14, 45, 74, 78, 87, 128, 144, 163, _bis_, 261, 276, 282. locks, paid for, 111. ----, paid the smith that carries the locks about with the king, 238, 244, 281. like bolts, locks seem to have been carried for the king's chamber door by the smith of the household wherever his majesty went. lodge in greenwich park, the, 194. london, water-bailiff of, 37. ----, freedom of, money given to obtain the, 219. ----, mayor of, 48, sir ralph dormer, knt., 226, sir nicholas lambard. ---thomas, 38, 287. longe, master, 9, 162, 163, 275, 279. sir richard long, knt. an account of him will be found in mr. gage's _history and antiquities of hengrave_, p. 119, from which it appears that he was a gentleman of the privy chamber, master of the buckhounds and hawks, high steward or keeper of several of the royal demesnes, and captain of guernsey. he was seated at shengay and hardwicke in cambridgeshire, and married margaret, only child of john donnington, of stoke newington in middlesex, and widow of sir thomas kytson of hengrave, who died in 1540, by whom he had a son, henry, born 31 march, 1544, afterwards knighted, and to whom king henry viii. and the duke of norfolk were sponsors, and three daughters. sir richard long died in october, 1544, and an abstract of his will is given in that admirable work. his widow married to her third husband john bourchier, earl of bath, and died 12 january, 1561, æt. 52. elizabeth, the daughter and heiress of sir henry long, his son, married william lord russell, of thornhaugh. long bows, to the yeomen of the, 180. looking-glasses, for, 251. lorraine, cardinal of, 264. see also de lareno. lovell, gardener of richmond, 15. ----, peter, a frenchman. lovekyn george, 61. lloyd edward, 112, 126. lubished master, 44. luke master, 236. luter, to arthur the, 131, 233. lute-strings for, 25, 201. see instruments. lyne edmond, a huntsman, 53, 69, 92, 116, 141, 180, 202, 284, 286. lyle richard, 233. lylgrave william, embroiderer, 128. lynney, one of the king's children of the stable, 29. lyveretts [leverets] brought, 225. maiohu, pilgrim, 165. malte john, 222, _sæpe_, 223. mancyon andrew, 226. mantway, marquess of, 280. apparently frederick ii. duke of mantua, who died in 1540. he sent henry a present of mares in december, 1532, and whose servant received 46_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ "in reward" for bringing them. mares brought, 280. mariner, to a, 274. marion, the blade smith, or cutler, 108, _bis_, 190. mark, of the privy chamber, 11, 14, 18, 38, 40, 44, 53, _bis_, 61, 73, 75, 78, 84, 86, 98, 100, 121, 124, 126, 138, 139, 153, 165, 170, 173, 183, 197, _bis_, 200, 206, 219, _bis_, 237, _bis_, 259, 261, 262, 264, 265, 281. this person, who, it is manifest, was wholly supported at the king's expense, and who, it may be consequently inferred, was one of his favourite minions, was the notorious mark smeton, a musician, who was accused of criminal familiarity with anne boleyn, and upon whose cowardly perjury, chiefly, that victim was condemned. the best account of him is that given by cavendish: "my father a carpenter, and laboured with his hand with the swett of his face he purchast his lyvyng for small was his _rent_, much lesse was his land; my mother in a cottage used dayly spynnyng loo in what mysery was my begynnyng till that gentle prynce, kyng of this realme toke me de stercore et origens pauperem and beyng but a boy clame upp the hygh stage that bred was of naught, and brought to felicite knew not myself, waxt proud in my corage dysdayned my father, and wold not him see, wherfore nowe fortune by hir mutabilitie hathe made so cruelly hir power for to stretch for my presumption, to dye like a wretch." as his conduct was as dastardly as his birth was mean, he was put in irons when arrested, and afterwards hanged, whilst the other prisoners were beheaded. marmalade brought, 109, 117, 172, 224. marriages, paid to persons towards their, 17, 23, 27, 131, 134, 138, 143, 208, 209, 218, 251, 277. marshal of the king's hall, to the, 191. mary guylford, the king's ship, 18. this vessel was built in 1524, and was one hundred and forty tons burthen. in november, 1526, she was at bourdeaux.--ellis's _original letters_, second series, v. i. pp. 219, 220. mary, princess, the, 13, 55, 70, 98, 127, 146, _bis_, 148, 162, 183, 202, _bis_, 221, 262, 281. ----, to a physician for attending her, 146, 202. mary, the king's eldest daughter, afterwards queen of england. she was born on the 8th february, 1515, and was consequently about fifteen when she is first mentioned in these accounts. they chiefly refer to sums paid her for pocket money, which never exceeded 20_l._ at one time, or was less than 10_l._ upon one occasion 10_l._ was given her to be distributed in charity. the only new facts connected with her life which they present are, that her royal highness was ill in june or july, 1531, and apparently again in march, 1532. masking, gere for, 270. money paid for masquerade dresses when the king was at calais in november, 1532. mason richard, 24. ----, john, the king's scholar at paris, 8, 71, 119, 190, 263. afterwards sir john mason, a privy councillor to henry viii. edward vi. and queen elizabeth, and chancellor of the duchy of lancaster. having displayed much talent in henry's presence, he was, at the suggestion of sir thomas more, sent to the university of paris.--see _biog. britann._ _art._ "mason." mass books, for, 24. massy, paid to him that appeched, [i. e. impeached,] 69. an entry of 10_s._ given to an informer. mast and a line, for a, 55, 59, 96. ----, paid to the watermen for a, 140. a mast and ropes for the boat, but the different prices paid for them are curious; on one occasion 4_s._; on another 3_s._ 6_d._; and on a third only 1_s._ 8_d._ master, great, to the, 59, 268. the first entry referred to ann de montmorency great master of the king of france's children, but whether the second related to him or to the great master of henry's household is not certain, but most probably to the latter. mastiffs, the king's, 7. ----, given to the king, 36, 251. ---collars and muzzles for, 186. matches, money paid for two, lost by the king, 115. matting a boat, for, 281. mayling, cloths for, 159. cloths for wrappers. maynering henry, 166. the person who made the king's arms. meat, a present of, brought, 236, 255. medicines for horses, 118, 263. the annual expense of "medsons and drinks" for horses is calculated in the _ordinances of the household_, in the 17th hen. viii. at 10_l._ medlars brought, 176, 274. melons brought, 264. mercer, to a, for his bill, 128, 144, 188, 189, 261, _bis_. merchandizes, for certain, 243. mew, money given when the hawks went to the, 37. see hawks. mewles, [i. e. mules,] brought, 33. michell, a smith, 147. -------, one of the king's guard, 269, 274. midwife, paid to a, 22, 197. probably money paid to a midwife when the king was sponsor to the child. mighen peter, 18. milan bonnets, for, 173, 208. miles thomas, 123. milloner, to the, 33, 99, 129, 151, 164, 173, 174, 177, 185, 187, 193, 199, 208, 213, 262. a milloner of the sixteenth, was evidently a different sort of tradesman from the milliner of the nineteenth century, for besides caps, bonnets, and gloves, he then sold knives, sheaths, girdles, jewels, &c. mines, the king's at lantrissen in glamorganshire, money to be expended on, 69. that henry interested himself in mining, is, the editor presumes, a new fact in his character. from this item we learn that he worked a mine at lantrissen in wales, and ordered on one occasion that 23_l._ 16_s._ 6_d._ should be expended on it; and on another he caused 40_s._ to be given to a miner. "all mines containing gold or silver were styled 'mines royal.' of the latter the richest in wales are in cardiganshire. these were leased by james i. to sir hugh middleton, and the profits enabled him to bring the new river from ware to london; and by charles i. to mr. bushel, who had been in the service of sir walter raleigh; and from this source of wealth he raised and clothed a regiment for the king. the cardiganshire mines, or perhaps its richest one, called cwm symlog, which yields 100 oz. of silver to the ton of lead, may be alluded to in the text."--m. miner, to a, 43. minstrells, to, 12, 14, 15, 28, 33, 55, 64, 70, 83, 128, 134, 170, 190, 205, 252, 266. numerous as the entries relating to minstrels are, no additional information is afforded to what is contained in dr. percy's elaborate essay, though they frequently corroborate the statements therein. the frequency of these payments tend, however, to establish henry's attachment to music. in the _ordinances of the royal household_ made at eltham in the 17 hen. viii. we find that hugh woodhouse, the "serjeant of the mynstrills," had an annual fee of 10_l._ 16_s._ 10-1/2_d._ mistelden, [_i. e._ misselden] abbot of, 237. molyn jerome, 92. money won at the rounds, 134. ---borrowed for the king, 104. ---brought to the king, 215. ---given to an individual to be by him safely kept for the king's use, 231. ---lent, 200, 210, 228, 231, 234, 244. monk, to a, 239. morant, william, 7, 166, 203. more ----, 37. ----, for the buildings at the, 40, 49. ---park, the keeper of, 74. ---william, 100, 187, _bis_. ----, to blind, and his fellows, 16, _bis_. moret hubert, a jeweller, 185. morles william, 104. morys christopher, 233. mote park, to the keeper of, 252. -------, 263. morys, _i. e._ moors, for the board of two, 123. mowing, paid for, 176, 230, 256. mundy, ralph, a huntsman, 5, 23, 133, 137, 142, 146, 149, 154, 156, 162, 165, 167, 171, 175, 176, 180, 181, 187, 194, 197, 205, 210, 215, 222, 226, 229, 236, 241, 244, 246, 251, 265, 275, 281, 282. muzzles for the king's mastiffs, 186. myllain, [_i. e._ milan,] bonet, 24. see milan. myllane, [milan,] 54. myllon, [_i. e_. melon,] a, given the king by an italian, 248. mynion, the king's ship, 18. in the list of henry's navy, written on the 22nd october, 1525, and printed in mr. ellis's second series of _original letters_, vol. i. pp. 219, 220, the _minion_ is described to be "off the tonnege of clx tonne, and all newe." she was at bourdeaux in november, 1526. nags brought, 39, _bis_, 104, 224, 235, 267. nails, for, 45, 234. navarre queen of, her painter, 221. naylinghurst, hugh, 59, 105, 134. a mercer. nedan james, the king's carpenter, 20, 82, 93, 109, 138. neghen peter, 13. nelson john, 72. nets, paid for mending the king's, 70. ----, paid for carrying the king's, 139, 177, 214, 257. probably, fishing nets, which it seems were always carried with the king in his progresses; and hence it may be inferred that his majesty was fond of the amusement. nevill sir john, 167, 267. apparently the individual who served in the vanguard at the battle of spurs. see lodge's _illustrations_, vol. i. p. 2. ---sir edward, 272. younger brother of george nevill, lord abergaveny, and ancestor of the present earl. sir edward was distinguished for his knightly accomplishments, and was for many years honoured with henry's favour; but being suspected of a design to advance reginald pole to the crown, he was accused and tried, and beheaded at tower hill on the 9th november, 1538. cavendish informs us that he was "a comely knight, of a goodly personage." nevill, master, to his son on his marriage, 277. probably one of the sons of sir edward. new college, oxford, to the children of, 244. newelm, 156, 248, _bis_, 249. ---park, to the keeper of, 248. newne ---of canterbury, 12. new year's gifts, 16, 101, 119. nicholas, friar, 23. nicholas the astronomer, 130. the annual fee of the astronomer to queen elizabeth was 20_l._ nicholas doctor, a physician, 192. he attended wolsey in his last illness. see cavendish, vol. i., p. 311. night-caps, 23, 31, 218. night-gown, for lady ann boleyn, 223. the minute way in which the materials for lady ann's night-gown are mentioned, cannot fail to excite a smile, even if it does not shock our modern ideas of delicacy. the whole expenses of it seem to have been 10_l._ 15_s._ 8_d._ nightingales brought, 235. nods george, a huntsman, 68. norfolk duke of, 32, _bis_, 33, 41, 63, _bis_, 76, 107, 150, 156, 158, 168, 169, _bis_, 180, 212, 250, 264, 267, 268, 283. thomas howard, third duke of norfolk, k. g. he was lord treasurer, to which office nearly all these entries relate. norice, [_i. e._ nurse,] to a, 22, 197. norman, jeweller of paris, 9. norris master, 30, 175, 224, _bis_, 275. sir henry norris, gentleman of the privy chamber and esquire of the body. his career is so well known that it is only necessary to remind the reader that he was suspected of a criminal intercourse with ann boleyn, and was consequently condemned and beheaded. northampton, 71. ----, mayor of, 160. northern man, paid to a, 206, _bis_. northumberland earl of, 18, 109. henry algernon percy, k. g: sixth earl of northumberland. he succeeded to that title in 1527, and was the individual who is supposed to have been attached to ann boleyn before her marriage. he was beheaded in 1553. norton wood, to the keeper of, 161. nott john, groom of the crossbows, 287. nowell, the king's minstrel, 64, 83, 205, 266. nuns of canterbury, 22. nurse, paid to a, 22, 197. see midwife. ---to the duke of richmond's, 41. nuts given the king, 160. as the duke of richmond was at this time twelve years old, it would seem that this gratuity was given to the woman who had nursed him in his infancy, rather than to the servant who had then the care of him. oars paid for, 6, 7, 262. these entries shew the price of oars, which it seems were sold for 1_s._ 6_d._ each. ----, boat with sixteen, 45. oats, paid for, 86, 189, 213. odal thomas, 136. offering, paid for the king's, at windsor, 140. ----, for the king's, to our lady of walsingham, 214. ----, for the king's, to our lady of boulogne, and to our lady in the wall at calais, and of the rock at dover, 272, 273. ogle thomas, 3, 7, 12, _bis_, 18, 19, 23, 28, 29, 32, 83, 107, 114, 123, 132, 196, 198, 207, 212, 216, 217, 219, 230, 247, 259, 276, 282, _bis_, 283. apparently the person who is described as gentleman rider of the stables, in the account of the funeral expences of edward iv. on which occasion he received 'nine yards of cloth, and the same quantity for his four servants. _archæologia_, vol. iii. p. 386. from the _ordinances of the household_ made in the 17 hen. viii. it appears that his annual wages were 20_l._ and that he was allowed one hackney. oil, salad, 12, _bis_. oking, 59, 60, 61, 62, _sæpe_. oliver ----, 69. oranges brought, 71, 80, 92, 105, 108, 109, 110, 117, 141, 152, 171, 172, 181, 193, 203, 258, 279. ---water, a glass with, brought, 166. ---pies brought, 32, 205. ordnance, paid the expenses of three persons' journey to portsmouth to inspect the ordnance there, 233. this entry is of some interest, both as it shews the manner in which forts were inspected, and the expenses of three officers of government travelling to portsmouth, and their charges there for ten days. the whole amounted but to 5_l._ oret andrew, 195. see painter. organ maker, to sir john the, 131, 280. it is almost certain that this organ maker was a priest. osborne thomas, mercer of london, 133. ---william, skinner, 269. otener william, jeweller, 88, 157. otney william, 159. owche, [_i. e._ a brooch,] of gold, paid for, 193. ox, the stalking, brought, 112. see stalking. oxenbridge, 25. oxford, scholars at, 82, 125, 243, 260. see scholars. ----, 3, 8, 13, 26, 156. oxford lord, 127. john de vere, k. g. fifteenth earl of oxford, and lord great chamberlain. he died in 1539. oxford, old lady, 89, 173, 277. most probably elizabeth, widow of john de vere, fourteenth earl of oxford, who died in 1526, s. p. and daughter and coheir of sir richard scrope, knt. younger son of henry lord scrope of bolton. she married first william viscount beaumont, and died s. p. in november, 1537. an abstract of her will is printed in _testamenta vetusta_, vol. ii. p. 675. page master, 141, 147, 159. page ----, 267. pages of the queen's chamber, to the, 101. ---of the king's chamber, 14, _bis_, 119, 187. painter, vincent, the king's, 44, 91. painters to, for their livery, 120, 174. ---paid, 44, 91, 120, 188, 195, 221, 261. painter, to the queen of navarre's, 221. ----, to tote the, 261. ---to a, for the expenses of painting the king's boat, 262. as nearly all these entries respecting painters are noticed by mr. horace walpole in his _anecdotes of painting_, they afford no new information on the subject. the names of those who are mentioned are vincent who painted a plat of hastings and rye, for which he was paid 3_l._ 10_s._; bartholomew penne, anthony toto, andrew oret, and ambrose, the queen of navarre's painter. of vincent, mr. walpole gives no account; ambrose, he conjectures to have stood in but little estimation, because the sum given him for a picture was only 4_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ but of penne and tote we have the following particulars: "penne or penn is called by vasari not bartholomew but luca penni; he was brother of gio francesco penni, a favourite and imitator of raphael. he worked some time at genoa and in other parts of italy, whence he came into england, and painted several pieces for the king and some merchants here. vertue concludes that some scriptural subjects which he found in a small room called the confessionary, near the chapel at hampton court, particularly the passion, were by penn. vasari adds, that luca penni addicted himself latterly to making designs for flemish engravers. toto was afterwards serjeant painter, and rymer (vol. xiv. p. 595.) gives his letters of naturalization. speaking of ridolphi fils de dominique ghirlandaio, he says, 'chez lui il y avait toto del nuntiato, qui depuis s'en alla en angleterre, ou il fit plusieurs ouvrages de peinture et d'architecture, avec lequel perrin fut amitié, et a l'envie l'un de l'autre s'efforcoit à bien faire.' but toto's works are all lost or unknown; his fame, with that of his associates, being obscured by the lustre of holbein." painters formed part of the royal household, for besides the entries in these accounts of money to toto and penn for their livery coats, in the _ordinances for the regulation_ of queen elizabeth's household, "to the serjeant painter and other, to his appointment" is assigned a fee of 100_l._ per annum. pale john, 60. pale, for scowring the new pale of the park of greenwich, 230. palfreys, for two, 209. palmer sir thomas, 17, 22. palmer ----, 32, 33, 267, 270. this individual, like domingo and a few others, seems to have been one of the "diverting vagabonds" of henry's court. upon each of the occasions on which he is mentioned, he is stated to have won money at dice from the king. pandolphin, nicholas, a frenchman, 6. pantry, sergeant of the, 14, 108. ----, trenchers delivered to the, 191. paris, the king's scholar at. see mason. paris ware, jewellery so called, 7, 79, 169, 257, _bis_. parker henry, 118, 126, sir francis bryan's servant. ---john, yeoman of the king's robes, 16, 82, 254, 269, 271, 279, 282. parlan park, keeper of, 67. paroke at oking, to the keeper of the, 62. a park or paddock, evidently derived from the saxon peaþþoc, an inclosure. m. parr lady, 42. apparently maud, daughter and co-heiress of sir thomas green, and widow of sir thomas parr, knt. she was the mother of william, marquess of northampton, and of katherine, who married henry the eighth. she died in december, 1531. parsons, the hen-taker, 285. see hen-taker. partner, money given to the king to play at cards, he to be _partener_ with the sergeant of the cellar, 113, 115. partridges brought, 10, 64, 255. pasties of red deer brought, 267. patch, the king's fool, 19, 44, 51, 53, 86, 98. see fool. pate john, 109. pavics, paid for xix pavics of stele and other ware, 5. _pavise_ or _pavice_, is explained to be a large shield that covers the whole body; but such an article could scarcely be meant in this instance. paul's st. school, to the master of, 106, 186, 205, 231, 259, 280. ----, proctor of jesus aisle in, 29, 114. pawlet's master, park, to the keeper of, 151. pawmpelion skins of, brought, 48. probably skins brought from pampellone, a town in the department of tarn, twelve miles from alby. the word "pawmpelion" does not occur in any dictionary or glossary. peaches brought, 253, 264. pearls for, 9, 82, 99. pears brought, 65, 106, 160, _bis_, 176, 178, 249, 252, 253, 254, 258, _bis_, 267. peascods brought, 136. peascods seem formerly to have been a favorite article of food. in "london lickpenny," they are said to have been cried about the streets of london. peckham lane, paid for making a way there against the king rode by, 177. pellets, [_i. e._ shot,] paid for, 19, 146, 157. ---for the stone bow, 220. pembroke, marchioness of, 254, 261, 272, 274, 275, _bis_, 276, 277, 282. ann boleyn. see some remarks at the commencement of the volume. pene, anthony, painter, 120, 174. the christian names both of pene and tote are transposed in the last entry. see painter. penshurst, 114. pension, paid to a person in, of a groat a day, 164. pepins brought, 109. "perform," [_i. e._ to make up,] a sum, 26. periwig, for sexton the fool, 13. pero, the king's minstrel, 83, 266. perpount william, draper, 82. pery robert, 33, 52, 83, 100. ----, servant of the marquess of exeter, 62. perys. see pears. peter, a falconer, 70. peter maria, a sackbut, 173. petticoat, for a, 199. pety john, the minstrel, to, 52, 110, 114, 128, 147, 190, 234. pew of the chapel, 78. pewe, to our lady of the, 174. our lady of pity, an image of the virgin, sitting with the body of our saviour extended across her lap. anthony woodville, earl rivers, by his will, dated on the 23rd june, 1483, ordered that his heart should be carried to our _lady of pue_ adjoining to st. stephen's college at westminster, and to be there buried; and if he died south of the trent, he desired that his body should also be buried before our lady of pue.--_testamenta vetusta_, vol. i. p. 380. pheasants brought, 10, 181, 265, 266, 271, 276. pheasant breeder, to the, 273, 280. phenwolf morgan, jeweller, 7, 8. see fenwolf. philberts [filberts] brought, 66. philip, paid to, for lute-strings, 25. ---of the privy chamber, to, 25, 26, 86, 100, 110, 169, 187, 269, 271. ----'s boy, 36, _bis_, 44, 53, 73, 86, 98. philipps john, smith at westminster, 88. ---robert's wife, of greenwich, 103, 110. physician, to one that attended the duke of richmond, 189. ----, paid a, 192. ----, to the princess mary's, 202. pictures brought, 87, 221. pipewell, 109. pissow park, to the keeper of, 74. pitch for the king's barge, 45. see barge. pitcher-house, to one of the, 251. pixell, servant of, 152. pixhalle's house, 151. plague, to poor people sent out of greenwich in consequence of the, 79. see banished. plat of hastings and rye, for a, 91. clearly a plan of those towns, the word _plat_ occurs continually in a similar sense. thus in the account in the harleian ms. 1419, of furniture in henry the eighth's palaces, we find "a long case for _plattes_ covered with vellett," "a case of tynne with a plat." "certeyne plattes and petygrees in a cupborde," &c. but the best idea of a _plat_ is afforded by the plate in the second volume of mr. ellis's second series of _original letters_, which is called "a _platt_ of calais." in the ms. from whence it is taken is a "_platt_ of the lowe countrye and calleys, drawne in october, 37 henry viii. by thomas pettut." as in the harleian ms. 1419, the word, "mappes and pictures" occur, it is evident that a plat differed from both, though it would appear from the engraving alluded to, that it partook of the character of each. the price of the "plat of rye and hastings," which was executed by vincent the king's painter, was 3_l._ 10_s._ plate, baskets to carry, 20. ---and jewellery, for, 23, 31, 103, 104, 105, _bis_, 188. ----, standards for carrying, 43. see standards. ---and stuff, paid to people for attending on that which belonged to the cardinal, 123. ----, cotton bought to truss, 190. play, money borrowed at, 18. ----, money lent to the king at, 76, _bis_. ----, delivered to the king for, 94. ----, money for, 76, 94, 98, 101, 113, 131, 204, 205. ----, money, delivered to lady **** for, 131. see gambling. ----, money paid to lady ann rochford, to, 131. playing at tennis, for, 134. see _gambling_. plesurs, oranges, dates, and other "plesurs" brought, 203. plovers brought, 110. plowfeld, clerk of the wardrobe, 183. plume, for a, 268. plymer, or plumer, alart, jeweller of paris, 9, 16, 21, 99, 106, 270. pocket-money, to the princess mary for, 70. see mary. ---for, to the princess mary and lady margaret douglas, 183. points, hosen for, 283. strings or fastenings for hosen. poles, paid for, 22. pole ----, polle, pollo. see powle. polling john, to, 43. pomegranates brought, 95, 105, 141, 171, 172, 181, 258. ponds, for wading, 235. ----, for drawing the, at antyll, 238. poor man, paid to a, in the harvest at woodstock, 156. ---woman, to a, that gave the king fruit, 160. ---people, money distributed to, 282. pope's ambassador, 9. ---julius' game, money lost at, 274, 275, _bis_, 276, 277. this game is mentioned in these accounts for the first time, hence no description can be given of it. all which can be inferred on the subject from these entries is, that it was played by four or more persons, and that it was not in use at henry's court until the end of the year 1532. it is most probable that it derived its name from pope julius the second, who died in 1513, and was possibly very similar to our present pope joan. popingay, one offered the king, 277. porpoise a, brought, 267. porter, to the sergeant, 256. portsmouth, paid the expenses of inspecting the ordnance there, 233. see ordnance. posset ale, for sexton, 34. archdeacon nares says posset was a drink composed of hot milk, curdled by some strong infusion, which was much in favour with our ancestors both as luxury and medicine. "posset ale" was probably hot milk curdled by ale, but whether given to the fool as a "luxury" or "medicine" does not appear, as it is included in the expenses of his washing, shoes, and "other necessaries." post, paid to a, 56, 59, 196. pottersperry park, paid to the keeper of, 160, 240. powle, the keeper of the barra horse, 133, 165, 183, 199, 204, _bis_, 218, 247, 278. see barbary horse. pounder sir william, 100, 183, 203, 214, 266, 281. ----, paid for the christening of his child, 214. ---lady, 124, 135, 137, 232. it is manifest from most of these entries, that those individuals were especial favourites of henry, who it seems acted as sponsor to their child, but the editor has not been able to discover any particulars about them. pount john, 135. powell, a merchant, 167. presents brought, 74, 93, 250. prest, 83, &c. this word occurs continually in reference to money advanced to servants on their wages, and clearly meant money paid to persons before their salaries were due. in the _shrewsbury papers_ we find lord wharton informing the earl of shrewsbury in june, 1557, "the olde guarresone not paide for their half yeare, ended the xiiij of febr. laste; and for this other half year which shall ende the xvjth day of auguste, excepte money delivered _in preste_ by the layte treasourer which will appear upon declaracion of his accompt. hear is noo treasurer knowne, nor when they shall be paide." to which the editor has added the following note: "this term, derived from _pret_, french, _ready_, was always applied to money transactions, but had various acceptations. in military affairs prest or imprest money usually meant the gratuity by which recruits were retained, from whence the well known phrase, '_pressing_ into the service.' in this instance it signifies the sums issued from time to time by the treasurer for the current use of the army." lodge's _illustrations_, vol. i. p. 237. the sense, however, in which this word is used in these accounts is derived from the french _prest_, a loan. cavendish uses it in precisely the same way. speaking of wolsey's pecuniary necessities he says "it was concluded that he should have by the way of _prest_, a thousand marks out of winchester bishoprick," p. 239. priest, paid to a sick, 77. ---at hounsdon, to the, 214. ---to the, that sings at the roods, 276. ----, money distributed to, 282. pricks, for making, 145, 148. ----, money won of the king at the, 266, 267. pricks were the points or marks in the centre of the butts in archery. primero, the game of, 263. a game at cards, said by some writers to be one of the oldest known in england. see nares' _glossary_, where the manner of playing it is fully described. princess mary. see mary. printed books, for, 101. printer, to a, 44. printer, to the king's, 101. prison, paid to a poor woman to redeem her husband out of, 73. prisoners brought up, 153, _bis_, 207. see traitor and felon. proctor to the, that came from cambridge, 30. ---of jesus' aisle, in st. paul's, 29, 114, 196. progress, money paid on the king's, 75. ---paid the king's fool's expenses during the whole, 247. ---for bolts for the king's chamber doors during the, 251. see bolts. puddings brought, 50, 89. ----, to the woman that makes the king's, 83. pulter james, 241. purton, yeoman of the toiles, 19. purveyor of hens to the, 109, 119, 129. see hen-taker. pury robert, 122, 287, _bis_, 291, _bis_. see pery. ---william, 76. putney, 139, 142. pykering sir william, 220. the entry relating to this individual is not a little amusing, for it seems that he won 2_l._ 5_s._ of the king by a bet that he would outrun his own dog. he is thus described by lloyd. "his extraction was not noble, his estate but mean; yet was his person so comely, his carriage so elegant, his life so gravely reserved and studious, and his embassies in france and germany so well managed, that in king edward's days he was by the council pitched upon as the oracle, whereby our agents were to be guided abroad; and in queen elizabeth's, designed by common vote for the prince by whom we were to be governed at home. he received extraordinary favours, no doubt, so deserving he was: he wished no more, he was so popular; and when his service was admitted to her majesty's bosom, all fancies but his own placed his person in her bed." _state worthies_, ed. 1766, vol. i. p. 415. sir william died at pickering house in london in 1574, aged 58, and was buried under a magnificent tomb in the church of st. helen the great and less. queen elizabeth, according to his epitaph, was, "principi ommum illustrassimæ summus officris devotissimus." _pennant's london_, p. 416. a copy of edward the sixth's "instructions to sir william pickeringe, knt. one of the gentlemen of his highenes chamber toucheing the revocatione of sir john masone and the said sir william to supplie his rome as residente ambassadore in fraunce, dated 30th june, 1551," is preserved in the _harleian_ ms. 353, f. 113.^{b} if, as pennant states, he was born in 1516, he could only have been sixteen years old when he ran a race with his dog, and thereby won a wager of 45_s._ from henry, a time of life suitable to such an action; but it is singular he should have been knighted at so early a period. pylleson, michell, 240. pyne, the hosier, 18, 19, _bis_, 44, 61, 66, 86, 94, 98, 109, 122, 131, 138. pynn ----, 85. pynner ----, 50, 115, 201. pyper hans, and bartholomew, his fellow, dromslades, 214. see dromslades. quanden simon, a jeweller, 270. quariars, for wax to make, 116. in the _northumberland household book_ is an entry of "wax wrought in torches," and of "wax wrought in _quarions_," which bishop percy thus explains. "a quarion was a square lump of wax with a wick in the centre. round lumps of the same are still used in the royal nursery under the name of mortises." the word also occurs in the same sense in a ms. dated at eltham, january, 22 henry viii. and noticed in the _archæologia_, vol. iii. p. 156. "an account was to be taken of all fuel, wine, &c. and wax lights, spent in the king's privy chamber, returning to the chaundry all the remains of mortars, torchers, _quarries_, prickets, and sizes." quarterage [_i. e._ quarter's wages] for the watermen's, 279. quenay vincent, [a clockmaker,] 215. queen the, 43, 183. an affecting proof of the little consideration in which the unfortunate katherine was held is afforded by the fact, that during three years her name only twice occurs in the privy purse expenses of her royal husband, and then only in reference to two of her servants. ann boleyn is mentioned in almost every page, though she was then unmarried, and every buffoon and jester of the court is frequently noticed, whilst the queen of england is passed over in silence. quene apples brought, 163. queristers [_i. e._ choristers]. see windsor. quick deer, brought, 16. see deer. ----, seal a, brought, 37. quinces brought, 170, 171, _bis_, 252, 256, 264, 266. ---pies brought, 201. ---baked, brought, 213. quiver a, brought, 83. radishes brought, 169. raisins brought, 109. ralph the huntsman, 41. ----, shirts for, 84. ramsey, abbot of, 106, 190. rangers of windsor forest, 56. rasin ----, 97. rasmus, the armourer, 123, _ter_, 135, 228, 259. see also erasmus. ratcliff master, 200, 224, 268. apparently sir humphrey ratcliffe one of the gentlemen pensioners. upon one occasion it seems the king lent him 100_l._ he is spoken of in cavendish's _life of wolsey_, ed. singer, 1815, vol. i. pp. 333, 4. rat-taker, to the, 228. raleigh park, 16, 19. raynezford humphrey, keeper of the king's private buckhounds, 7, 19, 24, 28, 34, 38, 49, 55, 61, _bis_, 66, 67, 73, 77, 81, 86, 99, 105, 112, 115, 125, 126, 133, 137, 139, 142, 146, 154, 156, 160, 162, 165, 167, 176, 180, 181, 187, 194, 197, 205, 208, 210, 215, 222, 226, 229, 233, _bis_, 234, _sæpe_, 236, 238, 241, _bis_, 244, 246, _bis_, 248, 249, 251, 253, 260, 265, 275, 281, 282, 284, 290. reading, abbot of, 65, 89, _bis_, 153, 158, 248. reading, 248, 249, _bis_. rebeck, for a, 114. a stringed instrument resembling a fiddle. the price of a rebeck in 1531, appears to have been xx _s._ rede, bailiff of greenwich, 104, 173, 263. ---john, gardener of beaulie, 80, 81, 103, 234, 264, 288. ---marshal of the king's hall, 79, 125. reed, for the king's barge, 45. reed was probably used in cleaning the bottom of the barge. on such occasions it is affixed to a pole, set on fire, and applied to melt the mixture of pitch, &c. with which the bottom of an uncoppered vessel is covered. redemption of a jewel, for the, 88. this curious entry is noticed under jewell and rochford. reding william, a mercer, 215. relick water brought, 67, 148. what _relick water_ was cannot be exactly explained. on one occasion it was sent by the abbot of westminster, whose servant received 20_s._ for bringing it; and on the other, a glass of it was brought from windsor to hampton court, the bearer of which was paid only 12_d._ it was probably a strong scented spirit, and from its name we may infer that its virtues were of a superior nature, even if they were not supposed to have been derived from some sacred object or ceremony. remnant of a piece of cloth of gold, 190. removing day, for the, 234. the day upon which the court removed from one palace to another. renell ----, 267. rent of houses, 79, 182. see henchmen. ---of a house at greenwich, for my lord of rochford, 128. repairs of the king's house at chatham, for, 229. ---at grafton, for, 241. ---for, at woodstock, 248. reppe doctor, 8. retinue of calais, for the payment of the, 43. rhods [_i. e._ roods] to the priest that sings at the, 276. robbed, paid in charity to a man who was, 194. ribband for, 84. rice master, 84, 167. richard, a falconer, 28. richmond, 15, 45, 60, 178. ----, the gardener of 44, 66, 165, 168, 174, 181, 216, 249, 254, 264. ----, keeper of, 76. ----, duke of, 40, 41, 42, 131, 189. henry fitz roy, natural son of king henry viii. by lady elizabeth talboys. he was born in 1519, and on the 18th june 1525, was created earl of nottingham, and duke of richmond and somerset, k. g.; on the 26th of july following he was constituted lord high admiral. he married mary, daughter of thomas, duke of norfolk, but died before consummation on the 24th july, 1536. when the duke is first mentioned in these accounts, he was eleven years of age: arrows were then purchased for him, and his nurse is said to have received 40_s._ in reward. in the same year 20_s._ were paid for a lute for him; and it appears that in january 1532 he was ill, for a physician was paid 40_s._ for visiting him. rider, to alexander the, 184. riding boys, 29, 41, 83, 86, 91, 94, 98, 100, 107, 114, 123, _bis_, 131, 132, _bis_, 176, 207, 212, 216, 230, 259, 263, 276, 277. see boys of the stable. riding bonnets, for, 99. ----, caps of black velvet, 25. ridley ----, a tailor, 215. rigeley rowland, 109, 195. rights, paid to mark and the two guilliams against easter for to take their, 121. upon this item the editor is unable to throw any light. if it means a payment of their accustomed gratuity of 20_s._ each, at easter, it would be intelligible, and it is difficult to explain it in any other way; for that money should be paid to an individual for receiving what was his "right," seems almost absurd. rightwise, master of st. paul's school, 106. the king ordered 13_l._ 9_s._ to be given to this person in january 1531, but for what reason does not appear. rings, for finding one of the king's, 20. rings and bolts, for the king's chamber doors during a progress, 251. see bolts. road, paid for improving a road against the king passed, 177. robes, groom of the. see cecil and parker. ----, yeoman of the, 82, 269, 271, 279, 282. see cecil and parker. ----, stuff delivered by the keeper, for the marchioness of pembroke, 254. roche ----, a mercer, 59. rochford lord, 34, 37, 68, 72, 128, 144, 156, 189, 195, _bis_, 209, _ter_, 210, _bis_, 226, 232, 263, _bis_. george boleyn viscount rochford, the brother of queen ann boleyn. the history of this amiable young nobleman is too well known to require any further notice of him in this place. almost all these entries shew the high favour in which he was held by henry, for it is manifest from them that he was the king's constant companion, and was always one of his parties, at shooting matches, bowls, dice, cards, and indeed at every other species of amusement. rochford, lady mary, 88. apparently the sister of lord rochford and queen ann boleyn, though it is extraordinary that she should be called lady mary _rochford_. she married first sir william carey, by whom she had henry lord hunsdon, and secondly, sir william stafford, knight. the entry relating to her is not a little curious; it appears from it that her sister anne boleyn had pawned a jewel to her for the sum of 20_l._ which was redeemed out of the privy purse expences by order of the king. ---lady ann, 108, 111, 113, 123, 133, 215. it seems that all these entries referred to ann boleyn, and ought to have been inserted under her name. they are, however, alluded to at the commencement of the volume. rods, binding rods for poles paid for, 22. rods, [roods] to the king's bedesman at the, 122. see also rhods. roger, 67. rogers ----, 186, 216. both these entries are of payments made to him for money won from the king at play. rolls, the master of the, 33. john taylor, who was appointed to that office on the 27th june 1526, and held it until 1534. rolte john, yeoman of the leshe, 75, 163, 263. ----, sergeant, 155, 172, 235. ---john, 229. romayne henry, a smith, 111. romsaye ----, 245. roots brought, 4, 8, 96, 169. roses brought, 148. rosewater brought, 63, 181, 257. rother, [_i. e._ rudder] for a new, 96. rotherham master, 71. rounds, for making of, 107, 145. a kind of target at which arrows were shot, both for practice and amusement. cavendish says, that when he was sent for by henry to hampton court, after the death of cardinal wolsey, "i found him shooting _at the rounds_ in the park on the backside of the garden, and perceiving him occupied in shooting, thought it not my duty to trouble him, but leaned to a tree intending to stand there, and to attend his gracious pleasure. being in a great study, at the last the king came suddenly behind me where i stood, and clapped his hand upon my shoulder, and when i perceived him, i fell upon my knee. to whom he said calling me by name, 'i will,' quoth he, 'make an end of my game, and then i will talk with you,' and so departed to his mark, whereat the game was ended. then the king delivered his bow unto the yeoman of his bows and went his way inward to the palace." _ed. singer_, 1815, vol. i. p. 328. ----, money won at the, 134. rowed, to the men that rowed the king, 127, _bis_. rowland ----, a keeper of waltham forest, 72. rowme, to rutter, for his fee due for his rowme in windsor forest, 286. rowme appears to have been a common expression for "place," or "situation," thus in lodge's _illustrations_, in a letter dated 28th april, 1516, "the master of the rolles is departed, and doctor tunstalle hath his _rowme_, as the saying is." vol. i. p. 9. the fee in question was due to him by virtue of office, which was that of keeper of windsor forest. running the king's geldings, 18, 29. ---boys, 54, boys who rode the king's racing horses. rushes, to burn with salad oil, 12. russell, sir john, 18, 85, 118, 241. ancestor of the dukes of bedford, and founder of the honors of that illustrious family. he was created baron russell of cheymes, on the 9th march 1538, was a knight of the garter, lord admiral, and lord privy seal, and in 1549, was raised to the earldom of bedford. russell lady, 107, 245. wife of sir john russell just mentioned. she was the daughter and co-heiress of sir guy sapcotes, knight, and widow of sir john broughton, of teddington, in the county of bedford. rutter william, one of the keepers of windsor forest, 40, 180, 286. ----, 227. rydley robert, a taylor, 5, 60. ---page of the king's chamber, 23. rye and hastings, for a plat of, 91. see plat. rye was at that time a sea-port of some importance, and maintained several ships of war. in lodge's _illustrations_, vol. i. p. 63, is a letter from the privy council, dated in 1544, in which the following passage occurs: "the town of rye hath all this year had iij or iiij vessells abrode for the warres, and gayned very moche by it." rynning boys. see running boys. sabellius davy, 132. sables several tymb' of, brought, 105. sacre. see saker. sackbuts and other musical instruments, for, 86. ----, paid to, 129, 173, _bis_, 174. ----, to the one belonging to the french queen, 248. persons who played on the sackbut, _i. e._ a brass trumpet. saddler, the king's, 68. saddles, for, 257. sail, for a, 262. sakar a, brought, 91. ---and sakeretts, paid for, 192. "a _saker_ is a passenger or peregrine hawk, for her eyrie hath not been found by any. she is somewhat larger than the haggard falcon, her plume is rusty and ragged, the sear of her foot and beak like the lanner; her pounces are short; however she has great strength, and is hardy to all kind of fowl."--_gentleman's recreation._ a _sakerett_ was probably a young saker. six sakers and five sakeretts cost, in 1532, eight crowns a-piece, the sum paid for the eleven being 20_l._ 10_s._ 8_d._ sakfelde, the groom porter, 120. salad oil, a potell of, 12, _ter_. ---herbs brought, 176, 216. salisbury master, 65, 156. salmon, a fresh, brought, 31. sampson adam, 105, 110. sandes, sir richard, 91. sandwich, 273, _bis_. ----, friars of, 273. sandys' lord, park to the keeper of, 151. satin crimson, for, 86, 117. ---black, for a cloak, 222. ---bruges for, 222. saumon john, 229. sawcy, to the lieutenant and keepers of the forest of, 241. salcey, in northamptonshire. scassebrig thomas, one of the pitcher house, 251. scawesby ----, 46. scholars at oxford, gratuities to, 8, 157, 243. ---at paris, a gratuity to, 119. ----, for the exhibitions of, 46, 82, 165, 207, 260. ----, for the exhibitions of, at paris, 8, 71, 90, 190, 263. scholars, to mr. ratcliffe, a scholar at cambridge, 224. among the few redeeming traits in henry the eighth's character, was a love of learning, to which each of these entries bears additional testimony. besides occasional gifts to scholars of oxford, cambridge and paris, and which in three years amounted to 83_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ he also gave exhibitions, the whole expences of which in the same period were 63_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._ he moreover supported two scholars at st. paul's school, the charges for which were 30_l._ 3_s._; making, if 13_l._ 9_d._ paid to the master of that school in january 1531, be included, a total of 190_l._ 12_s._ spent from november 1529 to december 1532, for the encouragement and advancement of erudition; a trifling sum, it is true, when compared with recent instances of royal munificence, but important when the value of money, and the manners of the times are considered. science, paid to a jeweller to be employed in his, 156. the use of the word _science_ in this sense is rather curious. scot john, 23, 39, 87, 108, 132, 182, 205, 217, 277, 281. a mercer or taylor. ---thomas, 173. ---richard, 194. a gratuity of 20_s._ to him in consideration of his having been robbed. scotland, to a gentleman of, 56. scottish ambassadors, money given to the, 250. ---gentleman, to the, 9, _bis_. scowring the new pale in greenwich park, 230. scrivan', peter the, 23. a scrivener, who had probably been employed in transcribing; the sum paid to him was considerable, namely, 14_l._ 9_s._ 4_d._ scrivener of london, to a, 84. scullery, to one of the, 252. scut john, 6. sele, [_i. e._ a seal] brought, 37, 46. seal great, to a poor woman to purchase out, the, 148. apparently a gift of 20_s._ 4_d._ to pay the fee of affixing the great seal to some instrument affecting her interests. secretary master, 26, 77, 144. probably the principal secretary of state, but it is not certain who filled that office, in 1530 and 1531. cromwell was not regularly appointed to it until 1534; but it is most likely that he was the person so designated in these accounts. sergeant of the cellar, 64. see cellar. ----, porter, 256. apparently edmund knyvett, who certainly held that office in august 1519. see _testamenta vetusta_, p. 568. ---apothecary, 146. servants, [_i. e._ falconers, huntsmen, &c.] wages and expences of, from january to march 1529, 284 to 289. service, to a german that offered his, to the king, 117. sets, for those lost by the king at greenwich, 143. sets meant either games or wagers. sexton philip, the fool, 5, 11, _bis_, 13, 17, 21, 24, 25, 31, 34, 38, 45, 61, _bis_, 73, 75, _bis_, 80, _bis_, 86, 120, _bis_, 138, _bis_, 139, 164, 168, 183, 193, 199, 215, 217, 231, 238, 247, 265, 271, 274, 281. see fool. seymour sir edward, 5, 17, 36. afterwards the king's brother-in-law, and duke of somerset, the celebrated protector of england. these entries show the familiar manner in which he was treated by henry as early as 1529. the first item is of a payment to him of 337_l._ upon a reckoning between his majesty and himself, and the second and third to money lost to him by the king at play. on one occasion sir edward won of henry the large sum of 376_l._ 10_s._ seymour, robert, 273. it has not been ascertained who this individual was. the entry relating to him is a payment of 4_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ which he had won of the king at tables. shafts for, 47, 265. shalms, brought to the king, 26. ---for tenor and treble, 86. a shalm is explained by mr. ayrton, whose professional reputation renders him excellent authority on such a subject, "to be the base cornet." ellis's _original letters_, second series, vol. i. p. 273. bishop percy informs us that "it was a wind instrument like a pipe, with a swelling protuberance in the middle:" [illustration] "item, my lord useth and accustometh yearly when his lordship is at home to gyf to iij of the kyngs _shames_ when they come to my lord yerly x s." _northumberland household book_, p. 341. cavendish says, when the king of france came, "he danced, and others with him, the most part of that night; my lord's minstrels played there so excellently all that night, that the _shalme_ (whether it were with extreme labour of blowing, or with poisoning, as some judged, because they were more commended and accepted with the king than his own, i cannot tell,) but he that played upon the _shalme_, an excellent man in that art, died within a day or twain after." ed. singer, 1825, vol. i. p. 114. perhaps the earliest drawing of a shalm extant, is in the illustrations to the copy of froissart, in the british museum, royal ms. 18 e. i & ii. sheathes for knives, of velvet, paid for, 161. shepey, paid the watermen for rowing the king to, 262. ----, 265, 266. shere robert, keeper of the beagles, 17, 24, 39, 50, 54, 59, 75, 79, _bis_, 89, 94, 111, 126, 136, 149, 166, 167, 177, 187, 194, 198, 204, 213, 219, 231, 246, 250, 260, 275, 287, 290. ---john, keeper of the beagles, 125. sic in ms. but query, if not a mistake for _robert shere_. ship, paid for discharging the, that brought cardinal wolsey's goods, 112. ----s, paid when the king viewed his, 260. henry's attachment to naval affairs has been fully established, and he consequently paid great attention to his ships. a curious list of his majesty's navy, in 1525, 6, is given by mr. ellis, in his _original letters_, second series, v. i. p. 218 et seq. as a note to a very interesting letter on the subject from sir edward howard, lord high admiral, in 1513. see also a letter from some ladies to the king from portsmouth about the year 1540, acquainting the king with the pleasure they derived from inspecting "the great harry." _ibid._ _first series_, vol. ii. p. 126. ----, the master treasurer's, 6. evidently the ship belonging to sir william fitz-william, afterwards earl of southampton, and which by his will dated in september, 1542, he thus bequeathed to the king--"item, i give to the king's majesty my _great ship_, with all her tackle, and my collar of the garter, with my best george beset with diamonds."--_testamenta vetusta_, p. 707. individuals frequently owned ships which were employed in the king's service, and which seem to have been considered as a sufficient means of support, for sir edward howard, the lord admiral, in his will dated in 1512, says, "whereas i have two bastards, i give the king's grace the choice of them, beseeching his grace to be good lord to them, and that when he cometh of age he may be his servant; and him that the king's grace chuseth, i bequeath him my bark, called 'genett,' with all apparel and artillery, and l _li_ to begin his stock with: the other i bequeath to my special trusty friend, charles brandon, praying him to be good master unto him; and for _because he hath no ship_, i bequeath to him c marks to set him forward in the world." _ibid._ p. 534. ----, purveyor of the, 179. shirts for, 17, 53, 78, 84, _sæpe_, 97, 101, 104, 119, 121, 136, 197, 261, 283. ---for washing sexton's, 21, 34, 45. ----, for a bag for the king's, 103. ---for making eight for the, king, 256. shoes for, 30, 31, 34, 53, 119, 123, 136, 139, 183, 219, 259, 263, 264, 283. shoemaker, to the, 30, 31, 53, 103, 139, 259, 264, 281. shooters, to, 66. ----, paid to two of the, for their livery, 201. shooting, for, 67, 72, 76, 85, 135, 144, 145, 156. ----, money lost by the king at, 50, 118, 120, 137, 159, 226, 229, 237, 250. all these entries refer either to money paid to individuals, as a reward for their dexterity in shooting, or to bets lost by the king at shooting matches. shots, paid for seven lost by the king, 118. shovelard, [_i. e._ shoveller] a, brought, 175. shovillabourd, money lost by the king at, 188, 189, 195, _bis_, 209. archdeacon nares explains shovel-board to be "a common trivial game, which consisted in pushing or shaking pieces of money on a board to reach certain marks. shovel-board play is graphically described in a poem entitled _mensa lubrica_, &c. written both in latin and english by thomas master. the english poem is cited at large in bliss's edition of _anth. wood_, vol. iii. p. 84. the table had lines or divisions marked with figures, according to the value of which the player counted his game. it is minutely described by strutt, _sports and pastimes_, p. 267, as still in use in pot houses, and played with a smooth halfpenny. the game was also called shove-groat, shove-board, and shuffle-board." _glossary._ shrobbe, hanley and wakefield, to the ranger and keepers of, 160. these three places are in northamptonshire; the latter is now the seat of the duke of grafton. shrobbes, to the keeper of the, 161, 241. a walk in whittlewood forest. sick men, paid for, 77, 145. ---priest, paid to a, 77. ---woman, paid to a, 135. ---people, paid to, whom the king healed, 16, 20, 37, 40, 46, 156, 160, 161, 163, 164, 170, 221, 225, 243, 249, 253, 264, 272, 277. people supposed to be healed by the king's touch from the disease, thence called the king's evil. "andrew borde, who wrote his _introduction to knowledge_, in king's reign, states, that 'the kinges of england, by the power that god hath gyven to them, doth make sicke men whole of a syckness called the kynges evyll.' this extract and the entry above are sufficient to prove, were other evidence wanting, that dr. percy was much mistaken in supposing that 'this miraculous gift was left to be claimed by the stuarts." some curious matter upon this subject is collected in a note by nichols, _literary anecdotes_, 195, ii. 504, reed, shak. x. 243, and see 195. amongst the conway papers (mss) there is an order for a proclamation, dated 13th may, 1625, to forbid the repair of people to court till michaelmas following, to be healed of the king's evil, and that for the future all shall bring certificates from the minister, &c. of the parish, for that many being healed, have disposed of their pieces of gold otherwise than was intended, _and thereby fall into relapse_.' sir kenelm digby informed mons. moncenys, that if the person cured lost the piece of gold, the complaint immediately returned. moncenys' _travels_, t. ii. p. 20. fabian phillips, in his _treatise on purveyance_, asserts that the angels issued by the kings of england on these occasions amounted to a charge of 3000_l._ per annum, p. 25. see barrington _on the statutes_, 107, 8. m.--see also healed. sick, paid the surgeon's bill for grand guilliam when he was, 245. sickness, money given to a servant during his, 64. sidney. see sydney. signet, to godsalve, clerk of the, 106. silks brought, 18, 45, 78, 82, 116, 163, 262. silver, money in, delivered to lady ann boleyn, 95. singers, to the french king's, and those of the cardinal de larenno, 268, 269. "rewards" given to those persons at the interview between henry and francis the first in october, 1532. they had probably sung in the king's presence, for which each party received 4_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ sittingbourne, 274, _sæpe_. skevington master, 28, 162. skinner, ----, 75, 80, 265, 269, 271, 274, 281. sexton the fool's servant. ----, to the, 44, 183, 261, 269. skins brought, 68, 72. ---of pawmpelion, 47. see pawmpelion. to which it is only necessary to add that they might have been skins brought from pampeluna, instead of pampellone. skyppe master, 32. skrenes, for stools, forms, and, 120. skutt john, 179, 223. sleves, paid for two pair of, 31. sloppes, paid for a pair of, 274. archdeacon nares says, "slops or trowsers, now familiarly used for garments of all kinds," _glossary_; and the authorities there adduced prove the correctness of the definition. the pair bought for the king cost 6_s._ 8_d._ "sometimes i have seen tarleton play the clowne, and use no other breeches than such _sloppes_ or slivings as now many gentlemen weare." wright's _passions of the mind_. ed. 1601. smith robert, 22. smythe thomas, 170, 183, 219, _bis_, 238, 259, 261, 265, 269. for the following note relative to this individual, the editor is indebted to joseph gwilt, esq. f.s.a. a descendant of his family: "thomas smith, whose name so frequently occurs in these accounts, was most probably afterwards of campden, co. gloucester; he had also a grant of the manor of lyersocle, co. heref. jointly with his son-in-law, hugh walshe, which was confirmed in the 35th of the same king. that smythe was a man of considerable importance, may be inferred as well from his matrimonial alliances, as from the inscription on his monument, in which he is described, '_a pueritiâ suâ aulicus_.' in the college of arms there is a grant to thomas smith, by christopher barker, dated boulogne 1544, and afterwards confirmed by gilbert dethick, from which it appears that he was at boulogne in that year; probably attendant on the court there. elizabeth, the first wife of thomas smith, was daughter and coheir of eustace fitzherbert, and relict of edward smith, of cresing temple, co. essex, by whom she had two children. by thomas smith it is not clear from the pedigrees, which exhibit some discrepances, that she had issue. his second wife was katharine, daughter of sir george throckmorton, of coughton, relict of robert winter, of hoddington; co. wigorn, by whom he had a numerous family. he was sheriff of gloucestershire in the years 1571 and 1593 and died 1593. over the place of his interment near the altar of campden church, on the north side, is a canopied monument of the time with his figure in knight's armour of the size of life. on the compartments between the pedestals under the columns are bassi relievi, representing his two wives, seven sons and six daughters. on the western face of the monument, are the arms of smith, viz. a fess between three saltires; and in another escotcheon, the crest, viz. two amphibamies indorsant. on the south side are three escotcheons, the westernmost with the arms of smith. the next towards the altar, smith impaling throckmorton; and olney, spyne and bosson, quarterly. the last, smith's impaling fitzherbert in the first and fourth, and two other coats quarterly. against the north wall of the chancel is the following inscription:--'hic jacet vir verus christianus thomas smith armiger quondam manerii di campden dominus, a pueritiâ suâ aulicus, qui suo tempore fuit e consiliis regis marchiæ walliæ bisque vicecomes comitatus gloucestriæ, ac justiciarius pacis ejusdem comitatus usque ad extremum ætatis, qui habuit duas uxores; primam elizabetham filiam et hæredem eustatii fitzherbert armigeri, secundam katharinam filiam georgii throckmorton militis cum filiis et filiabus ut hic patet qui obit die ... anno dom. mdxciii.' there is little, doubt that this thomas smith was the father of henry smith, esq. an alderman of london, who is buried at wandsworth, and whose extensive charitable benefactions in surrey and elsewhere are universally known. he bore the same arms with a difference, as appears by the funeral certificate, in the college of arms, register i. 23. 30, and there are many other circumstances which tend to strengthen such a conjecture." it appears from the _book of quarterly payments_ from the 29th to the 33rd henry viii. in the library of the royal society, that smith was a page of the chamber, and received 10_l._ _per annum_ for his wages; and it is manifest from these entries that like smeton and the two williamses, he was a peculiar favourite of henry, for all his apparel was paid for out of the privy purse, and he accompanied the king to calais in october 1532. smith walter, 242. ----'s to, 111, _bis_, 238. ---to a, in deptford, 31. ---the master, 233. ---to the, for bolts and rings for the king's chamber doors during the progress, 251. ---to the, for carrying locks with the king to calais, 271, 281. snuffers, paid for, 4, 89, _bis_, 108. solicitor of the staple of calais, 93. see calais. sodde wine, brought, 109. sodd the preterite of seethe, _i. e._ boiled. sokat brought, 67, spalding, prior of, 137. spaniel a, brought, 5. spanish woman, to a, 110. spencer master, to the keeper of his park, 157, 158, 242. -------, 159, 236, _bis_. apparently sir william spencer of althorp, ancestor of the duke of marlborough and earl spencer. he was knighted in 1529, and in the 23rd and 24th henry viii. was sheriff of northamptonshire. sir william died, however, on the 22nd june 1532, a month before his servant is said to have brought a present to the king. his son and heir was then very young, hence these gifts were probably sent by his mother or guardians. spert thomas, 171. spruce, [_i. e._ prussia] costs of going into the land of, 181. spurs to the choristers of windsor, in reward for the king's, 55, 58, 253. money paid to redeem the king's spurs, which had become the fee of the choristers of windsor, perhaps at installations, or at the annual celebration of st. george's feast. no notice on the subject occurs in ashmole's or anstis' _history of the order of the garter_. the composition was 6_s._ 8_d._ staber, sir lawrence, 132, 235. stable, to one of the, 23. ----, boys of the, 29, 38, 182, 230, 247, 281, 282, 283. ----, to alexander of the, 276. stafferton ----, 253. stafford, a prisoner brought from, 207. stag a, brought, which the king had taken, 152. ----s brought, 66, 152, 155, 163, 193, 220, 235, 245, 254, 255. ---paid for carrying a, to windsor, 245. staines, to men of, 31. staker sir lawrence. see staber. stalking gelding, for meat for a, 132. ---horse, 162, 194. ---ox the, brought, 112. a stalking horse, archdeacon nares informs us, was "sometimes a real horse, sometimes the figure of one cut out and carried by the sportsman for the following purposes. on being found that wild fowl which would take early alarm at the appearance of man, would remain quiet when they saw only a horse approaching, advantage was taken of it, for the shooter to conceal himself behind a real or artificial horse, and thus to get within shot of his game." in the _gentleman's recreation_ both kinds of stalking horses, and the manner of using them, are fully explained. all these entries on the subject seem to refer to a real horse, and we learn from one of them that an ox was employed for the same purpose. a _stalking horse_ occurs in the list of henry's horses in the _ordinances made at eltham_, in the 17th henry viii. p. 200. standards, for carrying plate, 43. the word is used in a similar sense by cavendish. "the king caused to be sent him three or four cart loads of stuff, and most part thereof was locked in great _standards_ (except bed and kitchen stuff) wherein was both plate, and rich hangings, and chapel stuff." ed. _singer_, 1825, vol. i. p. 224. steel plate, bundells of brought, 87. stem and stem lock for the boat, 211. stephen, the hardwareman, 31. ----, the king's embroiderer, 124. steward lord, 61. stocks, [_i. e._ stockings] for pairs of, 94, 237. stonar robert, keeper of waltham forest, 66, 164, 172, 235. stonar sir walter, 146. stone bows, strings for the, 19. stone, [in kent] 266, 274. stony stratford, 160. stools, for tables, forms, and, 220. strawberries brought, 45, 141, 147, 221. strene the, brought, 151. this entry almost defies explanation. the only instance in which _strene_ occurs in the glossaries is synonymously with _strain_, a race, descent, lineage. hence it might, however unlikely, mean a pedigree; but it is more probable that it was kind of _strainer_. strings for cross bows, 19. string-maker for bows, his bill paid, 180. stubbes doctor, 6, 23, 36, 114. stuff bought, 212, 213. stuff, paid for fetching, 122, _bis_, 128, 132, 139, 159, 177, _bis_, 208, 269, 274. stuff, for keeping the cardinals, 126. see cardinal. ---to a clock-maker, for such as the king bought, 215, _bis_. ---paid for, 217, _bis_. ---delivered by the keeper of the robes for the marchioness of pembroke, 254. sturgeon a, brought, 43, _bis_, 176, 226. subdean of the king's chapel, 93, 200, 260. sucado brought, 184, 224. sugar brought, 176. suffolk duke of, 15, 18, 24, 33, 64, 115, 154, 245, 251, 268. charles brandon, duke of suffolk, henry's brother-in-law. sun, crowns of the, 126. see crowns. surgery, for, 245. ----, paid to the french fletcher towards his, 67. surgeon, to a, that healed little guilliam, 128. sussex, 232. swan a, brought, 107. sweet waters, brought, 81. swords for, 51. ----, paid for keeping the king's, 108. ----, paid the cutler for dressing the king's, 272. sydney sir william, 29. apparently sir william sydney, grandfather of robert, earl of leicester, a gentleman of the privy chamber. his wife, who was probably the lady sydney here mentioned, was ann, daughter of hugh pagenham, esq. ---lady, 32, 201, 205, 213. sydrons, [_i. e._ citrons,] brought, 80. sympringham, prior of, 109. sypres, [_i. e._ cypress wood,] a coffer of brought, 184. taberet peter, a minstrel, 70, 209. tabulls, [tables,] brought, 48. tables for playing the game so called. see _infra_. table, chess, &c. 81. tables, money given the king to play at the, 272, 273. _tables_ is considered to be the old name for back-gammon. in the frontispiece of strutt's _sports and pastimes_ an engraving of a _table_ occurs. sir william compton, by his will dated in 1523, bequeathed to henry "a little chest of ivory, wherof one lock is gilt, with a chess-board under the same, and a pair of _tables_ upon it, and all such jewels and treasures as are inclosed therein." _testamenta vetusta_, p. 593. tables are thus spoken of in a _knight's instructions to his daughters_, originally written in french, in april 1371, and translated about the reign of henry vi. "ther was a gentille knight's daughter that wratthed atte the _tables_ with a gentill man that was riotous and comberous and hadd an evelle hede, and the debate was on a point that he plaide that she saide it was wronge, and so the wordes and the debate rose so, that she saide that he was a lewde fole and thanne lost the game in chiding." _harleian_ mss. 1764, f. 7^{b} table of wood, for a, 199. tables, forms, &c. for, 220. table-cloths, for diaper for, 264. taffeta, crimson, in grain, for, 87. talbot, bryan, 31, 43, 83, 96, 110, 135, 166, 175, 188, 212, 281, 284, 290. numerous as these entries are, they afford no information on the situation which talbot filled. his wages were 9_l._ per annum, and we may infer that he was one of the servants. tallowing the king's barge, for, 45, 211. see barge. tar for the king's barge, 45. see barge. tarsel, paid for a, 10. ---a, brought, 62, 187, 237, 244. or tassell gentle, properly tiercell--the male of the goshawk. it is called gentle, from its docile and tractable disposition. nares' _glossary_. the value of a tarsell in 1529 seems to have been 13_s._ 4_d._ tate bartholomew, painter, 120. see painter. taylor, to a, 44, 199, 215. ---james, a waterman, 78. ---george, servant to lady ann boleyn, 7, 9, 61, 111, 113, 114, 145, 179, 183, 203, 250, 261, _bis_, 264. ---john, a waterman, 59. tebbes ----, of deptford, 177. tempest sir richard, 247. a reward of 10_l._ was paid to him at abingdon in august, 1532, but for what reason does not appear. tennis, money lost by betting at, 36. ----, money for, 86. ----, money lost at, 268. ----, to one that served on the king's side at, 180. ---play, for the costs of, 134, 183, 193, 206, 209. -------, to anstey of the, for balls at calais and greenwich, 283. tertagats paid for, 135. this entry must mean targets or bucklers. the cost of "divers" amounted to so large a sum as 61_l._ 2_s._ 8_d._ tewke sir bryan, 19, 22, 24. mr. ellis states that this individual was treasurer of the chamber, and was appointed secretary to the king for the french tongue, with a salary of 100 marks, in 1523. he purchased the manor of layer marney in essex in 1525, and was sheriff of that county in 1533. he died on the 26th october, 1545, and was buried at st. margaret's, walbrooke. _original letters_, first series, vol. i, p. 283. mr. ellis has printed some, and referred to several of his letters. collins says, tuke was secretary to cardinal wolsey, _peerage_, ed. 1779, vol. i. p. 87. the entries respecting him in these accounts only refer to the months of january and february, 1530, and relate to payments of large sums to the emperor, or for other purposes. the whole amount paid into his hands on those occasions was 5143_l._ 8_s._ tewksbury abbot of, 149. thirlby doctor, 262. afterwards the first and only bishop of westminster. mr. lodge says of him in a note to a letter in his _illustrations_, that he was an able civilian, and was employed in several embassies by henry. he was translated to norwich by edward vi. and to ely by mary, and died at lambeth, 26th august, 1570. that elegant writer farther observes, "the mildness of his conduct during the persecutions of the protestants by mary, secured him a quiet retreat in the following reign. in making a grave for the burial of archbishop cornwallis, at lambeth, in 1783, the body of bishop thirlby was discovered in its coffin, in a great measure undecayed, as was the cloathing. the corpse had a cap on its head, and a hat under its arm." thomas, a footman, 94, 69, 142. ---john, sergeant at arms, 153. ---the jester, 41, 126, 204. see fools. thomson, ----, 58, 177. thorns for greenwich park, paid for, 205. tierces of wine, for the lading of, 99. tissue, pieces of, paid for, 6, 105. token a, sent from the king to sir francis bryan, 125. the word _token_, per se, evidently meant any thing sent as a mark of kindness. in this instance it was 50_l._ but it was more frequently a jewel or other article of value. thus in the instance of cardinal wolsey, when henry was informed by dr. butts that unless he sent him some testimony of his favour he would die within four days, "even so will i, quoth the king, and therefore make speed to him again, and ye shall deliver him from me this ring for a _token_ of our good will and favour towards him, in the which ring was engraved the king's visage within a ruby, as lively counterfeit as was possible to be devised."--"and then he spake to mistress anne [boleyn] saying, 'good sweetheart, i pray you at this my instance, as ye love us, to send the cardinal a _token_ with comfortable words, and in so doing ye shall do us a loving pleasure.' incontinent, she took her tablet of gold hanging at her girdle, and delivered it to master buttes with very gentle and comfortable words," &c. cavendish's _life of wolsey_, ed. singer, 1825, vol. i. p. 226. an engraving of this scene is given from a ms. in the possession of mr. douce in that interesting work. totehill, 107, 118, 120. tomb, paid for the king's, 101. this entry is rather extraordinary, because henry viii. expressly states in his will, dated on the 30th december, 1546, sixteen years afterwards, that his tomb was not then made. he orders that his body shall be buried in the choir of his college of windsor, "mid-may between the halls and the high altar, and an honourable tomb for our bones to rest in be made, if it be not done by us in our life-time." but it is evident from the item in question that a tomb was began for him as early as december, 1530, towards the expences of which cromwell was then paid 13_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._ torch sir, the king's bedeman, at greenwich, 33, 88, 122. tote anthony, 174, 188, 251, 261. see painter. towels for diaper for, 264. tower, stuff sent from the, to windsor, 251. ----, the expences of rowing the king to the, 278, 279. towing, paid to the waterman for, 140. toyle, yeoman of the, 9, 19. traitor, for taking of a, 86. treasurer, the king's, 22, 62, 93, 117, 131, 149, 189, _bis_, 255, 272. until the 26 henry viii. 1532, thomas boleyn, earl of wiltshire, father of queen anne, is said to have been treasurer of the household; in which year sir william fitz-william, afterwards earl of southampton, was appointed to that office; but in the will of sir david, knt. dated in february, 1529-30, he speaks of "sir william fitz-william, treasurer of the king's household."--_testamenta vetusta_, p. 701; and there are other causes for believing that he was treasurer of the household at the whole period embraced by these accounts. tregonnar ----, 69. tremesin peter, a dompnu, 218. see dompnu. trenchers, paid for, 14, 108, 191, 243. trimmed, caps trimmed and garnished with gold buttons, 33. trimming, paid for trimming horns, 184. ----, the king's barge, 44, 45. ----, a garden, paid for, 177. ----, the king's gun, for, 194. these entries are inserted under the word _trimmed_, or _trimming_, to shew the varied sense in which it was used. troughton robert, 234. trussing coffers, for a pair of, 49. packing chests. truss, cotton brought to truss plate, 190. to pack it so that it might not be injured by friction. tunbridge, 250. turkesses, for, 51. _i. e._ turquoises, which were then considered as valuable gems. twelfth night, money given the king on, for play, 15. tyldesley william, groom of the chamber, 157. tylson james, 65. tymb' of sables, brought, 105. tythes, paid for, 214. vanryketson david, 235. vaughan ----, groom of the chamber, 160. vellum, for, 137. velvet, purple bought, for lady anne boleyn, 4. ---for covering mass books, 24. ----, crimson upon velvet, 189. perhaps a kind of double velvet. ----, black, for a cloak, 222. venecian, paid to a, 157. venice, to a post from, 56. venison brought, 140. vestments, paid for making, 129. vice chamberlain, to the, 283. apparently sir anthony wingfield. villiers christopher, 95. vincent, the king's painter, 44, 91. see painter. ----, the clockmaker, 93. viols, to three of the, 260. a payment of 3_l._ 7_s._ 6_d._ to three persons who played on the viols. mr. ayrton observes, "a chest of viols was a set of instruments comprising a treble, a tenor, and bass viol, or what we now denominate a violin, viola, and violoncello." ellis's _original letters_, second series, vol. i. p. 272. virginals, for, 37, _ter_, 110. a virginal is thus explained by mr. ayrton. "the virginal was that which afterwards took the name of spinnet, and differed from it only in shape. the spinnet was triangular, the virginal oblong, like our small piano fortes." ellis's _original letters_, second series, vol. i. p. 272. the item in p. 37, describes the different kinds of virginals with their respective prices; two pair in a box with four stops, cost 3_l._; two pair in one coffer cost 3_l._, and a little pair, 20_s._ for five pairs, on another occasion, 8_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._ were paid. upshot, for one upshotte that he wanne from the king, 143. in the sense in which _upshot_ is there used, it seems to mean a wager or rather stake, or sum played for. upton, the church of st. lawrence at, 36. vyne the, 151, 152. the seat of lord sandys. wading, a pond for, 235. waders for, at greenwich, 263. wafery, yeoman of the, 139. wager in hunting, money lost in a, 162, 163. ----, a curious, won, 263. waits of canterbury, to the, 266, 274. this is perhaps the earliest instance known of the use of the word, in the sense of nocturnal musicians, as archdeacon nares, does not cite any older authority than beaumont and fletcher. they appear to have played to the king whilst at canterbury, on his route to dover on the 9th october, and on his return the 18th of november 1532. among the entries in the household expenses of thomas kytson, esq. in january 1574, is "in reward to richard reede, one of the _wayghtes_ of cambridge, for his attendance in christmas time xxs."--_history and antiquities of hengrave_, p. 201. wakefelde, shrobbe, and hanley, to the rangers and keepers of, 160. these three places are in northamptonshire. wakefield lawn is now the seat of the duke of grafton. wales, greyhounds brought from, 162. ---paid the expences of a journey into, 193. waleston christopher, 255. wall, for a new at blackheath, 213. walshe master, 4, 16, _bis_, 53, 108, 146, 232. apparently sir walter walshe, knight, a gentleman of the privy chamber, who was sent to the earl of northumberland's house to arrest cardinal wolsey. see _singer's edition of cavendish_, 1825, vol. 1, pp. 272, 275, _et seq._ walshe walter, 4, 44, 60, 74, 76, 79, 85. it is most likely that this was the same person who is described elsewhere as master walshe. ------9, 22. ---william, gardener of greenwich, 39, 50, 84, 94, 124, 137, 163, 213, 218, 232. ----'s daughter, 228. walsingham, for the king's offering to the image of our lady of, 214. offerings to the image of our lady of walsingham, were common at a very early period. william de ufford, earl of suffolk, ordered by his will, dated in 1381, that a picture of a horse and man armed with his arms, should be made of silver, and offered to the altar of our lady of walsingham. _testamenta vetusta_, p. 115. in the _vision of pierce plowman_ pilgrimages to our lady of walsingham, are thus noticed. "hermits on a heape, wyth hoked staves, wenten to walsingham." walter, a falconer, 38. waltham, 72, _ter_, 73, 77, 163, _bis_, 164, 171, 177, 230. ---forest, 43, 66. -------, rangers and keepers of, 74, 170, 172, 235, 254. ---to the keeper of the abbot's park of, 180. wanstead, to the gardener of, 34, 58, 75, 103, 122, 142, 167, 182, 206, 230, 260, 282. ward for the board of a person being in, 78. either a person under confinement, or more probably one of the king's wards. warde thomas, 53, 90, 145, 148, 250. it is evident that he was an artizan of some kind, probably a builder, as many of these entries relate to repairs at windsor; and the others to payments made to him for new butts, rounds and pricks. wardens brought, 105, 110, 126, 167, 265, 266, 274. large pears. cavendish describes wolsey as eating _roasted wardens_ at the moment in which he was seized with his fatal illness. "it came to pass at a certain season sitting at dinner in his own chamber, having at his boards end that same day, as he divers times had to accompany him, a mess of the earls' gentlemen and chaplains, and eating of _roasted wardens_ at the end of his dinner, before whom i stood at the table, dressing of those wardens for him, beholding of him i perceived his colour often to change," &c. ed. _singer_, 1825, vol. i. p. 300. in a poem written by lydgate temp. henry vi. he thus alludes to _wardens_. "eke othere frutes, whiche that more common be, quenyngges, peches, costardes, and _wardens_." illustrations to a _chronicle of london_, 4to. 1827, p. 245. warden lord, [of the cinque ports] 267. washing the chapel, stuff for, 93. ---for, 234. waters [probably sweet] brought, 5. ---sweet, brought, 5, 15. ---bailiff of london, 37. watermen, to the king's, 3, 4, 6, 8, 10, 11, _bis_, 12, 22, 24, 25, 29, 45, _bis_, 46, 47, _bis_, 54, 55, _sæpe_, 59, _bis_, 78, 79, 87, 90, 96, _sæpe_, 112, 114, 118, 119, 120, 122, 127, _bis_, 128, _bis_, 134, 136, 139, _bis_, 140, 142, _bis_, 164, 171, 174, 175, 177, 179, _sæpe_, 180, 182, _sæpe_, 192, _bis_, 195, 201, _ter_, 208, 211, 215, 217, 219, _bis_, 228, 229, 251, _bis_, 252, 258, 260, _bis_, 262, _bis_, 277, 278, 279, 286, 291. see barge and boat to which a set of watermen was of course indispensable. waterman, to a, 89. ----, paid to a strange, 118. wax, for hard and fine to make quariars, 116. see quariars. wax, a tree of, 234. perhaps a taper or torch of large dimensions, standing upright like the stem of a tree, and thus opposed to quariars.--m. webbe henry, 97, 112, 168. neither of these entries afford any information as to who this person was. weeding, paid for, 39, 50, 84, 94, 124, 206, 207. wellesborne master, 97, 151, 210. probably sir john wellesborne, called in the _ordinances of the household_, 17th henry viii. "sir john welshbone, one of the gentlemen of the privy chamber." on one occasion he borrowed of the king, 60_l._ which was to be repaid in three years, and on another he received a gift of 23_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._ "in reward." welshe ----, the queen's servant, 183. west john, one of the guard, 115, 131. westby thomas, one of the king's chaplains, 7, 24. westcote john, keeper of the park of windsor, 13, 54, 140, 174. -------, 275. westminster, 128, 142, 175, 277, 279, 281. ----, abbot of, 148. ----, the clock-maker at, 58. ----, for the king's buildings at, 228. ---place, 234. westmoreland the earl of, 5. ralph neville, k.g. he succeeded to that dignity in 1523, and died in 1549. weston master, 15, 17, 18, 37, 38, _bis_, 44, 46, 50, 78, 86, 98, 126, 150, _bis_, 186, 227, 229, 232, 248, 265, 271, 272, 274, 275, 277, 278. so little is known of the family of this individual, that the following particulars may be useful. he was the eldest son of sir richard weston, of sutton, co. surry, knt. who in the herald's visitations of that county, is styled "miles pro corpore, magister wardorum, thesaurar' calisie, et sub-thesaurar' angliæ." sir francis weston was a knight of the bath, and gentleman of the privy chamber, and fell a victim to a supposed criminal intimacy with queen anne boleyn, in 1536. he married eleanor, widow of sir henry knyvet, knt. and daughter and sole heiress of eleanor, (the daughter and heiress of sir roger lewknor, knt. one of the co-heirs of the barony of camois,) by her first husband, sir christopher pickering, knt. by her, who remarried to her third husband, john vaughan, of crickhowell, and died in 1582, sir francis weston left issue a son, sir henry weston, knt.: he was living in 1582, and had one son, sir richard weston, and two daughters, jane and anne. sir richard was living in 1608, and his son sir richard was residing at sutton in 1623, and by grace, his wife, daughter, and heir of john harper, of chelston, in co. hereford, had issue richard, then æt. 5, john, henry, and francis. the descendants of sir francis weston here mentioned are supposed to be extinct; and mr. lodge informs us that in 1782, william webb, esq. assumed the name of weston, in compliance with the will of mrs. melior mary weston, the last of that ancient family.--_illustrations_, vol. i. p. 30, note. see also the _gentleman's magazine_, vol. lii. p. 312. these entries shew the high favor in which he stood with the king. cavendish makes him say, "i was dayntely noryshed under the king's wyng, who highly favored me and loved me so well that i had all my will and lust in every thyng, mynding nothing less than chaunce of my endyng; and for my dethe that present is nowe here, i looked not for, this fyvetie or thre-score yere." ed. _singer_, 1825, vol. ii. p. 31. weston lady, 32, 89, 253. perhaps the wife of sir francis weston. she is alluded to in the last note. ----, young master, 10, 11, 96, 162. probably henry, the son of sir francis and lady weston, mentioned in the preceding note. he was page of the bed chamber to the king.--_archæologia_, vol. iii. p. 155, where he is stupidly confounded with his father. wheeler of hounslow, paid to a, 178. wheelwright, to the king's, 154. whelps brought, 175. ----, of a particular breed, brought, 244. wherry, paid for waiting with a, 192, 197, 201, 208, 215. whethers richard, 115, 209. whichwood, to the ranger and keepers of the forest of, [in oxfordshire] 246. whistle a, brought, 253. perhaps a dog's call, or more likely a call for hawks. a whistle, was then, however, the insignia of a naval commander. sir edward howard by his will, dated in 1512, bequeathed "his rope of bowed nobles that i hang my great _whistle_ by, containing ccc angels, to charles brandon," afterwards duke of suffolk. _testamenta vetusta_, p. 534. the fact of sir edward's having thrown his _whistle_ into the sea when forced overboard by the pikes of the enemy in an attack upon some french ships in the harbour of conquet, is well known. whitney chace, to the keeper of, 246. whittelwood, to the keeper of, 161. whittelwood, to the lieutenant of, 241. whittlewood, or whittlebury forest, in northamptonshire. white friars of london, to the prior and provincial of, 100. wight, the captain of the isle of, 51. wigston roger, solicitor of the staple of calais, 93. see calais. wild fowl brought, 253, 279. wil---nicholas, 132. william, lord, 188, 251. most probably lord william howard, son of thomas second duke of norfolk, by his second wife agnes sister and heiress of sir philip tilney of boston, in lincolnshire. he is stated by collins, ed. 1779, vol. v. p. 15, to have accompanied the king to france in october, 1532, having in his retinue eleven servants and two horse-keepers. at the coronation of anne boleyn he performed the duties of earl marshal for his brother the duke of norfolk, who was then ambassador in france. during the reign of elizabeth he distinguished himself as high admiral of england, was created lord howard of effingham, and a knight of the garter. from his lordship sprung the earls of nottingham and effingham, both of which titles are extinct, and the present lord howard of effingham. on the first occasion in which he is mentioned in these accounts he had won 9_li._ of the king at shovel-board, and on the other 40_li._ were given him "in reward." williams. see guilliam. ---john, 244. willy, a falconer, 71, 206. wiltshire, the earl of, 8, 12, 19, 62, 137, 192, 209, _bis_, 210, 211, 221, 276. thomas boleyn, earl of wiltshire, k. g. father of queen anne boleyn. one of these entries relates to the expences of his embassy to the emperor in january 1530, but the greater part of the others are of payments of money won by him from the king at bowls and shovel-*board. wiltshire, countess of, 49. elizabeth, daughter of thomas howard, duke of norfolk, wife of the earl of wiltshire, and mother of queen anne boleyn. winchester, the auditor of, 13. ----, 58. windsor park, 32, 147, 252. ----, gardener of, 39, 54, 105, 120, 168, 181, 201, 226, 252, 280, 286, 288. ----, keepers or rangers of the forest of, 40, 66, 77, 128, 153, 253, 254. ----, armoury at, 41. ---park, for land bought to enlarge the, 46, 52. ----, 49, 53, 54, 55, 58, 63, 67, _bis_, 80, 140, 145, _bis_, 146, 147, 148, 245, 249, _bis_, 250, 253. windsor, to the choristers of, 55, 140, 253. see spurs. ---forest, to rutter for his "rowme" in, 286. see rowme. wine white, of galiake, paid for, 24. see galiack. ----, sodd, _i. e._ boiled wine brought, 109. see sodde. ----, for hogsheads and tierces of, 98, 99. ----, paid for the king's, 155, 231. ---porters, for laying in wine, to the, 182, 190. ----, two bottles of new, brought, 276. the following memoranda of the wines used in england at that and earlier periods, may perhaps be acceptable. in the _vision of pierce plowman_, we find "whyt wine of osey, and red wine of gascoyne of the renne, and of the rochell the rosted to defye," mentioned; and in the _northumberland household book_ is an entry of "x ton ij hogisheds of gascoigne wyne, for the expensys of my house for an hole yere, viz. iij ton of rede wyne, v tonn of claret wyne, and ij ton and ij hogisheds of white wyne after iiij_l._ xiij_s._ iiij_d._ the ton."--ed. 1827, p. 6. in lodge's _illustrations_, vol. i. p. 17, thomas allen, in a letter to the earl of shrewsbury in 1516, says, "this day i trust to send towards wyndfield ij tonne wyne; wherof iiij hogshedd claret, ij red wyne, on whit wyne, and th' oder punchin freche wyne. if hit be well carried, i trust your lordship will lik hit well. hit will cost v_li._ vj_s._ viii_d._ the tonne, wherof the weynes must have for their labour xx_s._;" and in another letter, dated in 1517, allen informs the earl; "i have bought iij ton of new gascon wyne; weather your lordship woll have new or olde sent downe i cannot tell. your lordship comands also iij hogsheds of wyne of --- or of wyne of graves, and iij hogshedds of suche frenche white wyne as ye had last yer of john eston to be send; her is non yet com, neder, as alen kyng sheweth unto me, wolbe befor crismas. y^{r} lordship hathe ij hogsheds of olde french wyne, of byon, at coleharbert; as for rynishe wyne there cam never non so bad as com this yer; as sone as any comys that is good your lordship shall have therof. as alen kyng sheweth unto me ther was ij vessell of muscadyne wyne which wer good, the king had on, my lord cardinall th' oder."--_ibid._ p. 31. among the expenses of the household of thomas kytson, esq. printed in mr. gage's _history and antiquities of hengrave_, is the following interesting account of the wines used in the reign of elizabeth, with their prices.--"december 1572, for xiij gallons of muscedell, at ij_s._ viij_d._ the gallon, xxxiiij_s._ viij_d._--for xx gallons j qrt. malmesey, at ij_s._ the gallon, with x_d._ for spoonage, and carriage xlj_s._ viij_d._:--for xj gallons iij qrts. sack, at ij _s._ the gallon, with iiij _d._ for spoonage xxiij_s._ x_d._;--for xij gallons j qrt. rhenish wyne xxiiij_s._ vj_d._" p. 193. no notice, however, occurs of gaillac wine, which we learn from these accounts in february, 1530, cost 5_l._ 8_s._ per ton; nor are any others than rhenish and malmsey wines mentioned in the ms. dated "apud eltham mense jan, 22 henry viii," referred to in the _archæologia_, vol. iii. p. 156. the total amount expended in wines in the three years embraced by these accounts, was, 2,516_l._ 4_s._ wodales master, 13. woking park, to the keeper of, 253. wolesnay, the treasurer of, 13. wolf morgan, goldsmith, 79, 105, 169, 188, 257. wodde thomas â, to, towards his marriage, 143. wolmer, to the debite of, 151. apparently a mistake of the writer for the deputy keeper of wolmer forest. ----, forest of, 152. wolverstede, ----, of the armoury, 49. wolsey. see cardinal. wolverd thomas, 234. wood john, a keeper of the goshawks, 15, 34, 56, 80, 98, 118, 162, 167, 183, 200, 258, 281, 287, 288. wood john â, 118. woodcocks brought, 131. woodhall, 46. wood-knives, 65, 153, 158, 173, 248. what a _wood-knife_ was has not been ascertained, nor does the word occur in any glossary. they were possibly knives used in hunting. with a single exception, when 40_s._ were paid for one with a girdle, these entries refer to presents of wood-knives from the abbot of reading. "query, if a _wood-knife_ was that short sharp-hanger, _couteau de chasse_, used in hunting, and with which sir tristrem, and other scientific sportsmen dissected their spoil with anatomical precision?" m. woodstock park, to the comptroller and keepers of, 244. ----, 50, 154, 156, _bis_, 157, _bis_, 159, 241, 242, 243, _sæpe_, 244, 245, _bis_. woodstock, for repairs at, 248. woolwich, paid to a french friar that undertook to stop the breach at, 53. this entry seems to be of a payment of 7_l._ to a french friar, who undertook to repair a breach in the walls of woolwich. woman, to a poor, 30. ----, paid to a sick, 135. work and stuff for ann boleyn, 183. worcester, earl of, 49. henry somerset, second earl of worcester, and ancestor of the dukes of beaufort. he succeeded to the dignity in 1526, and died in november 1549. ---lady, 22. elizabeth, daughter of sir anthony browne, and wife of the earl of worcester just mentioned. the entry relating to her is of a gratuity given to her nurse and midwife, hence it is certain that her ladyship was confined early in february, 1530. it must have been one of her younger children to whom she then gave birth, for her eldest son william, third earl of worcester, was born in 1527. worsley, sir james, 141, 169, 224. ancestor of the baronet's family of that name, he died in 1538. wright andrew, 113. wylde william, 48. ---philip, of the privy chamber, 10. wylkinson john â, 14. wyllys william, a bargeman, 135. wytham ----, 14. wythers ----, 50. yardeley john, a huntsman, 33, 40, 60, 73, 83, 91, 111, 119, 132, 139, 149, 164, 175, 177, 190, 199, 214, 228, 258, 275, 285, 291. york place, 6, 8, 14, _bis_, 16, 18, 20, 22, 24, 25, 35, 43, _bis_, 45, 82, 89, _bis_, 93, 95, 101, 105, 106, _sæpe_, 108, 109, 110, _bis_, 111, 115, 117, 127, 139, 144, 177, 188, 189, 190, 280. york place, gardener of, 56, 57, 58, 59, 66. ----, keeper of, 56. york place or york house, now called whitehall, belonged to the archbishop of york, and was possessed by wolsey in right of that see. henry seized it in 1529, and made it one of his residences.--hall says, "after christmas, 1530, he [the king] came to his manor of westminster, which before was called yorke place, for after that the cardinal was attainted in the premunire, and was gone north-*ward, he made a feoffement of the same place to the kyng, and the chapiter of the cathedral of yorke confirmed the same feoffement, and then the king chaunged the name, and called it the kynges manor of westminster, and no more yorke place." ed. 1809, p. 774. abundant proofs, however, exist in these accounts, that it retained the name of york place, until the period when they close, december, 1532. addenda. it is stated in p. 41, that the next page, _i. e._ f. 20 of the ms. is missing: the following notes of its contents, however, occur among the extracts made from the ms. by peter le neve, norroy king of arms, early in the last century, and which are now preserved in the lansdowne ms. 737. it will at once be seen that le neve has not copied the ms. literally; and there is cause to believe, either that he has omitted a few items, or that there was a mistake in the calculation of the person to whom these accounts were entrusted. the latter conjecture is the more probable of the two, for le neve seems only to have copied the most striking entries. _f. 20 of the ms. and page 42* of this volume._ aprill 28. to the hen taker for his liveray cote xx [~s]. to the fryers of hounslow by way of the kings almes xx [~s]. in reward to mr. bekes serv^{t} for bringing to the king green geese iiij [~s]. viij d. 29. to mr. pole the king's scolar by his grac[s] command iij c corons lxx [-l]i. to lubished for himself and a white fryer c corons xxiij [-l]i. vj [~s]. viij d. aprill 29. to taylor serv^{t} of lady anne in reward for finding a hare iij [~s]. iiij d. to the keeper of the great gardyn at beaulie l [~q]rters wages due at easter iij [-l]i. x d. iij [-l]i. x d. to the said gardener for bringing herb[s] to the king vj [~s]. viij d. 30. to my lord of rochford for ij mewles xxij [-l]i. x [~s]. to the ferrymen at dochet xx [~s]. to the owner of the medow where the kings gueldings ranne, in rewarde xx [~s]. to anthony of the tennes play for the costes at tennes at windsore and the more by the space of xj days iij [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. for a dousen of ynk hornes ij [~s]. in reward to the marques of mantway's serv^{t} vj [-l]i. xiij [~s]. iiij d. to choristars of the college of wyndesor in reward for the king[s] spurres vj [~s]. viij d. su[=m] sol[^c] hujus } d ccc iiij^{xx} j [-l]i. mensis aprilis } xviij [~s]. [signature: henry r] additional notes. bird's meat, 66. hawk's meat. boleyn lady ann. the following are all the pages in which she is mentioned, whether as "my lady ann," "lady ann rochford," or as the "marchioness of pembroke;" 4, _bis_, 10, 13, 44, 47, 48, 50, 61, 72, 74, 88, _bis_, 90, 95, 97, _bis_, 98, 101, 108, 111, 113, 123, 128, 131, 133, 179, 183, 216, 217, 222, 223, 245, 254, 261, 267, 271, 272, 274, 275, _bis_, 276, 277, 282, addenda, p. 366. bonvice anthony. he was a "merchant stranger." "a grudge" between him and other foreigners and some persons in london, is noticed by hall, ed. 1809, p. 718. brakes. to the other references, p. 60 should have been added. brereton william. some curious particulars of brereton will be found in cavendish's _life of wolsey_, ed. singer, vol. ii. p. 34, from which it appears that he was gentleman of the chamber, and steward of the holt in the marches of wales. cavendish says he had "by colour of justice" produced the execution of one eton, "a gentleman born, that thorowghe my myght, so shamefully was hanged upon a gallowe tree oonly of old rankor that roted was in me." buttes dr. it ought to have been remarked that dr. buttes is introduced by shakespeare into "henry the eighth." his portrait occurs in holbein's picture in surgeon's hall of henry giving the charter to the company of surgeons.--_anecdotes of painting._ chartesaye. chelsea, in p. 309, is an error of the press: the place meant is clearly chertsey in surrey. crane, master william. he was the master of the children of the chapel; and in the _book of quarterly payments_, 29-33 henry viii. an entry occurs of money given to him for the performance of the children, evidently in singing before the king. cromer doctor. he is described by cavendish as a "scots physician." ed. singer, vol. i. p. 222. henry gave him 100 li. by his will. dompne. it has been since suggested to the editor by very competent authority, that "_dompne_ was the old english word for "dominus," which was often applied to a priest; and that perhaps the equestrian was such another as sir john hurt, see p. 330." upon the correctness of this explanation he cannot however refrain from entertaining great doubts. dromslade. in the account of queen elizabeth's _annual expences_ among the "musicians and players" are "_drumsteds 3_, fee apeece 18_l._ 5_s._" dromslade is the dutch for drummer. gloves. gloves are thus noticed in the _vision of pierce plowman_; "yea i have lent lords, that loved me never after and hath made mani a knight, both mercer and draper that payd not for his prentishod one _paire of glovis_."--p. xxiiij. and again, "and than gan a wastowre to wrath him and wolde have fought and to piers the plowman he profer'd _his glove_." p. xxxiij. ed. 1550. on new year's day, 32 hen. viii. arcangell arcan, gunner, made the king a present of _perfumed gloves_, and received xx d. in reward. _book of quarterly payments_, 29-33 hen. viii. hampton court, to the feryman at. to the other references add pp. 26, 255. hasilborough, 161. in whittlewood forest. henxmen. besides what has been said on henxmen or henchmen, it may be useful to add that "the schoolmaster for the henxmen" formed part of the royal establishment, and the payment of his wages occurs in the _book of quarterly payments_, 29-33 henry viii. hall also speaks of such a person: "in the laste moneth called decembre were taken certain traytors in the citie of coventry, one called fraunces philippe, scholemaster to the kynges henxmen," &c. anno 15 hen. viii. ed. 1809, p. 673. howard lord william. see "william" infra. ink horns. addenda, p. 366. it may perhaps be worth observing, that in the inventory of the effects of henry v. we find "1 penner, et ung _ynk horn_ d'argent dorrey, pois vj unc', pris l'uncè ij_s._ vj_d._" valued at xv_s._ _rot. parl._ vol. iv. p. 226. thus it seems the word was applied to a vessel for holding ink rather than to the material of which it was made. those mentioned in these accounts must have been very common ones, as a dozen cost only two shillings. kildare earl of. the wife of this earl, elizabeth, daughter of thomas marquess of dorset, received a quarterly pension from the king of 33_li._ 6_s._ 8_d._ _book of quarterly payments_, 29-33 hen. viii. kingston anthony. "mr. anthony kingston, warden of the hawks. _book of quarterly payments_," 29-33 hen. viii. latimer master, for preaching before the king. it was probably to this occasion that bishop latimer alludes in a sermon preached before the duchess of suffolk in 1552. speaking of a woman who was accused of having killed her child, whom he visited in the prison at cambridge, and ascertained to be innocent, he says, "immediately after this i was called to preache before the kyng, whyche was my firste sermon that i made before his majesty, and it was done at windsor where his majestye, after the sermon was done, did most familiarly talke with me in a gallerye. nowe when i sawe my tyme i kneelyd downe before his majesty, openynge the whole matter," &c. the story is however too long to be inserted. fol. 14. printed at aldersgate, 1584. molino idrom. le neve says he was an ambassador. _lansd. mss._ 737. moret hubert. his portrait was painted by holbein, and engraved by holler. walpole's _anecdotes of painting_. mules, 260. addenda, p. 366. in april, 1530, two mules cost 22_l._ 10_s._ and in september, 1532, the sum paid for three was 35_l._ thus the price continued very nearly the same. norris sir henry. he was gentleman waiter to the king, and was the only person permitted to follow him into his bedchamber. _archæologia_, vol. iii. p. 155. cavendish says he was also groom of the stole, vol. ii. p. 25. it would be most unjust to allude, ever so casually to norris, and omit to state that he was offered a pardon if he would confess that anne boleyn was guilty, but that he preferred his honour to his life. owche. an _owche_ also meant bosses, buttons, clasps, or any ornamental trinket. the custom of wearing a brooch, or some kind of ornament, in the front of the hat, is noticed by all our old poets. see massinger, by gifford, iv, 213; jonson, do. ii. 406.--m. pole mr. addenda, p. 365. afterwards the celebrated cardinal pole, archbishop of canterbury. he is said to have been allowed a large pension to enable him to travel into italy, but of which he was afterwards deprived. the entry in these accounts of 70_li._ was, it is most probable, a mere gratuity, or present, for we never find another instance of a similar payment. as pole was then thirty years of age, the title of "the kings _scholar_" is curious. rat-taker. the name of the rat-taker in the 30 hen. viii. was john wolley. _book of quarterly payments_, 29-32 henry viii. relick water. it has been suggested whether relick water was not water in which some relicks had been immersed, with the view of giving it a sanative quality, which was probably supposed to be imparted to those who tasted of, or were sprinkled with it. removing day. this expression was thus used by henry the eighth: sir thomas more informed cardinal wolsey that he asked henry to dispatch some business on the day on which his letter was written; "his grace lawghed, and saied, nay by my fayth, that will not be, for this is my _removing day_ sone at new hall." ellis's _original letters_, second series, vol. i. p. 293. rights. much light is thrown upon this word, by the following entry in the _book of quarterly payments_, 29-33 hen. viii. "item for the kingis offeringe this sonday at _taking his rights_ in the mornyng, vj _s._ viij _d._" thus it was clearly connected with a religious duty, though its precise meaning has not been ascertained. it is needless to observe that the conjecture on the subject in p. 347 is decidedly erroneous. rowme or rome. this word is thus further illustrated: cavendish makes brereton say, "furnished with _romes_ i was by the kyng, the best i am sewer he had in my contrie stewart of the holt, a _rome_ of great wynnyng in the marches of wales, the which he gave to me." and imputes to norris the remark, "offices and _romes_ he gave me great plenty." ed. singer, vol. ii. pp. 25, 34. it is hence obvious that the explanation given in p. 348 is correct. sloppes. this word is further elucidated by the following extract from a letter from richard onslow, recorder of london, dated in february, 1565, stating that in consequence of a recent proclamation several hosiers had applied to him to know whether they might "lyne a _sloppe hose_ not cutte in panes wyth a lynung of cotton styched to the sloppe, over and besydes the lynnen lynyng, and the other lynyng straytt to the legg: whereunto upon consideracyon of the wordes of the proclamacion i answered them all, that i thought surely they could not: and that any loose lynyng not straytt to the legg was not permytted, but for the lynyng of panes only, and that the hole upper stock being in our sloppe uncutt could not be said to be in panes, wherewith they departed satisfyed. sythens which tyme dyvers of them have been wyth me and declared that for as moche as they have refused to lyne the slopp so, their customers have gone from them to other hosyers dwellynge without temple barr, who not only have so lyned the slopp, but also have sayd that your honour hath declared, that they may lawfully so doe."--ellis's _original letters_, second series, vol. ii. p. 307. skyppe master. a john skyppe, clerk, was the king's almoner in the 30 hen. viii.--_book of quarterly payments._ spurs to the choristers of windsor, for the king's. in the time of ben jonson, in consequence of the interruptions to divine service occasioned by the ringing of the spurs worn by persons walking and transacting business in cathedrals, and especially in st. paul's, a small fine was imposed on them called spur money, the exaction of which was committed to the beadles and singing boys.--note to gifford's _jonson_, vol. ii. p. 49.--m. the custom is not yet extinct; but whether the entries referred to in these accounts were at all connected with it, is at least doubtful, for it must first be shown that it prevailed at so early a period. tomb, the king's. a doubt ought to have been expressed whether the payment in question did not relate to the tomb of henry the seventh, though the expression of "_the_ king's tomb" renders it more probable that it referred to one commenced by henry for himself. virginals. this instrument, with a lady playing upon it, is given in the series of cards so beautifully engraved by jost ammin: the fool is in a ludicrous attitude in the back ground. see singer _on playing cards_, 184. earle, in his _microcosmography_, says, that "she, the precise hypocrite, suffers not her daughters to learn on the virginals, because of their affinity with _organs_." p. 97.--m. in the list of "musicians and players" in the account of queen elizabeth's _annual expences_, p. 266, are, "virginall players, 3, fee apeece, 30 _li_." being nearly double as much as was allowed to any other musician. waits. dr. pettingall, in his remarks on the "gule of august," says, "what we at present call 'the waits,' or the music on the nights of the christmas holydays, is only a corruption of the wakes or nocturnal festivities." _archæologia_, vol. ii, p. 66. [***] the notes for which the editor is indebted to dr. meyrick are thus marked, m*; those which he owes to the kindness of mr. markland thus, m. errata and addenda. preface, _p._ ii. _l._ 12. it ought to have been observed, that the library of the society of antiquaries contains similar accounts of the 10th, 11th, and 18th years of the reign of edward the second, to those of the 38th of edward the first; but which still remain inedited. ----, _p._ viii. _l._ 12, for "the leaf was" read "_the leaves were_." _page_ 9, _line_ 26, for "vlxix _li._ v_s_." read "vclxix _li._ v_s._" ---30, 51, 58, and _sæpe_, for "lauret" read "_lanret_." --_ib._ ---17, for "hoses" read "_hosen_." ---130, ---18, add from the lansd. mss. 737, "dxvj_li._ xvij_s._ vj_d._ ob." ---131, ---24, _ibid._ "_delivered_." ---------25, _ibid._ "_anne to_." ---160, ---29, for "shrobbe hauley and wakefelde" read "shrobbe, _hanley_, and wakefelde." ---307, ---17, for "court cards" read "_coat_ cards." ---311, ---15, for "buckman" read "_beckman_." ---347, ---7, for "chatham" read "_eltham_." ---312, ---42, for "james" read "_william_." the end. thomas white, printer, crane court. transcriber's notes: simple spelling, grammar, and typographical errors were corrected. punctuation normalized. anachronistic and non-standard spellings retained as printed. both "expence" and "expense" were widely used. the former predominated in the original and the latter in the editors remarks. both were left unchanged. used "expences" in the title as that was the spelling used on the original title page. the library of congress and the british library use the modern spelling "expenses." italics markup is enclosed in _underscores_. strike through markup is enclosed in #number signs#. superscripts are indicated with a caret (^) followed by the superscripted text surrounded by curly braces { and }. subscripts are indicated with an underscore (_) followed by the subscripted text surrounded by curly braces { and }. inverterted asterisms are denoted by [***]. pages xii & xliv added missing footnote anchors. page xxii corrected footnote numbering errors. page 82 changed "july" to "octobre" to agree with previous and following pages. i & j and u & v were intermixed in the index in the original. corrected placement of out of order gammage, sir william and stuff bought index entries. latin small letter "is" is denoted by [s]. latin small letter p with flourish is denoted by [pf]. latin small letter l with bar is denoted by [-l]. latin small letter l with middle tilde is denoted by [~l]. latin small letter p with stroke through descender is denoted by [p-]. proofreading symbols for other diacritical marks (in the table below, the "x" represents a letter with a diacritical mark.) diacritical mark sample above macron (straight line) ¯ [=x] inverted breve [^x] tilde ~ [~x] the wives of henry the eighth [illustration: _henry viii._ _from a portrait by_ jost van cleef _in the royal collection at hampton court palace_] the wives of henry the eighth and the parts they played in history by martin hume author of "the courtships of queen elizabeth" "the love affairs of mary queen of scots" etc. etc. etc. "_these are stars indeed, and sometimes falling ones._" --shakespeare london eveleigh nash 1905 preface either by chance or by the peculiar working of our constitution, the queen consorts of england have as a rule been nationally important only in proportion to the influence exerted by the political tendencies which prompted their respective marriages. england has had no catharine or marie de medici, no elizabeth farnese, no catharine of russia, no caroline of naples, no maria luisa of spain, who, either through the minority of their sons or the weakness of their husbands, dominated the countries of their adoption; the consorts of english kings having been, in the great majority of cases, simply domestic helpmates of their husbands and children, with comparatively small political power or ambition for themselves. only those whose elevation responded to tendencies of a nationally enduring character, or who represented temporarily the active forces in a great national struggle, can claim to be powerful political factors in the history of our country. the six consorts of henry viii., whose successive rise and fall synchronised with the beginning and progress of the reformation in england, are perhaps those whose fleeting prominence was most pregnant of good or evil for the nation and for civilisation at large, because they personified causes infinitely more important than themselves. the careers of these unhappy women have almost invariably been considered, nevertheless, from a purely personal point of view. it is true that the many historians of the reformation have dwelt upon the rivalry between katharine of aragon and anne boleyn, and their strenuous efforts to gain their respective ends; but even in their case their action has usually been regarded as individual in impulse, instead of being, as i believe it was, prompted or thwarted by political forces and considerations, of which the queens themselves were only partially conscious. the lives of henry's consorts have been related as if each of the six was an isolated phenomenon that had by chance attracted the desire of a lascivious despot, and in her turn had been deposed when his eye had fallen, equally fortuitously, upon another woman who pleased his errant fancy better. this view i believe to be a superficial and misleading one. i regard henry himself not as the far-seeing statesman he is so often depicted for us, sternly resolved from the first to free his country from the yoke of rome, and pressing forward through a lifetime with his eyes firmly fixed upon the goal of england's religious freedom; but rather as a weak, vain, boastful man, the plaything of his passions, which were artfully made use of by rival parties to forward religious and political ends in the struggle of giants that ended in the reformation. no influence that could be exercised over the king was neglected by those who sought to lead him, and least of all that which appealed to his uxoriousness; and i hope to show in the text of this book how each of his wives in turn was but an instrument of politicians, intended to sway the king on one side or the other. regarded from this point of view, the lives of these six unhappy queens assume an importance in national history which cannot be accorded to them if they are considered in the usual light as the victims of a strong, lustful tyrant, each one standing apart, and in her turn simply the darling solace of his hours of dalliance. doubtless the latter point of view provides to the historian a wider scope for the description of picturesque ceremonial and gorgeous millinery, as well as for pathetic passages dealing with the personal sufferings of the queens in their distress; but i can only hope that the absence of much of this sentimental and feminine interest from my pages will be compensated by the wider aspect in which the public and political significance of henry's wives is presented; that a clearer understanding than usual may thus be gained of the tortuous process by which the reformation in england was effected, and that the figure of the king in the picture may stand in a juster proportion to his environment than is often the case. martin hume. london, _october_ 1905. contents page chapter i 1488-1501 introductory--why katharine came to england--political matrimony 1 chapter ii 1501-1509 katharine's widowhood and why she stayed in england 25 chapter iii 1509-1527 katharine the queen--a political marriage and a personal divorce 72 chapter iv 1527-1530 katharine and anne--the divorce 124 chapter v 1530-1534 henry's defiance--the victory of anne 174 chapter vi 1534-1536 a fleeting triumph--political intrigue and the betrayal of anne 225 chapter vii 1536-1540 plot and counterplot--jane seymour and anne of cleves 289 chapter viii 1540-1542 the king's "good sister" and the king's bad wife--the lutherans and english catholics 350 chapter ix 1542-1547 katharine parr--the protestants win the last trick 398 list of illustrations henry viii _frontispiece_ _from a portrait by_ jost van cleef _in the royal collection at hampton court palace._ katharine of aragon _to face page_ 96 _from a portrait by_ holbein _in the national portrait gallery._ anne boleyn " " 192 _from a portrait by_ lucas cornelisz _in the national portrait gallery._ jane seymour " " 288 _from a painting by_ holbein _in the imperial collection at vienna._ anne of cleves " " 336 _from a portrait by a german artist in st. john's college, oxford. photographed by the clarendon press, and reproduced by the kind permission of the president of st. john's college._ katharine howard " " 384 _from a portrait by an unknown artist in the national portrait gallery._ katharine parr " " 400 _from a painting in the collection of the_ earl of ashburnham. _reproduced by the kind permission of the owner._ henry viii " " 432 _from a portrait by_ holbein _in the possession of the earl of warwick. reproduced by the kind permission of the owner._ the wives of henry the eighth chapter i 1488-1501 introductory--why katharine came to england--political matrimony the history of modern europe takes its start from an event which must have appeared insignificant to a generation that had witnessed the violent end of the english dominion in france, had been dinned by the clash of the wars of the roses, and watched with breathless fear the savage hosts of islam striking at the heart of christendom over the still smoking ruins of the byzantine empire. late one night, in the beginning of october 1469, a cavalcade of men in the guise of traders halted beneath the walls of the ancient city of burgo de osma in old castile. they had travelled for many days by little-used paths through the mountains of soria from the aragonese frontier town of tarrazona; and, impatient to gain the safe shelter of the fortress of osma, they banged at the gates demanding admittance. the country was in anarchy. leagues of churchmen and nobles warred against each other and preyed upon society at large. an impotent king, deposed with ignominy by one faction, had been as ignominiously set up again by another, and royal pretenders to the succession were the puppets of rival parties whose object was to monopolise for themselves all the fruits of royalty, whilst the monarch fed upon the husks. so when the new-comers called peremptorily for admittance within the gates of osma, the guards upon the city walls, taking them for enemies or freebooters, greeted them with a shower of missiles from the catapults. one murderous stone whizzed within a few inches of the head of a tall, fair-haired lad of good mien and handsome visage, who, dressed as a servant, accompanied the cavalcade. if the projectile had effectively hit instead of missed the stripling, the whole history of the world from that hour to this would have been changed, for this youth was prince ferdinand, the heir of aragon, who was being conveyed secretly by a faction of castilian nobles to marry the princess isabel, who had been set forward as a pretender to her brother's throne, to the exclusion of the king's doubtful daughter, the hapless beltraneja. a hurried cry of explanation went up from the travellers: a shouted password; the flashing of torches upon the walls, the joyful recognition of those within, and the gates swung open, the drawbridge dropped, and thenceforward prince ferdinand was safe, surrounded by the men-at-arms of isabel's faction. within a week the eighteen-years-old bridegroom greeted his bride, and before the end of the month ferdinand and isabel were married at valladolid. to most observers it may have seemed a small thing that a petty prince in the extreme corner of europe had married the girl pretender to the distracted and divided realm of castile; but there was one cunning, wicked old man in barcelona who was fully conscious of the importance of the match that he had planned; and he, john ii. of aragon, had found an apt pupil in his son ferdinand, crafty beyond his years. to some extent isabel must have seen it too, for she was already a dreamer of great dreams which she meant to come true, and the strength of aragon behind her claim would insure her the sovereignty that was to be the first step in their realisation. this is not the place to tell how the nobles of castile found to their dismay that in ferdinand and isabel they had raised a king stork instead of king log to the throne, and how the queen, strong as a man, subtle as a woman, crushed and chicaned her realms into order and obedience. the aims of ferdinand and his father in effecting the union of aragon and castile by marriage went far beyond the peninsula in which they lived. for ages aragon had found its ambitions checked by the consolidation of france. the vision of a great romance empire, stretching from valencia to genoa, and governed from barcelona or saragossa, had been dissipated when saint louis wrung from james the conqueror, in the thirteenth century, his recognition of french suzerainty over provence. but aragonese eyes looked still towards the east, and saw a frenchman ever in their way. the christian outpost in the mediterranean, sicily, already belonged to aragon; so did the balearic isles: but an aragonese dynasty held naples only in alternation and constant rivalry with the french house of anjou; and as the strength of the french monarchy grew it stretched forth its hands nearer, and ever nearer, to the weak and divided principalities of italy with covetous intent. unless aragon could check the french expansion across the alps its own power in the mediterranean would be dwarfed, its vast hopes must be abandoned, and it must settle down to the inglorious life of a petty state, hemmed in on all sides by more powerful neighbours. but although too weak to vanquish france alone, a king of aragon who could dispose of the resources of greater castile might hope, in spite of french opposition, to dominate a united italy, and thence look towards the illimitable east. this was the aspiration that ferdinand inherited, and to which the efforts of his long and strenuous life were all directed. the conquest of granada, the unification of spain, the greed, the cruelty, the lying, the treachery, the political marriages of all his children, and the fires of the inquisition, were all means to the end for which he fought. but fate was unkind to him. the discovery of america diverted castilian energy from aragonese objects, and death stepped in and made grim sport of all his marriage jugglery. before he died, beaten and broken-hearted, he knew that the little realm of his fathers, instead of using the strength of others for its aims, would itself be used for objects which concerned it not. but though he failed his plan was a masterly one. treaties, he knew, were rarely binding, for the age was faithless, and he himself never kept an oath an hour longer than suited him; but mutual interests by kinship might hold sovereigns together against a common opponent. so, one after the other, from their earliest youth, the children of ferdinand and isabel were made political counters in their father's great marriage league. the eldest daughter, isabel, was married to the heir of portugal, and every haven into which french galleys might shelter in their passage from the mediterranean to the bay of biscay was at ferdinand's bidding. the only son, john, was married to the daughter of maximilian, king of the romans, and (from 1493) emperor, whose interest also it was to check the french advance towards north italy and his own dominions. the second daughter, juana, was married to the emperor's son, philip, sovereign, in right of his mother, of the rich inheritance of burgundy, flanders, holland, and the franche comté, and heir to austria and the empire, who from flanders might be trusted to watch the french on their northern and eastern borders; and the youngest of ferdinand's daughters, katharine, was destined almost from her birth to secure the alliance of england, the rival of france in the channel, and the opponent of its aggrandisement towards the north. ferdinand of aragon and henry tudor, henry vii., were well matched. both were clever, unscrupulous, and greedy; each knew that the other would cheat him if he could, and tried to get the better of every deal, utterly regardless not only of truth and honesty but of common decency. but, though ferdinand usually beat henry at his shuffling game, fate finally beat ferdinand, and a powerful modern england is the clearly traceable consequence. how the great result was brought about it is one of the principal objects of this book to tell. that ferdinand had everything to gain by thus surrounding france by possible rivals in his own interests is obvious, for if his plans had not miscarried he could have diverted france whenever it suited him, and his way towards the east would have been clear; but at first sight the interest of henry vii. in placing himself into a position of antagonism towards france for the benefit of the king of spain is not so evident. the explanation must be found in the fact that he held the throne of england by very uncertain tenure, and sought to disarm those who would be most able and likely to injure him. the royal house of castile had been closely allied to the plantagenets, and both edward iv. and his brother richard had been suitors for the hand of isabel. the dowager-duchess of burgundy, moreover, was margaret plantagenet, their sister, who sheltered and cherished in flanders the english adherents of her house; and henry tudor, half a frenchman by birth and sympathies, was looked at askance by the powerful group of spain, the empire, and burgundy when first he usurped the english throne. he knew that he had little or nothing to fear from france, and one of his earliest acts was in 1487 to bid for the friendship of ferdinand by means of an offer of alliance, and the marriage of his son arthur, prince of wales, then a year old, with the infanta katharine, who was a few months older. ferdinand at the time was trying to bring about a match between his eldest daughter, isabel, and the young king of france, charles viii., and was not very eager for a new english alliance which might alarm the french. before the end of the year, however, it was evident that there was no chance of the spanish infanta's marriage with charles viii. coming to anything, and ferdinand's plan for a great coalition against france was finally adopted. in the first days of 1488 ferdinand's two ambassadors arrived in london to negotiate the english match, and the long duel of diplomacy between the kings of england and spain began. of one of the envoys it behoves us to say something, because of the influence his personal character exercised upon subsequent events. rodrigo de puebla was one of the most extraordinary diplomatists that can be imagined, and could only have been possible under such monarchs as henry and ferdinand, willing as both of them were to employ the basest instruments in their underhand policy. puebla was a doctor of laws and a provincial mayor when he attracted the attention of ferdinand, and his first diplomatic mission of importance was that to england. he was a poor, vain, greedy man, utterly corrupt, and henry vii. was able to dominate him from the first. in the course of time he became more of an intimate english minister than a foreign ambassador, though he represented at henry's court not only castile and aragon, but also the pope and the empire. he constantly sat in the english council, and was almost the only man admitted to henry's personal confidence. that such an instrument would be trusted entirely by the wary ferdinand, was not to be expected: and though puebla remained in england as ambassador to the end of his life, he was, to his bitter jealousy, always associated with others when important negotiations had to be conducted. isabel wrote to him often, sometimes threatening him with punishment if he failed in carrying out his instructions satisfactorily, sometimes flattering him and promising him rewards, which he never got. he was recognised by ferdinand as an invaluable means of gaining knowledge of henry's real intentions, and by henry as a tool for betraying ferdinand. it is hardly necessary to say that he alternately sold both and was never fully paid by either. henry offered him an english bishopric which his own sovereigns would not allow him to accept, and a wealthy wife in england was denied him for a similar reason; for ferdinand on principle kept his agents poor. on a wretched pittance allowed him by henry, puebla lived thus in london until he died almost simultaneously with his royal friend. when not spunging at the tables of the king or english nobles he lived in a house of ill-fame in london, paying only twopence a day for his board, and cheating the other inmates, in the interests of the proprietor, for the balance. he was, in short, a braggart, a liar, a flatterer, and a spy, who served two rogues roguishly and was fittingly rewarded by the scorn of honest men. this was the ambassador who, with a colleague called juan de sepulveda, was occupied through the spring of 1488 in negotiating the marriage of the two babies--arthur, prince of wales, and the infanta katharine. they found henry, as puebla says, singing _te deum laudamus_ about the alliance and marriage: but when the parties came to close quarters matters went less smoothly. what henry had to gain by the alliance was the disarming of possible enemies of his own unstable throne, whilst ferdinand needed england's active or passive support in a war against france, for the purpose of extorting the restoration to aragon of the territory of roussillon and cerdagne, and of preventing the threatened absorption of the duchy of brittany into the french monarchy. the contest was keen and crafty. first the english commissioners demanded with the infanta a dowry so large as quite to shock puebla; it being, as he said, five times as much as had been mentioned by english agents in spain. puebla and sepulveda offered a quarter of the sum demanded, and hinted with pretended jocosity that it was a great condescension on the part of the sovereigns of spain to allow their daughter to marry at all into such a parvenu family as the tudors. after infinite haggling, both as to the amount and the form of the dowry, it was agreed by the ambassadors that 200,000 gold crowns of 4s. 2d. each should be paid in cash with the bride on her marriage. but the marriage was the least part of ferdinand's object, if indeed he then intended, which is doubtful, that it should take place at all. what he wanted was the assurance of henry's help against france; and, of all things, peace was the first need for the english king. when the demand was made therefore that england should go to war with france whenever ferdinand chose to do so, and should not make peace without its ally, baited though the demand was with the hollow suggestion of recovering for england the territories of normandy and guienne, henry's duplicity was brought into play. he dared not consent to such terms, but he wanted the benevolent regards of ferdinand's coalition: so his ministers flattered the spanish king, and vaguely promised "mounts and marvels" in the way of warlike aid, as soon as the marriage treaty was signed and sealed. even puebla wanted something more definite than this; and the english commissioners (the bishop of exeter and giles daubeney), "took a missal in their hands and swore in the most solemn way before the crucifix that it is the will of the king of england first to conclude the alliance and the marriage, and afterwards to make war upon the king of france, according to the bidding of the catholic kings." nor was this all: for when puebla and his colleagues later in the day saw the king himself, henry smiled at and flattered the envoys, and flourishing his bonnet and bowing low each time the names of ferdinand and isabel passed his lips, confirmed the oath of his ministers, "which he said we must accept for plain truth, unmingled with double dealing or falsehood."[1] ferdinand's ambassadors were fairly dazzled. they were taken to see the infant bridegroom; and puebla grew quite poetical in describing his bodily perfections, both dressed and _in puribus naturalibus_, and the beauty and magnificence of the child's mother were equally extolled. the object of all henry's amiability, and, indeed, of puebla's dithyrambics also, was to cajole ferdinand into sending his baby daughter katharine into england at once on the marriage treaty alone. with such a hostage in his hands, henry knew that he might safely break his oath about going to war with france to please the spanish king. but ferdinand was not a man easy to cajole, and when hapless, simple sepulveda reached spain with the draft treaty he found himself in the presence of two very angry sovereigns indeed. two hundred thousand crowns dowry, indeed! one hundred was the most they would give, and that must be in spanish gold, or the king of england would be sure to cheat them over the exchange; and they must have three years in which to pay the amount, for which moreover no security should be given but their own signatures. the cost of the bride's trousseau and jewels also must be deducted from the amount of the dowry. on the other hand, the infanta's dowry and income from england must be fully guaranteed by land rents; and, above all, the king of england must bind himself at the same time--secretly if he likes, but by formal treaty--to go to war with france to recover for ferdinand roussillon and cerdagne. though henry would not go quite so far as this, he conceded much for the sake of the alliances so necessary to him. the dowry from spain was kept at 200,000 crowns, and england was pledged to a war with france whenever ferdinand should find himself in the same position. with much discussion and sharp practice on both sides the treaties in this sense were signed in march 1489, and the four-years-old infanta katharine became princess of wales. it is quite clear throughout this early negotiation that the marriage that should give to the powerful coalition of which ferdinand was the head a family interest in the maintenance of the tudor dynasty was henry's object, to be gained on terms as easy as practicable to himself; whereas with ferdinand the marriage was but the bait to secure the armed co-operation of england against france; and probably at the time neither of the kings had any intention of fulfilling that part of the bargain which did not specially interest him. as will be seen, however, the force of circumstances and the keenness of the contracting parties led eventually to a better fulfilment of the treaty than was probably intended. for the next two years the political intrigues of europe centered around the marriage of the young duchess of brittany. though roussillon and cerdagne mattered nothing to henry vii., the disposal of the rich duchy opposite his own shores was of importance to him. france, spain, england, and the empire were all trying to outbid one another for the marriage of the duchess; and, as charles viii. of france was the most dangerous suitor, henry was induced to send his troops across the channel to brittany to join those of spain and the empire, though neither of the latter troops came. from the first all the allies were false to each other, and hastened to make separate terms with france; ferdinand and maximilian endeavouring above all to leave henry at war. when, at the end of 1491, charles viii. carried off the matrimonial prize of the duchess of brittany and peace ensued, none of the allies had gained anything by their tergiversation. reasons were soon found by ferdinand for regarding the marriage treaty between arthur and katharine as in abeyance, and once more pressure was put upon henry to buy its fulfilment by another warlike coalition. the king of england stood out for a time, especially against an alliance with the king of the romans, who had acted so badly about brittany; but at length the english contingent was led against boulogne by the king himself, as part of the allied action agreed upon. this time, however, it was henry who, to prevent the betrayal he foresaw, scored off his allies, and without striking a blow he suddenly made a separate peace with france (november 1492). but yet he was the only party who had not gained what he had bid for. roussillon and cerdagne were restored to ferdinand, in consequence of henry's threat against boulogne; france had been kept in check during the time that all the resources of spain were strained in the supreme effort to capture the last moorish foothold in the peninsula, the peerless granada; the king of france had married the duchess of brittany and had thus consolidated and strengthened his realm; whilst henry, to his chagrin, found that not only had he not regained normandy and guienne, but that in the new treaty of peace between spain and france, "ferdinand and isabel engage their loyal word and faith as christians, not to conclude or permit any marriage of their children with any member of the royal family of england; and they bind themselves to assist the king of france against all his enemies, and _particularly against the english_." this was henry's first experience of ferdinand's diplomacy, and he found himself outwitted at every point. katharine, all unconscious as she conned her childish lessons at granada, ceased for a time to be called "princess of wales." with the astute king of england thus cozened by ferdinand, it is not wonderful that the vain and foolish young king of france should also have found himself no match for his new spanish ally. trusting upon his alliance, charles viii. determined to strike for the possession of the kingdom of naples, which he claimed as representing the house of anjou. naples at the time was ruled by a close kinsman of ferdinand, and it is not conceivable that the latter ever intended to allow the french to expel him for the purpose of ruling there themselves. but he smiled, not unkindly at first, upon charles's italian adventure, for he knew the french king was rash and incompetent, and that the march of a french army through italy would arouse the hatred and fear of the italian princes and make them easy tools in his hands. the king of naples, moreover, was extremely unpopular and of illegitimate descent: and ferdinand doubtless saw that if the french seized naples he could not only effect a powerful coalition to expel them, but in the scramble might keep naples for himself; and this is exactly what happened. the first cry against the french was raised by the pope alexander vi., a spanish borgia. by the time charles viii. of france was crowned king of naples (may 1495) all italy was ablaze against the intruders, and ferdinand formed the holy league--of rome, spain, austria, venice, and milan--to crush his enemies. then, as usual, he found it desirable to secure the benevolence of henry vii. of england. again henry was delighted, for perkin warbeck had been received by maximilian and his flemish kinsmen as the rightful king of england, and the yorkist nobles still found aid and sympathy in the dominions of burgundy. but henry had already been tricked once by the allies, and was far more difficult to deal with than before. he found himself, indeed, for the first time in the position which under his successors enabled england to rise to the world power she attained; namely, that of the balancing factor between france and spain. this was the first result of ferdinand's coalition against france for the purpose of forwarding aragonese aims, and it remained the central point of european politics for the next hundred years. henry was not the man to overlook his new advantage, with both of the great european powers bidding for his alliance; and this time he drove a hard bargain with ferdinand. there was still much haggling about the spanish dowry for katharine, but henry stood firm at the 200,000 gold crowns, though a quarter of the amount was to take the form of jewels belonging the bride. one stipulation was that the new marriage was to be kept a profound secret, in order that the king of scots might not be alarmed; for ferdinand was trying to draw even him away from france by hints of marriage with an infanta. by the new treaty, which was signed in october 1497, the formal marriage of arthur and katharine _per verba de presenti_ was to be celebrated when arthur had completed his fourteenth year; and the bride's dowry in england was to consist of a third of the revenues of wales, cornwall, and chester, with an increase of the income when she became queen. but it was not all plain sailing yet. ferdinand considered that henry had tricked him about the amount and form of the dowry, but the fear that the king of france might induce the english to enter into a new alliance with him kept ferdinand ostensibly friendly. in the summer of 1598 two special spanish ambassadors arrived in london, and saw the king for the purpose of confirming him in the alliance with their sovereigns, and, if we are to believe puebla's account of the interview, both henry and his queen carried their expressions of veneration for ferdinand and isabel almost to a blasphemous extent. henry, indeed, is said to have had a quarrel with his wife because she would not give him one of the letters from the spanish sovereigns always to carry about with him, elizabeth saying that she wished to send her letter to the prince of wales. but for all henry's blandishments and friendliness, his constant requests that katharine should be sent to england met with never-failing excuses and procrastination. it is evident, indeed, throughout that, although the infanta was used as the attraction that was to keep henry and england in the spanish, instead of the french, interest, there was much reluctance on the part of her parents, and particularly of queen isabel, to trust her child, to whom she was much attached, to the keeping of a stranger, whose only object in desiring her presence was, she knew, a political one. some anxiety was shown by henry and his wife, on the other hand, that the young princess should be trained in a way that would fit her for her future position in england. the princess margaret of austria, daughter of maximilian, who had just married ferdinand's heir, prince john, was in spain, and puebla reports that the king and queen of england were anxious that katharine should take the opportunity of speaking french with her, in order to learn the language. "this is necessary, because the english ladies do not understand latin, and much less spanish. the king and queen also wish that the princess should accustom herself to drink wine. the water of england is not drinkable, and even if it were, the climate would not allow the drinking of it." the necessary papal bulls for the marriage of the prince and princess arrived in 1498, and henry pressed continually for the coming of the bride, but ferdinand and isabel were in no hurry. "the manner in which the marriage is to be performed, and the princess sent to england, must all be settled first." "you must negotiate these points," they wrote to puebla, "_but make no haste_."[2] spanish envoys of better character and greater impartiality than puebla urged that katharine should be sent "before she had become too much attached to spanish life and institutions"; though the writer of this admits the grave inconvenience of subjecting so young a girl to the disadvantages of life in henry's court. young arthur himself, even, was prompted to use his influence to persuade his new wife to join him, writing to his "most entirely beloved spouse" from ludlow in october 1499, dwelling upon his earnest desire to see her, as the delay in her coming is very grievous to him, and he begs it may be hastened. the final disappearance of perkin warbeck in 1499 greatly changed the position of henry and made him a more desirable connection: and the death without issue of ferdinand's only son and heir about the same time, also made it necessary for the spanish king to draw his alliances closer, in view of the nearness to the succession of his second daughter, juana, who had married maximilian's son, the archduke philip, sovereign of flanders, who, as well as his spanish wife, were deeply distrusted by both ferdinand and isabel. in 1500, therefore, the spanish sovereigns became more acquiescent about their daughter's coming to england. by don juan manuel, their most skilful diplomatist, they sent a message to henry in january 1500, saying that they had determined to send katharine in the following spring without waiting until arthur had completed his fourteenth year. the sums, they were told, that had already been spent in preparations for her reception in england were enormous, and when in march there was still no sign of the bride's coming, henry vii. began to get restive. he and his country, he said, would suffer great loss if the arrival of the princess were delayed. but just then ferdinand found that the treaty was not so favourable for him as he had expected, and the whole of the conditions, particularly as to the payment of the dowry, and the valuation of the bride's jewels, had once more to be laboriously discussed; another spanish ambassador being sent, to request fresh concessions. in vain puebla told his master that when once the princess arrived all england would be at his bidding, assured him of henry's good faith, and his own ability as a diplomatist. ferdinand always found some fresh subject to be wrangled over: the style to be given to the king of england, the number of servants to come in the train of katharine, henry desiring that they should be few and ferdinand many, and one of the demands of the english king was, "that the ladies who came from spain with the princess should all be beautiful, or at least none of them should be ugly." in the summer of 1500 there was a sudden panic in ferdinand's court that henry had broken off the match. he had gone to calais to meet for the first time the young archduke philip, ferdinand's son-in-law, and it was rumoured that the distrusted fleming had persuaded henry to marry the prince of wales to his sister the arch duchess margaret, the recently widowed daughter in-law of ferdinand. it was not true, though it made ferdinand very cordial for a time, and soon the relations between england and spain resumed their usual course of smooth-tongued distrust and tergiversation. still another ambassador was sent to england, and reported that people were saying they believed the princess would never come, though great preparations for her reception continued to be made, and the english nobles were already arranging jousts and tournaments for her entertainment. ferdinand, on the other hand, continued to send reassuring messages. he was, he said, probably with truth now, more desirous than ever that the marriage should take place when the bridegroom had completed his fourteenth year; but it was necessary that the marriage should be performed again by proxy in spain before the bride embarked. then there was a delay in obtaining the ships necessary for the passage, and the spanish sovereigns changed their minds again, and preferred that the second marriage, after arthur had attained his fifteenth year, should be performed in england. the stormy weather of august was then an excuse for another delay on the voyage, and a fresh quibble was raised about the value of the princess's jewels being considered as part of the _first_ instalment of the dowry. in december 1500 the marriage was once more performed at ludlow, arthur being again present and pledging himself as before to puebla. whilst delaying the voyage of katharine as much as possible, now probably in consequence of her youth, her parents took the greatest of care to convince henry of the indissoluble character of the marriage as it stood. knowing the king of england's weakness, isabel wrote in march 1501 deprecating the great expense he was incurring in the preparations. she did not wish, she said, for her daughter to cause a loss to england, either in money or any other way; but to be a source of happiness to every one. when all was ready for the embarkation at corunna in april 1501, an excuse for further delay was found in a rebellion of the moors of ronda, which prevented ferdinand from escorting his daughter to the port; then both isabel and katharine had a fit of ague, which delayed the departure for another week or two. but at last the parting could be postponed no longer, and for the last time on earth isabel the catholic embraced her favourite daughter katharine in the fairy palace of the alhambra which for ever will be linked with the memories of her heroism. the queen was still weak with fever, and could not accompany her daughter on the way, but she stood stately in her sternly suppressed grief, sustained by the exalted religious mysticism, which in her descendants degenerated to neurotic mania. grief unutterable had stricken the queen. her only son was dead, and her eldest daughter and her infant heir had also gone to untimely graves. the hopes founded upon the marriages of their children had all turned to ashes, and the king and queen saw with gloomy foreboding that their daughter juana and her foreign husband would rule in spain as well as in flanders and the empire, to spain's irreparable disaster; and, worst of all, juana had dared to dally with the hated thing heresy. in the contest of divided interest which they foresaw, it was of the utmost importance now to the catholic kings that england at least should be firmly attached to them; and they dared no longer delay the sacrifice of katharine to the political needs of their country. katharine, young as she was, understood that she was being sent to a far country amongst strangers as much an ambassador as a bride, but she from her birth had been brought up in the atmosphere of ecstatic devotion that surrounded her heroic mother, and the din of battle against the enemies of the christian god had rarely been silent in her childish ears. so, with shining eyes and a look of proud martyrdom, katharine bade the queen a last farewell, turned her back upon lovely granada, and through the torrid summer of 1501 slowly traversed the desolate bridle-roads of la mancha and arid castile to the green valleys of galicia, where, in the harbour of corunna, her little fleet lay at anchor awaiting her. from the 21st of may, when she last looked upon the alhambra, it took her nearly two months of hard travel to reach corunna, and it was almost a month more before all was ready for the embarkation with the great train of courtiers and servants that accompanied her. on the 17th august 1501 the flotilla sailed from corunna, only to be stricken the next day by a furious north-easterly gale and scattered; the princess's ship, in dire danger, being driven into the little port of laredo in the north of spain. there katharine was seriously ill, and another long delay occurred, the apprehension that some untoward accident had happened to the princess at sea causing great anxiety to the king of england, who sent his best seamen to seek tidings of the bride. the season was late, and when, on the 26th september 1501, katharine again left laredo for england, even her stout heart failed at the prospect before her. a dangerous hurricane from the south accompanied her across the channel and drove the ships finally into the safety of plymouth harbour on saturday the 2nd october 1501. the princess was but little expected at plymouth, as southampton or bristol had been recommended as the best ports for her arrival; and great preparations had been made for her reception at both those ports. but the plymouth folk were nothing backward in their loyal welcome of the new princess of wales; for one of the courtiers who accompanied her wrote to queen isabel that "she could not have been received with greater rejoicings if she had been the saviour of the world." as she went in solemn procession through the streets to the church of plymouth to give thanks for her safety from the perils past, with foreign speech sounding in her ears and surrounded by a curious crowd of fair folk so different from the swarthy subjects of her mother that she had left behind at granada, the girl of sixteen might well be appalled at the magnitude of the task before her. she knew that henceforward she had, by diplomacy and woman's wit, to keep the might and wealth of england and its king on the side of her father against france; to prevent any coalition between her new father-in-law and her brother-in-law philip in flanders in which spain was not included; and, finally, to give an heir to the english throne, who, in time to come, should be aragonese in blood and sympathy. thenceforward katharine must belong to england in appearance if her mission was to succeed; and though spain was always in her heart as the exotic pomegranate of granada was on her shield, england in future was the name she conjured by, and all england loved her, from the hour she first set foot on english soil to the day of the final consummation of her martyrdom. chapter ii 1501-1509 katharine's widowhood and why she stayed in england the arrival of katharine in england as his son's affianced wife meant very much for henry vii. and his house. he had already, by a master-stroke of diplomacy, betrothed his eldest daughter to the king of scots, and was thus safe from french intrigue on his vulnerable northern border, whilst the new king of france was far too apprehensive of ferdinand's coalition to arouse the active enmity of england. the presence of ferdinand's daughter on english soil completed the security against attack upon henry from abroad. it is true that the yorkists and their friends were still plotting: "solicited, allured and provoked, by that old venomous serpent, the duchess of burgundy, ever the sower of sedition and beginner of rebellion against the king of england;"[3] but henry knew well that with katharine at his court he could strike a death-blow, as he soon did, at his domestic enemies, without fear of reprisals from her brother-in-law philip, the present sovereign of burgundy and flanders. messengers were sent galloping to london to carry to the king the great news of katharine's arrival at plymouth; but the roads were bad, and it was not henry's way to spoil his market by a show of over-eagerness, and though he sent forward the duchess of norfolk and the earl of surrey to attend upon the princess on her way towards london, the royal party did not set out from shene palace to meet her until the 4th november. travelling through a drenching rain by short stages from one seat to another, henry vii. and his daughter-in-law gradually approached each other with their splendid troops of followers, all muffled up, we are told, in heavy rain cloaks to shield their finery from the inclemency of an english winter. young arthur, coming from the seat of his government in wales, met his father near chertsey, and together they continued their journey towards the west. on the third day, as they rode over the hampshire downs, they saw approaching them a group of horsemen, the leader of which dismounted and saluted the king in latin with a message from ferdinand and isabel. ladies in spain were kept in strict seclusion until their marriage, and the messenger, who was the protonotary cañazares, sent with katharine to england to see that spanish etiquette was not violated, prayed in the name of his sovereigns that the infanta should not be seen by the king, and especially by the bridegroom, until the public marriage was performed. this was a part of the bargain that the cautious puebla had not mentioned, and henry was puzzled at such a request in his own realm, where no such oriental regard for women was known. hastily taking counsel of the nobles on horseback about him, he decided that, as the infanta was in england, she must abide by english customs. indeed the demand for seclusion seems to have aroused the king's curiosity, for, putting spurs to his horse, with but a small following, and leaving the boy bridegroom behind, he galloped on to dogmersfield, at no great distance away, where the infanta was awaiting his arrival. when he came to the house in which she lodged, he found a little group of horrified spanish prelates and nobles, the archbishop of santiago, the bishop of majorca, and count cabra, at the door of the infanta's apartments, barring entrance. the princess had, they said, retired to her chamber and ought not to be disturbed. there was no restraining a king in his own realm, however, and henry brushed the group aside. "even if she were in bed," he said, "he meant to see and speak with her, for that was the whole intent of his coming." finding that spanish etiquette would not be observed in england, katharine made the best of matters and received henry graciously, though evidently her latin and french were different from his; for they were hardly intelligible to one another. then, after the king had changed his travelling garb, he sent word that he had a present for the princess; and led in the blushing prince arthur to the presence of his bride. the conversation now was more easily conducted, for the latin-speaking bishops were close by to interpret. once more, and for the fourth time, the young couple formally pledged their troth; and then after supper the spanish minstrels played, and the ladies and gentlemen of katharine's suite danced: young arthur, though unable to dance in the spanish way, trod an english measure with lady guildford to show that he was not unversed in courtly graces.[4] arthur appears to have been a slight, fair, delicate lad, amiable and gentle, and not so tall as his bride, who was within a month of sixteen years, arthur being just over fifteen. katharine must have had at this time at least the grace of girlhood, though she never can have been a great beauty. like most of her mother's house she had pale, rather hard, statuesque features and ruddy hair. as we trace her history we shall see that most of her mistakes in england, and she made many, were the natural result of the uncompromising rigidity of principle arising from the conviction of divine appointment which formed her mother's system. she had been brought up in the midst of a crusading war, in which the victors drew their inspiration, and ascribed their triumph, to the special intervention of the almighty in their favour; and already katharine's house had assumed as a basis of its family faith that the cause of god was indissolubly linked with that of the sovereigns of castile and leon. it was impossible that a woman brought up in such a school could be opportunist, or would bend to the petty subterfuges and small complaisances by which men are successfully managed; and katharine suffered through life from the inflexibility born of self-conscious rectitude. slowly through the rain the united cavalcades travelled back by chertsey; and the spanish half then rode to kingston, where the duke of buckingham, with four hundred retainers in black and scarlet, met the bride, and so to the palace at kennington hard by lambeth, where katharine was lodged until the sumptuous preparations for the public marriage at st. paul's were completed. to give a list of all the splendours that preceded the wedding would be as tedious as it is unnecessary; but a general impression of the festivities as they struck a contemporary will give us a far better idea than a close catalogue of the wonderful things the princess saw as she rode her white palfrey on the 12th november through southwark, over london bridge, and by cheapside to the bishop of london's house adjoining st. paul's. "and, because i will not be tedious to you, i pass over the wise devices, the prudent speeches, the costly works, the cunning portraitures, practised and set forth in seven beautiful pageants erected and set up in divers places of the city. i leave also the goodaly ballds, the sweet harmony, the musical instruments, which sounded with heavenly noise in every side of the street. i omit the costly apparel, both of goldsmith's work and embroidery, the rich jewels, the massy chains, the stirring horses, the beautiful bards, and the glittering trappers, both with bells and spangles of gold. i pretermit also the rich apparel of the princess, the strange fashion of the spanish nation, the beauty of the english ladies, the goodly demeanour of the young damosels, the amorous countenance of the lusty bachelors. i pass over the fine engrained clothes, the costly furs of the citizens, standing upon scaffolds, railed from gracechurch to st. paul's. what should i speak of the odoriferous scarlets, and fine velvet and pleasant furs, and rich chains, which the mayor of london with the senate, sitting on horseback at the little conduit in chepe, ware upon their bodies and about their necks. i will not molest you with rehearsing the rich arras, the costly tapestry, the fine cloths of silver and of gold, the curious velvets and satins, the pleasant silks, which did hang in every street where she passed; the wine that ran out of the conduits, the gravelling and railing of the streets, and all else that needeth not remembring."[5] in short, we may conclude that katharine's passage through london before her wedding was as triumphal as the citizens could make it. even the common people knew that her presence in england made for security and peace, and her lancastrian descent from john of gaunt seemed to add promise of legitimacy to future heirs to the crown. a long raised gangway of timber handsomely draped ran from the great west door of st. paul's to the entrance to the choir. near the end of the gangway there was erected upon it a high platform, reached by steps on each side, with room on the top for eight persons to stand. on the north side of the platform sat the king and queen incognito in a tribune supposed to be private; whilst the corporation of london were ranged on the opposite side. the day of the ceremony was the 14th november 1501, sunday and the day of st. erkenwald, and all london was agog to see the show. nobles and knights from every corner of the realm, glittering and flashing in their new finery, had come to do honour to the heir of england and his bride. both bride and bridegroom were dressed in white satin, and they stood together, a comely young pair, upon the high scarlet stage to be married for the fifth time, on this occasion by the archbishop of canterbury. then, after mass had been celebrated at the high altar with archbishops, and mitred prelates by the dozen, a procession was formed to lead the newly married couple to the bishop of london's palace across the churchyard. the stately bride, looking older than her years, came first, followed by a hundred ladies; and whilst on her left hand there hobbled the disreputable, crippled old ambassador, dr. puebla, the greatest day of whose life this was, on the other side the princess was led by the most engaging figure in all that vast assembly. it was that of a graceful little boy of ten years in white velvet and gold; his bearing so gallant and sturdy, his skin so dazzlingly fair, his golden hair so shining, his smile so frank, that a rain of blessings showered upon him as he passed. this was the bridegroom's brother, henry, duke of york, who in gay unconsciousness was leading his own fate by the hand. again the details of crowds of lords and ladies in their sumptuous garments, of banquets and dancing, of chivalric jousts and puerile maskings, may be left to the imagination of the reader. when magnificence at last grew palling, the young bride and bridegroom were escorted to their chamber in the bishop of london's palace, with the broad suggestiveness then considered proper in all well-conducted weddings, and duly recorded in this case by the courtly chroniclers of the times. in the morning arthur called at the door of the nuptial chamber to his attendants for a draught of liquor. to the bantering question of the chamberlain as to the cause of his unaccustomed thirst, it was not unnatural, considering the free manners of the day, that the prince should reply in a vein of boyish boastfulness, with a suggestion which was probably untrue regarding the aridity of the spanish climate and his own prowess as being the causes of his droughtiness. in any case this indelicate bit of youthful swagger of arthur's was made, nearly thirty years afterwards, one of the principal pieces of evidence gravely brought forward to prove the illegality of katharine's marriage with henry. on the day following the marriage the king and queen came in full state to congratulate the newly married pair, and led them to the abode that had been elaborately prepared for them at baynard's castle, whose ancient keep frowned over the thames, below blackfriars. on the thursday following the feast was continued at westminster with greater magnificence than ever. in a splendid tribune extending from westminster hall right across what is now parliament square sat katharine with all the royal family and the court, whilst the citizens crowded the stands on the other side of the great space reserved for the tilters. invention was exhausted by the greater nobles in the contrivances by which they sought to make their respective entries effective. one had borne over him a green erection representing a wooded mount, crowded with allegorical animals; another rode under a tent of cloth of gold, and yet another pranced into the lists mounted upon a stage dragon led by a fearsome giant; and so the pageantry that seems to us so trite, and was then considered so exquisite, unrolled itself before the enraptured eyes of the lieges who paid for it all. how gold plate beyond valuation was piled upon the sideboards at the great banquet after the tilt in westminster hall, how katharine and one of her ladies danced spanish dances and arthur led out his aunt cicely, how masques and devices innumerable were paraded before the hosts and guests, and, above all, how the debonair little duke of york charmed all hearts by his dancing with his elder sister; and, warming to his work, cast off his coat and footed it in his doublet, cannot be told here, nor the ceremony in which katharine distributed rich prizes a few days afterwards to the successful tilters. there was more feasting and mumming at shene to follow, but at last the celebration wore itself out, and arthur and his wife settled down for a time to married life in their palace at baynard's castle. king henry in his letter to the bride's parents, expresses himself as delighted with her "beauty and agreeable and dignified manners," and promises to be to her "a second father, who will ever watch over her, and never allow her to lack anything that he can procure for her." how he kept his promise we shall see later; but there is no doubt that her marriage with his son was a great relief to him, and enabled him, first to cast his net awide and sweep into its meshes all the gentry of england who might be presumed to wish him ill, and secondly to send empson and dudley abroad to wring from the well-to-do classes the last ducat that could be squeezed in order that he might buttress his throne with wealth. probably arthur's letter to ferdinand and isabel written at the same time (november 30, 1501) was drafted by other hands than his own, but the terms in which he expresses his satisfaction with his wife are so warm that they doubtless reflect the fact that he really found her pleasant. "he had never," he assured them, "felt so much joy in his life as when he beheld the sweet face of his bride, and no woman in the world could be more agreeable to him."[6] the honeymoon was a short, and could hardly have been a merry, one; for arthur was obviously a weakling, consumptive some chroniclers aver; and the grim old castle by the river was not a lively abode. before the marriage feast were well over, henry's avarice began to make things unpleasant for katharine. we have seen how persistent he had been in his demands that the dowry should be paid to him in gold, and how the bride's parents had pressed that the jewels and plate she took with her should be considered as part of the dowry. on katharine's wedding the first instalment of 100,000 crowns had been handed to henry by the archbishop of santiago, and there is no doubt that in the negotiations puebla had, as usual with him, thought to smooth matters by concealing from both sovereigns the inconvenient conditions insisted by each of them. henry therefore imagined--he said that he was led to believe it by puebla--that the jewels and plate were to be surrendered to him on a valuation as part of the second instalment; whereas the bride's parents were allowed to suppose that katharine would still have the enjoyment of them. in the middle of december, therefore, henry sent for juan de cuero, katharine's chamberlain, and demanded the valuables as an instalment of the remaining 100,000 crowns of the dowry. cuero, astounded at such a request, replied that it would be his duty to have them weighed and valued and a list given to the king in exchange for a receipt for their value, but that he had not to give them up. the king, highly irate at what he considered an evasion of his due, pressed his demand, but without avail, and afterwards saw katharine herself at baynard's castle in the presence of doña elvira manuel, her principal lady in waiting. what was the meaning of it, he asked, as he told her of cuero's refusal to surrender her valuables in fulfilment of the promise, and further exposed puebla's double-dealing. puebla, it appears, had gone to the king, and had suggested that if his advice was followed the jewels would remain in england, whilst their value would be paid to henry in money as well. he had, he assured the king, already gained over katharine to the plan, which briefly was to allow the princess to use the jewels and plate for the present, so that when the time came for demanding their surrender her father and mother would be ashamed of her being deprived of them, and would pay their value in money. henry explained to katharine that he was quite shocked at such a dishonest suggestion, which he refused, he said, to entertain. he had therefore asked for the valuables at once as he saw that there was craft at work, and he would be no party to it. he acknowledged, however, that the jewels were not due to be delivered until the last payment on account of the dowry had to be made. it was all puebla's fault, he assured his daughter-in-law, which was probably true, though it will be observed that the course pursued allowed henry to assert his eventual claim to the surrender of the jewels, and his many professions of disinterestedness cloaked the crudeness of his demand. the next day henry sent for bishop ayala, who was puebla's colleague and bitter enemy, and told him that prince arthur must be sent to wales soon, and that much difference of opinion existed as to whether katharine should accompany him. what did ayala advise? the spaniard thought that the princess should remain with the king and queen in london for the present, rather than go to wales where the prince must necessarily be absent from her a good deal, and she would be lonely. when katharine herself was consulted by henry she would express no decided opinion; and arthur was worked upon by his father to persuade her to say that she wished to go to wales. finding that katharine still avoided the expression of an opinion, henry, with a great show of sorrow, decided that she should accompany arthur. then came the question of the maintenance of the princess's household. puebla had again tried to please every one by saying that henry would provide a handsome dotation for the purpose, but when doña elvira manuel, on the eve of the journey to wales, asked the king what provision he was going to make, he feigned the utmost surprise at the question. he knew nothing about it, he said. the prince would of course maintain his wife and her necessary servants, but no special separate grant could be made to the princess. when puebla was brought to book he threw the blame upon the members of katharine's household, and was publicly rebuked by henry for his shiftiness. but the spaniards believed, probably with reason, that the whole comedy was agreed upon between the king and puebla to obtain possession of the plate and jewels or their value: the sending of the princess to wales being for the purpose of making it necessary that she should use the objects, and so give good grounds for a demand for their value in money on the part of henry. in any case katharine found herself, only five weeks after her marriage, with an unpaid and inharmonious household, dependent entirely upon her husband for her needs, and conscious that an artful trick was in full execution with the object of either depriving her of her personal jewels, and everything of value, with which she had furnished her husband's table as well as her own, or else of extorting a large sum of money from her parents. embittered already with such knowledge as this, katharine rode by her husband's side out of baynard's castle on the 21st december 1501 to continue on the long journey to wales,[7] after passing their christmas at oxford. the plague was rife throughout england, and on the 2nd april 1502 arthur, prince of wales, fell a victim to it at ludlow. here was an unforeseen blow that threatened to deprive both henry and ferdinand of the result of their diplomacy. for ferdinand the matter was of the utmost importance; for an approachment of england and scotland to france would upset the balance of power he had so laboriously constructed, already threatened, as it was, by the prospect that his flemish son-in-law philip and his wife would wear the crowns of the empire, flanders, and burgundy, as well as those of spain and its possessions; in which case, he thought, spanish interests would be the last considered. the news of the unexpected catastrophe was greeted in london with real sorrow, for arthur was promising and popular, and both henry and his queen were naturally attached to their elder son, just approaching manhood, upon whose training they had lavished so much care. though henry's grief at his loss may have been as sincere as that of elizabeth of york certainly was, his natural inclinations soon asserted themselves. ludlow was unhealthy, and after the pompous funeral of arthur at worcester, katharine and her household prayed earnestly to be allowed to approach london, but for some weeks without success, and by the time she arrived at her new abode at croydon, the political intrigues of which she was the tool were in full swing again. when ferdinand and isabel first heard the news of their daughter's bereavement at the beginning of may they were at toledo, and lost no time in sending off post haste to england a fresh ambassador with special instructions from themselves. the man they chose was the duke de estrada, whose only recommendation seems to have been his rank, for puebla was soon able to twist him round his finger. his mission, as we now know, was an extraordinary and delicate one. ostensibly he was to demand the immediate return of the 100,000 crowns paid to henry on account of dowry, and the firm settlement upon katharine of the manors and rents, securing to her the revenue assigned to her in england, and at the same time he was to urge henry to send katharine back to spain at once. but these things were really the last that ferdinand desired. he knew full well that henry would go to any length to avoid disgorging the dowry, and secret instructions were given to estrada to effect a betrothal between the ten-years-old henry, duke of york, and his brother's widow of sixteen. strict orders also were sent to puebla of a character to forward the secret design, although he was not fully informed of the latter. he was to press amongst other things that katharine might receive her english revenue punctually--katharine, it appears, had written to her parents, saying that she had been advised to borrow money for the support of her household; and the king and queen of spain were indignant at such an idea. not a farthing, they said, must she be allowed to borrow, and none of her jewels sold: the king of england must provide for her promptly and handsomely, in accordance with his obligations. this course, as the writers well knew, would soon bring henry vii. himself to propose the marriage for which ferdinand was so anxious. henry professed himself very ready to make the settlement of the english income as requested, but in such case, he claimed that the whole of the spanish dowry in gold must be paid to him. ferdinand could not see it in this light at all, and insisted that the death of arthur had dissolved the marriage. this fencing went on for some time, neither party wishing to be the first to propose the indecorous marriage with henry that both desired.[8] it is evident that puebla and the chaplain alexander opposed the match secretly, and endeavoured to thwart it, either from an idea of its illegality or, more probably, with a view of afterwards bringing it about themselves. in the midst of this intrigue the king of france suddenly attacked ferdinand both in italy and on the catalonian frontier, and made approaches to henry for the marriage of his son with a french princess. this hurried the pace in spain, and queen isabel ordered estrada to carry through the betrothal of katharine and her brother-in-law without loss of time, "for any delay would be dangerous." so anxious were the spanish sovereigns that nothing should stand in the way, that they were willing to let the old arrangement about the dowry stand, henry retaining the 100,000 crowns already paid, and receiving, when the marriage was consummated, the remaining 100,000; on condition that in the meanwhile katharine was properly maintained in england. even the incestuous nature of the union was to be no bar to its being effected, though no papal dispensation had been yet obtained. isabel sought salve for her conscience in this respect by repeating doña elvira manuel's assurance that katharine still remained intact; her marriage with arthur not having been consummated. to lure henry into an armed alliance against france once more, the old bait of the recovery of normandy and guienne was dangled before him. but the king of england played with a firmer hand now. he knew his worth as a balancing factor, his accumulated treasure made him powerful, and he held all the cards in his hand; for the king of scots was his son-in-law, and the french were as anxious for his smiles as were the spanish sovereigns. so he stood off and refused to pledge himself to a hostile alliance. in view of this ferdinand and isabel's tone changed, and they developed a greater desire than ever to have their daughter--and above all her dowry--returned to them. "we cannot endure," wrote isabel to estrada on the 10th august 1502, "that a daughter whom we love should be so far away from us in her trouble.... you shall ... tell the king of england that you have our orders to freight vessels for her voyage. to this end you must make such a show of giving directions and preparing for the voyage that the members of the princess's household may believe that it is true. send also some of her household on board with the captain i am now sending you ... and show all signs of departure." if in consequence the english spoke of the betrothal with young henry, the ambassador was to show no desire for it; but was to listen keenly to all that was proposed, and if the terms were acceptable he might clinch the matter at once without further reference. and then the saintly queen concludes thus: "the one object of this business is to bring the betrothal to a conclusion as soon as possible in conformity with your instructions. for then all our anxiety will cease and we shall be able to seek the aid of england against france, for this is the most efficient aid we can have." henry was not for the moment to be frightened by fresh demands for his armed alliance against france. the betrothal was to be forwarded first, and then the rest would follow. puebla, who was quite confident that he alone could carry on the marriage negotiation successfully, was also urged by mingled flattery and threats by his sovereign to do his utmost with that end. whilst this diplomatic haggling was going on in london for the disposal of the widowed katharine to the best advantage, a blow fell that for a moment changed the aspect of affairs. elizabeth of york, the wife of henry vii., died on the 11th february 1503, in the tower of london, a week after giving birth to her seventh child. she had been a good and submissive wife to the king, whose claim to the throne she had fortified by her own greater right; and we are told that the bereaved husband was "heavy and dolorous" with his loss when he retired to a solitary place to pass his sorrow; but before many weeks were over he and his crony puebla put their crafty heads together, and agreed that the king might marry his widowed daughter-in-law himself. the idea was cynically repulsive but it gives us the measure of henry's unscrupulousness. puebla conveyed the hint to isabel and ferdinand, who, to do them justice, appeared to be really shocked at the suggestion. this time (april 1503) the spanish sovereigns spoke with more sincerity than before. they were, they told their ambassador, tired of henry's shiftiness, and of their daughter's equivocal and undignified position in england, now that the queen was dead and the betrothal still hung fire. the princess was really to come to spain in a fleet that should be sent for her, unless the marriage with the young prince of wales was agreed to at once. as for a wife for king henry there was the widowed queen of naples, ferdinand's niece, who lived in valencia, and he might have her with the blessing of the spanish sovereigns.[9] the suggestion was a tempting one to henry, for the queen of naples was well dowered, and the vigour of isabel's refusal to listen to his marriage with her daughter, made it evident that that was out of the question. so henry at last made up his mind at least to execute the treaty which was to betroth his surviving son to katharine. in the treaty, which was signed on the 23rd june 1503, it is set forth that, inasmuch as the bride and bridegroom were related in the first degree of affinity, a papal dispensation would be necessary for the marriage; and it is distinctly stated that the marriage with arthur had been consummated. this may have been a diplomatic form considered at the time unimportant in view of the ease with which a dispensation could be obtained, but it is at direct variance with doña elvira manuel's assurance to isabel at the time of arthur's death, and with katharine's assertion, uncontradicted by henry, to the end of her life. henry, prince of wales, was at this time twelve years old; and, if we are to believe erasmus, a prodigy of precocious scholarship. though his learning was superficial and carefully made the most of, he was, in effect, an apt and diligent student. from the first his mother and father had determined that their children should enjoy better educational advantages than had fallen to them, and as henry had been until arthur's death intended for the church, his learning was far in advance of that of most princes and nobles of his age. the bride, who thus became unwillingly affianced to a boy more than five years her junior, was now a young woman in her prime, experienced already in the chicane and falsity of the atmosphere in which she lived. she knew, none better, that in the juggle for her marriage she had been regarded as a mere chattel, and her own inclinations hardly taken into account, and she faced her responsibilities bravely in her mother's exalted spirit of duty and sacrifice when she found herself once more princess of wales. when ferdinand, in accordance with his pledge in the treaty, instructed his ambassador in rome to ask for the pope's dispensation, he took care to correct the statement embodied in the document to the effect that the marriage of arthur and katharine had been consummated; though the question might pertinently be asked, why, if it had not been, a dispensation was needed at all? the king himself answered the question by saying that "as the english are so much inclined to cavil, it appeared prudent to provide for the case as if the previous marriage had been completed; and the dispensation must be worded in accordance with the treaty, since the succession to the crown depends on the undoubted legitimacy of the marriage."[10] no sooner was the ratification of the betrothal conveyed to ferdinand than he demanded the aid of henry against france, and estrada was instructed to "make use of" katharine to obtain the favour demanded. if henry hesitated to provide the money for raising the 2000 english troops required, katharine herself was to be asked by her kind father to pawn her plate and jewels for the purpose. henry, however, had no intention to be hurried now that the betrothal had been signed. there were several things he wanted on his side first. the earl of suffolk and his brother richard pole were still in flanders; and the greatest wish of henry's life was that they should be handed over to his tender mercies. so the armed coalition against france still hung fire, whilst a french ambassador was as busy courting the king of england as ferdinand himself. in the meanwhile katharine for a time lived in apparent amity with henry and his family, especially with the young princess mary, who was her constant companion. in the autumn of 1504 she passed a fortnight with them at windsor and richmond, hunting every day; but just as the king was leaving greenwich for a progress through kent the princess fell seriously ill, and the letters written by henry during his absence to his daughter-in-law are worded as if he were the most affectionate of fathers. on this progress the prince of wales accompanied his father for the first time, as the king had previously been loath to disturb his studies. "it is quite wonderful," wrote an observer, "how much the king loves the prince. he has good reason to do so, for he deserves all his love." already the crafty and politic king was indoctrinating his son in the system he had made his own: that the command of ready money, gained no matter how, meant power, and that to hold the balance between two greater rivals was to have them both at his bidding. and young henry, though of different nature from his father, made good use of his lesson. katharine's greatest trouble at this time (the autumn of 1504) was the bickering, and worse, of her spanish household. we have already seen how puebla had set them by the ears with his jealousy of his colleagues and his dodging diplomacy. katharine appealed to henry to bring her servants to order, but he refused to interfere, as they were not his subjects. doña elvira manuel, the governess, was a great lady, and resented any interference with her domain.[11] there is no doubt that her rule, so far as regarded the princess herself, was a wise one; but, as we shall see directly, she, castilian that she was and sister of the famous diplomatist juan manuel, took up a position inimical to ferdinand after isabel's death, and innocently led katharine into grave political trouble. in november 1504 the death of isabel, queen of castile, long threatened after her strenuous life, changed the whole aspect for ferdinand. the heiress of the principal crown of spain was now katharine's sister juana, who had lived for years in the latitudinarian court of brussels with her consort philip. the last time she had gone to spain, her freedom towards the strict religious observances considered necessary in her mother's court had led to violent scenes between isabel and juana. even then the scandalised spanish churchmen who flocked around isabel whispered that the heiress of castile must be mad: and her foreign husband, the heir of the empire, was hated and distrusted by the "catholic kings." isabel by her will had left her husband guardian of her realms for juana; and from the moment the queen breathed her last the struggle between ferdinand and his son-in-law never ceased, until philip the handsome, who thought he had beaten wily old ferdinand, himself was beaten by poison. the death of her mother not only threw katharine into natural grief for her loss, which truly was a great one; for, at least, isabel deeply loved her youngest child, whilst ferdinand loved nothing but himself and aragon; but it greatly altered for the worse her position in england. philip of austria and his father the emperor had begun to play false to ferdinand long before the queen's death; and now that the crown of castile had fallen to poor weak juana, and a struggle was seen to be impending for the regency, henry vii. found himself as usual courted by both sides in the dispute. the widowed archduchess margaret, who had married as a first husband ferdinand's heir, was offered to henry as a bride by philip and maximilian and a close alliance between them proposed; and ferdinand, whilst denouncing his son-in-law's ingratitude, also bade high for the king of england's countenance. henry listened to both parties, but it was clear to him that he had now more to hope for from philip and maximilian, who were friendly with france, than from ferdinand; and the unfortunate katharine was again reduced to the utmost neglect and penury, unable to buy food for her own table, except by pawning her jewels. in the ensuing intrigues doña elvira manuel was on the side of the queen of castile, as against her father; and katharine lost the impartial advice of her best counsellor, and involved herself in a very net of trouble. in the summer of 1505 it was already understood that philip and juana on their way to spain by sea might possibly trust themselves in an english port; and henry, in order to be ready for any matrimonial combinations that might be suggested, caused young henry to make solemn protest before the bishop of winchester at richmond against his marriage with katharine.[12] of this, at the time, of course the spanish agents were ignorant; and so completely was even puebla hoodwinked, that almost to the arrival of philip and his wife in england he believed that henry was in favour of ferdinand against philip and maximilian. early in august 1505, puebla went to richmond to see katharine, and as he entered one of the household told him that an ambassador from the archduke philip, king of castile, had just arrived and was waiting to see her. puebla at once himself conveyed the news to katharine; and to his glee served as interpreter between the ambassador and the princess. on his knees before her the fleming related that he had come to propose a marriage between the duchess of savoy (_i.e._ the widowed archduchess margaret) and henry vii., and showed the princess two portraits of the archduchess. furthermore, he said that philip and his wife were going by overland through france to spain, and he was to ask henry what he thought of the plan. puebla's eyes were thus partially opened: and when a few days later he found that doña elvira had not only contrived frequent private meetings between katharine and the flemish ambassador, but had persuaded the princess to propose a meeting between philip, juana, and the king of england, he at once sounded a note of alarm. katharine, it must be recollected, was yet young; and probably did not fully understand the deadly antagonism that existed between her father and her brother-in-law. she was much under the influence of doña elvira, and doubtless yearned to see her unhappy sister juana. so she was induced to write a letter to philip, and to propose a meeting with henry at calais. when a prompt affirmative reply came, the princess innocently showed it to puebla at durham house before sending it to henry vii. the ambassador was aghast, and soundly rated katharine for going against the interests of her father. he would take the letter to the king, he said. but this katharine would not allow, and doña elvira was appealed to. she promised to retain the letter for the present, but just as puebla was sitting down to dinner an hour afterwards, he learnt that she had broken her word and sent philip's letter to henry vii. starting up, he rushed to katharine's apartments, and with tears streaming down his face at his failure, told the princess, under pledge of secrecy, that the proposed interview was a plot of the manuels to injure both her father and sister. she must at once write a letter to henry which he, puebla, would dictate; and, whilst still feigning a desire for the meeting, she must try to prevent it with all her might, and beware of doña elvira in future. poor katharine, alarmed at his vehemence, did as she was told; and the letter was sent flying to henry, apologising for the proposal of the interview. henry must have smiled when he saw how eager they all were to court him. nothing would please him better than the close alliance with philip, which was already being secretly negotiated, though he was effusively assuring ferdinand at the same time of the inviolability of their friendship; promising that the marriage--which he had secretly denounced--between his son and katharine, should be celebrated on the very day provided by the treaty, and approving of some secret plot of ferdinand against philip which had been communicated to him. amidst such falsity as this it is most difficult to pick one's way, though it is evident through it all that henry had now gained the upper hand, and was fully a match for ferdinand in his altered circumstances. but as things improved for henry they became worse for katharine. in december 1505 she wrote bitterly to her father from richmond, complaining of her fate, the unhappiness of which, she said, was all puebla's fault. "every day," she wrote, "my troubles increase. since my arrival in england i have not received a farthing except for food, and i and my household have not even garments to wear." she had asked puebla to pray the king to appoint an english dueña for her whilst doña elvira was in flanders, but instead of doing so he had arranged with henry that her household should be dismissed altogether, and that she should reside at court. her letter throughout shows that at the time she was in deep despondency and anger at her treatment; and especially resentful of puebla, whom she disliked and distrusted profoundly, as did doña elvira manuel. the very elements seemed to fight on the side of the king of england. ferdinand was, in sheer desperation, struggling to prevent his paternal realms from being merged in castile and the empire, and with that end was negotiating his marriage with the french king's niece, germaine de foix, and a close alliance with france, in which england should be included, when philip of austria and his wife, juana of aragon, queen of castile, sailed from flanders to claim their kingdom at ferdinand's hands. they too had made friends with france some time before, but the marriage of ferdinand with a french princess had now drawn them strongly to the side of england; and as we have seen, they were already in full negotiation with henry for his marriage with the doubly widowed and heavily dowered archduchess margaret. the king and queen of castile were overtaken by a furious south-west gale in the channel and their fine fleet dispersed. the ship that carried philip and juana was driven by the storm into melcombe regis, on the dorset coast, on the 17th january 1506, and lay there weather-bound for some time. philip the handsome was a poor sailor, and was, we are told by an eye-witness, "fatigate and unquyeted in mynde and bodie." he doubtless yearned to tread dry land again, and, against the advice of his council, had himself rowed ashore. only in the previous year he had as unguardedly put himself into the power of the king of france; and his boldness had succeeded well, as it had resulted in the treaty with the french king that had so much alarmed and shocked ferdinand, but it is unlikely that philip on this occasion intended to make any stay in england or to go beyond weymouth. the news of his coming brought together all the neighbouring gentry to oppose or welcome him, according to his demeanour, and, finding him friendly, sir john trenchard prevailed upon him to take up his residence in his manor-house hard by until the weather mended. in the meanwhile formidable english forces mustered in the country around, and philip began to grow uneasy; but trenchard's hospitality was pressing, and to all hints from the visitor that he wanted to be gone the reply was given that he really must wait until the king of england could bid him welcome. when at last philip was given to understand that he was practically a prisoner, he made the best of the position, and with seeming cordiality awaited king henry's message. no wonder, as a chronicler says, that henry when he heard the news "was replenyshed with an exceeding gladnes ... for that he trusted his landing in england should turn to his profit and commoditie." this it certainly did. philip and juana were brought to windsor in great state, and met by henry and his son and a splendid train of nobles. then the visitors were led through london in state to richmond, and philip, amidst all the festivity, was soon convinced that he would not be allowed to leave england until the rebel plantagenet earl of suffolk was handed to henry. and so the pact was made that bound england to philip and flanders against ferdinand; the archduchess margaret with her vast fortune being promised, with unheard-of guarantees, to the widowed henry.[13] when the treaty had been solemnly ratified on oath, taken upon a fragment of the true cross in st. george's chapel, windsor, philip was allowed to go his way on the 2nd march to join his ship at falmouth, whither juana had preceded him a fortnight before. this new treaty made poor katharine of little value as a political asset in england; since it was clear now that ferdinand's hold over anything but his paternal heritage in the mediterranean was powerless. flanders and castile were a far more advantageous ally to england than the king of aragon, and katharine was promptly made to feel the fact. dr. puebla was certainly either kept quite out of the way or his compliance bought, or he would have been able to devise means for katharine to inform her sister juana of the real object of henry's treaty with philip; for ferdinand always insisted that juana was a dutiful daughter, and was not personally opposed to him. as it was, katharine was allowed to see her sister but for an hour just before juana's departure, and then in the presence of witnesses in the interests of philip. only a few weeks after the visitors had departed katharine wrote to her father, in fear lest her letter should be intercepted, begging him to have pity upon her. she is deep in debt, not for extravagant things but for food. "the king of england refuses to pay anything, though she implores him with tears to do so. he says he has been cheated about the marriage portion. in the meanwhile she is in the deepest anguish, her servants almost begging for alms, and she herself nearly naked. she has been at death's door for months, and prays earnestly for a spanish confessor, as she cannot speak english."[14] how false ferdinand met his "dear children," and made with his daughter's husband that hellish secret compact in the church of villafafila, that seemed to renounce everything to philip whilst ferdinand went humbly to his realm of naples, and his ill-used daughter juana to life-long confinement, cannot be told here, nor the sudden death of philip the handsome, which brought back ferdinand triumphant. if juana was sane before, she certainly became more or less mad after her husband's death, and moreover was morbidly devoted to his memory. but what mattered madness or a widow's devotion to henry vii. when he had political objects to serve? all through the summer and autumn of 1506 katharine had been ill with fever and ague, unhappy at the neglect and poverty she suffered. ferdinand threw upon castile the duty of paying the rest of her dowry; the castilians retorted that ferdinand ought to pay it himself: and katharine, in the depth of despondency, in october 1506 learnt of her brother-in-law philip's death. like magic henry vii. became amiable again to his daughter-in-law. he deplored her illness now, and cordially granted her the change of residence from eltham to fulham that she had so long prayed for in vain. the reason was soon evident; for before juana had completed her dreary pilgrimage through spain to granada with her husband's dead body, henry had cajoled katharine to ask her father for the distraught widow for his wife. katharine must have fulfilled the task with repulsion, though she seems to have advocated the match warmly; and ferdinand, though he knew, or rather said, that juana was mad, was quite ready to take advantage of such an opportunity for again getting into touch with henry. the letter in which ferdinand gently dallied with henry's offer was written in naples, after months of shifty excuses for not sending the rest of katharine's dowry to england,[15] and doubtless the time he gained by postponing the answer about juana's marriage until he returned to spain was of value to him; for he was determined, now that a special providence carefully prepared had removed philip from his path, that once more all spain should bear his sway whilst he lived, and then should be divided, rather than his dear aragon should be rendered subordinate to other interests. the encouraging talk of henry's marriage with juana, with which both katharine and puebla were instructed to beguile him, was all very well in its way, and the king of england became quite joyously sentimental at the prospect of the new tie of relationship between the houses of tudor and aragon; but, really, business was business: if that long overdue dowry for katharine was not sent soon, young henry would listen to some of the many other eligible princesses, better dowered than katharine, who were offered to him. with much demur henry at length consented to wait for five months longer for the dowry; that is to say, until michaelmas 1507, and in the meanwhile drove a bargain as hard as that of a jew huckster in the valuation of katharine's jewels and plate, which were to be brought into the account.[16] it is easy to see that this concession of five months' delay was granted by henry in the hope that his marriage with juana would take place. the plan was hideously wicked, and puebla made no secret of it in writing to ferdinand. "no king in the world would make so good a husband to the queen of castile, whether she be sane or insane. she might recover her reason when wedded to such a husband, but even in that case king ferdinand would at all events be sure to retain the regency of castile. on the other hand, if the insanity of the queen should prove incurable it would perhaps be not inconvenient that she should live in england. the english do not seem to mind her insanity much; especially since it is asserted that her mental malady would not prevent her from childbearing."[17] could anything be more repulsive than this pretty arrangement, which had been concocted by henry and puebla at richmond during a time when the former was seriously ill with quinsy and inaccessible to any one but the spanish ambassador? in the meanwhile katharine felt keenly the wretched position in which she found herself. the plate, about which so much haggling was taking place, was being pawned or sold by her bit by bit to provide the most necessary things for her own use; her servants were in rags, and she herself was contemned and neglected; forbidden even to see her betrothed husband for months together, though living in the same palace with him. the more confident henry grew of his own marriage with the archduchess margaret, or with queen juana, the less inclined he was to wed his son to katharine. a french princess for the prince of wales, and the queen of castile for henry, would indeed have served england on all sides. on one occasion, in april 1507, henry frankly told katharine that he considered himself no longer bound by her marriage treaty, since her dowry was overdue, and all the poor princess could do was to weep and pray her father to fulfil his part of the compact by paying the rest of her portion, whilst she, serving as ferdinand's ambassador, tried to retain henry's good graces by her hopeful assurances about the marriage of the latter with juana. in all katharine's lamentations of her own sufferings and privation, she never forgot to bewail the misery of her servants. whilst she herself, she said, had been worse treated than any woman in england, her five women servants, all she had retained, had never received a farthing since their arrival in england six years before, and had spent everything they possessed. katharine at this time of trial (august 1507) was living alone at ewelme, whilst henry was hunting at various seats in the midlands. at length the king made some stay at woodstock, where katharine saw him. with suspicious alacrity he consented to a further postponement of the overdue dowry; and showed himself more eager than ever to marry juana, no matter how mad she might be. katharine was quite acute enough to understand his motives, and wrote to her father that so long as the money due of her dowry remained unpaid the king considered himself free, so far as regarded her marriage with the prince of wales. "mine is always the worst part," she wrote. "the king of england prides himself upon his magnanimity in waiting so long for the payment.... his words are kind but his deeds are as bad as ever." she bitterly complained that puebla himself was doing his utmost to frustrate her marriage in the interests of the king of england; and it is clear to see in her passionate letter to her father (4th october 1507) that she half distrusted even him, as she had been told that he was listening to overtures from the king of france for a marriage between juana and a french prince. she failed in this to understand the political position fully. if juana had married a frenchman it is certain that henry would have been only too eager to complete the marriage of his son with katharine. but she was evidently in fear that, unless henry was allowed to marry her sister, evil might befall her. speaking of the marriage she says: "i bait him with this ... and his words and professions have changed for the better, although his acts remain the same.... they fancy that i have no more in me than what outwardly appears, or that i shall not be able to fathom his (puebla's) design." under stress of her circumstances katharine was developing rapidly. she was no longer a girl dependent upon others. doña elvira had gone for good; puebla she hated and distrusted as much as she did henry; and there was no one by her to whom she could look for help. her position was a terribly difficult one, pitted alone, as she was, against the most unscrupulous politicians in europe, in whose hands she knew she was only one of the pieces in a game. juana was still carrying about with her the unburied corpse of her husband, and falling into paroxysms of fury when a second marriage was suggested to her; and yet katharine considered it necessary to keep up the pretence to henry that his suit was prospering. she knew that though the archduchess margaret had firmly refused to tempt providence again by a third marriage with the king of england, the boy sovereign of castile and flanders, the archduke charles, had been securely betrothed to golden-haired little mary tudor, henry's younger daughter; and that the close alliance thus sealed was as dangerous to her father king ferdinand's interests as to her own. and yet she was either forced, or forced herself, to paint henry, who was still treating her vilely, in the brightest colours as a chivalrous, virtuous gentleman, really and desperately in love with poor crazy juana. katharine's letters to her sister on behalf of henry's suit are nauseous, in view of the circumstances as we know them; and show that the princess of wales was already prepared to sacrifice every human feeling to political expediency. this miserable position could not continue indefinitely, for the extension of time for the payment of the dowry was fast running out. juana was more intractable than ever. katharine, in rage and despair at the contumely with which she was treated, insisted at length that her father should send an ambassador to england, who could speak as the mouthpiece of a great sovereign rather than like a fawning menial of henry as puebla was. the new ambassador was gomez de fuensalida, knight commander of haro and membrilla, a man as haughty as puebla had been servile, and he went far beyond even katharine's desires in his plain speaking to henry and his ministers. ferdinand, indeed, by this time had once more gained the upper hand in europe, and could afford to speak his mind. henry was no longer so vigorous or so bold as he had been, and his desire to grasp everything whilst risking nothing had enabled his rivals to form a great coalition from which he was excluded--the league of cambrai. fuensalida offended henry almost as soon as he arrived, and was roughly refused permission to enter the english court. he could only storm, as he did, to henry's ministers that unless the princess of wales was at once sent home to spain with her dowry, king ferdinand and his allies would wreak vengeance upon england. but henry knew that with such a hostage as katharine in his hands he was safe from attack, and held the princess in defiance of it all. but he was already a waning force. whilst fuensalida had no good word for the king, he, like all other spanish agents, turned to the rising sun and sang persistently the praises of the prince of wales. his gigantic stature and sturdy limbs, his fair skin and golden hair, his manliness, his prudence, and his wisdom were their constant theme: and even katharine, unhappy as she was, with her marriage still in the balance, seems to have liked and admired the gallant youth whom she was allowed to see so seldom. it has become so much the fashion to speak of katharine not only as an unfortunate woman, but as a blameless saint in all her relations, that an historian who regards her as a fallible and even in many respects a blameworthy woman, who was to a large extent the cause of her own troubles, must be content to differ from the majority of his predecessors. we have already seen, by the earnest attempts she made to drag her afflicted sister into marriage with a man whom she herself considered false, cruel, and unscrupulous, that katharine was no better than those around her in moral principle: the passion and animosity shown in her letters to her father about puebla, fuensalida, and others whom she distrusted, show her to have been anything but a meek martyr. she was, indeed, at this time (1508-9) a self-willed, ambitious girl of strong passion, impatient of control, domineering and proud. her position in england had been a humiliating and a hateful one for years. she was the sport of the selfish ambitions of others, which she herself was unable to control; surrounded by people whom she disliked and suspected, lonely and unhappy; it is not wonderful that when henry vii. was gradually sinking to his grave, and her marriage with his son was still in doubt, this ardent southern young woman in her prime should be tempted to cast to the wind considerations of dignity and prudence for the sake of her love for a man. she was friendless in a foreign land; and when her father was in naples in 1506, she wrote to him praying him to send her a spanish confessor to solace her. before he could do so she informed him (april 1507) that she had obtained a very good spanish confessor for herself. this was a young, lusty, dissolute franciscan monk called diego fernandez, who then became a member of katharine's household. when the new outspoken ambassador, fuensalida, arrived in england in the autumn of 1508, he, of course, had frequent conference with the princess, and could not for long shut his eyes to the state of affairs in her establishment. he first sounded the alarm cautiously to ferdinand in a letter of 4th march 1509. he had hoped against hope, he said, that the marriage of katharine and prince henry might be effected soon; and the scandal might remedy itself without his worrying ferdinand about it. but he must speak out now, for he has been silent too long. it is high time, he says, that some person of sufficient authority in the confidence of ferdinand should be put in charge of katharine's household and command respect: "for at present the princess's house is governed by a young friar, whom her highness has taken for her confessor, though he is, in my opinion, and that of others, utterly unworthy of such a position. he makes the princess commit many errors; and as she is so good and conscientious, this confessor makes a mortal sin of everything that does not please him, and so causes her to commit many faults." the ambassador continues that he dare not write all he would because the bearer (a servant of katharine's) is being sent by those who wish to injure him; but he begs the king to interrogate the man who takes the letter as to what had been going on in the princess's house in the last two months. "the root of all the trouble is this young friar, who is flighty, and vain, and extremely scandalous. he has spoken to the princess very roughly about the king of england; and because i told the princess something of what i thought of this friar, and he learnt it, he has disgraced me with her worse than if i had been a traitor.... that your highness may judge what sort of person he is, i will repeat exactly without exaggeration the very words he used to me. 'i know,' he said, 'that they have been telling you evil tales of me.' 'i can assure you, father,' i replied, 'that no one has said anything about you to me.' 'i know,' he replied; 'the same person who told you told me himself.' 'well,' i said, 'any one can bear false witness, and i swear by the holy body that, so far as i can recollect, nothing has been said to me about you.' 'ah,' he said, 'there are scandal-mongers in this house who have defamed me, and not with the lowest either, but with the highest, and that is no disgrace to me. if it were not for contradicting them i should be gone already.'" proud fuensalida tells the king that it was only with the greatest difficulty he kept his hands off the insolent priest at this. "his constant presence with the princess and amongst her women is shocking the king of england and his court dreadfully;" and then the ambassador hints strongly that henry is only allowing the scandal to go on, so as to furnish him with a good excuse for still keeping katharine's marriage in abeyance. with this letter to spain went another from katharine to her father, railing bitterly against the ambassador. she can no longer endure her troubles, and a settlement of some sort must be arrived at. the king of england treats her worse than ever since his daughter mary was betrothed to the young archduke charles, sovereign of castile and flanders. she had sold everything she possessed for food and raiment; and only a few days before she wrote, henry had again told her that he was not bound to feed her servants. her own people, she says, are insolent and turn against her; but what afflicts her most is that she is too poor to maintain fittingly her confessor, "the best that ever woman had." it is plain to see that the whole household was in rebellion against the confessor who had captured katharine's heart, and that the ambassador was on the side of the household. the princess and fuensalida had quarrelled about it, and she wished that the ambassador should be reproved. with vehement passion she begged her father that the confessor might not be taken away from her. "i implore your highness to prevent him from leaving me; and to write to the king of england that you have ordered this father to stay with me; and beg him for your sake to have him well treated and humoured. tell the prelates also that you wish him to stay here. the greatest comfort in my trouble is the consolation he gives me. almost in despair i send this servant to implore you not to forget that i am still your daughter, and how much i have suffered for your sake.... do not let me perish like this, but write at once deciding what is to be done. otherwise in my present state i am afraid i may do something that neither the king of england nor your highness could prevent, unless you send for me and let me pass the few remaining days of my life in god's service." that the princess's household and the ambassador were shocked at the insolent familiarity of the licentious young priest with their mistress, and that she herself perfectly understood that the suspicions and rumours were against her honour, is clear. on one occasion henry vii. had asked katharine and his daughter mary to go to richmond, to meet him. when the two princesses were dressed and ready to set out on their journey from hampton court to richmond, the confessor entered the room and told katharine she was not to go that day as she had been unwell. the princess protested that she was then quite well and able to bear the short journey. "i tell you," replied father diego, "that, on pain of mortal sin, you shall not go to-day;" and so princess mary set out alone, leaving katharine with the young priest of notorious evil life and a few inferior servants. when the next day she was allowed to go to richmond, accompanied amongst others by the priest, king henry took not the slightest notice of her, and for the next few weeks refused to speak to her. the ambassador even confessed to ferdinand that, since he had witnessed what was going on in the princess's household, he acquitted henry of most of the blame for his treatment of his spanish daughter-in-law. whilst the princess was in the direst distress, her household in want of food, and she obliged to sell her gowns to send messengers to her father, she went to the length of pawning the plate that formed part of her dowry to "satisfy the follies of the friar." deaf to all remonstrances both from king henry and her own old servants, katharine obstinately had her way, and the chances of her marriage in england grew smaller and smaller. it is not to be supposed that the ambassador would have dared to say so much as he did to the lady's own father if he had not taken the gravest view of katharine's conduct and its probable political result. but his hints to ferdinand's ministers were much stronger still. "the princess," he said, "was guilty of things a thousand times worse" than those he had mentioned; and the "parables" that he had written to the king might be made clear by the examination of katharine's own servant, who carried her letters. "the devil take me," he continues, "if i can see anything in this friar for her to be so fond of him; for he has neither learning, nor good looks, nor breeding, nor capacity, nor authority; but if he takes it into his head to preach a new gospel, they have to believe it."[18] by two letters still extant, written by friar diego himself, we see that the ambassador in no wise exaggerated his coarseness and indelicacy, and it is almost incredible that katharine, an experienced and disillusioned woman of nearly twenty-four, can have been ready to jeopardise everything political and personal, and face the opposition of the world, for the sake alone of the spiritual comfort to be derived from the ministrations of such a man. how far, if at all, the connection was actually immoral we shall probably never know, but the case as it stands shows katharine to have been passionate, self-willed, and utterly tactless. even after her marriage with young henry friar diego retained his ascendency over her for several years, and ruled her with a rod of iron until he was publicly convicted of fornication, and deprived of his office as chancellor of the queen. we shall have later to consider the question of his relationship with katharine after her marriage; but it is almost certain that the ostentatious intimacy of the pair during the last months of henry vii. had reduced katharine's chance of marriage with the prince of wales almost to vanishing point, when the death of the king suddenly changed the political position and rendered it necessary that the powerful coalition of which ferdinand was the head should be conciliated by england. henry vii. died at richmond on the 22nd april 1509, making a better and more generous end than could have been expected from his life. he, like his rival ferdinand, had been avaricious by deliberate policy; and his avarice was largely instrumental in founding england's coming greatness, for the overflowing coffers he left to his son lent force to the new position assumed by england as the balancing power, courted by both the great continental rivals. ferdinand's ambition had o'erleaped itself, and the possession of flanders by the king of castile had made england's friendship more than ever necessary thenceforward, for france was opposed to spain now, not in italy alone, but on long conterminous frontiers in the north, south, and east as well. henry viii. at the age of eighteen was well fitting to succeed his father. all contemporary observers agree that his grace and personal beauty as a youth were as remarkable as his quickness of intellect and his true tudor desire to stand well in the eyes of his people. fully aware of the power his father's wealth gave him politically, he was determined to share no part of the onus for the oppression with which the wealth had been collected; and on the day following his father's death, before himself retiring to mourning reclusion in the tower of london, the unpopular financial instruments of henry vii., empson and dudley and others, were laid by the heels to sate the vengeance of the people. the spanish match for the young king was by far more popular in england than any other; and the alacrity of henry himself and his ministers to carry it into effect without further delay, now that his father with his personal ambitions and enmities was dead, was also indicative of his desire to begin his reign by pleasing his subjects. the death of henry vii. had indeed cleared away many obstacles. ferdinand had profoundly distrusted him. his evident desire to obtain control of castile, either by his marriage with juana or by that of his daughter mary with the nine-year-old archduke charles, had finally hardened ferdinand's heart against him, whilst henry's fear and suspicion of ferdinand had, as we have seen, effectually stood in the way of the completion of katharine's marriage. with young henry as king affairs stood differently. even before his father's death ferdinand had taken pains to assure him of his love, and had treated him as a sovereign over the dying old king's head. before the breath was out of henry vii., ferdinand's letters were speeding to london to make all things smooth. there would be no opposition now to ferdinand's ratification of his flemish grandson's marriage with henry's sister mary. the clever old aragonese knew there was still plenty of time to stop that later; and certainly young henry could not interfere in castile, as his father might have done, on the strength of mary tudor's betrothal. so all went merry as a marriage bell. ferdinand, for once in his life, was liberal with his money. he implored his daughter to make no unpleasantness or complaint, and to raise no question that might obstruct her marriage. the ambassador, fuensalida, was warned that if the bickering between himself and the princess, or between the confessor and the household, was allowed to interfere with the match, disgrace and ruin should be his lot, and katharine was admonished that she must be civil to fuensalida, and to the italian banker who was to pay the balance of her dowry. the king of aragon need have had no anxiety. young henry and his councillors were as eager for the popular marriage as he was, and dreaded the idea of disgorging the 100,000 crowns dowry already paid and the english settlements upon katharine. on the 6th may, accordingly, three days before the body of henry vii. was borne in gloomy pomp to its last resting-place at westminster, katharine wrote to her delighted father that her marriage with henry was finally settled. chapter iii 1509-1527 katharine the queen--a political marriage and a personal divorce "long live king henry viii.!" cried garter king of arms in french as the great officers of state broke their staves of office and cast them into the open grave of the first tudor king. through england, like the blast of a trumpet, the cry was echoed from the hearts of a whole people, full of hope that the niggardliness and suspicion which for years had stood between the sovereign and his people were at last banished. the young king, expansive and hearty in manner, handsome and strong as a pagan god in person, was well calculated to captivate the love of the crowd. his prodigious personal vanity, which led him to delight in sumptuous raiment and gorgeous shows; the state and ceremony with which he surrounded himself and his skill in manly exercises, were all points in his favour with a pleasure-yearning populace which had been squeezed of its substance without seeing any return for it: whilst his ardent admiration for the learning which had during his lifetime become the fashion made grave scholars lose their judgment and write like flattering slaves about the youth of eighteen who now became unquestioned king of england and master of his father's hoarded treasures. as we shall see in the course of this history, henry was but a whited sepulchre. young, light-hearted, with every one about him praising him as a paragon, and his smallest whim indulged as a divine command, there was no incitement for the exhibition of the baser qualities that underlay the big, popular manner, the flamboyant patriotism, and, it must be added, the real ability which appealed alike to the gentle and simple over whom he was called to rule. like many men of his peculiar physique, he was never a strong man morally, and his will grew weaker as his body increased in gross flabbiness. the obstinate self-assertion and violence that impressed most observers as strength, hid behind them a spirit that forever needed direction and support from a stronger soul. so long as he was allowed in appearance to have his own way and his policy was showy, he was, as one of his wisest ministers said in his last days, the easiest man in the world to manage. his sensuality, which was all his own, and his personal vanity, were the qualities by means of which one able councillor after another used him for the ends they had in view, until the bridle chafed him, and his temporary master was made to feel the vengeance of a weak despot who discovers that he has been ruled instead of ruling. in henry's personal character as sketched above we shall be able to find the key of the tremendous political events that made his reign the most important in our annals; and we shall see that his successive marriages were the outcome of subtle intrigues in which representatives of various parties took advantage of the king's vanity and lasciviousness to promote their own political or religious views. that the emancipation of england from rome was the ultimate result cannot fairly be placed to henry's personal credit. if he could have had his own way without breaking with the papacy he would have preferred to maintain the connection; but the reformation was in the air, and craftier brains than henry's led the king step by step by his ruling passions until he had gone too far to retreat. to what extent his various matrimonial adventures served these intrigues we shall see in the course of this book. that henry's marriage with katharine soon after his accession was politically expedient has been shown in the aforegoing pages; and the king's council were strongly in favour of it, with the exception of the archbishop of canterbury, lord chancellor warham, who was more purely ecclesiastical than his colleagues, and appears to have had doubts as to the canonical validity of the union. as we have seen, the pope had given a dispensation for the marriage years before, in terms that covered the case of the union with arthur having been duly consummated, though katharine strenuously denied that it had been, or that she knew how the dispensation was worded. the spanish confessor also appears to have suggested to fuensalida some doubts as to the propriety of the marriage, but king ferdinand promptly put his veto upon any such scruples. had not the pope given his dispensation? he asked; and did not the peace of england and spain depend upon the marriage? the sin would be not the marriage, but the failure to effect it after the pledges that had been given. so the few doubters were silenced; young henry himself, all eager for his marriage, was not one of them, nor was katharine, for to her the match was a triumph for which she had worked and suffered for years: and on the 11th june 1509 the pair were married privately by warham at henry's palace of greenwich. rarely in its long history has london seen so brave a pageant as the bride and bridegroom's triumphal passage through the city on saturday the 21st june from the tower to westminster for their coronation. rich tapestries, and hangings of cloth of gold, decked the streets through which they passed. the city companies lined the way from gracechurch street to bread street, where the lord mayor and the senior guild stood in bright array, whilst the goldsmiths' shops in chepe had each to adorn it a figure of the holy virgin in white with many wax tapers around it. the queen rode in a litter of white and gold tissue drawn by two snowy palfreys, she herself being garbed in white satin and gold, with a dazzling coronet of precious stones upon her head, from which fell almost to her feet her dark russet hair. she was twenty-four years of age, and in the full flush of womanhood; her regular classical features and fair skin bore yet the curves of gracious youth; and there need be no doubt of the sincerity of the ardent affection for her borne by the pink and white young giant who rode before her, a dazzling vision of crimson velvet, cloth of gold, and flashing precious stones. "god save your grace," was the cry that rattled like platoon firing along the crowded ways, as the splendid cavalcade passed on. the next day, sunday, 24th june, the pair were crowned in the abbey with all the tedious pomp of the times. then the gargantuan feast in westminster hall, of which the chronicler spares us no detail, and the endless jousts and devices, in which roses and pomegranates, castles and leopards jostled each other in endless magnificence, until a mere catalogue of the splendour grows meaningless. the death of the king's wise old grandmother, the countess of richmond, interrupted for a time the round of festivities; but henry was too new to the unchecked indulgence of his taste for splendour and pleasure to abandon them easily, and his english councillors, as well as the watchful spanish agents, began before many weeks were over to hint gravely that the young king was neglecting his business. katharine appears to have entered fully into the life of pleasure led by her husband. writing to her father on the 29th july, she is enthusiastic in her praise. "we are all so happy," she says; "our time passes in continual feasting." but in her case, at least, we see that mixed with the frivolous pleasure there was the personal triumph of the politician who had succeeded. "one of the principal reasons why i love my husband the king, is because he is so true a son to your majesty. i have obeyed your orders and have acted as your ambassador. my husband places himself entirely in your hands. this country of england is truly your own now, and is tranquil and deeply loyal to the king and to me." what more could wife or stateswoman ask? katharine had her reward. henry was hers and england was at the bidding of ferdinand, and her sufferings had not been in vain. henry, for his part, was, if we are to believe his letters to his father-in-law, as much enamoured of his wife as she was satisfied with him.[19] and so, amidst magnificent shows, and what seems to our taste puerile trifling, the pair began their married life highly contented with each other and the world. the inevitable black shadows were to come later. in reality they were an entirely ill-matched couple, even apart from the six years' disparity in their ages. henry, a bluff bully, a coward morally, and also perhaps physically,[20] a liar, who deceived himself as well as others, in order to keep up appearances in his favour, he was just the man that a clever, tactful woman could have managed perfectly, beginning early in his life as katharine did. katharine, for all her goodness of heart and exalted piety, was, as we have seen, none too scrupulous herself; and if her ability and dexterity had been equal to her opportunities she might have kept henry in bondage for life. but, even before her growing age and fading charms had made her distasteful to her husband, her lack of prudence and management towards him had caused him to turn to others for the guidance that she might still have exercised. the first rift of which we hear came less than a year after the marriage. friar diego, who was now katharine's chancellor, wrote an extraordinary letter to king ferdinand in may 1510, telling him of a miscarriage that katharine had had at the end of january; the affair he says having been so secret that no one knew it but the king, two spanish women, the physician, and himself; and the details he furnishes show him to have been as ignorant as he was impudent. incidentally, however, he says: "her highness is very healthy and the most beautiful creature in the world, with the greatest gaiety and contentment that ever was. the king adores her, and her highness him." but with this letter to the king went another to his secretary, almazan, from the new spanish ambassador, carroz, who complains bitterly that the friar monopolises the queen entirely, and prevents his access to her. he then proceeds to tell of henry and katharine's first matrimonial tiff. the two married sisters of the duke of buckingham were at court, one being a close friend of katharine whilst the other was said to be carrying on an intrigue with the king through his favourite, sir william compton. this lady's family, and especially her brother the duke, who had a violent altercation with compton, and her sister the queen's friend, shocked at the scandal, carried her away to a convent in the country. in revenge for this the king sent the queen's favourite away, and quarrelled with katharine. carroz was all for counselling prudence and diplomacy to the queen; but he complains that friar diego was advising her badly and putting her on bad terms with her husband. many false alarms, mostly, it would seem, set afloat by the meddling friar, and dwelt upon by him in his letters with quite unbecoming minuteness, kept the court agog as to the possibility of an heir to the crown being born. henry himself, who was always fond of children, was desperately anxious for a son; and when, on new year's day 1511, the looked-for heir was born at richmond, the king's unrestrained rejoicing again took his favourite form of sumptuous entertainments, after he had ridden to the shrine of our lady at walsingham in norfolk to give thanks for the favour vouchsafed to him. once again westminster glittered with cloth of gold and gems and velvet. once again courtiers came to the lists disguised as hermits, to kneel before katharine, and then to cast off their gowns and stand in full panoply before her, craving for leave to tilt in her honour. once again fairy bowers of gold and artificial flowers sheltered sylvan beauties richly bedizened, the king and his favourites standing by in purple satin garments with the solid gold initials of himself and his wife sewn upon them. whilst the dazzling company was dancing the "scenery" was rolled back. it came too near the crowd of lieges at the end of the hall, and pilfering fingers began to pluck the golden ornaments from the bowers. emboldened by their immunity for this, people broke the bounds, swarmed into the central space, and in the twinkling of an eye all the lords and ladies, even the king himself, found themselves stripped of their finery to their very shirts, the golden letters and precious tissues intended as presents for fine ladies being plunder now in grimy hands that turned them doubtless to better account. henry in his bluff fashion made the best of it, and called the booty largesse. little recked he, if the tiny heir whose existence fed his vanity throve. but the babe died soon after this costly celebration of his birth. during the ascendency that the anticipated coming of a son gave to katharine, ferdinand was able to beguile henry into an offensive league against france, by using the same bait that had so often served a similar purpose with henry vii.; namely, the reconquest for england of guienne and normandy. spain, the empire, the papacy, and england formed a coalition that boded ill for the french cause in italy. as usual the showy but barren part fell to henry. ferdinand promised him soldiers to conquer normandy, but they never came. all ferdinand wanted was to keep as many frenchmen as possible from his own battle-grounds, and he found plenty of opportunities for evading all his pledges. henry was flattered to the top of his bent. the pope sent him the blessed golden rose, and saluted him as head of the italian league; and the young king, fired with martial ardour, allowed himself to be dragged into war by his wife's connections, in opposition to the opinion of the wiser heads in his council. a war with france involved hostilities with scotland, but henry was, in the autumn of 1512, cajoled into depleting his realm of troops and sending an army to spain to attack france over the pyrenees, whilst another force under poynings went to help the allies against the duke of gueldres. the former host under the marquis of dorset was kept idle by its commander because it was found that ferdinand really required them to reduce the spanish kingdom of navarre, and after months of inactivity and much mortality from sickness, they returned ingloriously home to england. this was henry's first experience of armed alliances, but he learned nothing by experience, and to the end of his life the results of such coalitions to him were always the same. but his ambition was still unappeased, and in june 1513 he in person led his army across the channel to conquer france. his conduct in the campaign was puerile in its vanity and folly, and ended lamely with the capture of two (to him) unimportant fortresses in the north, therouenne and tournai, and the panic flight of the french at the battle of the spurs or guingate. our business with this foolish and fruitless campaign, in which henry was every one's tool, is confined to the part that katharine played at the time. on the king's ostentatious departure from dover he left katharine regent of the realm, with the earl of surrey--afterwards duke of norfolk--to command the army in the north. katharine, we are told, rode back from dover to london full of dolour for her lord's departure; but we see her in her element during the subsequent months of her regency. bold and spirited, and it must be added utterly tactless, she revelled in the independent domination which she enjoyed. james iv. of scotland had threatened that an english invasion of france would be followed by his own invasion of england. "let him do it in god's name," shouted henry; and katharine when the threat was made good delivered a splendid oration in english to the officers who were going north to fight the scots. "remember," she said, "that the lord smiled upon those who stood in defence of their own. remember that the english courage excels that of all other nations upon earth."[21] her letters to wolsey, who accompanied henry as almoner, or rather secretary, are full of courage, and as full of womanly anxiety for her husband. "she was troubled," she wrote, "to learn that the king was so near the siege of therouenne," until wolsey's letter assured her of the heed he takes to avoid all manner of dangers. "with his life and health nothing can come amiss with him, without them i see no manner of good thing that shall fall after it." but her tactlessness even in this letter shows clearly when she boasts that the king in france is not so busy with war as she is in england against the scots. "my heart is very good of it, and i am horribly busy making standards, banners, and badges."[22] after congratulating henry effusively upon the capture of therouenne and his meeting with the emperor, katharine herself set forth with reinforcements towards scotland, but before she had travelled a hundred miles (to woburn) she met the couriers galloping south to bring her the great news of surrey's victory at flodden field. turning aside to thank our lady of walsingham for the destruction of the scottish power, katharine on the way sent the jubilant news to henry. james iv. in his defeat had been left dead upon the field, clad in his check surcoat, and a fragment of this coat soaked with blood the queen sent to her husband in france, with a heartless gibe at his dead brother-in-law. we are told that in another of her letters first giving the news of flodden, and referring to henry's capture of the duke of longueville at therouenne, she vaingloriously compared her victory with his.[23] "it was no great thing for one armed man to take another, but she was sending three captured by a woman; if he (henry) sent her a captive duke she would send him a prisoner king." for a wife and _locum tenens_ to write thus in such circumstances to a supremely vain man like henry, whose martial ambition was still unassuaged, was to invite his jealousy and dislike. his people saw, as he with all his boastfulness cannot fail to have done, that flodden was the real english victory, not therouenne, and that katharine and surrey, not henry, were the heroes. such knowledge was gall and wormwood to the king; and especially when the smoke of battle had blown away, and he saw how he had been "sold" by his wife's relations, who kept the fruit of victory whilst he was put off with the shell. from that time katharine's influence over her husband weakened, though with occasional intermission, and he looked for guidance to a subtler mind than hers. with henry to france had gone thomas wolsey, one of the clergy of the royal chapel, recently appointed almoner by the patronage of fox, bishop of winchester, henry's leading councillor in foreign affairs. the english nobles, strong as they still were territorially, could not be trusted with the guidance of affairs by a comparatively new dynasty depending upon parliament and the towns for its power; and an official class, raised at the will of the sovereign, had been created by henry vii., to be used as ministers and administrators. such a class, dependent entirely upon the crown, were certain to be distasteful to the noble families, and the rivalry between these two governing elements provided the germ of party divisions which subsequently hardened into the english constitutional tradition: the officials usually being favourable to the strengthening of the royal prerogative, and the nobles desiring to maintain the check which the armed power of feudalism had formerly exercised. for reasons which will be obvious, the choice of both henry vii. and his son of their diplomatists and ministers fell to a great extent upon clergymen; and wolsey's brilliant talents and facile adaptiveness during his close attendance upon henry in france captivated his master, who needed for a minister and guide one that could never become a rival either in the field or the ladies' chamber, where the king most desired distinction. henry came home in october 1513, bitterly enraged against katharine's kin, and ripe for the close alliance with france which the prisoner duke of longueville soon managed to bring about. what mattered it that lovely young mary tudor was sacrificed in marriage to the decrepit old king louis xii., notwithstanding her previous solemn betrothal to katharine's nephew, young charles of austria, and her secret love for henry's bosom friend, sir charles brandon? princesses were but pieces in the great political game, and must perforce take the rough with the smooth. henry, in any case, could thus show to the spaniard that he could defy him by a french connection. it must have been with a sad heart that katharine took part in the triumphal doings that celebrated the peace directed against her father. the french agents, then in london, in describing her say that she was lively and gracious, quite the opposite of her gloomy sister: and doubtless she did her best to appear so, for she was proud and schooled to disappointment; but with the exception of the fact that she was again with child, all around her looked black. her husband openly taunted her with her father's ill faith; henry was carrying on now an open intrigue with lady tailebois, whom he had brought from calais with him; ferdinand the catholic at last was slowly dying, all his dreams and hopes frustrated; and on the 13th august 1514, in the palace of greenwich, katharine's dear friend and sister-in-law, mary tudor, was married by proxy to louis xii. katharine, led by the duke of longueville, attended the festivity. she was dressed in ash-coloured satin, covered with raised gold embroidery, costly chains and necklaces of gems covered her neck and bust, and a coif trimmed with precious stones was on her head.[24] the king at the ball in the evening charmed every one by his graceful dancing, and the scene was so gay that the grave venetian ambassador says that had it not been for his age and office he would have cast off his gown and have footed it with the rest. but already sinister whispers were rife, and we may be sure they were not unknown to katharine. she had been married five years, and no child of hers had lived; and, though she was again pregnant, it was said that the pope would be asked to authorise henry to put her aside, and to marry a french bride. had not his new french brother-in-law done the like years ago?[25] to what extent this idea had really entered henry's head at the time it is difficult to say; but courtiers and diplomatists have keen eyes, and they must have known which way the wind was blowing before they talked thus. in october 1514 katharine was borne slowly in a litter to dover, with the great concourse that went to speed mary tudor on her loveless two months' marriage; and a few weeks afterwards katharine gave birth prematurely to a dead child. once more the hopes of henry were dashed, and though peter martyr ascribed the misfortune to henry's unkindness, the superstitious time-servers of the king, and those in favour of the french alliance, began to hint that katharine's offspring was accursed, and that to get an heir the king must take another wife. the doings at court were still as brilliant and as frivolous as ever; the king's great delight being in adopting some magnificent, and, of course, perfectly transparent disguise in masque or ball, and then to disclose himself when every one, the queen included, was supposed to be lost in wonder at the grace and agility of the pretended unknown. those who take pleasure in the details of such puerility may be referred to hall's _chronicle_ for them: we here have more to do with the hearts beneath the finery, than with the trappings themselves. that katharine was striving desperately at this time to retain her influence over her husband, and her popularity in england, is certain from the letter of ferdinand's ambassador (6th december 1514). he complains that on the recommendation of friar diego katharine had thrown over her father's interests in order to keep the love of henry and his people. the castilian interest and the manuels have captured her, wrote the ambassador, and if ferdinand did not promptly "put a bridle on this colt" (_i.e._ henry) and bring katharine to her bearings as her father's daughter, england would be for ever lost to aragon.[26] there is no doubt that at this time katharine felt that her only chance of keeping her footing was to please henry, and "forget spain," as friar diego advised her to do. when the king of france died on new year's day, 1515, and his young widow--katharine's friend, mary tudor--clandestinely married her lover, charles brandon, katharine's efforts to reconcile her husband to the peccant pair are evidence, if no other existed, that henry's anger was more assumed than real, and that his vanity was pleased by the submissive prayers for his forgiveness. as no doubt the queen, and wolsey, who had joined his efforts with hers, foresaw, not only were mary and brandon pardoned, but taken into high favour. at the public marriage of mary and brandon at greenwich at easter 1515 more tournaments, masques and balls, enabled the king to show off his gallantry and agility in competition with his new brother-in-law; and on the subsequent may day at shooter's hill, katharine and mary, who were inseparable, took part in elaborate and costly _al fresco_ entertainments in which robin hood, several pagan deities, and the various attributes of spring, were paraded for their delectation. it all sounds very gay, though somewhat silly, as we read the endless catalogues of bedizenment, of tilts and races, feasting, dancing, and music that delighted henry and his friends; but before katharine there ever hovered the spectre of her childlessness, and henry, after the ceremonial gaiety and overdone gallantry to his wife, would too frequently put spurs to his courser and gallop off to new hall in essex, where lady tailebois lived. a gleam of hope and happiness came to her late in 1515 when she was again expecting to become a mother. by liberal gifts--"the greatest presents ever brought to england," said henry himself--and by flattery unlimited, ferdinand, almost on his death-bed, managed to "bridle" his son-in-law, to borrow a large sum of money from him and draw him anew into a coalition against france. but the hope was soon dashed; king ferdinand died almost simultaneously with the birth of a girl-child to his daughter katharine. it is true the babe was like to live, but a son, not a daughter, was what henry wanted. yet he put the best face on the matter publicly. the venetian ambassador purposely delayed his congratulations, because the child was of the wrong sex; and when finally he coldly offered them, he pointedly told the king that they would have been much more hearty if the child had been a son. "we are both young," replied henry. "if it is a daughter this time, by the grace of god sons will follow." the desire of the king for a male heir was perfectly natural. no queen had reigned independently over england; and for the perpetuation of a new dynasty like the tudors the succession in the male line was of the highest importance. in addition to this, henry was above all things proud of his manliness, and he looked upon the absence of a son as in some sort reflecting a humiliation upon him. katharine's health had never been robust; and at the age of thirty-three, after four confinements, she had lost her bloom. disappointment and suffering, added to her constitutional weakness, was telling upon her, and her influence grew daily smaller. the gorgeous shows and frivolous amusements in which her husband so much delighted palled upon her, and she now took little pains to feign enjoyment in them, giving up much of her time to religious exercises, fasting rigidly twice a week and saints' days throughout the year, in addition to the lenten observances, and wearing beneath her silks and satins a rough franciscan nun's gown of serge. as in the case of so many of her kindred, mystical devotion was weaving its grey web about her, and saintliness of the peculiar spanish type was covering her as with a garment. henry, on the contrary, was a full-blooded young man of twenty-eight, with a physique like that of a butcher, held by no earthly control or check upon his appetites, overflowing with vitality and the joy of life; and it is not to be wondered at that he found his disillusioned and consciously saintly wife a somewhat uncomfortable companion. the death of louis xii., maximilian, and ferdinand, and the peaceful accession of young charles to the throne of spain and the prospective imperial crown, entirely altered the political aspect of europe. francis i. needed peace in the first years of his reign; and to charles it was also desirable, in order that his rule over turbulent spain could be firmly established and his imperial succession secured. all the english ministers and councillors were heavily bribed by france, wolsey himself was strongly in favour of the french connection, and everybody entered into a conspiracy to flatter henry. the natural result was a league first of england and france, and subsequently a general peace to which all the principal christian potentates subscribed, and men thought that the millennium had come. katharine's international importance had disappeared with the death of her father and the accession of charles to the throne of aragon as well as to that of castile. wolsey was now henry's sole adviser in matters of state and managed his master dexterously, whilst endeavouring not entirely to offend the queen. glimpses of his harmonious relations with katharine at this time (1516-1520) are numerous. at the splendid christening of the princess mary, wolsey was one of the sponsors, and he was "gossip" with katharine at the baptism of mary tudor duchess of suffolk's son. nor can the queen's famous action after the evil may day (1517) have been opposed or discountenanced by the cardinal. the universal peace had brought to london hosts of foreigners, especially frenchmen, and the alien question was acute. wolsey, whose sudden rise and insolence had deeply angered the nobles, had, as principal promoter of the unpopular peace with france, to bear a full share of the detestation in which his friends the aliens were held. late in april there were rumours that a general attack upon foreigners by the younger citizens would be made, and at wolsey's instance the civic authorities ordered that all the londoners should keep indoors. some lads in chepe disregarded the command, and the alderman of the ward attempted to arrest one of them. then rose the cry of "'prentices and clubs! death to the cardinal!" and forth there poured from lane and alley riotous youngsters by the hundred, to wreak vengeance on the insolent foreigners who took the bread out of worthy englishmen's mouths. sack and pillage reigned for a few hours, but the guard quelled the boys with blood, the king rode hastily from richmond, the lieutenant of the tower dropped a few casual cannon-balls into the city, and before sunset all was quiet. the gibbets rose at the street corners and a bloody vengeance fell upon the rioters. dozens were hanged, drawn, and quartered with atrocious cruelty; and under the ruthless duke of norfolk four hundred more were condemned to death for treason to the king, who, it was bitterly said in london, loved outlanders better than his own folk. it is unlikely that henry really meant to plunge all his capital in mourning by hanging the flower of its youth, but he loved, for vanity's sake, that his clemency should be publicly sought, and to act the part of a deity in restoring to life those legally dead. in any case, katharine's spontaneous and determined intercession for the 'prentice lads would take no denial, and she pleaded with effect. her intercession, nevertheless, could hardly have been so successful as it was if wolsey had been opposed to it; and the subsequent comedy in the great hall at westminster on the 22nd may was doubtless planned to afford henry an opportunity of appearing in his favourite character. seated upon a canopied throne high upon a daïs of brocade, surrounded by his prelates and nobles and with wolsey by his side, henry frowned in crimson velvet whilst the "poore younglings and olde false knaves" trooped in, a sorry procession, stripped to their shirts, with halters around their necks. wolsey in stern words rebuked their crime, and scolded the lord mayor and aldermen for their laxity; ending by saying they all deserved to hang. "mercy! gracious lord, mercy!" cried the terrified boys and their distracted mothers behind; and the cardinal and the peers knelt before the throne to beg the life of the offenders, which the king granted, and with a great shout of joy halters were stripped from many a callow neck, and cast into the rafters of the hall for very joy. but all men knew, and the mothers too, that wolsey's intercession was only make-believe, and that what they saw was but the ceremonial act of grace. the queen they thanked in their hearts and not the haughty cardinal, for the king had pardoned the 'prentices privately days before, when katharine and her two sisters-in-law, the widowed queens of france and scotland, had knelt before the king in unfeigned tears, and had clamoured for the lives of the londoners. to the day of the queen's unhappy death this debt was never forgotten by the citizens, who loved her faithfully to the end far better than any of her successors. the sweating sickness in the autumn of 1517 sent henry and his wife as far away from contagion as possible, for sickness always frightened the big bully into a panic. during his absence from london, wolsey was busy negotiating a still closer alliance with france, by the marriage of the baby princess mary to the newly born dauphin. it can hardly have been the match that katharine would have chosen for her cherished only child, but she was a cypher by the side of wolsey now, and made no open move against it at the time. early in the spring of 1518 the plague broke out again, and henry in dire fear started upon a progress in the midlands. richard pace, who accompanied him, wrote to wolsey on the 12th april telling him as a secret that the queen was again pregnant. "i pray god heartily," he continued, "that it may be a prince to the surety and universal comfort of the realm;" and he begs the cardinal to write a kind letter to the queen. in june the glad tidings were further confirmed, as likely to result in "an event most earnestly desired by the whole kingdom." still dodging the contagion, the king almost fled from one place to another, and when at woodstock in july henry himself wrote a letter to wolsey which tells in every line how anxious he was that the coming event should be the fulfilment of his ardent hope. katharine had awaited him at woodstock, and he had been rejoiced at the confident hope she gave him. he tells wolsey the news formally, and says that he will remove the queen as little and as quietly as may be to avoid risk. soon all the diplomatists were speculating at the great things that would happen when the looked-for prince was born; and it was probably the confident hope that this time henry would not be disappointed, that made possible the success of wolsey's policy and the marriage of the princess mary with the infant dauphin. of wolsey's magnificent feasts that accompanied the ratification of peace and the betrothal on the 5th october, feasts more splendid, says the venetian ambassador, than ever were given by caligula or cleopatra, no account can be given here. it was wolsey's great triumph, and he surpassed all the records of luxury in england in its celebration. the sweet little bride dressed in cloth of gold stood before the thrones upon which her father and mother sat in the great hall of greenwich, and then, carried in the arms of a prelate, was held up whilst the cardinal slipped the diamond wedding-ring upon her finger and blessed her nuptials with the baby bridegroom. that the heir of france should marry the heiress of england was a danger to the balance of europe, and especially a blow to spain. it was, moreover, not a match which england could regard with equanimity; for a french king consort would have been repugnant to the whole nation, and henry could never have meant to conclude the marriage finally, unless the expected heir was born. but alas! for human hopes. on the night of 10th november 1518, katharine was delivered of a daughter, "to the vexation of as many as knew it," and king and nation mourned together, now that, after all, a frenchman might reign over england. to katharine this last disappointment was bitter indeed. her husband, wounded and irritated, first in his pride, and now in his national interests, avoided her; her own country and kin had lost the english tie that meant so much to them, and she herself, in poor health and waning attractions, could only mourn her misfortunes, and cling more closely than ever to her one darling child, mary, for the new undesired infant girl had died as soon as it was born. the ceaseless round of masking, mummery, and dancing, which so much captivated henry, went on without abatement, and katharine perforce had to take her part in it; but all the king's tenderness was now shown not to his wife but to his little daughter, whom he carried about in his arms and praised inordinately.[27] so frivolous and familiar indeed had henry's behaviour grown that his council took fright, and, under the thin veil of complaints against the behaviour of his boon companions, carew, peachy, wingfield, and brian, who were banished from court, they took henry himself seriously to task. the four french hostages, held for the payment of the war indemnity, were also feasted and entertained so familiarly by henry, under wolsey's influence, as to cause deep discontent to the lieges, who had always looked upon france as an enemy, and knew that the unpopular cardinal's overwhelming display was paid for by french bribes. at one such entertainment katharine was made to act as hostess at her dower-house of havering in essex, where, in the summer of 1519, we are told that, "for their welcomyng she purveyed all thynges in the most liberalist manner; and especially she made to the kyng suche a sumpteous banket that he thanked her hartely, and the strangers gave it great praise." later in the same year katharine was present at a grand series of entertainments given by the king in the splendid new manor-house which he had built for lady tailebois, who had just rejoiced him by giving birth to a son. we have no record of katharine's thoughts as she took part here in the tedious foolery so minutely described by hall. she plucked off the masks, we are told, of eight disguised dancers in long dominos of blue satin and gold, "who danced with the ladies sadly, and communed not with them after the fashion of maskers." of course the masqueraders were the duke of suffolk (brandon) and other great nobles, as the poor queen must well have known; but when she thought that all this mummery was to entertain frenchmen, and the house in which it passed was devoted to the use of henry's mistress, she must have covered her own heart with a more impenetrable mask than those of suffolk and his companions, if her face was attuned to the gay sights and sounds around her. [illustration: _katharine of aragon_ _from a portrait by_ holbein _in the national portrait gallery_] katharine had now almost ceased to strive for the objects to which her life had been sacrificed, namely, the binding together of england and spain to the detriment of france. wolsey had believed that his own interests would be better served by a close french alliance, and he had had his way. henry himself was but the vainglorious figure in the international pageant; the motive power was the cardinal. but a greater than wolsey, charles of austria and spain, though he was as yet only a lad of nineteen, had appeared upon the scene, and soon was to make his power felt throughout the world. wolsey's close union with france and the marriage of the princess mary with the dauphin had been meant as a blow to spain, to lead if possible to the election of henry to the imperial crown, in succession to maximilian, instead of the latter's grandson charles. if the king of england were made emperor, the way of the cardinal of york to the throne of st. peter was clear. henry was flattered at the idea, and was ready to follow his minister anywhere to gain such a showy prize. but quite early in the struggle it was seen that the unpopular french alliance which had already cost england the surrender of the king's conquests in the war was powerless to bring about the result desired. francis i., as vain and turbulent as henry, and perhaps more able, was bidding high for the empire himself. his success in the election would have been disastrous both to spain and england, and yet the french alliance was too dear to wolsey to be easily relinquished, and francis was assured that all the interest of his dear brother of england should be cast in his favour, whilst, with much more truth, the spanish candidate was plied with good wishes for his success, and underhand attempts were made at the same time to gain the electors for the king of england.[28] wolsey hoped thus to win in any case; and up to a certain point he did so; for he gave to charles the encouragement he needed for the masterly move which soon after revolutionised political relations. charles at this time (1519), young as he was, had already developed his marvellous mental and physical powers. patient and self-centred, with all his aragonese grandfather's subtlety, he possessed infinitely greater boldness and width of view. he knew well that the seven prince electors who chose the emperor might, like other men, be bought, if enough money could be found. to provide it and give to him the dominant power of the world, he was ready to crush the ancient liberties of castile, to squeeze his italian and flemish dominions of their last obtainable ducat, for he knew that his success in the election would dazzle his subjects until they forgot what they had paid for it. and so it happened. where francis bribed in hundreds charles bribed in thousands, and england in the conflict of money-bags and great territorial interests hardly counted at all. when charles was elected emperor in june 1519, henry professed himself delighted; but it meant that the universal peace that had been proclaimed with such a flourish of trumpets only three years before was already tottering, and that england must soon make a choice as to which of the two great rivals should be her friend, and which her enemy. francis nursed his wrath to keep it warm, and did his best to retain henry and wolsey on his side. bribes and pensions flowed freely from france upon english councillors, the inviolable love of henry and francis, alike in gallantry and age, was insisted upon again and again; the three-year-old princess mary was referred to always as dauphiness and future queen of france, though when the little dauphin was spoken of as future king of england, henry's subjects pulled a wry face and cursed all frenchmen. a meeting between the two allies, which for its splendour should surpass all other regal displays, was constantly urged by the french hostages in england by order of francis, as a means of showing to the world that he could count upon henry. to the latter the meeting was agreeable as a tribute to his power, and as a satisfaction to his love of show, and to wolsey it was useful as enhancing his sale value in the eyes of two lavish bidders. to charles, who shared none of the frivolous tastes of his rival sovereigns, it only appealed as a design against him to be forestalled and defeated. when, therefore, the preparations for the field of the cloth of gold were in full swing early in the year 1520, charles, by a brilliant though risky move such as his father philip would have loved, took the first step to win england to his side in the now inevitable struggle for supremacy between the empire and france. whilst he was still wrangling with his indignant castilian parliament in march, charles sent envoys to england to propose a friendly meeting with henry whilst on his way by sea from spain to flanders. it was katharine's chance and she made the most of it. she had suffered long and patiently whilst the french friendship was paramount; but if god would vouchsafe her the boon of seeing her nephew in england it would, she said to his envoys, be the measure of her desires. wolsey, too, smiled upon the suggestion, for failing francis the new emperor in time might help him to the papacy. so, with all secrecy, a solemn treaty was signed on the 11th april 1520, settling, down to the smallest details, the reception of charles by henry and katharine at sandwich and canterbury, on his voyage or else at a subsequent meeting of the monarchs between calais and gravelines. it was late in may when news came from the west that the spanish fleet was sailing up the channel;[29] and henry was riding towards the sea from london ostensibly to embark for france when he learnt that the emperor's ships were becalmed off dover. wolsey was despatched post-haste to greet the imperial visitor and invite him to land; and charles, surrounded by a gorgeous suite of lords and ladies, with the black eagle of austria on cloth of gold fluttering over and around him, was conducted to dover castle, where before dawn next morning, the 27th may, henry arrived and welcomed his nephew. there was no mistaking the cordiality of the english cheers that rang in peals from dover to canterbury and through the ancient city, as the two monarchs rode side by side in gorgeous array. they meant, as clearly as tone could speak, that the enemy of france and queen katharine's nephew was the friend for the english people, whatever the cardinal of york might think. to katharine it was a period of rejoicing, and her thoughts were high as she welcomed her sister's son; the sallow young man with yellow hair, already in title the greatest monarch in the world, though beset with difficulties. by her stood beautiful mary tudor, duchess of suffolk, twice married since she had, as a child, been betrothed under such heavy guarantees to charles himself; and, holding her mother's hand, was the other mary tudor, a prim, quaint little maid of four, with big brown eyes. already great plans for her filled her mother's brain. true, she was betrothed to the dauphin; but what if the hateful french match fell through, and the emperor, he of her own kin, were to seal a national alliance by marrying the daughter of england? charles feasted for four days at canterbury, and then went on his way amidst loving plaudits to his ships at sandwich; but before he sailed he whispered that to wolsey which made the cardinal his servant; for the emperor, suzerain of italy and king of naples, sicily, and spain, might do more than a king of france in future towards making a pope. by the time that henry and francis met early in june on the ever-memorable field between ardres and guisnes, the riot of splendour which surrounded the sovereigns and wolsey, though it dazzled the crowd and left its mark upon history as a pageant, was known to the principal actors of the scene to be but hollow mockery. the glittering baubles that the two kings loved, the courtly dallying, the pompous ceremony, the masques and devices to symbolise eternal amity, were not more evanescent than the love they were supposed to perpetuate. katharine went through her ceremonial part of the show as a duty, and graciously received the visit of francis in the wonderful flimsy palace of wood, drapery, and glass at guisnes; but her heart was across the flemish frontier a few miles away, where her nephew awaited the coming of the king of england to greet him as his kinsman and future ally. gravelines was a poor place, but charles had other ways of influencing people than by piling up gewgaws before them. a single day of rough, hearty feasting was an agreeable relief to henry after the glittering insincerity of guisnes; and the four days following, in which charles was entertained at calais as the guest of henry and katharine, made up in prodigality for the coarseness of the flemish fare;[30] whilst wolsey, who was already posing as the arbitrator between all christian potentates, was secured to the side of the emperor in future by a grant of the bulk of the income from two spanish bishoprics, badajoz and palencia. already the two great rivals were bidding against each other for allies, and charles, though his resources were less concentrated than those of francis, could promise most. leo x. for his own territorial ambition, and in fear of luther, rallied to the side of the emperor, the german princes seconded their suzerain, and the great struggle for the supremacy of christendom began in march 1521. england by treaty was bound to assist france, but this did not suit wolsey or henry in their new mood, and the cardinal pressed his arbitration on the combatants. francis reluctantly consented to negotiate; but minds were aflame with a subject that added fierceness to the political rivalry between charles and francis. the young emperor, when he had met the german princes at worms (april 1521), had thrown down the gage to luther, and thenceforward it was war to the knife between the old faith and the new spirit. henry, we may be certain to the delight of katharine, violently attacked luther in his famous book, and was flattered by the fulsome praises of the pope and the emperor. in the circumstances wolsey's voyage to calais for the furtherance of arbitration was turned into one to conclude an armed alliance with charles and the pope. the cardinal, who had bent all others to his will, was himself bent by the emperor; and the arbitrator between two monarchs became the servant of one. by the treaty signed at bruges by wolsey for henry, charles contracted an engagement to marry his little cousin, princess mary, and to visit england for a formal betrothal in the following year. how completely wolsey had at this time surrendered himself to the emperor, is evident from katharine's new attitude towards him. during his period of french sympathy she had been, as we have seen, practically alienated from state affairs, but now in henry's letters to wolsey her name is frequently mentioned and her advice was evidently welcome.[31] during his absence in flanders, for instance, wolsey received a letter from henry, in which the king says: "the queen, my wife, hath desired me to make her most hearty recommendation unto you, as to him that she loveth very well; and both she and i would fain know when you would repair unto us." great news came that the emperor and his allies were brilliantly successful in the war, but in the midst of victory the great medici, pope leo x., though still a man in his prime, died. there is no doubt that a secret promise had been made by charles to wolsey of his support in case a vacancy in the papacy arose, but no one had dreamed of its occurring so quickly,[32] and charles found his hand forced. he needed for his purpose a far more pliable instrument in the pontifical chair than the haughty cardinal of york. so, whilst pretending to work strenuously to promote wolsey's elevation, and thus to gain the goodwill of henry and his minister, he took care secretly that some humbler candidate, such as the one ultimately chosen by the conclave, his old schoolmaster, cardinal adrian, should be the new pope. wolsey was somewhat sulky at the result of the election, and thenceforward looked with more distrust on the imperial connection; but, withal, he put as good a face on the matter as possible; and when, at the end of may 1522, he again welcomed the emperor in henry's name as he set foot on english soil at dover, the cardinal, though watchful, was still favourable to the alliance. this visit of the young emperor was the most splendid royal sojourn ever made in england; and henry revelled in the ceremonies wherein he was the host of the greatest monarch upon earth. charles came with a train of a thousand horse and two thousand courtiers; and to feed and house such a multitude, the guilds of london, and even the principal citizens, were obliged to make return of all their spare beds and stocks of provisions in order to provide for the strangers. the journey of the monarchs was a triumphal progress from dover through canterbury, sittingbourne, and rochester to gravesend. on the downs between dover and canterbury, henry and a great train of nobles was to have met his nephew; but the more to do him honour the king rode into dover itself, and with pride showed his visitor his new great ship the _harry grace à dieu_, and the rest of the english fleet; whereupon, "the emperor and his lords much praised the making of the ships, and especially the artillery: they said they had never seen ships so armed." from gravesend the gallant company rowed in the royal barges amidst salvoes of guns to greenwich. there at the hall door of the palace stood katharine surrounded by her ladies, and holding her tiny daughter by the hand. sinking upon one knee the emperor craved his aunt's blessing, which was given, and thenceforward for five weeks the feasting and glorious shows went on without intermission. on the second day after the arrival at greenwich, whilst henry was arming for a joust, a courier, all travel-stained and weary, demanded prompt audience, to hand the king a letter from his ambassador in france. the king read the despatch with knitted brows, and, turning to his friend sir william compton, said: "go and tell the emperor i have news for him." when charles came the letter was handed to him, and it must have rejoiced his heart as he read it. francis bade defiance to the king of england, and thenceforward henry and the emperor were allies in arms against a common enemy. glittering pageants followed in london and windsor, where charles sat as knight of the garter under triumphant henry's presidency; masques and dances, banquets and hunting, delighted the host and surprised the guests with the unrestrained lavishness of the welcome;[33] but we may be certain that what chiefly interested katharine and her nephew was not this costly trifling, but the eternal friendship between england and spain solemnly sworn upon the sacrament in st. george's chapel, windsor, by the emperor and henry, and the binding alliance between them in peace and war, cemented by the pledge that charles should marry his cousin mary tudor and no one else in the world. it was katharine's final and greatest triumph, and the shadows fell thick and fast thereafter. henry promptly took his usual showy and unprofitable part in the war. only a few weeks after the emperor bade his new ally farewell, an english force invaded picardy, and the earl of surrey's fleet threatened all french shipping in the channel. coerced by the king of england too, venice deserted france and joined forces with the allies; the new pope and the italian princes did the same, and the emperor's arms carried all before them in italy. henry was kept faithful to his ally by the vain hope of a dismemberment of france, in which he should be the principal gainer; the pope clement vii., the ambitious medici, who succeeded adrian in september 1523, hungered for fresh territory which charles alone could give him; the rebel de bourbon, the greatest soldier of france, was fighting against his own king; and in february 1525 the crushing blow of pavia fell, and francis, "all lost except honour," was a prisoner in the hands of his enemy, who looking over christendom saw none to say him nay but the bold monk at wittemberg. three years of costly war for interests not primarily their own had already disillusioned the english people. by methods more violent and tyrannical than ever had been adopted by any previous king, henry had wrung from parliament supplies so oppressive and extortionate for the purposes of the war as to disgust and incense the whole country. wolsey, too, had been for the second time beguiled about the papacy he coveted, and knew now that he could not trust the emperor to serve any interests but his own. the french collapse at pavia, moreover, and pity for the captive francis languishing at madrid, had caused in england and elsewhere a reaction in his favour. henry himself was, as was his wont, violently angry at the cynical way in which his own hopes in france were shelved by charles; and the pope, alarmed now at the emperor's unchecked dominion in italy, and the insufficient share of the spoil offered to him, also began to look askance at his ally. so, notwithstanding the official rejoicings in england when the news of pavia came, and the revived plan of henry and wolsey to join bourbon in his intention to dismember france, with or without the aid of charles, the archbishop of canterbury, warham, correctly interpreted the prevailing opinion in england in his letter to wolsey (quoted by hallam), saying that the people had "more cause to weep than to rejoice" at the french defeat. the renewed extortionate demands for money aroused in england discontent so dangerous as to reach rebellion against the king's officers.[34] risings in kent and the eastern counties, and the outspoken remonstrances of the leaders of the middle and working classes at length convinced wolsey, and through him the king, that a change of policy was inevitable. england once more had been made the cat's-paw of spain; and now, with an empty exchequer and a profoundly discontented people, was obliged again to shift its balance to the side which promised the best hopes for peace, and to redress the equilibrium in europe upon which the english power depended. france was still rich in resources, and was made to pay or rather promise the vast sum of two million crowns in instalments, and an annuity of a hundred thousand a year to the king for england's friendship, whilst francis was forced to abandon all his claims on italy and burgundy (january 1526), and marry the emperor's sister leonora, before he was permitted to return to france, at peace once more. it is true that every party to the treaties endeavoured to evade the fulfilment of his pledges; but that was the custom of the times. the point that interests us here is that the new policy now actively pursued by wolsey of close friendship with france, necessarily meant the ruin of katharine, unless she was dexterous and adaptable enough either to reverse the policy or openly espouse it. unfortunately she did neither. she was now forty-one years of age, and had ceased for nearly two years to cohabit with her husband. her health was bad; she had grown stout, and her comeliness had departed; all hopes of her giving to the king the son and heir for whom he so ardently craved had quite vanished, and with them much of her personal hold upon her husband. to her alarm and chagrin, henry, as if in despair of being succeeded by a legitimate heir, in 1525, before signing the new alliance with france, had created his dearly loved natural son, henry fitzroy, a duke under the royal title of duke of richmond, which had been borne by his father; and katharine, not without reason, feared the king's intention to depose her daughter, the betrothed of the emperor, in favour of an english bastard. we have in previous pages noticed the peculiar absence of tact and flexibility in katharine's character; and wolsey's ostentatious french leanings after 1525 were met by the queen with open opposition and acrimonious reproach, instead of by temporising wiliness. the emperor's off-hand treatment of his betrothed bride, mary tudor, further embittered katharine, who was thus surrounded on every side by disillusionment and disappointment. charles sent commissioners to england just before the battle of pavia to demand, amongst other unamiable requirements, the prompt sending of mary, who was only nine years old, to flanders with an increased dowry. this was no part of the agreement, and was, as no doubt charles foresaw and desired, certain to be refused. the envoys received from henry and katharine, and more emphatically from wolsey, a negative answer to the request,[35] mary being, as they said, the greatest treasure they had, for whom no hostages would be sufficient.[36] katharine would not let her nephew slip out of his engagement without a struggle. mary herself was made soon after to send a fine emerald to her betrothed with a grand message to the effect that when they came together she would be able to know (_i.e._ by the clearness or otherwise of the gem) "whether his majesty do keep himself as continent and chaste as, with god's grace, she will." as at this time the emperor was a man of twenty-five, whilst his bride had not reached ten years, the cases were hardly parallel; and within three months (in july 1525) charles had betrothed himself to his cousin of portugal. the treaty that had been so solemnly sworn to on the high altar at windsor only three years before, had thus become so much waste-paper, and katharine's best hopes for her child and herself were finally defeated. a still greater trial for her followed; for whilst wolsey was drawing nearer and nearer to france, and the king himself was becoming more distant from his wife every day, the little princess was taken from the loving care of her mother, and sent to reside in her principality of wales.[37] thenceforward the life of katharine was a painful martyrdom without one break in the monotony of misfortune. katharine appears never to have been unduly jealous of henry's various mistresses. she, one of the proudest princesses in christendom, probably considered them quite beneath her notice, and as usual adjuncts to a sovereign's establishment. henry, moreover, was far from being a generous or complaisant lover; and allowed his lady favourites no great social and political power, such as that wielded by the mistresses of francis i. lady tailebois (eleanor blount) made no figure at court, and mary boleyn, the wife of william carey, a quite undistinguished courtier, who had been henry's mistress from about 1521,[38] was always impecunious and sometimes disreputable, though her greedy father reaped a rich harvest from his daughter's attractions. katharine evidently troubled herself very little about such infidelity on the part of her husband, and certainly wolsey had no objection. the real anxiety of the queen arose from henry's ardent desire for a legitimate son, which she could not hope to give him; and wolsey, with his eyes constantly fixed on the papacy, decided to make political capital and influence for himself by binding france and england so close together both dynastically and politically as to have both kings at his bidding before the next pope was elected. the first idea was the betrothal of the jilted princess mary of ten to the middle-aged widower who sat upon the throne of france. an embassy came to london from the queen regent of france, whilst francis was still a prisoner in madrid in 1525, to smooth the way for a closer intimacy. special instructions were given to the ambassador to dwell upon the complete recovery of francis from his illness, and to make the most of the emperor's unfaithfulness to his english betrothed for the purpose of marrying the richly dowered portuguese. francis eventually regained his liberty on hard conditions that included his marriage with charles's widowed sister leonora, queen dowager of portugal; and his sons were to remain in spain as hostages for his fulfilment of the terms. but from the first francis intended to violate the treaty of madrid, wherever possible; and early in 1527 a stately train of french nobles, headed by de grammont, bishop of tarbes, came with a formal demand for the hand of young mary tudor for the already much-married francis. again the palace of greenwich was a blaze of splendour for the third nuptials of the little princess; and the elaborate mummery that henry loved was re-enacted.[39] on the journeys to and from their lodgings in merchant taylors' hall, the bishop of tarbes and viscount de turenne heard nothing but muttered curses, saw nothing but frowning faces of the london people; for mary was in the eyes of henry's subjects the heiress of england, and they would have, said they, no frenchman to reign over them when their own king should die.[40] katharine took little part in the betrothal festivities, for she was a mere shadow now. her little daughter was made to show off her accomplishments to the frenchmen, speaking to them in french and latin, playing on the harpsichord, and dancing with the viscount de turenne, whilst the poor queen looked sadly on. stiff with gems and cloth of gold, the girl, appearing, we are told, "like an angel," gravely played her part to her proud father's delight, and the bishop of tarbes took back with him to his master enthusiastic praises of this "pearl of the world," the backward little girl of eleven, who was destined, as francis said, to be the "cornerstone of the new covenant" between france and england, either by her marriage with himself, or, failing that, with his second son, the duke of orleans, which in every respect would have been a most suitable match. no sooner had the treaty of betrothal been signed than there came (2nd june 1527) the tremendous news that the emperor's troops under bourbon had entered and sacked rome with ruthless fury, and that pope clement was a prisoner in the castle of st. angelo, clamouring for aid from all christian princes against his impious assailants. all those kings who looked with distrust upon the rapidly growing power of charles drew closer together. when the news came, wolsey was in france on his embassy of surpassing magnificence, whilst public discontent in england at what was considered his warlike policy was already swelling into fierce denunciations against him, his pride, his greed, and his french proclivities. english people cared little for the troubles of the italian pope; or indeed for anything else, so long as they were allowed to live and trade in peace; and they knew full well that war with the emperor would mean the closing of the rich flemish and spanish markets to them, as well as the seizure of their ships and goods. but to wolsey's ambition the imprisonment of clement vii. seemed to open a prospect of unlimited power. if francis and henry were closely allied, with the support of the papacy behind them, wolsey might be commissioned to exercise the papal authority until he relieved the pontiff from duress, and in due course might succeed to the chair of st. peter. so, deaf to the murmuring of the english people, he pressed on; his goal being to bind france and england closely together that he might use them both. the marriage treaty of mary with the duke of orleans, instead of with his father, was agreed upon by francis and the cardinal at amiens in august 1527. but wolsey knew that the marriage of the children could not be completed for some years yet, and he was impatient to forge an immediately effective bond. francis had a sister and a sister-in-law of full age, either of whom might marry henry. but katharine stood in the way, and she was the personification of the imperial connection. wolsey had no scruples: he knew how earnestly his master wished for a son to inherit his realm, and how weak of will that master was if only he kept up the appearance of omnipotence. he knew that katharine, disappointed, glum, and austere, had lost the charm by which women rule men, and the plan, that for many months he had been slowly and stealthily devising, was boldly brought out to light of day. divorce was easy, and it would finally isolate the emperor if katharine were set aside. the pope would do anything for his liberators: why not dissolve the unfruitful marriage, and give to england a new french consort in the person of either the widowed margaret duchess of alençon, or of princess renée? it is true that the former indignantly refused the suggestion, and dynastic reasons prevented francis from favouring that of a marriage of renée of france and brittany with the king of england; but women, and indeed men, were for wolsey but puppets to be moved, not creatures to be consulted, and the cardinal went back to england exultant, and hopeful that, at last, he would compass his aspiration, and make himself ruler of the princes of christendom. never was hope more fallacious or fortune's irony more bitter. with a strong master wolsey would have won; with a flabby sensualist as his stalking-horse he was bound to lose, unless he remained always at his side. the cardinal's absence in france was the turning-point of his fortunes; whilst he was glorying abroad, his enemies at home dealt him a death-blow through a woman. at exactly what period, or by whom, the idea of divorcing katharine at this time had been broached to henry, it is difficult to say; but it was no unpardonable or uncommon thing for monarchs, for reasons of dynastic expediency, to put aside their wedded wives. popes, usually in a hurry to enrich their families, could be bribed or coerced; and the interests of the individual, even of a queen-consort, were as nothing in comparison of those of the state, as represented by the sovereign. if the question of religious reform had not complicated the situation and henry had married a catholic princess of one of the great royal houses, as wolsey intended, instead of a mere upstart like anne boleyn, there would probably have been little difficulty about the divorce from katharine: and the first hint of the repudiation of a wife who could give the king no heir, for the sake of his marrying another princess who might do so, and at the same time consolidate a new international combination, would doubtless be considered by those who made it as quite an ordinary political move. it is probable that the bishop of tarbes, when he was in england in the spring of 1527 for the betrothal of mary, conferred with wolsey as to the possibility of henry's marriage to a french princess, which of course would involve the repudiation of katharine. in any case the king and wolsey--whether truly or not--asserted that the bishop had first started the question of the validity of henry's marriage with his wife, with special reference to the legitimacy of the princess mary, who was to be betrothed to francis i. or his son. it may be accepted as certain, however, that the matter had been secretly fermenting ever since wolsey began to shift the centre of gravity from the emperor towards france. katharine may have suspected it, though as yet no word reached her. but she was angry at the intimate hobnobbing with france, at her daughter's betrothal to the enemy of her house, and at the elevation of henry's bastard son to a royal dukedom. she was deeply incensed, too, at her alienation from state affairs, and had formed around her a cabal of wolsey's enemies, for the most part members of the older nobility traditionally in favour of the spanish alliance and against france, in order, if possible, to obstruct the cardinal's policy.[41] the king, no doubt fully aware of wolsey's plan, was as usual willing to wound, but yet afraid to strike; not caring how much wrong he did if he could only gloze it over to appear right and save his own responsibility before the world. the first formal step, which was taken in april 1527, was carefully devised with this end. henry, representing that his conscience was assailed by doubts, secretly consulted certain of his councillors as to the legality of his union with his deceased brother's widow. it is true that he had lived with her for eighteen years, and that any impediment to the marriage on the ground of affinity had been dispensed with to the satisfaction of all parties at the time by the pope's bull. but trifles such as these could never stand in the way of so tender a conscience as that of henry tudor, or so overpowering an ambition as that of his minister. the councillors--most of those chosen were of course french partisans--thought the case was very doubtful, and were favourable to an inquiry. on the 17th may 1527, warham, archbishop of canterbury, who, it will be recollected, had always been against the marriage; with wolsey, stephen gardiner, and certain doctors-of-law, held a private sitting at the york house, westminster, at which the king had been cited to appear and answer the charge of having lived in incest with his sister-in-law. the court was adjourned twice, to the 20th and 31st may, during which time the sham pleadings for and against the king were carefully directed to the desired end. but before the first sitting was well over the plot got wind and reached katharine. the queen and the imperial connection were popular, wolsey and the french were feared and detested. the old nobility and the populace were on the queen's side; the mere rumour of what was intended by the prelates at york house set people growling ominously, and the friends of the spanish-flemish alliance became threateningly active. the king and wolsey saw that for a decree of nullity to be pronounced by warham and wolsey alone, after a secret inquiry at which the queen was not represented, would be too scandalous and dangerous in the state of public feeling, and an attempt was made to get the bishops generally to decide, in answer to a leading question, that such a marriage as that of the king and katharine was incestuous. but the bishops were faithful sons of the papacy, and most of them shied at the idea of ignoring the pope's bull allowing the marriage. henry had also learnt during the proceedings of the sacking of rome and the imprisonment of clement, which was another obstacle to his desires, for though the pope would doubtless have been quite ready to oblige his english and french friends to the detriment of the emperor when he was free, it was out of the question that he should do so now that he and his dominions were at the mercy of the imperial troops. the king seems to have had an idea that he might by his personal persuasion bring his unaccommodating wife to a more reasonable frame of mind. he and wolsey had been intensely annoyed that she had learnt so promptly of the plot against her, but since some spy had told her, it was as well, thought henry, that she should see things in their proper light. with a sanctimonious face he saw her on the 22nd june 1527, and told her how deeply his conscience was touched at the idea that they had been living in mortal sin for so many years. in future, he said, he must abstain from her company, and requested that she would remove far away from court. she was a haughty princess--no angel in temper, notwithstanding her devout piety; and she gave henry the vigorous answer that might have been expected. they were man and wife, as they had always been, she said, with the full sanction of the church and the world, and she would stay where she was, strong in her rights as an honest woman and a queen. it was not henry's way to face a strong opponent, unless he had some one else to support him and bear the brunt of the fight, and, in accordance with his character, he whined that he never meant any harm: he only wished to discover the truth, to set at rest the scruples raised by the bishop of tarbes. all would be for the best, he assured his angry wife; but pray keep the matter secret.[42] henry did not love to be thwarted, and wolsey, busy making ready for his ostentatious voyage to france, had to bear as best he might his master's ill-humour. the famous ecclesiastical lawyer, sampson, had told the cardinal that the marriage with arthur had never been consummated; and consequently that, even apart from the pope's dispensation, the present union was unimpeachable. the queen would fight the matter to the end, he said; and though wolsey did his best to answer sampson's arguments, he was obliged to transmit them to the king, and recommend him to handle his wife gently; "until it was shown what the pope and francis would do." henry acted on the advice, as we have seen, but wolsey was scolded by the king as if he himself had advanced sampson's arguments instead of answering them. katharine did not content herself with sitting down and weeping. she despatched her faithful spanish chamberlain, francisco felipe, on a pretended voyage to a sick mother in spain, in order that he might beg the aid of the emperor to prevent the injustice intended against the queen; and wolsey's spies made every effort to catch the man, and lay him by the heels.[43] she sent to her confessor, fisher, bishop of rochester, begging for his counsel, he being one of the bishops who held that her marriage was valid; she "desired," said wolsey to the king, "counsel, as well of strangers as of english," and generally showed a spirit the very opposite of that of the patient griselda in similar circumstances. how entirely upset were the king and wolsey by the unexpected force of the opposition is seen in the cardinal's letter to his master a day or two after he had left london at the beginning of july to proceed on his french embassy. writing from faversham, he relates how he had met archbishop warham, and had told him in dismay that the queen had discovered their plan, and how irritated she was; and how the king, as arranged with wolsey, had tried to pacify and reassure her. to wolsey's delight, warham persisted that, whether the queen liked it or not, "truth and law must prevail." on his way through rochester, wolsey tackled fisher, who was known to favour the queen. he admitted under wolsey's pressure that she had sent to him, though he pretended not to know why, and "greatly blamed the queen, and thought that if he might speak to her he might bring her to submission." but wolsey considered this would be dangerous, and bade the bishop stay where he was. and so, with the iniquitous plot temporarily shelved by the unforeseen opposition, personal and political, wolsey and his great train, more splendid than that of any king, went on his way to dover, and to amiens, whilst in his absence that happened in england which in due time brought all his dignity and pride to dust and ashes. chapter iv 1527-1530 katharine and anne--the divorce enough has been said in the aforegoing pages to show that henry was no more a model of marital fidelity than other contemporary monarchs. it was not to be expected that he should be. the marriages of such men were usually prompted by political reasons alone; and for the indulgence of affairs of the heart kings were forced to look elsewhere than towards the princesses they had taken in fulfilment of treaties. mary, the younger daughter of sir thomas boleyn and wife of william carey, was the king's mistress for some years after her marriage in 1521, with the result that her father had received many rich grants from the crown; and in 1525 was created lord rochford. as treasurer of the household lord rochford was much at court, and his relationship with the howards, st. legers, and other great families through his marriage with lady elizabeth, daughter of the duke of norfolk, naturally allied him with the party of nobles whose traditions ran counter to those of the bureaucrats in henry's council. his elder daughter anne, who was born early in 1503, probably at hever castle in kent,[44] had been carefully educated in the learning and accomplishments considered necessary for a lady of birth at court, and she accompanied mary tudor to france in 1514 for her fleeting marriage with the valetudinarian louis xii., related in an earlier chapter.[45] on queen mary's return to england a few months afterwards with her second husband, charles brandon, the youthful anne boleyn remained to complete her courtly education in france, under the care of the new queen of france, claude, first wife of francis i. when the alliance of the emperor and england was negotiated in 1521, and war with france threatened, anne was recalled home; and in 1522 began her life in the english court and with her family in their various residences. her six years in the gay court of francis i. during her most impressionable age, had made her in manner more french than english. she can never have been beautiful. her face was long and thin, her chin pointed, and her mouth hypocritically prim; but her eyes were dark and very fine, her brows arched and high, and her complexion dazzling. above all, she was supremely vain and fond of admiration. similar qualities to these might have been, and doubtless were, possessed by a dozen other high-born ladies at henry's court; but circumstances, partly political and partly personal, gave to them in anne's case a national importance that produced enduring consequences upon the world. we have already glanced at the mixture of tedious masquerading, hunting, and amorous intrigue which formed the principal occupations of the ladies and gentlemen who surrounded henry and katharine in their daily life; and from her arrival in england, anne appears to have entered to the full into the enjoyment of such pastimes. there was some negotiation for her marriage, even before she arrived in england, with sir piers butler, an irish cousin of hers, but it fell through on the question of settlements, and in 1526, when she was already about twenty-three, she took matters in her own hands, and captivated an extremely eligible suitor, in the person of a silly, flighty young noble, henry percy, eldest son and heir to the earl of northumberland. percy was one of the court butterflies who attached themselves to wolsey's household, and when angrily taken to task by the cardinal for flirting with anne, notwithstanding his previous formal betrothal to another lady, the daughter of the earl of shrewsbury, the young man said that, as he loved anne best, he would rather marry her. the cardinal did not mince words with his follower, but percy stood stoutly to his choice, and the earl of northumberland was hastily summoned to london to exercise his authority over his recalcitrant son. cavendish[46] gives an amusing account of the interview between them, at which he was present. the earl seems to have screwed up his courage by a generous draught of wine when he left wolsey's presence to await his son in the hall of york house. when the youth did come in, the scolding he got was vituperative in its violence, with the result that percy was reluctantly forced to abandon the sweetheart to whom he had plighted his troth. wolsey's interference in their love affair deeply angered both anne and her sweetheart. percy was a poor creature, and could do wolsey little harm; but anne did not forget, swearing "that if ever it lay in her power she would do the cardinal some displeasure, which indeed she afterwards did."[47] the reason for wolsey's strong opposition to a match which appeared a perfectly fitting one for both the lovers, is not far to seek. cavendish himself gives us the clue when he says that when the king first heard that anne had become engaged to percy, "he was much moved thereat, for he had a private affection for her himself which was not yet discovered to any": and the faithful usher in telling the story excuses wolsey by saying that "he did nothing but what the king commanded." this affair marks the beginning of henry's infatuation for anne. there was no reason for wolsey to object to a flirtation between the girl and her royal admirer; indeed the devotion of the king to a new mistress would doubtless make him the more ready to consent to contract another entirely political marriage, if he could get rid of katharine; and the cardinal smiled complaisantly at the prospect that all was going well for his plans. anne, for the look of the thing, was sent away from court for a short time after the percy affair had been broken off; but before many weeks were over she was back again as one of katharine's maids of honour, and the king's admiration for her was evident to all observers.[48] it is more than questionable whether up to this time (1526) anne ever dreamed of becoming henry's wife; but in any case she was too clever to let herself go cheaply. she knew well the difference in the positions held by the king's mistresses in the french court and that which had been occupied by her sister and lady tailebois in england, and she coyly held her royal lover at arm's length, with the idea of enhancing her value at last. henry, as we have seen, was utterly tired of, and estranged from, katharine; and his new flame, with her natural ability and acquired french arts, flattered and pleased his vanity better than any woman had done before. it is quite probable that she began to aim secretly at the higher prize in the spring of 1527, when the idea of the divorce from katharine had taken shape in the king's mind under the sedulous prompting of wolsey for his personal and political ends; but if such was the case she was careful not to show her hand prematurely. her only hope of winning such a game was to keep imperious henry in a fever of love, whilst declining all his illicit advances. it was a difficult and a dangerous thing to do, for her quarry might break away at any moment, whereas if such a word as marriage between the king and her reached the ears of the cardinal, she and her family would inevitably be destroyed. such was the condition of affairs when wolsey started for france in july 1527. he went, determined to leave no stone unturned to set henry free from katharine. he knew that there was no time to be lost, for the letters from mendoza, the spanish ambassador in london, and katharine's messenger felipe, were on their way to tell the story to the emperor in spain; and clement vii., a prisoner in the hands of the imperialists, would not dare to dissolve the marriage after charles had had time to command him not to do so. it was a stiff race who should get to the pope first. wolsey's alternative plan in the circumstances was a clever one. it was to send to rome the bishop of worcester (the italian ghinucci), henry's ambassador in spain, then on his way home, to obtain, with the support of the cardinals of french sympathies, a "general faculty" from clement vii. for wolsey to exercise all the papal functions during the pope's captivity: "by which, without informing the pope of your (_i.e._ henry's) purpose, i may delegate such judges as the queen will not refuse; and if she does the cognisance of the cause shall be devolved upon me, and by a clause to be inserted in the general commission no appeal be allowed from my decision to the pope."[49] how unscrupulous wolsey and henry were in the matter is seen in a letter dated shortly before the above was written, in which wolsey says to ghinucci (bishop of worcester) and dr. lee, henry's ambassador with the emperor, that "a rumour has, somehow or other, sprung up in england that proceedings are being taken for a divorce between the king and the queen, which is entirely without foundation, yet not altogether causeless, for there has been some discussion about the papal dispensation; not with any view to a divorce, but to satisfy the french, who raised the objection on proposing a marriage between the princess (mary tudor) and their sovereign. the proceedings which took place on this dispute gave rise to the rumour, and reached the ears of the queen, who expressed some resentment but was satisfied after explanation; and no suspicion exists, except, perchance, the queen may have communicated with the emperor."[50] charles had, indeed, heard the whole story, as far as katharine knew it, from the lips of felipe before this was written, and was not to be put off with such smooth lies. he wrote indignantly to his ambassador mendoza in london, directing him to see henry and point out to him, in diplomatic language veiling many a threat, the danger, as well as the turpitude, of repudiating his lawful wife with no valid excuse; and more vigorously still he let the pope know that there must be no underhand work to his detriment or that of his family. whilst the arrogant cardinal of york was thus playing for his own hand first, and for henry secondly, in france, his jealous enemies in england might put their heads together and plot against him undeterred by the paralysing fear of his frown. his pride and insolence, as well as his french political leanings, had caused the populace to hate him; the commercial classes, who suffered most by the wars with their best customers, the flemings and spaniards, were strongly opposed to him; whilst the territorial and noble party, which had usually been friendly with katharine, and were traditionally against bureaucratic or ecclesiastical ministers of the crown, suffered with impatience the galling yoke of the ipswich butcher's son, who drove them as he listed. anne was in the circumstances a more powerful ally for them than katharine. she was the niece of the duke of norfolk, the leader of the party of nobles, and her ambition would make her an apt and eager instrument. the infatuation of the king for her grew more violent as she repelled his advances,[51] and, doubtless at the prompting of wolsey's foes, it soon began to be whispered that if henry could get rid of his wife he might marry his english favourite. before the cardinal had been in france a month, mendoza, the spanish ambassador, first sounded the new note of alarm to the emperor, by telling him that anne might become the king's wife. it is hardly possible that no hint of the danger can have reached wolsey, but if it did he was confident of his power over his master when he should return to england. unfortunately for him his ideas for the king's divorce were hampered by the plans for his own advancement; and the proposals he wrote to henry were all founded on the idea of exerting international pressure, either for the liberation of the pope, or to obtain from the pontiff the decree of divorce. it was evident that this process must be a slow one, and anne as well as henry was in a hurry. unlike charles, who, though he was falsity itself to his rivals, never deceived his own ministers, henry constantly showed the moral cowardice of his character by misleading those who were supposed to direct his policy, and at this juncture he conceived a plan of his own which promised more rapidity than that of wolsey.[52] without informing wolsey of the real object of his mission, old dr. knight, the king's confidential secretary, was sent to endeavour to see the pope in st. angelo, and by personal appeal from the king persuade him to grant a dispensation for henry's marriage either before his marriage with katharine was dissolved formally (_constante matrimonio_), or else, if that was refused, a dispensation to marry after the declaration had been made nullifying the previous union (_soluto matrimonio_); but in either case the strange demand was to be made that the dispensation was to cover the case of the bride and bridegroom being connected within the prohibited degrees of affinity.[53] knight saw wolsey on his way through france and hoodwinked him as to his true mission by means of a bogus set of instructions, though the cardinal was evidently suspicious and ill at ease. this was on the 12th september 1527, and less than a fortnight later wolsey hurried homeward. when he had set forth from england three months before he seemed to hold the king in the hollow of his hand. private audience for him was always ready, and all doors flew open at his bidding. but when he appeared on the 30th september at the palace of richmond, and sent one of his gentlemen to inquire of the king where he would receive him, anne sat in the great hall by henry's side, as was usual now. before the king could answer the question of wolsey's messenger, the favourite, with a petulance that katharine would have considered undignified, snapped, "where else should the cardinal come but where the king is?" for the king to receive his ministers at private audience in a hall full of people was quite opposed to the usual etiquette of henry's court, and wolsey's man still stood awaiting the king's reply. but it only came in the form of a nod that confirmed the favourite's decision. this must have struck the proud cardinal to the heart, and when he entered the hall and bowed before his sovereign, who was toying now with his lady-love, and joking with his favourites, the minister must have known that his empire over henry had for the time vanished. he was clever and crafty: he had often conquered difficulties before, and was not dismayed now that a young woman had supplanted him, for he still held confidence in himself. so he made no sign of annoyance, but he promptly tried to checkmate knight's mission when he heard of it, whilst pretending approval of the king's attachment to anne. the latter was deceived. she could not help seeing that with wolsey's help she would attain her object infinitely more easily than without it, and she in her turn smiled upon the cardinal, though her final success would have boded ill for him, as he well knew. his plan, doubtless, was to let the divorce question drag on as long as possible, in the hope that henry would tire of his new flame. first he persuaded the king to send fresh instructions to knight, on the ground that the pope would certainly not give him a dispensation to commit bigamy in order that he might marry anne, and that it would be easier to obtain from the pontiff a decree leaving the validity of the marriage with katharine to the decision of the legates in england, wolsey and another cardinal. henry having once loosened the bridle, did not entirely return to his submission to wolsey. like most weak men, he found it easier to rebel against the absent than against those who faced him; but he was not, if he and anne could prevent it, again going to put his neck under the cardinal's yoke completely, and in a secret letter to knight he ordered him to ask clement for a dispensation couched in the curious terms already referred to, allowing him to marry again, even within the degrees of affinity, as soon as the union with katharine was dissolved. knight had found it impossible to get near the pope in rome, for the imperialists had been fully forewarned by this time; but at length clement was partially released and went to orvieto in december, whither knight followed him before the new instructions came from england. knight was no match for the subtle churchmen. clement dared not, moreover, mortally offend the emperor, whose men-at-arms still held rome; and the dispensation that knight sent so triumphantly to england giving the legate's court in london power to decide the validity of the king's marriage, had a clause slipped into it which destroyed its efficacy, because it left the final decision to the pontiff after all. it may be asked, if henry believed, as he now pretended, that his first marriage had never been legal in consequence of katharine being his brother's widow, why he needed a papal dispensation to break it. the papal brief that had been previously given allowing the marriage, was asserted by henry's ecclesiastical friends to be _ultra vires_ in england, because marriage with a brother's widow was prohibited under the common law of the land, with which the pope could not dispense. but the matter was complicated with all manner of side issues: the legitimacy of the princess mary, the susceptibilities of the powerful confederation that obeyed the emperor, the sentiment of the english people, and, above all, the invariable desire of henry to appear a saint whilst he acted like a sinner and to avoid personal responsibility; and so henry still strove with the ostensible, but none too hearty, aid of wolsey, to gain from the pope the nullification of a marriage which he said was no marriage at all. wolsey's position had become a most delicate and dangerous one. as soon as the emperor learned of anne's rise, he had written to mendoza (30th september 1527), saying that the cardinal must be bought at any price. all his arrears of pension (45,000 ducats) were to be paid, 6000 ducats a year more from a spanish bishopric were to be granted, and a milanese marquisate was to be conferred upon him with a revenue of 15,000 ducats a year, if he would only serve the emperor's interests. but he dared not do it quickly or openly, dearly as he loved money, for anne was watchful and henry suspicious of him. his only hope was that the king's infatuation for this long-faced woman with the prude's mouth and the blazing eyes might pall. then his chance would come again. far from growing weaker, however, henry's passion grew as anne's virtue became more rigid. she had not always been so austere, for gossip had already been busy with her good name. percy and sir thomas wyatt had both been her lovers, and with either or both of them she had in some way compromised herself.[54] but she played her game cleverly, for the stake was a big one, and her fascination must have been great. she was often away from court, feigning to prefer the rural delights of hever to the splendours of greenwich or richmond, or offended at the significant tittle-tattle about herself and the king. she was thus absent when in july 1527 wolsey had gone to france, but took care to keep herself in henry's memory by sending him a splendid jewel of gold and diamonds representing a damsel in a boat on a troubled sea. the lovesick king replied in the first of those extraordinary love-letters of his which have so often been printed. "henceforward," he says, "my heart shall be devoted to you only. i wish my body also could be. god can do it if he pleases, to whom i pray once a day that it may be, and hope at length to be heard:" and he signs _escripte de la main du secretaire, que en coeur, corps, et volonté, est vostre loiall et plus assuré serviteure, h. (autre coeur ne cherche) r._ soon afterwards, when wolsey was well on his way, the king writes to his lady-love again. "the time seems so long since i heard of your good health and of you that i send the bearer to be better ascertained of your health and your purpose: for since my last parting from you i have been told you have quite abandoned the intention of coming to court, either with your mother or otherwise. if so i cannot wonder sufficiently; for i have committed no offence against you, and it is very little return for the great love i bear you to deny me the presence of the woman i esteem most of all the world. if you love me, as i hope you do, our separation should be painful to you. i trust your absence is not wilful; for if so i can but lament my ill fortune and by degrees abate my great folly."[55] this was the tone to bring anne to her lover again, and before many days were over they were together, and in wolsey's absence the marriage rumours spread apace. the fiasco of knight's mission had convinced henry and anne that they must proceed through the ordinary diplomatic channels and with the aid of wolsey in their future approaches to the pope; and early in 1528 stephen gardiner and edward fox, two ecclesiastics attached to the cardinal, were despatched on a fresh mission to orvieto to urge clement to grant to wolsey and another legate power to pronounce finally on the validity of henry's marriage. the pope was to be plied with sanctimonious assurances that no carnal love for anne prompted henry's desire to marry her, as the pope had been informed, but solely her "approved excellent, virtuous qualities--the purity of her life, her constant virginity, her maidenly and womanly pudicity, her soberness, her chasteness, meekness, humility, wisdom, descent right noble and high through royal blood,[56] education in all good and laudable qualities and manners, apparent aptness to procreation of children, with her other infinite good qualities." gardiner and fox on their way to dover called at hever, and showed to anne this panegyric penned by wolsey[57] upon her, and thenceforward for a time all went trippingly. gardiner was a far different negotiator from knight, and was able, though with infinite difficulty, to induce clement to grant the new bull demanded, relegating the cause finally to the legatine court in london. the pope would have preferred that wolsey should have sat alone as legate, but wolsey was so unpopular in england, and the war into which he had again dragged the country against the emperor was so detested,[58] whilst queen katharine had so many sympathisers, that it was considered necessary that a foreign legate should add his authority to that of wolsey to do the evil deed. campeggio, who had been in england before, and was a pensioner of henry as bishop of hereford, was the cardinal selected by wolsey; and at last clement consented to send him. every one concerned appears to have endeavoured to avoid responsibility for what they knew was a shabby business. the pope, crafty and shifty, was in a most difficult position, and blew hot and cold. the first commission given to gardiner and fox, which was received with such delight by anne and henry when fox brought it to london in april 1528, was found on examination still to leave the question open to papal veto. it is true that it gave permission to the legates to pronounce for the king, but the responsibility for the ruling was left to them, and their decision might be impugned. when, at the urgent demand of gardiner, the pope with many tears gave a decretal laying down that the king's marriage with katharine was bad by canon law if the facts were as represented, he gave secret orders to the legate campeggio that the decretal was to be burnt and not to be acted upon. whilst the pope was thus between the devil and the deep sea, trying to please the emperor on the one hand and the kings of france and england on the other, and deceiving both, the influence of anne over her royal lover grew stronger every day. wolsey was in the toils and he knew it. when charles had answered the english declaration of war (january 1528), it was the cardinal's rapacity, pride, and ambition against which he thundered as the cause of the strife and of the insult offered to the imperial house. to the emperor the cardinal could not again turn. henry, moreover, was no longer the obedient tool he had been before anne was by his side to stiffen his courage; and wolsey knew that, notwithstanding the favourite's feline civilities and feigned dependence upon him, it would be the turn of his enemies to rule when once she became the king's wedded wife. he was, indeed, hoist with his own petard. the divorce had been mainly promoted, if not originated, by him, and the divorce in the present circumstances would crush him. but he had pledged himself too deeply to draw back openly; and he still had to smile upon those who were planning his ruin, and himself urge forward the policy by which it was to be effected. in the meanwhile katharine stood firm, living under the same roof as her husband, sitting at the same table with him with a serene countenance in public, and to all appearance unchanged in her relations to him. but though her pride stood her in good stead she was perplexed and lonely. henry's intention to divorce her, and his infatuation for anne, were of course public property, and the courtiers turned to the coming constellation, whatever the common people might do. mendoza, the spanish ambassador, withdrew from court in the spring after the declaration of war, and the queen's isolation was then complete. to the spanish latinist in flanders, j. luis vives, and to erasmus, she wrote asking for counsel in her perplexity, but decorous epistles in stilted latin advising resignation and christian fortitude was all she got from either.[59] her nephew the emperor had urged her, in any case, to refuse to recognise the authority of any tribunal in england to judge her case, and had done what he could to frighten the pope against acceding to henry's wishes. but even he was not implacable, if his political ends were served in any arrangement that might be made; and at this time he evidently hoped, as did the pope most fervently, that as a last resource katharine would help everybody out of the trouble by giving up the struggle and taking the veil. her personal desire would doubtless have been to adopt this course, for the world had lost its savour, but she was a daughter of isabel the catholic, and tame surrender was not in her line. her married life with henry she knew was at an end;[60] but her daughter was now growing into girlhood, and her legitimacy and heirship to the english crown she would only surrender with her own life. so to all smooth suggestions that she should make things pleasant all round by acquiescing in the king's view of their marriage, she was scornfully irresponsive. through the plague-scourged summer of 1528 henry and anne waited impatiently for the coming of the legate campeggio. he was old and gouty, hampered with a mission which he dreaded; for he could not hope to reconcile the irreconcilable, and the pope had quietly given him the hint that he need not hurry. clement was, indeed, in a greater fix than ever. he had been made to promise by the emperor that the case should not be decided in england, and yet he had been forced into giving the dispensation and decretal not only allowing it to be decided there in favour of henry, but had despatched campeggio to pronounce judgment. he had, however, at the same time assured the emperor that means should be found to prevent the finality of any decision in england until the emperor had approved of it, and campeggio was instructed accordingly. the spaniards thought that the english cardinal would do his best to second the efforts of the pope without appearing to do so, and there is no doubt that they were right, for wolsey was now (the summer of 1528) really alarmed at the engine he had set in motion and could not stop. katharine knew that the legate was on his way, and that the pope had, in appearance, granted all of henry's demands; but she did not know, or could not understand, the political forces that were operating in her favour, which made the pope defraud the king of england, and turned her erstwhile mortal enemy wolsey into her secret friend. tact and ready adaptability might still have helped katharine. the party of nobles under norfolk, it is true, had deserted her; but wolsey and the bureaucrats were still a power to be reckoned with, and the middle classes and the populace were all in favour of the queen and the imperial alliance. if these elements had been cleverly combined they might have conquered, for henry was always a coward and would have bent to the stronger force. but katharine was a bad hand at changing sides, and wolsey dared not openly do so. for a few days in the summer of 1528, whilst campeggio was still lingering on the continent, it looked as if a mightier power than any of them might settle the question for once and all. henry and anne were at greenwich when the plague broke out in london. in june one of anne's attendants fell ill of the malady, and henry in a panic sent his favourite to hever, whilst he hurried from place to place in hertfordshire. the plague followed him. sir francis poyns, sir william compton, william carey, and other members of his court died in the course of the epidemic, and the dread news soon reached henry that anne and her father were both stricken at hever castle. henry had written daily to her whilst they had been separated. "since your last letter, mine own darling," he wrote a few days after she left, "walter welsh, master brown, thomas care, grion of brereton, and john coke the apothecary have fallen of the sweat in this house.... by the mercy of god the rest of us be yet well, and i trust shall pass it, either not to have it, or at least as easily as the rest have done." later he wrote: "the uneasiness my doubts about your health gave me, disturbed and alarmed me exceedingly; and i should not have had any quiet without hearing certain tidings. but now, since you have felt as yet nothing, i hope, and am assured, that it will spare you, as i hope it is doing with us. for when we were at waltham two ushers, two valets, and your brother, master-treasurer, fell ill, but are now quite well; and since we have returned to our house at hunsdon we have been perfectly well, and have not now one sick person, god be praised. i think if you would retire from surrey, as we did, you would escape all danger. there is another thing may comfort you, which is, in truth, that in this distemper few or no women have been taken ill, and no person of our court has died.[61] for which reason i beg you, my entirely beloved, not to frighten yourself, nor be too uneasy at our absence, for wherever i am, i am yours: and yet we must sometimes submit to our misfortunes; for whoever will struggle against fate is generally but so much the further from gaining his end. wherefore, comfort yourself and take courage, and avoid the pestilence as much as you can; for i hope shortly to make you sing _la renvoyé_. no more at present from lack of time, but that i wish you in my arms that i might a little dispel your unreasonable thoughts. written by the hand of him who is, and always will be, yours." when the news of anne's illness reached him he despatched one of his physicians post haste with the following letter to his favourite: "there came to me suddenly in the night the most afflicting news that could have arrived. the first, to hear the sickness of my mistress, whom i esteem more than all the world, and whose health i desire as i do my own, so that i would gladly bear half your illness to make you well; the second, the fear that i have of being still longer harassed by my enemy--your absence--much longer ... who is, so far as i can judge, determined to spite me more, because i pray god to rid me of this troublesome tormentor; the third, because the physician in whom i have most confidence is absent at the very time when he might be of the most service to me, for i should hope by his means to obtain one of my chiefest joys on earth--that is, the care of my mistress. yet, for want of him, i send you my second, and hope that he will soon make you well. i shall then love him more than ever. i beseech you to be guided by his advice, and i hope soon to see you again, which will be to me a greater comfort than all the precious jewels in the world." in a few days anne was out of danger, and the hopes and fears aroused by her illness gave place to the old intrigues again. a few weeks later anne was with her lover at ampthill, hoping and praying daily for the coming of the gouty legate, who was slowly being carried through france to the coast. wolsey had to be very humble now, for anne had shown her ability to make henry brave him, and the king rebuked him publicly at her bidding,[62] but until campeggio came and the fateful decision was given that would make anne a queen, both she and henry diplomatically alternated cajolery with the humbling process towards the cardinal. anne's well-known letter with henry's postscript, so earnestly asking wolsey for news of campeggio, is written in most affectionate terms, anne saying, amongst other pretty things, that she "loves him next unto the king's grace, above all creatures living." but the object of her wheedling was only to gain news of the speedy coming of the legate. the king's postscript to this letter is characteristic of him. "the writer of this letter would not cease till she had caused me likewise to set my hand, desiring you, though it be short, to take it in good part. i assure you that there is neither of us but greatly desireth to see you, and are joyous to hear that you have escaped the plague so well; trusting the fury thereof to be passed, especially with them that keepeth good diet, as i trust you do. the not hearing of the legate's arrival in france causeth us somewhat to muse: notwithstanding, we trust, by your diligence and vigilance, with the assistance of almighty god, shortly to be eased out of that trouble."[63] campeggio was nearly four months on his way, urged forward everywhere by english agents and letters, held back everywhere by the pope's fears and his own ailments; but at last, one joyful day in the middle of september, henry could write to his lady-love at hever: "the legate which we most desire arrived at paris on sunday last past, so that i trust next monday to hear of his arrival at calais: and then i trust within a while after to enjoy that which i have so long longed for, to god's pleasure and both our comfort. no more to you at present, mine own darling, for lack of time, but that i would you were in mine arms, or i in yours, for i think it long since i kissed you." henry had to wait longer than in his lover-like eagerness he had expected; it was fully a fortnight before he had news of campeggio's arrival at dover. great preparations had been made to entertain the papal legate splendidly in london, and on his way thither; but he was suffering and sorry, and begged to be saved the fatigue of a public reception. so ill was he that, rather than face the streets of london on the day he was expected, he lodged for the night at the duke of suffolk's house on the surrey side of london bridge, and the next day, 8th october, was quietly carried in the duke's barge across the river to the bishop of bath's palace beyond temple bar, where he was to lodge. there he remained ill in bed, until the king's impatience would brook no further delay; and on the 12th he was carried, sick as he was, and sorely against his will, in a crimson velvet chair for his first audience. in the great hall of the palace of bridewell, hard by blackfriars, henry sat in a chair of state, with wolsey and campeggio on his right hand, whilst one of the legate's train delivered a fulsome latin oration, setting forth the iniquitous outrages perpetrated by the imperialists upon the vicar of christ, and the love and gratitude of the pontiff for his dearest son henry for his aid and sympathy. the one thing apparently that the pope desired was to please his benefactor, the king of england. when the public ceremony was over, henry took campeggio and wolsey into a private room; and the day following the king came secretly to campeggio's lodging, and for four long hours plied the suffering churchman with arguments and authorities which would justify the divorce. up to this time campeggio had fondly imagined that he might, with the papal authority, persuade henry to abandon his object. but this interview undeceived him. he found the king, as he says, better versed in the matter "than a great theologian or jurist"; and campeggio opined at last that "if an angel descended from heaven he would be unable to persuade him" that the marriage was valid. when, however, campeggio suggested that the queen might be induced to enter a convent, henry was delighted. if they would only prevail upon her to do that she should have everything she demanded: the title of queen and all her dowry, revenue, and belongings; the princess mary should be acknowledged heiress to the crown, failing legitimate male issue to the king, and all should be done to katharine's liking. accordingly, the next day, 14th october, campeggio and wolsey took boat and went to try their luck with the queen, after seeing the king for the third time. beginning with a long sanctimonious rigmarole, campeggio pressed her to take a "course which would give general satisfaction and greatly benefit herself"; and wolsey, on his knees, and in english, seconded his colleague's advice. katharine was cold and collected. she was, she said, a foreigner in england without skilled advice, and she declined at present to say anything. she had asked the king to assign councillors to aid her, and when she had consulted them she would see the legates again. as day broke across the thames on the 25th october, campeggio lay awake in bed at bath house, suffering the tortures of gout, and perturbed at the difficult position in which he was placed, when wolsey was announced, having come from york place in his barge. when the cardinal entered the room he told his italian colleague that the king had appointed archbishop warham, bishop fisher, and others, to be councillors for the queen, and that the queen had obtained her husband's permission to come to campeggio and confess that morning. at nine o'clock katharine came unobserved to bath house by water, and was closeted for long with the italian cardinal. what she told him was under the sacred seal of the confessional, but she prayed that the pope might in strict secrecy be informed of certain of the particulars arising out of her statements. she reviewed the whole of her life from the day of her arrival in england, and solemnly swore on her conscience that she had only slept with young arthur seven nights, _é che da lui restó intacta é incorrupta_;[64] and this assertion, _as far as it goes_, we may accept as the truth, seeing the solemn circumstances under which it was made. but when campeggio again urged katharine to get them all out of their difficulty by retiring to a convent and letting the king have his way, she almost vehemently declared that "she would die as she had lived, a wife, as god had made her." "let a sentence be given," she said, "and if it be against me i shall be free to do as i like, even as my husband will." "but neither the whole realm, nor, on the other hand, the greatest punishment, even being torn limb from limb, shall alter me in this, and if after death i were to return to life, i would die again, and yet again, rather than i would give way." against such firmness as this the poor, flaccid old churchman could do nothing but hold up his hands and sigh at the idea of any one being so obstinate. a day or two afterwards wolsey and campeggio saw the queen again formally. she was on this occasion attended by her advisers, and once more heard, coldly and irresponsively, the appeals to her prudence, her worldly wisdom, her love for her daughter, and every other feeling that could lead her to cut the gordian knot that baffled them all. "she would do nothing to her soul's damnation or against god's law," she said, as she dismissed them. whether it was at this interview, or, as it seems to me more likely, the previous one that she broke out in violent invective against wolsey for his enmity towards the emperor, we know not, but the storm of bitter words she poured upon him for his pride, his falsity, his ambition, and his greed; her taunts at his intrigues to get the papacy, and her burning scorn that her marriage, unquestioned for twenty years, should be doubted now,[65] must have finally convinced both wolsey and campeggio that if henry was firm katharine was firmer still. campeggio was in a pitiable state of mind, imploring the pope by every post to tell him what to do. he and wolsey at one time conceived the horrible idea of marrying the princess mary to her half brother, the duke of richmond, as a solution of the succession difficulty, and the pope appears to have been inclined to allow it;[66] but it was soon admitted that the course proposed would not forward, but rather retard, the king's second marriage, and that was the main object sought. at length wolsey ruefully understood that conciliation was impossible; and, pressed as he was by the king, was forced to insist with campeggio that the cause must be judicially decided without further delay. illness, prayerful attempts to bring one side or the other to reason, and many other excuses for procrastination were tried, but at length campeggio had to confess to his colleague that the pope's decretal, laying down the law in the case in henry's favour, was only a show document not to be used, or to leave his possession for a moment; and, moreover, that no final judgment could be given by him that was not submitted to the pope's confirmation. wolsey was aghast, and wrote in rage and indignation to the english agent with the pope denouncing this bad faith.[67] "i see ruin, infamy, and subversion of the whole dignity and estimation of the apostolic see if this course be persisted in. you see in what dangerous times we are. if the pope will consider the gravity of this cause, and how much the safety of the nation depends upon it, he will see that the course he now pursues will drive the king to adopt those remedies that are so injurious to the pope, and are frequently instilled into the king's mind. without the pope's compliance i cannot bear up against the storm; and when i reflect upon the conduct of his holiness i cannot but fear lest the common enemy of souls, seeing the king's determination, inspires the pope with his present fears and reluctance, which will alienate all the faith and devotion from the apostolic see.... it is useless for campeggio to think of reviving the marriage. if he did it would lead to worse consequences. let him therefore proceed to sentence. prostrate at the feet of his holiness i most urgently beg of him to set aside all delays." this cry, wrung evidently from wolsey's heart at the knowledge of his own danger, is the first articulate expression of the tremendous religious issue that might depend upon the conduct of the various parties in the divorce proceedings. the fire lit by luther a few years previously had spread apace in germany, and had reached england. all christendom would soon have to range itself in two divisions, cutting athwart old national affinities and alliances. charles had defied luther at the outset; and the traditions of his spanish house made him, the most powerful monarch in europe, the champion of orthodoxy. but his relations with the papacy, as we have seen, had not been uniformly cordial. to him the pope was a little italian prince whilst he was a great one, and he was jealous of the slightest interference of rome with the spanish church. his position in germany, moreover, as suzerain of the princes of the empire, some of whom already leant to lutheranism, complicated the situation: so that it was not yet absolutely certain that charles would finally stake everything upon the unification of the christian church by force, on the lines of strict papal authority. on the other hand, both francis and henry had for political reasons strongly supported the pope in his greatest distress, and their religion was certainly no less faithful than that of the emperor. it was inevitable that, whichever side charles took in the coming religious struggle, would not for political reasons commend itself to francis, and _vice versa_; and everything depended upon the weight which henry might cast into one scale or the other. his national traditions and personal inclination would lead him to side with charles, but at the crucial moment, when the first grain had to be dropped into the balance, he found himself bound by wolsey's policy to francis, and at issue with the emperor, owing to the relationship of the latter to katharine. wolsey felt, in the letter quoted above, that the pope's shilly-shally, in order not to offend the emperor, would drive the impatient king of england to flout, and perhaps break with, the papacy, and events proved that the cardinal was right in his fears. we shall see later how the rift widened, but here the first fine crevice is visible. henry, prompted by anne and his vanity, intended to have his way at whatever cost. katharine could give him no son: he would marry a woman who could do so, and one that he loved far better than he ever loved his wife. in ordinary circumstances there need have been no great difficulty about the divorce, nor would there have been in this case, but for the peculiar political and religious situation of europe at the time, and but for katharine's unbending rigidity of character. she might have made her own terms if she had consented to the conciliatory suggestions of the churchmen. the legality of her marriage would have been declared, her daughter recognised as heiress presumptive, her own great revenues would have been left to her, and her title of queen respected.[68] she was not even to be asked to immure herself in a convent, or to take any conventual vow but that of chastity, if she would only consent to a divorce on the ground of her desire to devote herself to religion.[69] as campeggio repeated a dozen times, the only thing she would be asked to surrender was conjugal relations with the king, that had ceased for years, and in no case would be renewed. much as we may admire her firmness, it is impossible to avoid seeing that the course recommended to her was that which would have best served, not only her own interest and happiness, but also those of her daughter, of her religion, and of the good relations between henry and the emperor that she had so much at heart. henry, on his side, was determined to allow nothing to stand in his way, whilst keeping up his appearance of impeccability. legal and ecclesiastical authorities in england and france were besought to give their sanction to his view that no pope had the power of dispensation for a marriage with a deceased brother's widow; and the english clergy were assured that the king only sought an impartial authoritative decision for the relief of his own conscience. the attitude of the english people gave him some uneasiness; for, like all his house, he loved popularity. "the common people, being ignorant," we are told, "and others that favoured the queen, talked largely, and said that for his own pleasure the king would have another wife, and had sent for this legate to be divorced from the queen, with many foolish words; inasmuch as, whosoever spake against the marriage was of the common people abhorred and reproved."[70] the feeling indeed in favour of katharine was so outspoken and general that the king took the unusual course of assembling the nobles, judges, and so many of the people as could enter, in the great hall of bridewell, on sunday afternoon, the 8th november, to endeavour personally to justify himself in the eyes of his subjects. as usual with him, his great aim was by sanctimonious protestations to make himself appear a pure-souled altruist, and to throw upon others the responsibility for his actions. he painted in dismal colours the dangers to his subjects of a disputed succession on his death. "and, although it hath pleased almighty god to send us a fair daughter by a noble woman and me begotten, to our great joy and comfort, yet it hath been told us by divers great clerks that neither she is our lawful daughter, nor her mother our lawful wife, and that we live together abominably and detestably in open adultery." he swore, almost blasphemously, that for the relief of his conscience he only sought authoritatively to know the truth as to the validity of his marriage, and that campeggio had come as an impartial judge to decide it. if katharine was adjudged to be his wife nothing would be more pleasant or acceptable to him, and he praised her to the skies, as a noble lady against whom no words could be spoken.[71] the measure of his sincerity is seen when we compare this hypocritical harangue with the letters now before us to and from his envoys in rome, by which it is evident that the last thing he desired was an impartial judgment, or indeed any judgment, but one that would set him free to marry again. one of the most extraordinary means employed to influence katharine soon after this appears to have been another visit to her of wolsey and campeggio. they were to say that the king had intelligence of a conspiracy against him and wolsey by her friends and the emperor's english partisans; and they warned her that if anything of the sort occurred she would be to blame. they were then to complain of her bearing towards the king, "who was now persuaded by her behaviour that she did not love him." "she encouraged ladies and gentlemen to dance and make merry," for instance, whereas "she had better tell them to pray for a good end of the matter at issue." "she shows no pensiveness of countenance, nor in her apparel nor behaviour. she shows herself too much to the people, rejoicing greatly in their exclamations and ill obloquy; and, by beckoning with her head and smiling, which she has not been accustomed to do in times past, rather encouraged them in doing so." for all this and many other things the king does not consider it fitting to be in her company, or to let the princess be with her. the acme of hypocrisy was reached in the assurance the legates were then to give the queen, that if she would behave well and go into a convent, the king neither could, nor would, marry another wife in her lifetime; and she could come out to the world again if the sentence were in her favour. let her go, they said, and submit to the king on her knees, and he would be good to her, but otherwise he would be more angry than ever.[72] scornful silence was the queen's reply. after this katharine lived lonely and depressed at greenwich, frequently closeted with bishop fisher and others of her councillors, whilst henry was strengthening his case with the opinions of jurists, and by attempts to influence campeggio. to greenwich he went, accompanied by anne and a brilliant court, to show the italian cardinal how bounteously a christmas could be spent in england. campeggio's son was knighted and regaled with costly presents, and all that bribes (the bishopric of durham, &c.) and flattery might do was done to influence the legate favourably; but throughout the gay doings, jousts and tourneys, banquets and maskings, "the queen showed to them no manner of countenance, and made no great joy of nothing, her mind was so troubled."[73] well might it be, poor soul, for anne was by the king's side, pert and insolent, surrounded by a growing party of wolsey's enemies, who cared little for pope or emperor, and who waited impatiently for the time when anne should rule the king alone, and they, through her, should rule england. katharine, in good truth, was in everybody's way, for even her nephew could not afford to quarrel with england for her sake, and her death or disappearance would have made a reconciliation easy, especially if wolsey, the friend of france, fell also. "anne," we are told by the french ambassador, "was lodged in a fine apartment close to that of the king, and greater court was now paid to her every day than has been paid to the queen for a long time. i see that they mean to accustom the people by degrees to endure her, so that when the great blow comes it may not be, thought strange. but the people remain quite hardened (against her), and i think they would do more if they had more power." thus the months passed, the pope being plied by alternate threats and hopes, both by english and spanish agents, until he was nearly beside himself, wolsey almost frantically professing his desire to forward the king's object, and campeggio temporising and trying to find a means of conciliation which would leave the king free. katharine herself remained immovable. she had asked for and obtained from the emperor a copy of the papal brief authorising her marriage with henry, but the king's advocates questioned its authenticity,[74] and even her own advisers urged her to obey her husband's request that she should demand of the emperor the original document. constrained by her sworn pledge to write nothing to the emperor without the king's knowledge, she sent the letter dictated to her, urgently praying her nephew to send the original brief to england. the letter was carried to spain by her young english confessor, thomas abel, whom she did not entirely trust, and sent with him her spanish usher, montoya; but they had verbal instructions from their mistress to pray the emperor to disregard her written request, and refuse to part with the brief, and to exert all his influence to have the case decided in rome.[75] by this it will be seen that katharine was fully a match in duplicity for those against whom she was pitted. she never wavered from first to last in her determination to refuse to acknowledge the sentence of any court sitting in england on her case, and to resist all attempts to induce her to withdraw voluntarily from her conjugal position and enter a nunnery. henry, and especially anne, in the meanwhile, were growing impatient at all this calculated delay, and began to throw the blame upon wolsey. "the young lady used very rude words to him," wrote du bellay on the 25th january, and "the duke of norfolk and his party already began to talk big."[76] a few days afterwards mendoza, in a letter to the emperor, spoke even more strongly. "the young lady that is the cause of all this disorder, finding her marriage delayed, that she thought herself so sure of, entertains great suspicion that wolsey puts impediments in her way, from a belief that if she were queen his power would decline. in this suspicion she is joined by her father and the dukes of norfolk and suffolk, who have combined to overthrow the cardinal." "the king is so hot upon it (the divorce) that there is nothing he does not promise to gain his end.... campeggio has done nothing for the queen as yet but to press her to enter religion."[77] henry at length determined that he would wait no longer. his four agents in rome had almost driven the pope to distraction with their importunities. gardiner had gone to the length of threatening clement with the secession of england from the papacy, and anne's cousin, henry's boon companion brian, deploring the pope's obstinacy in a letter from rome to the king, was bold enough to say: "i hope i shall not die until your grace has been able to requite the pope, and popes, and not be fed with their flattering words." but in spite of it all, clement would only palliate and temporise, and finally refused to give any fresh instructions to the legates or help the king's cause by any new act. to campeggio he wrote angrily, telling him, for god's sake, to procrastinate the matter in england somehow, and not throw upon his shoulders in rome the responsibility of giving judgment; whilst campeggio, though professing a desire to please henry in everything--in the hope of getting the promised rich see of durham, his enemies said--was equally determined not to go an inch beyond the pope's written instructions, or to assume responsibility for the final decision. the churchmen indeed were shuffling and lying all round, for the position was threatening, with lutheranism daily becoming bolder and the emperor growing ever more peremptory, now that he had become reconciled to the pope. by the end of may henry had had enough of dallying, especially as rumours came from rome that the pope might revoke the commission of the legates; and the great hall of the monastery of blackfriars was made ready for the sittings of the legatine court. on a raised daïs were two chairs of state, covered with cloth of gold, and on the right side of the daïs a throne and canopy for the king, confronted by another for the queen. the first sittings of the legates were formal, and the king and queen were summoned to appear before the tribunal on the 18th june 1529. early in the morning of the day appointed the hall was full to overflowing with bishops, clerics, and councillors, and upon the crowd there fell the hush of those who consciously look upon a great drama of real life. after the bishops of bath and lincoln had testified that citations to the king and queen had been delivered, and other formal statements had been taken, an usher stood forth and cried: "henry, king of england, appear." but henry was at greenwich, five miles away, and in his stead there answered the ecclesiastical lawyer, dr. sampson. then "katharine, queen of england" rang out, and into the hall there swept the procession of the queen, herself rustling in stiff black garments, with four bishops, amongst them fisher of rochester, and a great train of ladies. standing before the throne erected for her, she made a low obeisance to the legates; and then, in formal terms, protested against the competence of the tribunal to judge her case, consisting, as it did, of those dependent upon one of the parties, and unable to give an impartial judgment. she appealed from the legates to the sovereign pontiff, who, without fear or favour of man, would decide according to divine and human law. then with another low obeisance katharine turned her back upon the court, and returned to the adjoining palace of bridewell. on the following monday, the 21st, the court again sat to give judgment upon her protest, which campeggio would have liked to accept and so to relieve him of his difficulty but for the pressure put upon him by wolsey and the court. to the call of his name henry on this occasion answered in person from his throne, "here," whilst the queen contented herself by an inclination of the head. when the legates had rejected her protest, the king rose, and in one of his sanctimonious speeches once more averred his admiration and affection for his wife, and swore that his fear of living sinfully was the sole cause of his having raised the question of the validity of his marriage. when his speech had ended katharine rose. between them the clerks and assessors sat at a large table, so that she had to make the whole circuit of the hall to approach the king. as she came to the foot of his throne she knelt before him for a last appeal to his better feelings. in broken english, and with tears coursing down her cheeks, she spoke of their long married life together, of the little daughter they both loved so well, of her obedience and devotion to him, and finally called him and god to witness that her marriage with his brother had been one in name only. then, rising, she bowed low to the man who was still her husband, and swept from the room. when she reached the door, henry, realising that all christendom would cry out against him if she was judged in her absence, bade the usher summon her back, but she turned to the welsh courtier, griffin richards, upon whose arm she leaned, saying: "go on, it is no matter; this is no impartial court to me," and thus, by an act of defiance, bade henry do his worst. like other things she did, it was brave, even heroic in the circumstances, but it was unwise from every point of view. it would be profitless to follow step by step the further proceedings, which campeggio and wolsey, at least, must have known were hollow. the court sat from week to week, and henry grew more angry as each sitting ended fruitlessly, the main question at issue now being the consummation or non-consummation of the first marriage; until, at the end of july, campeggio demanded a vacation till october, in accordance with the rule in roman courts.[78] whilst this new delay was being impatiently borne, the revocation of the powers of the legates, so long desired by campeggio, came from rome, and henry saw that the churchmen had cheated him after all. his rage knew no bounds; and the cardinal's enemies, led by anne and her kinsmen, cleverly served now by the new man stephen gardiner, fanned the flame against wolsey. he might still, however, be of some use; and though in deadly fear he was not openly disgraced yet. one day the king sent for him to bridewell during the recess, and was closeted with him for an hour. in his barge afterwards on his way home wolsey sat perturbed and unhappy with the bishop of carlisle. "it is a very hot day," said the latter. "yes," replied the unhappy man, "if you had been as well chafed as i have been in the last hour you would say it was hot." wolsey in his distress went straight to bed when he arrived at york place, but before he had lain two hours anne's father came to his bedside to order him in the name of the king to accompany campeggio to bridewell, to make another attempt to move the queen. he had to obey, and, calling at bath house for campeggio on his way, they sought audience of katharine. they found her cool and serene--indeed she seems rather to have overplayed the part. she came to meet them with a skein of silk around her neck. "i am sorry to keep you waiting," she said; "i was working with my ladies." to wolsey's request for a private audience she replied that he might speak before her people, she had no secrets with him; and when he began to speak in latin she bade him use english. throughout she was cool and stately, and, as may be supposed, the visit was as fruitless as others had been. wolsey was not quite done with even yet. he might still act as legate alone, if the pope's decretal deciding the law of the case in favour of henry could be obtained from campeggio, who had held it so tightly by the pope's command. so when campeggio was painfully carried into northamptonshire in september to take leave of the king, wolsey was ordered to accompany him. henry thought it politic to receive them without open sign of displeasure, and sent the italian cardinal on his way with presents and smooth words. wolsey escorted him a few miles on his road from grafton, where the king was staying, to towcester; but when next day the cardinal returned to grafton alone he found the king's door shut against him, and norreys brought him an order that he was to return to london. it was a blow that struck at his heart, and he went sadly with the shadow of impending ruin upon him, never to set eyes on his master more. before his final fall there was still one thing he might do, and he was given a few days' reprieve that he might do it. the pope had pledged himself in writing not to withdraw the legates' commission, and although he had done so the original commission might still be alleged as authority for wolsey to act alone, if only the papal decretal could be found. campeggio's privileged character was consequently ignored, and all his baggage ransacked in the hope of finding the document before he left english soil. alas! as an eye-witness tells us, all that the packs contained were "old hosen, old coates, and such vile stuff as no honest man would carry," for the decretal had been committed to the flames months before by the pope's orders; and the outraged old italian legate, with his undignified belongings, crossed the channel and so passes out of our history. anne had so far triumphed by the coalition of wolsey's enemies. her own hatred of him was more jealous and personal than political; for she and her paternal family were decidedly french in their sympathies, and wolsey, at all events in the latest stages, had striven his utmost to help forward her marriage with the king. the older nobility, led by norfolk, who had deserted katharine their former ally, in order to use anne for their rival's ruin, had deeper and longer-standing motives for their hate of the cardinal. although most of them now were heavily bribed and pensioned by france, their traditions were always towards the imperial and spanish alliance, and against bureaucratic ministers. there was yet another element that had joined anne's party in order to overthrow wolsey. it consisted of those who from patriotic sentiment resented the galling supremacy of a foreign prince over the english church, and cast their eyes towards germany, where the process of emancipation from the papacy was in full swing. the party in england was not a large one, and hardly concerned itself yet with fine points of doctrine. it was more an expression of the new-born english pride and independence than the religious revolt it was to become later; and the fit mouthpiece of the feeling was bluff charles brandon, duke of suffolk, who had publicly insulted the legates in the hall at blackfriars. it is obvious that a party consisting of so many factions would lose its cohesion when its main object was attained with the fall of wolsey. the latter had bent before the storm, and at once surrendered all his plunder to the king and to anne's relatives, which secured his personal immunity for a time, whilst he watched for the divisions amongst his opponents that might give him his chance again. anne's uncle, norfolk, aristocratic and conservative, took the lead in the new government, to the annoyance of the duke of suffolk, who occupied a secondary place, for which his lack of political ability alone qualified him. sir thomas more became chancellor, and between him and anne there was no great love lost, whilst anne's father, now earl of wiltshire, became lord privy seal, and her brother, lord rochford, was sent as english ambassador to france. with such a government as this--of which anne was the real head[79]--no very distinct line of policy could be expected. the parliament, which was summoned on wolsey's fall, was kept busy legalising the enrichment of anne at the expense of the cardinal, and in clamorous complaints of the abuses committed by the clergy, but when foreign affairs had to be dealt with the voice of the government was a divided one. anne and her paternal family were still in favour of france; but the emperor and the pope were close friends now, and it was felt necessary by the king and norfolk to attempt to reconcile them to the divorce, if possible, by a new political arrangement. for this purpose anne's father travelled to bologna, where charles and clement were staying together, and urged the case of his master. the only result was a contemptuous refusal from the emperor to consider any proposal for facilitating his aunt's repudiation; and the serving of wiltshire, as henry's representative, with a formal citation of the king of england to appear in person or by proxy before the papal court in rome entrusted with the decision of the divorce case. this latter result drove henry and anne into a fury, and strengthened their discontent against the churchmen, whilst it considerably decreased the king's confidence in wiltshire's ability. it was too late now to recall wolsey, although the french government did what was possible to soften the king's rigour against him; but henry longed to be able again to command the consummate ability and experience of his greatest minister, and early in the year 1530 henry himself became a party to an intrigue for the cardinal's partial rehabilitation. anne, when she thought wolsey was dying, was persuaded to send him a token and a kind message; but when, later, she learnt that an interview between the king and him was in contemplation, she took fright; and norfolk, who at least was at one with her in her jealousy of the fallen minister, ordered the latter to go to his diocese of york, and not to approach within five miles of the king. anne's position in the king's household was now a most extraordinary one. she had visited the fine palace, york place, which wolsey had conveyed to the king at westminster; and with the glee of a child enjoying a new toy, had inspected and appraised the splendours it contained. in future it was to be the royal residence, and she was its mistress. she sat at table in katharine's place, and even took precedence of the duchess of norfolk and ladies of the highest rank. this was all very well in its way, but it did not satisfy anne. to be queen in name as well as in fact was the object for which she was striving, and anything less galled her. the pope was now hand in glove with the emperor, and could not afford to waver on henry's side, whilst charles was more determined than ever to prevent the close alliance between england and france that the marriage and a boleyn predominance seemed to forebode. the natural effect of this was, of course, to drive henry more than ever into the arms of france, and though wolsey had owed his unpopularity largely to his french sympathies, he had never truckled so slavishly to francis as henry was now obliged to do, in order to obtain his support for the divorce, which he despaired of obtaining from the pope without french pressure. the papal court was divided, then and always, into french and spanish factions, and in north italy french and spanish agents perpetually tried to outwit each other. throughout the continent, wherever the influence of france extended, pressure was exerted to obtain legal opinions favourable to henry's contention. bribes, as lavish as they were barefaced, were offered to jurists for decisions confirming the view that marriage with a deceased brother's widow was invalid in fact, and incapable of dispensation. the french universities were influenced until some sort of irregular dictum, afterwards formally repudiated, was obtained in favour of henry, and in italy french and spanish intrigue were busy at work, the one extorting from lawyers support to the english view, the other by threats and bribes preventing its being given. this, however, was a slow process, and of doubtful efficacy after all; because, whilst the final decision on the divorce lay with the pope, the opinions of jurists and universities, even if they had been generally favourable to henry, instead of the reverse, could have had ultimately no authoritative effect. henry began to grow restive by the end of 1530. all his life he had seemed to have his own way in everything, and here he found himself and his most ardent wishes unceremoniously set aside, as if of no account. other kings had obtained divorces easily enough from rome: why not he? the answer that would naturally occur to him was that his affairs were being ineptly managed by his ministers, and he again yearned for wolsey. the cardinal had in the meanwhile plucked up some of his old spirit at york, and was still in close communication with the french, and even with the emperor's ambassador. again norfolk became alarmed, and a disclosure of the intrigue gave an excuse for wolsey's arrest. it was the last blow, and the heart of the proud cardinal broke on his way south to prison, leaving henry with no strong councillor but the fair-faced woman with the tight mouth who sat in his wife's place. she was brave; "as fierce as a lioness," the emperor's ambassador wrote, and would "rather see the queen hanged than recognise her as her mistress"; but the party behind her was a divided one, and the greatest powers in europe were united against her. there was only one way in which she might win, and that was by linking her cause with that of successful opposition to the papacy. the pope was a small italian prince now slavishly subservient to the emperor: luther had defied a greater sovereign pontiff than he; why should clement, a degenerate scion of the mercantile medicis, dare to dictate to england and her king? chapter v 1530-1534 henry's defiance--the victory of anne the deadlock with regard to the validity of the marriage could not continue indefinitely, for the legitimacy of the princess mary having been called into question, the matter now vitally touched the succession to the english crown. katharine was immovable. she would neither retire to a convent nor accept a decision from an english tribunal, and, through her proctor in rome, she passionately pressed for a decision there in her favour. norfolk, at the end of his not very extensive mental resources, could only wish that both katharine and anne were dead and the king married to some one else. the pope was ready to do anything that did not offend the emperor to bring about peace; and when, under pressure from henry and norfolk, the english prelates and peers, including wolsey and warham, signed a petition to the pope saying that henry's marriage should be dissolved, or they must seek a remedy for themselves in the english parliament, clement was almost inclined to give way; for schism in england he dreaded before all things. but charles's troops were in rome and his agents for ever bullying the wretched pope, and the latter was obliged to reply finally to the english peers with a rebuke. there were those both in england and abroad who urged henry to marry anne at once, and depend upon the recognition of the _fait accompli_ by means of negotiation afterwards, but this did not satisfy either the king or the favourite. every interview between the king and the nuncio grew more bitter than the previous one. no english cause, swore henry, should be tried outside his realm where he was master; and if the pope insisted in giving judgment for the queen, as he had promised the emperor to do, the english parliament should deal with the matter in spite of rome. the first ecclesiastical thunderclap came in october 1530, when henry published a proclamation reminding the lieges of the old law of england that forbade the pope from exercising direct jurisdiction in the realm by bull or brief. no one could understand at the time what was meant, but when the nuncio in perturbation went and asked norfolk and suffolk the reason of so strange a proclamation at such a time, they replied roughly, that they "cared nothing for popes in england ... the king was emperor and pope too in his own realm." later, henry told the nuncio that the pope had outraged convention by summoning him before a foreign tribunal, and should now be taught that no usurpation of power would be allowed in england. the parliament was called, said henry, to restrain the encroachment of the clergy generally, and unless the pope met his wishes promptly a blow would be struck at all clerical pretensions. the reply of the pope was another brief forbidding henry's second marriage, and threatening parliaments and bishops in england if they dared to meddle in the matter. the question was thus rapidly drifting into an international one on religious lines, which involved either the submission of henry or schism from the church. the position of the english clergy was an especially difficult one. they naturally resented any curtailment of the privileges of their order, though they dared not speak too loudly, for they owed the enjoyment of their temporalities to the king. but they were all sons of the church, looking to rome for spiritual authority, and were in mortal dread of the advance of the new spirit of religious freedom aroused in germany. the method of bridling them adopted by henry was as clever as it was unscrupulous. the bull giving to wolsey independent power to judge the matrimonial cause in england as legate, had been, as will be recollected, demanded by the king and recognised by him, as it had been, of course, by the clergy; but in january 1531, when parliament and convocation met, the english clergy found themselves laid under premunire by the king for having recognised the legatine bull; and were told that as subjects of the crown, and not of the pope, they had thus rendered themselves liable to the punishment for treason. the unfortunate clergy were panic-stricken at this new move, and looked in vain to rome for support against their own king; but rome, as usual, was trying to run with the hare and hunt with the hounds, and could only wail at the obstinacy both of henry and katharine. in the previous sitting of parliament in 1529, severe laws had been passed against the laxity and extortion of the english ecclesiastics, notwithstanding the violent indignation of fisher of rochester; but what was now demanded of them as a condition of their pardon for recognising the bull was practically to repudiate the authority of the pope over them, and to recognise the king of england as supreme head of the church, in addition to paying the tremendous fine of a hundred thousand pounds. they were in utter consternation, and they struggled hard; but the alternative to submission was ruin, and the majority gave way. the die was cast: henry was pope and king in one, and could settle his own cause in his own way. when the english clergy had thus been brought to heel, henry's opponents saw that they had driven him too far, and were aghast at his unexpected exhibition of strength, a strength, be it noted, not his own, as will be explained later; and somewhat moderated their tone. but the king of england snapped his fingers now at threats of excommunication, and cared nothing, he said, for any decision from rome. the emperor dared not go to war with england about katharine, for the french were busily drawing towards the pope, whose niece, katharine de medici, was to be betrothed to the son of francis; and the imperial agents in rome ceased to insist so pertinaciously upon a decision of the matrimonial suit. katharine alone clamoured unceasingly that her "hell upon earth" should be ended by a decision in her favour from the sovereign pontiff. her friends in england were many, for the old party of nobles were rallying again to her side, even norfolk was secretly in her favour, or at least against the king's marriage with his niece anne, and henry's new bold step against the papacy, taken under bureaucratic influence, had aroused much fear and jealousy amongst prelates like fisher and jurists like more, as well as amongst the aristocratic party in the country. desperate efforts were made to prevent the need for further action in defiance of the papacy by the decision of the matrimonial suit by the english parliament; and early in june 1531 henry and his council decided to put fresh pressure upon katharine to get her to consent to a suspension of the proceedings in rome, and to the relegation of the case to a tribunal in some neutral territory. katharine at greenwich had secret knowledge of the intention, and she can hardly have been so surprised as she pretended to be when, as she was about to retire to rest, at nine o'clock at night, to learn that the dukes of suffolk and norfolk, and some thirty other nobles and prelates, sought audience of her. norfolk spoke first, and in the king's name complained bitterly of the slight put upon him by the pope's citation. he urged the queen, for the sake of england, for the memory of the political services of henry to her kin, and his past kindness to her, to meet his wishes and consent to a neutral tribunal judging between them. katharine was, as usual, cool and contemptuous. no one was more sorry than she for the king's annoyance, though she had not been the cause of it; but there was only one judge in the world competent to deal with the case. "his holiness, who keeps the place, and has the power, of god upon earth, and is the image of eternal truth." as for recognising her husband as supreme head of the church, that she would never do. when dr. lee spoke harshly, telling her that she knew that, her first marriage having been consummated, her second was never legal, she vehemently denied the fact, and told him angrily to go to rome and argue. he would find there others than a lone woman to answer him. dr. sampson then took up the parable and reproached her for her determination to have the case settled so quickly; and she replied to him that if he had passed such bitter days as she had, he would be in a hurry too. dr. stokesley was dealt with similarly by the queen; and she then proudly protested at being thus baited late at night by a crowd of men; she, "a poor woman without friends or counsel." norfolk reminded her that the king had appointed the archbishop of canterbury, the bishop of durham, and the bishop of rochester to advise her. "pretty councillors they are," she replied. "if i ask for canterbury's advice he tells me he will have nothing to do with it, and for ever repeats _ira principis mors est_. the bishop of durham dares to say nothing because he is the king's subject, and rochester only tells me to keep a good heart and hope for the best." katharine knew it not, but many of those before her were really her friends. gardiner, now first secretary, looked with fear upon the lutheran innovations, guilford the controller, lord talbot, and even norfolk wished her well, and feared the advent of anne; and guilford, less prudent than the rest, spoke so frankly that the favourite heard of his words. she broke out in furious invective against him before his face. "when i am queen of england," she cried, "you will soon lose your office." "you need not wait so long," he replied, as he went straightway to deliver his seals to the king. henry told him he ought not to mind an angry woman's talk, and was loath to accept his resignation; but the controller insisted, and another rankling enemy was raised up to anne. the favour she enjoyed had fairly turned her head, and her insolence, even to those who in any case had a right to her respect, had made her thoroughly detested. the duke of suffolk, enemy of the papacy as he was, and the king's brother-in-law, was as anxious now as talbot, guilford, and fitzwilliam to avert the marriage with anne, who was setting all the court by the ears. katharine's attitude made matters worse. she still lived under the same roof as the king, though he rarely saw her except on public occasions, and her haughty replies to all his emissaries, and her constant threats of what the emperor might do, irritated henry beyond endurance under the taunts of anne. the latter was bitterly jealous also of the young princess mary, of whom henry was fond; and by many spiteful, petty acts of persecution, the girl's life was made unhappy. once when henry praised his daughter in anne's presence, the latter broke out into violent abuse of her, and on another occasion, when katharine begged to be allowed to visit the princess, henry told her roughly that she could go away as soon as she liked, and stop away. but katharine stood her ground. she would not leave her husband, she said, even for her daughter, until she was forced to do so. henry's patience was nearly tired out between anne's constant importunities and katharine's dignified immobility; and leaving his wife and daughter at windsor, he went off on a hunting progress with anne, in the hope that he might soon be relieved of the presence of katharine altogether. public feeling was indignantly in favour of the queen; and it was no uncommon thing for people to waylay the king, whilst he was hunting, with entreaties that he would live with his wife again; and wherever anne went the women loudly cried shame upon her. in his distraction henry was at a loss what to do. he always wanted to appear in the right, and he dared not imprison or openly ill-treat katharine, for his own people favoured her, and all europe would have joined in condemning him; yet it was clear that even windsor castle was not, in future, big enough for both queen and favourite at the same time, and positive orders at length were sent to katharine, in the autumn of 1531, to take up her residence at more in hertfordshire, in a house formerly belonging to wolsey.[80] she obeyed with a heavy heart, for it meant parting--and for ever--with her daughter, who was sent to live at richmond, and was strictly forbidden to communicate with her mother. katharine said she would have preferred to have been sent to the tower, to being consigned to a place so unfit for her as more, with its foul ways and ruinous surroundings, but nothing broke her spirit or humbled her pride. her household was still regal in its extent, for we are told by an italian visitor to her that "thirty maids of honour stood around her table when she dined, and there were fifty who performed its service: her household consisting of about two hundred persons in all." but her state was a mockery now; for lady anne, she knew, was with her husband, loudly boasting that within three or four months she would be a queen, and already playing the part insolently. the privy purse expenses of the period show how openly anne was acknowledged as being henry's actual consort. not only did she accompany the king everywhere on his excursions and progresses, and partake of the receptions offered to him by local authorities and nobles,[81] but large sums of money were paid out of the king's treasury for the gorgeous garb in which she loved to appear. purple velvet at half a guinea a yard, costly furs and linen, bows and arrows, liveries for her servants, and all sorts of fine gear were bought for anne. the lord mayor of london, in june 1530, sent her a present of cherries, and the bearer got a reward of 6s. 8d. soon after anne's greyhounds killed a cow, and the privy purse had to pay the damage, 10s. in november, 19-3/4 yards of crimson satin at 15s. a yard had to be paid for to make lady anne a robe, and £8, 8s. for budge skins was paid soon afterwards. when christmas came and card-playing was in season, my lady anne must have playing money, £20 all in groats; and when she lost, as she did pretty heavily, her losings had to be paid by the treasurer, though her winnings she kept for herself. no less than a hundred pounds was given to her as a new year's gift in 1531. a few weeks afterwards, a farm at greenwich was bought for her for £66; and her writing-desk had to be adorned with latten and gold at a great cost. as the year 1531 advanced and katharine's cause became more desperate, the extravagance of her rival grew; and when in the autumn of that year the queen was finally banished from court, anne's bills for dressmaker's finery amounted to extravagant proportions. the position was rendered the more bitter for katharine when she recognised that the pope, in a fright now at henry's defiance, was trying to meet him half way, and was listening to the suggestion of referring the question to a tribunal at cambray or elsewhere; whilst the emperor himself was only anxious to get the cause settled somehow without an open affront to his house or necessary cause for quarrel with henry.[82] and yet, withal, the divorce did not seem to make headway in england itself. as we have seen, the common people were strongly against it: the clergy, trembling, as well they might, for their privileges between the pope and the king, were naturally as a body in favour of the ecclesiastical view; and many of henry and anne's clerical instruments, such as dr. bennet in rome and dr. sampson at vienna, were secretly working against the cause they were supposed to be aiding: even some of the new prelates, such as gardiner of winchester and stokesley of london, grew less active advocates when they understood that upon them and their order would fall ultimately the responsibility of declaring invalid a marriage which the church and the pope had sanctioned. much stronger still even was the dislike to the king's marriage on the part of the older nobility, whose enmity to wolsey had first made the marriage appear practicable. they had sided with anne to overthrow wolsey; but the obstinate determination of the king to rid himself of his wife and marry his favourite, had brought forward new clerical and bureaucratic ministers whose proceedings and advice alarmed the aristocracy much more than anything wolsey had done. if katharine had been tactful, or even an able politician, she had the materials at hand to form a combination in favour of herself and her daughter, before which henry, coward as he was, would have quailed. but she lacked the qualities necessary for a leader: she irritated the king without frightening him, and instead of conciliating the nobles who really sympathised with her, though they were forced to do the king's bidding, she snubbed them haughtily and drove them from her. anne flattered and pleased the king, but it was hardly her mind that moved him to defy the powerful papacy, or sustained him in his fight with his own clergy. from the first we have seen him leaning upon some adviser who would relieve him from responsibility whilst giving him all the honour for success. he desired the divorce above all things; but, as usual, he wanted to shelter himself behind other authority than his own. when in 1529 he had been seeking learned opinions to influence the pope, chance had thrown the two ecclesiastics who were his instruments, fox and gardiner, into contact with a learned theologian and reader in divinity at cambridge university. thomas cranmer had studied and lived much. he was a widower, and fellow of magdalene, cambridge, of forty years of age; and although in orders and a doctor of divinity, his tastes were rather those of a learned country gentleman than of an ecclesiastic in monkish times. in conversation with fox and gardiner, this high authority on theology expressed the opinion that instead of enduring the delays of the ecclesiastical courts, the question of the legality of the king's marriage should be decided by divines from the words of the scriptures themselves. the idea seemed a good one, and henry jumped at it. in an interview soon afterwards he ordered cranmer to put his arguments into a book, and placed him in the household of anne's father, the earl of wiltshire, to facilitate the writing of it. the religious movement in germany had found many echoes in england, and doubtless cranmer conscientiously objected to papal control. certain it is that, fortified as he was by the encouragement of anne and her father, his book was a persuasive one, and greatly pleased the king, who sent it to the pope and others. nor did cranmer's activity stay there. he entered into disputation everywhere, with the object of gaining theological recruits for the king's side, and wrote a powerful refutation of reginald pole's book in favour of katharine. the king thought so highly of cranmer's controversial ability that he sent him with lee, stokesley, and other theologians to rome, paris, and elsewhere on the continent, to forward the divorce, and from rome he was commissioned as english ambassador with the emperor. whilst cranmer was thus fighting the king's battle abroad, another instrument came to henry's hand for use in england. on the disgrace of wolsey, his secretary, thomas cromwell, was recommended to henry by friends. the king disliked him, and at first refused to see him; but consented to do so when it was hinted that cromwell was the sort of man who would serve him well in what he had at heart. the hint was a well-founded one; for thomas cromwell was as ambitious and unscrupulous as his master had been; strong, bold, and fortunately unhampered by ecclesiastical orders. when henry received him in the gardens at whitehall, cromwell spoke as no priest, and few laymen, would have dared to do: for, apart from the divorce question, there was to be no dallying with heresy if henry could help it, and the fires of smithfield burning doubters were already beginning to blaze under the influence of sir thomas more. "sire," said cromwell to the king, "the pope refuses you a divorce ... why wait for his consent? every englishman is master in his own house, and why should not you be so in england? ought a foreign prelate to share your power with you? it is true the bishops make oath to your majesty; but they make another to the pope immediately afterwards which absolves them from it. sire, you are but half a king, and we are but half your subjects. your kingdom is a two-headed monster: will you bear such an anomaly any longer? frederick and other german princes have cast off the yoke of rome. do likewise; become once more king, govern your kingdom in concert with your lords and commons."[83] with much more of such talk cromwell flattered the king, who probably hardly knew whether to punish or reward such unheard-of boldness; but when cromwell, prepared for the emergency, took from his pocket a copy of the prelates' oath to the pope, henry's indignation bore all before it, and cromwell's fortune was made. he at once obtained a seat in parliament (1529), and took the lead in the anti-clerical measures which culminated in the emancipation of the english clergy from the papacy, and their submission to the king. gardiner, ambitious and able as he was, was yet an ecclesiastic, and looked grimly upon such a religious policy as that into which henry was being towed by his infatuation for anne; but cromwell was always ready with authorities and flattery to stiffen the king's resolve, and thenceforward, until his fall before a combination of nobles, his was the strong spirit to which henry clung. it will be seen that the influences against the king's marriage with anne were very powerful, since it had become evident that the object could only be attained by the separation of england from the papal communion; a step too bold and too much smacking of lutheranism to commend itself to any but the few who might benefit by the change. the greatest danger seemed that by her isolation england might enable the two great catholic powers to combine against her, in which case henry's ruin was certain; and, eager as he was to divorce katharine in england and marry anne, the king dared not do so until he had secured at least the neutrality of france. as usual, he had to pay heavily for it. dr. fox, henry's most able and zealous foreign minister, was again sent to france, and an alliance was negotiated in the spring of 1532, by which henry bound himself to join francis against the emperor in case of attack, and francis undertook to support henry if any attempt was made by charles to avenge his aunt. anne was once more jubilant and hopeful; for her cause was now linked with a national alliance which had a certain party of adherents in the english court, and an imperial attack upon england in the interests of katharine was rendered unlikely. but, withal, the opposition in england itself had to be overcome, for henry was ever a stickler for correctness in form, and wanted the divorce to have an appearance of defensible legality. the bishops in parliament were sounded, but it was soon evident that they as a body would not fly in the face of the papacy and the catholic interests, even to please the king. timid, tired old warham, the archbishop of canterbury, was approached with a suggestion that he, as primate, might convene a quorum of prelates favourable to henry, who would approve of the entire repudiation of the papal authority in england, and themselves pronounce the king's divorce. but warham was already hastening to the grave, and flatly refused to stain his last hours by spiritual revolt. despairing of the english churchman, henry then turned to the lay peers and commons, and, through norfolk, asked them to decide that the matrimonial cause was one that should be dealt with by a lay tribunal; but norfolk's advocacy was but half-hearted, and the peers refused to make the declaration demanded.[84] the fact is clear that england was not yet prepared to defy spiritual authority to satisfy the king's caprice; and anne was nearly beside herself with rage. she, indeed, was for braving everybody and getting married at once, divorce or no divorce. why lose so much time? the french ambassador asked. if the king wanted to marry again let him do as king louis did, and marry of his own motion.[85] the advice pleased both henry and his lady-love, but norfolk and anne's father were strongly opposed to so dangerous and irregular a step, and incurred the furious displeasure of anne for daring to thwart her. every one, she said, even her own kinsmen, were against her,[86] and she was not far wrong, for with the exception of cranmer in germany and cromwell, no one cared to risk the popular anger by promoting the match. above all, warham stood firm. the continued attacks of the king at cromwell's suggestion against the privileges of the clergy hardened the old archbishop's heart, and it was evident that he as primate would never now annul the king's marriage and defy the authority of rome. the opposition of lord chancellor more and of the new bishop of winchester, gardiner, to cromwell's anti-clerical proposals in parliament angered the king, and convinced him that with his present instruments it would be as difficult for him to obtain a divorce in legal form in england as in rome itself. more was made to feel that his position was an impossible one, and retired when parliament was prorogued in may; and gardiner had a convenient attack of gout, which kept him away from court until the king found he could not conduct foreign affairs without him and brought him back. in the meanwhile katharine neglected the opportunities offered to her of combining all these powerful elements in her favour. nobles, clergy, and people were almost universally on her side: anne was cordially hated, and had no friends but the few religious reformers who hoped by her means to force the king ever further away from the papacy; and yet the queen continued to appeal to rome and the emperor, against whom english patriotic feeling might be raised by anne's few friends. the unwisdom of thus linking katharine's cause with threats of foreign aggression, whilst england itself was favourable to her, was seen when the nuncio presented to henry a half-hearted exhortation to take his lawful wife back. henry fulminated against the foreigner who dared to interfere between him and his wife; and, very far from alarming him, the pope's timid action only proved the impotence of rome to harm him. but the results fell upon the misguided katharine, who had instigated the step. she was sent from the more to ampthill, a house belonging to one of her few episcopal enemies. all through the summer of 1532 the coming and going of french agents to england puzzled the queen and her foreign friends; but suddenly, late in july, the truth came out. henry and anne had gone with a great train on a hunting tour through the midlands in july; but only a few days after starting they suddenly returned to london. the quidnuncs whispered that the people on the way had clamoured so loudly that the queen might be recalled to court, and had so grossly insulted anne, that the royal party had been driven back in disgust; and though there was no doubt some ground for the assertion, the real reason for the return was that the interview between henry and the french king, so long secretly in negotiation, had at last been settled. to enlist francis personally on the side of the divorce, and against the clerical influence, was good policy; for the emperor could not afford to quarrel both with france and england for his aunt, and especially as the meeting arranged between francis and the pope at nice for the betrothal of the duke of orleans with katharine de medici was already in contemplation, and threatened the emperor with a combination of france, england, and perhaps the papacy, which would be powerful enough to defy him. the policy was cromwell's, who had inherited from his master, wolsey, a leaning for the french alliance; but norfolk and the rest of henry's advisers were heavily bribed by france, and were on this occasion not inimical. the people at large, as usual, looked askance at the french connection. they dreaded, above all things, a war with spain and flanders, and recollected with apprehension the fruitless and foolish waste in splendour on the last occasion of the monarchs of france and england meeting. an attempt was made to provide that the preparations should be less costly and elaborate than those for the field of the cloth of gold, but henry could not forego the splendour that he loved, and a suite of 3000 or 4000 people were warned to accompany the king across the channel to boulogne and calais. [illustration: _anne boleyn_ _from a portrait by_ lucas cornelisz _in the national portrait gallery_] for the interview to have its full value in the eyes of henry and his mistress, the latter must be present at the festival, and be recognised by the french royal family as being of their own caste. francis was not scrupulous, but this was difficult to arrange. his own second wife was the emperor's sister, and she, of course, would not consent to meet "the concubine"; nor would any other of the french princesses, if they could avoid it; but, although the french at first gave out that no ladies would be present, anne began to get her fine clothes ready and enlist her train of ladies as soon as the interview between the kings was arranged. so confident was she now of success that she foretold to one of her friends that she would be married whilst in france. to add to her elation, in the midst of the preparations archbishop warham died, and the chief ecclesiastical obstacle to the divorce in england disappeared. some obedient churchman as primate would soon manage to enlist a sufficient number of his fellows to give to his court an appearance of authority, and the church of england would ratify the king's release. the effects of warham's death (23rd august 1532) were seen immediately. there is every probability that up to that time anne had successfully held her royal lover at arm's length; but with cranmer, or another such as he, at lambeth her triumph was only a matter of the few weeks necessary to carry out the formalities; and by the end of the month of august 1532 she probably became the king's mistress. this alone would explain the extraordinary proceedings when, on the 1st september, she was created marchioness of pembroke in her own right. it was sunday morning before mass at windsor, where the new french alliance was to be ratified, that the king and his nobles and the french ambassador met in the great presence chamber and anne knelt to receive the coronet and robe of her rank, the first peeress ever created in her own right in england: precedence being given to her before the two other english marchionesses, both ladies of the blood royal. everything that could add prestige to the ceremony was done. anne herself was dressed in regal crimson velvet and ermine; splendid presents were made to her by the enamoured king, fit more for a sovereign's consort than his mistress; a thousand pounds a year and lands were settled upon her, and her rank and property were to descend to the issue male of her body. but the cloven hoof is shown by the omission from the patent of the usual legitimacy clause. even if, after all, the cup of queendom was dashed from her lips untasted, she had made not a bad bargain for herself. her short triumph, indeed, was rapidly coming. she had fought strenuously for it for many years; and now most of the legal bars against her had fallen. but, withal, there was bitterness still in her chalice. the people scowled upon her no less now that she was a marchioness than before, and the great ladies who were ordered to attend the king's "cousin" into france did their service but sourly: whilst francis had to be conciliated with all sorts of important concessions before he could be got to welcome "the lady" into his realm. when, at last, he consented, "because she would have gone in any case; for the king cannot be an hour without her," francis did it gallantly, and with good grace, for, after all, anne was just then the strongest prop in england of the french alliance. katharine, from afar off, watched these proceedings with scornful resentment. henry had no chivalry, no generosity, and saved his repudiated wife no humiliation that he could deal her in reward for her obstinacy. he had piled rich gifts upon anne, but her greed for costly gewgaws was insatiable; and when the preparations for her visit to france were afoot she coveted the queen's jewels. henry's sister, the duchess of suffolk, queen dowager of france, had been made to surrender her valuables to the king's favourite; but when henry sent a message to his wife bidding her give up her jewels, the proud princess blazed out in indignant anger at the insult. "tell the king," she said, "that i cannot send them to him; for when lately, according to the custom of this realm, i presented him with a new year's gift, he warned me to send him no such presents for the future. besides, it is offensive and insulting to me, and would weigh upon my conscience, if i were led to give up my jewels for such a base purpose as that of decking out a person who is a reproach to christendom, and is bringing scandal and disgrace upon the king, through his taking her to such a meeting as this in france. but still, if the king commands me and sends specially for them himself, i will give him my jewels." such an answer as this proves clearly the lack of practical wisdom in the poor woman. she might have resisted, or she might have surrendered with a good grace; but to irritate and annoy the weak bully, without gaining her point, was worse than useless. anne's talk about marrying the king in france angered katharine beyond measure; but the favourite's ambition grew as her prospect brightened, and when it was settled that cranmer was to be recalled from germany and made primate, anne said that she had changed her mind. "even if the king wished to marry her there (in france) she would not consent to it. she will have it take place here in england, where other queens have usually been married and crowned."[87] through kent, avoiding as they might the plague-stricken towns, the king and his lady-love, with a great royal train, rode to dover early in october 1532. at calais, henry's own town, anne was received almost with regal honours; but when henry went forth to greet francis upon french soil near boulogne, and to be sumptuously entertained, it was seen that, though the french armed men were threateningly numerous, there were no ladies to keep in countenance the english "concubine" and the proud dames who did her service. blazing in gems, the two kings met with much courtly ceremony and hollow professions of affection. banqueting, speech-making, and posturing in splendid raiment occupied five days at boulogne, the while the "lady marquis" ate her heart out at calais in petulant disappointment; though she made as brave a show as she could to the frenchmen when they came to return henry's visit. the chronicler excels himself in the description of the lavish magnificence of the welcome of francis at calais,[88] and tells us that, after a bounteous supper on the night of sunday 27th october, at which the two kings and their retinues sat down, "the marchioness of pembroke with seven other ladies in masking apparel of strange fashion, made of cloth of gold compassed with crimson tinsel satin, covered with cloth of silver, lying loose and knit with gold laces," tripped in, and each masked lady chose a partner, anne, of course, taking the french king. in the course of the dance henry plucked the masks from the ladies' faces, and debonair francis, in courtly fashion, conversed with his fair partner. one of the worst storms in the memory of man delayed the english king's return from calais till the 13th november; but when at length the _te deum_ for his safe home-coming was sung at st. paul's, anne knew that the king of france had undertaken to frighten the pope into inactivity by talk of the danger of schism in england, and that cranmer was hurrying across europe on his way from italy to london, to become primate of the church of england. the plot projected was a clever one, but it was still needful to handle it very delicately. cranmer during his residence in germany and italy had been zealous in winning favourable opinions for henry's contention, and his foregathering with lutheran divines had strengthened his reforming opinions. he had, indeed, proceeded to the dangerous length of going through a form of marriage secretly with a young lady belonging to a lutheran family. his leanings cannot have been quite unknown to the ever-watchful spies of the pope and the emperor, though cranmer had done his best to hoodwink them, and to some extent had succeeded. but to ask the pope to issue the bulls confirming such a man in the primacy of england was at least a risky proceeding, and henry had to dissemble. in january, katharine fondly thought that her husband was softening towards her, for he released her chaplain abell, who had been imprisoned for publicly speaking in her favour. she fancied, poor soul, that "perhaps god had touched his heart, and that he was about to acknowledge his error." chapuys attributed henry's new gentleness to his begrudging the cost of two queenly establishments. but seen from this distance of time, it was clearly caused by a desire to disarm the suspicion of the pope and the emperor, who were again to meet at bologna, until the bulls confirming cranmer's appointment to the archbishopric had been issued. henry went out of his way to be amiable to the imperial ambassador chapuys, whilst he beguiled the nuncio with the pretended proposal for reconciliation by means of a decision on the divorce to be given by two cardinal legates, appointed by the pope, and sitting in neutral territory. in vain chapuys warned the emperor that cranmer could not be trusted; but henry's diplomatic signs of grace prevailed, and the pope, dreading to drive england further into schism, confirmed cranmer's election as archbishop of canterbury (march 1533). it was high time; for under a suave exterior both henry and anne were in a fever of impatience. at the very time that queen katharine thought that her husband had repented, anne conveyed to him the news that she was with child. it was necessary for their plans that the offspring should be born in wedlock, and yet no public marriage was possible, or the eyes of the papal party would be opened before the bulls confirming cranmer's elevation were issued. sometime late in january 1533, therefore, a secret marriage was performed at greenwich, probably by the reforming franciscan friar, george brown,[89] and anne became henry's second wife, whilst katharine was still undivorced. the secret was well kept for a time, and the nuncio, baron di burgo, was fooled to the top of his bent by flatteries and hopes of bribes. he even sat in state on henry's right hand, the french ambassador being on the left, at the opening of parliament, probably with the idea of convincing the trembling english clergy that the king and the pope were working together. in any case, the close association of the nuncio with henry and his ministers aroused the fears of katharine anew, and she broke out in denunciations of the pope's supineness in thus leaving her without aid for three and a half years, and now entertaining, as she said, a suggestion that would cause her to be declared the king's concubine, and her daughter a bastard.[90] in vain chapuys, the only man of his party who saw through the device, prayed that cranmer's bulls should not be sent from rome, that the sentence in katharine's favour should no longer be delayed. it was already too late. the pride of anne and her father at the secret marriage could not much longer be kept under. in the middle of february, whilst dining in her own apartment, she said that "she was now as sure that she should be married to the king, as she was of her own death"; and the earl of wiltshire told the aged kinsman of henry, the earl of rutland, a staunch adherent of katharine, that "the king was determined not to be so considerate as he had been, but would marry the marchioness of pembroke at once, by the authority of parliament."[91] anne's condition, indeed, could not continue to be concealed, and whispers of it reached the queen at ampthill. by march the rumour was rife at court that the marriage had taken place--a rumour which it is plain that anne's friends took no pains to deny, and cranmer positively encouraged.[92] cromwell, in the meanwhile, grew in power and boldness with the success of his machinations. the chancellorship, vacant by more's resignation, was filled by cromwell's friend audley, and every post that fell vacant or could be vacated was occupied by known opponents of the clergy. the country and parliament were even yet not ready to go so far as cromwell in his policy of emancipation from rome in spiritual affairs; and only by the most illegal pressure both in the two houses and in convocation was the declaration condemning the validity of the king's marriage with katharine at last obtained. armed with these declarations and the bulls from rome confirming cranmer's appointment, henry was ready in april to cast away the mask, and the dukes of norfolk and suffolk were sent to tell katharine at ampthill "that she need not trouble any more about the king, for he had taken another wife, and that in future she must abandon the title of queen, and be called duchess; though she should be left in possession of her property."[93] chapuys was indignant, and urged the emperor to make war upon england in revenge for the insult to his house. "the moment this accursed anne gets her foot firmly in the stirrup she will do the queen all the harm she can, and the princess also, which is what the queen fears most.... she (anne) has lately boasted that she will make the princess one of her maids, which will not give her too much to eat; or will marry her to some varlet." but the emperor had cares and dangers that his ambassador in england knew not of, and he dared not avenge his aunt by the invasion of england. a long and fruitless war of words was waged between henry and chapuys when the news of the secret marriage became known; the talk turning upon the eternal question of the consummation of katharine's first marriage. chapuys reminded the king that on several occasions he (henry) had confessed that his wife had been intact by arthur. "ah!" replied henry, "i only said that in fun. a man when he is frolicking and dining says a good many things that are not true. now, i think i have satisfied you.... what else do you want to know?"[94] a day or two after this, on easter eve, anne went to mass in truly royal state, loaded with diamonds and other precious stones, and dressed in a gorgeous suit of tissue; the train being borne by her cousin, the daughter of the duke of norfolk, betrothed to the king's illegitimate son, the duke of richmond. she was followed by a greater suite and treated with more ceremony than had formerly attended katharine, and, to the astonishment of the people, was prayed for thenceforward in the church services at court as queen.[95] in london the attitude of the people grew threatening, and the lord mayor was taken to task by the king, who ordered that proclamation should be made forbidding any unfavourable reference to the king's second marriage. but the fire of indignation glowed fiercely beneath the surface, for everywhere the cause of katharine was bound up, as it seemed, with the old faith in which all had been born, with the security of commerce with england's best customers, and with the rights of anointed royalty, as against low-born insolence. no humiliation was spared to katharine. her daughter was forbidden to hold any communication with her, her household was reduced to the meagre proportions of a private establishment, her scutcheon was taken down from westminster hall, and her cognisance from her barge, and, as a crowning indignity, she was summoned to appear before the primate's court at dunstable, a summons which, at the prompting of chapuys, she entirely disregarded. up to this time she had stood firm in her determination to maintain an attitude of loyalty to the king and to her adopted country; but, as she grew more bitter at her rival's triumph, and the flowing tide of religious change rose at her feet, she listened to plans for bringing a remedy for her ills by a subversion of henry's regime. but she was a poor conspirator, and considerations of safety for her daughter, and her want of tact in uniting the english elements in her favour, always paralysed her.[96] in the meanwhile the preparations for the public recognition and coronation of anne went on. the new queen tried her best to captivate the londoners, but without success; and only with difficulty could the contributions be obtained for the coming festivities when the new queen passed through the city. on the 10th may katharine was declared contumacious by the primate's court, and on the 23rd may cranmer pronounced the king's first marriage to have been void from the first.[97] this was followed by a pronouncement to the effect that the second marriage, that with anne, was legal, and nothing now stood in the way of the final fruition of so much labour and intrigue, pregnant with such tremendous results to england. on the 29th may 1533 the first scene of the pageant was enacted with the state progress by water from greenwich to the tower.[98] no effort had been spared by henry to make the occasion a brilliant one. we are told that the whole river from the point of departure to that of arrival was covered with beautifully bedizened boats; guns roared forth their salutations at greenwich, and from the crowd of ships that lay in the stream. flags and _feux de joie_ could be bought; courtiers', guilds', and nobles' barges could be commanded, but the hearty cheers of the lieges could not be got for all king harry's power, as the new queen, in the old queen's barge, was borne to the frowning fortress which so soon was to be her own place of martyrdom.[99] on sunday, 31st may 1533, the procession through the crowded city sallied from the tower betimes in the morning. englishmen and foreigners, except spaniards only, had been forced to pay heavily for the splendour of the day; and the trade guilds and aldermen, brave in furred gowns and gold chains, stood from one device to another in the streets, as the glittering show went by. the french element did its best to add gaiety to the occasion, and the merchants of france established in london rode at the head of the procession in purple velvet embroidered with anne's device. then came the nobles and courtiers and all the squires and gentlemen whom the king had brought from their granges and manor-houses to do honour to their new queen. anne herself was seated in an open litter of white satin covered by a golden canopy. she was dressed in a surcoat and mantle of white tissue trimmed with ermine, and wore a robe of crimson brocade stiff with gems. her hair, which was very fine, hung over her shoulders surmounted by a coif and a coronet of diamonds, whilst around her neck was hung a necklace of great pearls, and upon her breast reposed a splendid jewel of precious stones. "and as she passed through the city she kept turning her face from one side to the other to greet the people, but, strange to see it was, that there were hardly ten persons who greeted her with 'god save your grace,' as they used to do when the sainted queen katharine went by."[100] lowering brows, and whispered curses of "nan bullen" from the citizens' wives followed the new queen on her way; for to them she stood for war against the emperor in the behoof of france, for harassed trade and lean larders, and, above all, for defiance of the religious principles that most of them held sacred; and they hated the long fair face with which, or with love philtres, she had bewitched the king. the very pageants ostensibly raised in her honour contrived in several cases to embody a subtle insult. at the gracechurch corner of fenchurch street, where the hanse merchants had erected a "merveilous connyng pageaunt," representing mount parnassus, with the fountain of helicon spouting racked rhenish wine all day, the queen's litter was stayed a space to listen to the muses playing "swete instrumentes," and to read the "epigrams" in her praise that were hung around the mount. but anne looked aloft to where apollo sat, and saw that the imperial eagle was blazoned in the place of honour, whilst the much-derided bogus arms of the boleyns lurked in humble guise below;[101] and for many a day thenceforward she was claiming vengeance against the easterlings for the slight put upon her. as each triumphal device was passed, children dressed as angels, or muses, were made to sing or recite conceited phrases of dithyrambic flattery to the heroine of the hour. there was no grace or virtue of which she was not the true exemplar. through leadenhall and cornhill and so to chepe, between lines of liveried citizens, anne's show progressed. at the cross on cheapside the mayor and corporation awaited the queen; and the recorder, "master baker," with many courtly compliments, handed her the city's gift of a thousand marks in a purse of gold, "which she thankfully received." that she did so was noted with sneering contempt by katharine's friends. "as soon as she received the purse of money she placed it by her side in the litter: and thus she showed that she was a person of low descent. for there stood by her at the time the captain of the king's guard, with his men and twelve lacqueys; and when the sainted queen had passed by for _her_ coronation, she handed the money to the captain of the guard to be divided amongst the halberdiers and lacqueys. anne did not do so, but kept them for herself."[102] st. paul's and ludgate, fleet street and temple bar, all offered their official adulation, whilst the staring people stood by dumb. westminster hall, into which anne's litter was borne for the feast, was richly hung with arras and "newly glazed." a regal throne with a canopy was set on high for anne, and a great sideboard of gold plate testified to the king's generosity to his new wife. but after she had changed her garments and was welcomed with open arms by henry at his new palace of westminster, her disappointment broke out. "how like you the look of the city, sweetheart?" asked the king. "sir," she replied, "the city itself was well enow; but i saw many caps on heads and heard but few tongues."[103] the next day, sunday, anne was crowned by cranmer with full ceremony in westminster abbey, and for days thereafter banqueting, tilting, and the usual roystering went on; and the great-granddaughter of alderman boleyn felt that at last she was queen indeed. henry, too, had had his way, and again could hope that a son born in wedlock might perpetuate the name of tudor on the throne of england. but he was in deadly fear, for the prospect was black all around him. public indignation in england grew apace[104] at the religious changes and at the prospect of war; but what most aroused henry's alarm was the sudden coldness of france, and the probability of a great catholic coalition against him. norfolk and lord rochford with a stately train had gone to join in the interview between francis and the pope, in the hope that the joint presence of france and england might force clement to recognise accomplished facts in order to avoid the secession of england from the church. although it suited francis to promote the antagonism between henry and the emperor by keeping the divorce proceedings dragging on in rome, it did not suit him for england to defy the papacy by means of cranmer's sentence, and so to change the balance of power in europe by driving henry into permanent union with german protestants whilst francis was forced to side with the emperor on religious grounds. so long as henry remained undivorced and unmarried anything might happen. he might sate of his mistress and tire of the struggle against rome, or be driven by fear of war to take a conciliatory course, and in any of these cases he must needs pay for france's aid; but now that his divorce and remarriage were as valid as a duly authorised archbishop could make them, the utility of anne as an aid to french foreign policy disappeared. the actual marriage therefore deprived her of the sympathies of the french party in the english court, which had hitherto sided with her, and the effects were immediately seen in the attitude of francis. before norfolk could reach the south of france news came to him that the pope, coerced by the emperor, had issued a brief declaring all of henry's proceedings in england to be nullified and he and his abettors excommunicated, unless of his own accord he restored things to their former condition before september.[105] it was plain, therefore, that any attempt at the coming interview to reconcile clement with henry's action would be fruitless. norfolk found francis also much cooler than before, and sent back his nephew rochford post haste to england to beg the king's instructions. he arrived at court in early august, at a time when henry's perplexity was at its height. he had learnt of the determination of francis to greet the pope and carry through the marriage between the duke of orleans and katharine de medici, whether the king of england's demands were satisfied by clement or not. he now knew that the dreaded sentence of excommunication pended over him and his instruments. if he had been left to his own weakness he would probably have given way, or at least have sought compromise. if norfolk had been at his elbow, the old aristocratic english party might also have stayed the king's hand. but cromwell, bold and astute, and anne, with the powerful lever of her unborn child, which might be a son, knew well that they had gone too far to return, and that defiance of the papacy was the only road open to them. already at the end of june henry had gone as far as to threaten an appeal from the pope to the general council of the church, the meeting of which was then being discussed; but now that he knew that francis was failing him, and the pope had finally cast down the gage, he took the next great step which led to england's separation from rome. norfolk was recalled, and gardiner accredited to francis only with a watching brief during the papal interview at nice, whilst henry's ambassadors in rome were recalled, and english agents were sent to germany to seek alliances with the german protestant princes. when, therefore, norfolk arrived in england, he found that in his two months' absence cromwell had steered the ship of state further away than ever from the traditional policy of the english conservatives; namely, one of balance between the two great catholic powers; and that england was isolated, but for the doubtful friendship of those vassal princes of the empire who professed the dreaded new heresy. thenceforward the ruin of anne and cromwell was one of the main objects of norfolk and the noble party. the treatment meted out to katharine during the same time followed a similar impulse. chapuys had been informed that, the king having now taken a legal wife, katharine could no longer be called queen, but princess dowager of wales, and that her regal household could not be kept up; and on the 3rd july katharine's principal officers were ordered to convey a similar message to her personally. the message was roughly worded. it could only be arrogance and vainglory, she was told, that made her retain or usurp the title of queen. she was much mistaken if she imagined that her husband would ever live with her again, and by her obstinate contumacy she would cause wars and bloodshed, as well as danger to herself and her daughter, as both would be made to feel the king's displeasure. the queen's answer, as might have been expected, was as firm as usual. she was the king's legitimate wife, and no reward or fear in the world would ever make her abandon her right to the title she bore. it was not vainglory that moved her, for to be the daughter of ferdinand and isabel was a greater honour than to be a queen. henry might punish her, she said, or even her daughter, "yet neither for that, nor a thousand deaths, would she consent to damn her soul or that of her husband the king."[106] the king, beside himself with rage, could do no more than warn katharine's household that they must all treat their mistress as princess of wales, or suffer the penalty. as for katharine, no punishment short of death could move her; and cromwell himself, in admiration at her answer, said that "nature had injured her in not making her a man, for she would have surpassed in fame all the heroes of history."[107] when a few days after this katharine was removed to buckden, crowds followed her with tears and blessings along the road, even as they had followed the princess mary shortly before, "as if she were god almighty," as anne said. in defiance of henry's threats, "god save the queen" rang high and clear wherever she went, and the people, "wishing her joy, comfort, and all manner of prosperity, and mishap to her enemies, begged her with tears to let them serve her; for they were all ready to die for her sake."[108] anne's spite at such demonstrations was characteristic. katharine possessed a very rich and gorgeous length of stuff, which she had brought from spain to serve as a christening robe if she should have a son and heir. anne's time was drawing near, and she would not be content until the king had demanded of his wife the spanish material to serve as a robe for the prince of wales, which he was confident would be born to anne. "god forbid," replied katharine, "that i should ever give help or countenance in a case so horrible and abominable as this!" and the indignity of forcible searching of her chests for the stuff at least was not insisted upon then. anne's own position was hardly a happy one; her one hope being that the coming child would be a son, as the king was assured by astrologers that it would be. for amorous henry was already tiring somewhat of her, and even cromwell's tone was less confident than before. early in august, henry left her at greenwich to go to windsor alone, for the first time since they had been together. sometime in july she had insisted upon a very sumptuous bed, which had formed part of a french royal ransom, being taken out of the treasure-room for the birth of the expected heir. it is well, sneered chapuys, in the first days of september, that she got it betimes, "otherwise she would not have it now, for she has been for some time past very jealous of the king; and, with good cause, spoke about it in words that he did not like. he told her that she must wink at such things, and put up with them, as her betters had done before her. he could at any time cast her down as easily as he had raised her." frequent bickerings of this sort went on during the last weeks of anne's pregnancy; but on sunday, 7th september, the day that was to heal all differences came. henry had defied the greatest power in the world, had acted basely and brutally to his legal wife, and had incurred the reprobation of his own people for the sake of having a son, and on the fateful day mentioned a fair girl baby was born to anne at greenwich. the official rejoicings were held, but beneath the surface every one knew that a tragedy lurked,[109] for unless a son was born to anne her doom was sealed. henry had asserted his mastership in his own realm and had defied christendom. he had found that his subjects, however sulkily, had accepted his action without open revolt; and that charles, notwithstanding the insult to his house, was still speaking softly through his ambassadors. if a great princess like katharine could thus be repudiated without disaster to his realm, it would indeed be easy for him to cast away "that noughty pake, nan bullen," if she failed to satisfy his desire for a son. but in the meanwhile it was necessary for him to secure, so far as he could, the succession of his new daughter, since cranmer's decision had rendered mary, princess of wales, of whom her father had been so proud, illegitimate. accordingly, immediately after the child elizabeth was christened, heralds proclaimed in the king's name that princess mary was thenceforward to lose her title and pre-eminence, the badge upon her servants' coats being replaced by the arms of the king, and the baby lady elizabeth was to be recognised as the king's only legitimate heir and princess of wales. in vain the imperial ambassador protested and talked to cromwell of possible war, in which england might be ruined, which cromwell admitted but reminded him that the emperor would not benefit thereby; in vain katharine from her retirement at buckden urged chapuys and the emperor to patronise reginald pole as a possible threat to henry; in vain princess mary herself, in diplomatic language, told her father that he might give her what title he liked, but that she herself would never admit her illegitimacy or her mother's repudiation; in vain bishop fisher and chapuys counselled the invasion of england and the overturn of henry: cromwell knew that there was no drawing back for him, and that the struggle must go on now to the bitter end. anne with the birth of her daughter became more insolent and exacting than ever. nothing would satisfy her but the open degradation of katharine and her daughter, and henry in this respect seems to have had no spark of generous or gentlemanly feeling. irritated by what he considered the disobedience of his wife and child, and doubtless also by their constant recourse for support and advice to the emperor's ambassador against him, he dismissed mary's household and ordered her to go to hatfield and serve as maid the princess elizabeth. mary was ready with her written protest, which chapuys had drafted for her, but, having made it, decided to submit; and was borne to hatfield in scornful dudgeon, to serve "the bastard" of three months old. when she arrived the duke of suffolk asked her if she would go and pay her respects to "the princess." "i know of no other princess but myself," replied mary. "the daughter of lady pembroke has no right to such a title. but," added she, "as the king acknowledges her i may call her sister, as i call the duke of richmond brother." mary was the true daughter of her proud mother, and bluff charles brandon got many a tart answer from her before he gave her up in despair to perform a similar mission to her mother at buckden. katharine had never changed her tone. knowing henry's weakness, she had always pressed for the final papal decision in her favour, which she insisted would bring her husband to his knees, as it doubtless would have done if he had stood alone. for a time the pope and the king of france endeavoured to find a _via media_ which should save appearances, for charles would not bind himself to carry out by force the papal deposition of henry, which clement wanted. but katharine would have no compromise, nor did it suit cromwell or anne, though the former was apparently anxious to avoid offending the emperor. parliament, moreover, was summoned for the 15th january 1534, to give the sanction of the nation to henry's final defiance of rome; and persistence in the path to which the king's desire for a son and his love for anne had dragged england, was now the only course open to him. suffolk and a deputation of councillors were consequently sent once more with an ultimatum to katharine. accompanied by a large armed force to intimidate the queen and the people who surrounded her, the deputation saw her on the 18th december; and suffolk demanded that she should recognise cranmer's decision and abandon her appeal to rome; whilst her household and herself were to take the oath of allegiance to the king in the new form provided. the alternative was that she should be deprived of her servants and be removed to fotheringay or somersame, seated in the midst of pestilential marshes.[110] suffolk was rough in his manner, and made short work of the english household, nearly all of whom were dismissed and replaced by others; but he found katharine the same hard woman as ever. considering all the king had done for her and hers, he said, it was disgraceful that she should worry him as she had done for years, putting him to vast expense in embassies to rome and elsewhere, and keeping him in turmoil with his neighbours. surely she had grown tired of her obstinacy by this time, and would abandon her appeal to rome. if she did so the king would do anything for her; but if not he would clip her wings and effectually punish her. as a beginning, he said, they were going to remove her to fotheringay. katharine had heard such talk many times before, though less rudely worded; and she replied in the usual tone. she looked to the pope alone, and cared nothing for the archbishop of canterbury. as for going to fotheringay, that she would not do. the king might work his will; but unless she was dragged thither by main force she would not go, or she would be guilty of suicide, so unhealthy was the place. some of the members of the household were recalcitrant, and the two priests, abell and barker, were sent to the tower. the aged spanish bishop of llandaff, jorge de ateca, the queen's confessor, was also warned that he must go, and de la sá, her apothecary, and a physician, both spaniards; but at her earnest prayers they were allowed to remain pending an appeal.[111] the queen's women attendants were also told they must depart, but upon katharine saying that she would not undress or go to bed unless she had proper help, two of them were allowed to stay. for a whole week the struggle went on, every device and threat being employed to break down the queen's resistance. she was as hard as adamant. all the servants who remained but the spaniards, who spoke no english, had to swear not to treat her as queen, and she said she would treat them as gaolers. on the sixth day of suffolk's stay at buckden, pack animals were got ready, and preparations made for removing the establishment to fotheringay. but they still had to reckon with katharine. locking herself in her chamber, she carried on a colloquy with her oppressors through a chink in the wall. "if you wish to take me," she declared, "you must break down my door;" but, though the country gentlemen around had been summoned to the aid of the king's commissioners, and the latter were well armed, such was the ferment and indignation in the neighbourhood--and indeed throughout the country--that violence was felt to be unwise, and katharine was left in such peace as she might enjoy.[112] well might suffolk write, as he did, to norfolk: "we find here the most obstinate woman that may be; inasmuch as we think surely there is no other remedy than to convey her by force to somersame. concerning this we have nothing in our instructions; we pray your good lordship that we may have knowledge of the king's pleasure." all this petty persecution was, of course, laid at the door of anne by katharine's friends and the catholic majority; for cromwell was clever in avoiding his share of the responsibility. "the lady," they said, "would never be satisfied until both the queen and her daughter had been done to death, either by poison or otherwise; and katharine was warned to take care to fasten securely the door of her chamber at night, and to have the room searched before she retired.[113] in the meantime england and france were drifting further apart. if henry finally decided to brave the papal excommunication, francis dared not make common cause with him. the bishop of paris (du bellay) once more came over, and endeavoured to find a way out of the maze. anne, whom he had befriended before, received him effusively, kissing him on the cheek and exerting all her witchery upon him; but it was soon found that he brought an ultimatum from his king; and when henry began to bully him and abuse francis for deserting him, the bishop cowed him with a threat of immediate war. the compromise finally arrived at was that if the pope before the following easter (1534) would withdraw his sentence against henry, england would remain within the pale of the church. otherwise the measure drafted for presentation to parliament entirely throwing off the papal supremacy would be proceeded with. this was the parting of the ways, and the decision was left to clement vii. parliament opened on the 15th january, perhaps the most fateful assembly that ever met at westminster. the country, as we have seen, was indignant at the treatment of katharine and her daughter, but the instinct of loyalty to the king was strong, and there was no powerful centre around which revolt might crystallise. the clergy especially--even those who, like stokesley, fox, and gardiner, were henry's instruments--dreaded the great changes that portended; and an attempt to influence parliament by a declaration of the clergy in convocation against the king's first marriage, failed, notwithstanding the flagrant violence with which signatures were sought. with difficulty, even though the nobles known to favour katharine were not summoned, a bill granting a dowry to the queen as dowager princess of wales was passed; but the house of commons, trembling for the english property in the imperial dominions, threw it out. the prospect for a time looked black for the great ecclesiastical changes that were contemplated, and the hopes of katharine's friends rose again. the bishop of paris in the meanwhile had contrived to frighten clement and his cardinals, by his threatening talk of english schism and the universal spread of dissent, into an insincere and half-hearted acquiescence in a compromise that would submit the question of a divorce to a tribunal of two cardinals sitting at cambray to save appearances, and deciding in favour of henry. when the french ambassador castillon came to henry with this news (early in march 1534) the king had experienced the difficulty of bringing parliament and convocation to his views; and, again, if left to himself, he would probably have yielded. but anne and cromwell, and indeed cranmer, were now in the same boat; and any wavering on the part of the king would have meant ruin to them all. they did their best to stiffen henry, but he was nearly inclined to give way behind their backs; and after the french ambassador had left the council unsuccessful, henry had a long secret talk with him in the garden, in which he assured him that he would not have anything done hastily against the holy see. but whilst the rash and turbulent bishop of paris was hectoring clement at rome and sending unjustifiably encouraging messages to england, circumstances on both sides were working against the compromise which the french desired so much. cromwell and anne were panic-stricken at the idea of reopening the question of the marriage before any papal tribunal, and kept up henry's resentment against the pope. henry's pride also was wounded by a suggestion of the french that, as a return for clement's pliability, alexander de medici, duke of florence, might marry the princess mary. cromwell's diplomatic management of the parliamentary opposition and the consequent passage of the bill abolishing the remittance of peter's pence to rome, also encouraged henry to think that he might have his own way after all; and the chances of his making further concessions to the pope again diminished. a similar process was going on in rome. whilst clement was smilingly listening to talk of reconciliation for the sake of keeping england under his authority, he well knew that henry could only be moved by fear; and all the thunderbolts of the church were being secretly forged to launch upon the king of england. on the 23rd march 1534 the consistory of cardinals sat, the french cardinals being absent; and the final judgment on the validity of henry's marriage with katharine was given by the head of the church. the cause which had stirred europe for five years was settled beyond appeal so far as the roman church could settle it. katharine was henry's lawful wife, and anne boleyn was proclaimed by the church to be his concubine. almost on the very day that the gage was thus thrown down by the pope, henry had taken similar action on his own account. in the previous sitting of parliament the king had been practically acknowledged as head of the church in his own dominions; and now all appeals and payments to the pope were forbidden, and the bishops of england were entirely exempt from his spiritual jurisdiction and control. to complete the emancipation of the country from the papacy, on the 23rd march 1534 a bill (the act of succession) was read for the third time, confirming the legality of the marriage of henry and anne, and settling the succession to the crown upon their issue to the exclusion of the princess mary. cranmer's divorce decision was thus ratified by statute; and any person questioning in word or print the legitimacy of elizabeth's birth was adjudged guilty of high treason. every subject of the king, moreover, was to take oath to maintain this statute on pain of death. the consummation was reached: for good or for evil england was free from rome, and the fair woman for whose sake the momentous change had been wrought, sat planning schemes of vengeance against the two proud princesses, mother and daughter, who still refused to bow the neck to her whom they proclaimed the usurper of their rights. chapter vi 1534-1536 a fleeting triumph--political intrigue and the betrayal of anne in the previous pages we have witnessed the process by which a vain, arrogant man, naturally lustful and held by no moral or material restraint, had been drawn into a position which, when he took the first step that led to it, he could not have contemplated. in ordinary circumstances there would have been no insuperable difficulty in his obtaining a divorce, and he probably expected little. the divorce, however, in this case involved the question of a change in the national alliance and a shifting of the weight of england to the side of france; and the emperor by his power over the pope had been able to frustrate the design, not entirely on account of his family connection with katharine, but rather as a question of international policy. the dependent position of the pope had effectually stood in the way of the compromise always sought by france, and the resistance to his will had made henry the more determined to assert himself, with the natural result that the dispute had developed into religious schism. there is a school of historians which credits henry personally with the far-reaching design of shaking off the ecclesiastical control of rome in order to augment the national greatness; but there seems to me little evidence to support the view. when once the king had bearded the papacy, rather than retrace the steps he had taken and confess himself wrong, it was natural that many of his subjects who conscientiously leant towards greater freedom in religion than rome would allow, were prepared to carry the lesson further, as the german lutherans had done, but i can find no reason to believe that henry desired to initiate any change of system in the direction of freedom: his aim being, as he himself said, simply to make himself pope as well as king within his own realm. even that position, as we have seen in the aforegoing chapters, was only reached gradually under the incentive of opposition, and by the aid of stouter hearts and clearer brains than his own: and if henry could have had his way about the marriage, as he conceivably might have done on many occasions during the struggle by a very slight change in the circumstances, there would have been, so far as he personally was concerned, no reformation in england at the time. one of the most curious phases in the process here described is the deterioration notable in henry's character as the ecclesiastical and moral restraints that influenced him were gradually cast aside. we have seen him as a kind and courteous husband, not more immoral than other men of his age and station; a father whose love for his children was intense; and a cultured gentleman of a headstrong but not unlovable character. resistance to his will had touched his pride and hardened his heart, until at the period which we have now reached (1534) we see him capable of brutal and insulting treatment of his wife and elder daughter, of which any gentleman would be ashamed. on the other hand, the attitude of katharine and mary was exactly that best calculated to drive to fury a conceited, overbearing man, loving his supreme power as henry did. it was, of course, heroic and noble of the two ladies to stand upon their undoubted rights as they did; but if katharine by adopting a religious life had consented to a divorce, the decree of nullity would not have been pronounced; her own position would have been recognised, her daughter's legitimacy saved, and the separation from rome at least deferred, if not prevented. there was no such deterioration in anne's character as in that of henry; for it was bad from the first, and consistently remained so. her ambition was the noblest trait in her nature; and she served it with a petty personal malignity against those who seemed to stand in her way that goes far to deprive her of the pity that otherwise would go out to her in her own martyrdom at the hands of the fleshly tyrant whose evil nature she had been so greatly instrumental in developing. it was undoubtedly to anne's prompting that the ungenerous treatment of the princess mary was due, a treatment that aroused the indignation even of those to whom its execution was entrusted. henry was deeply attached to his daughter, but it touched his pride for her to refuse to submit without protest to his behest. when norfolk told him of the attitude of the princess on her being taken to hatfield to attend upon elizabeth, he decided to bring his parental authority to bear upon her personally, and decided to see her. but anne, "considering the easiness or rather levity of the king, and that the great beauty and goodness of the princess might overcome his displeasure with her, and, moved by her virtues and his fatherly pity for her, be induced to treat her better and restore her title to her, sent cromwell and other messengers posting after the king to prevent him, at any cost, from seeing or speaking to the princess."[114] when henry arrived at hatfield and saw his baby daughter elizabeth, the elder princess begged to be allowed to salute him. the request was not granted; but when the king mounted his horse in the courtyard mary stood upon a terrace above to see him. the king was informed of her presence, or saw her by chance; and, as she caught his eye, she threw herself upon her knees in an attitude of prayer, whereupon the father touched his bonnet, and bowed low and kindly to the daughter he was wronging so bitterly. he explained afterwards that he avoided speaking to her as she was so obstinate with him, "thanks to her spanish blood." when the french ambassador mentioned her kindly, during the conversation, he noted that henry's eyes filled with tears, and that he could not refrain from praising her.[115] but for anne's jealousy for her own offspring, it is probable that mary's legitimacy would have been established by act of parliament; as cromwell at this time was certainly in favour of it: but anne was ever on the watch, especially to arouse henry's anger by hinting that mary was looking to foreigners for counsel, as indeed she was. it was this latter element in which danger principally lurked. katharine naturally appealed to her kin for support; and all through her trouble it was this fact, joined with her firm refusal to acknowledge henry's supreme power, that steeled her husband's heart. but for the king's own daughter and undoubted born subject to act in the same way made her, what her mother never had been, a dangerous centre around which the disaffected elements might gather. the old nobility, as we have seen, were against anne: and henry quite understood the peril of having in his own family a person who commanded the sympathies of the strongest foreign powers in europe, as well as the most influential elements in england. he angrily told the marquis of exeter that it was only confidence in the emperor that made mary so obstinate; but that he was not afraid of the emperor, and would bring the girl to her senses: and he then went on to threaten exeter himself if he dared to communicate with her. the same course was soon afterwards taken with norfolk, who as well as his wife was forbidden to see the princess, although he certainly had shown no desire to extend much leniency to her. the treatment of katharine was even more atrocious, though in her case it was probably more the king's irritated pride than his fears that was the incentive. when the wretched elizabeth barton, the nun of kent, was prosecuted for her crazy prophecies against the king every possible effort was made to connect the unfortunate queen with her, though unsuccessfully, and the attempt to force katharine to take the oath prescribed by the new act of succession against herself and her daughter was obviously a piece of persecution and insult.[116] the commission sent to buckden to extort the new oath of allegiance to henry, and to anne as queen, consisted of dr. lee, the archbishop of york, dr. tunstall, bishop of durham; and the bishop of chester; and the scene as described by one of the spanish servants is most curious. when the demand was made that she should take the oath of allegiance to anne as queen, katharine with fine scorn replied, "hold thy peace, bishop: speak to me no more. these are the wiles of the devil. i am queen, and queen will i die: by right the king can have no other wife, and let this be your answer."[117] assembling her household, she addressed them, and told them they could not without sin swear allegiance to the king and anne in a form that would deny the supreme spiritual authority of the pope: and taking counsel with her spanish chamberlain, francisco felipe, they settled between them that the spaniards should answer interrogatories in spanish in such a way that by a slight mispronunciation their answer could be interpreted, "i acknowledge that the king has made himself head of the church" (_se ha hecho cabeza de la iglesia_), whereas the commissioners would take it as meaning "that the king be created head of the church" (_sea hecho cabeza de la iglesia_); and on the following morning the wily chamberlain and his countrymen saved appearances and their consciences at the same time by a pun. but when the formal oath of allegiance to anne was demanded, felipe, speaking for the rest, replied, "i have taken one oath of allegiance to my lady queen katharine. she still lives, and during her life i know no other queen in this realm." lee then threatened them with punishment for refusal, and a bold burgundian lackey, bastian,[118] burst out with, "let the king banish us, but let him not order us to be perjurers." the bishop in a rage told him to begone at once; and, nothing loath, bastian knelt at his mistress's feet and bade her farewell; taking horse at once to ride to the coast. katharine in tears remonstrated with lee for dismissing her servant without reference to her; and the bishop, now that his anger was calmed, sent messengers to fetch bastian back; which they did not do until he had reached london.[119] this fresh indignity aroused katharine's friends both in england and abroad. the emperor had already remonstrated with the english ambassador on the reported cruel treatment of the queen and her daughter, and henry now endeavoured to justify himself in a long letter (june 1534). as for the queen, he said, she was being treated "in everything to the best that can be devised, whom we do order and entertain as we think most expedient, and as to us seemeth prudent. and the like also of our daughter the lady mary: for we think it not meet that any person should prescribe unto us how we should order our own daughter, we being her natural father." he expressed himself greatly hurt that the emperor should think him capable of acting unkindly, notwithstanding that the lady katharine "hath very disobediently behaved herself towards us, as well in contemning and setting at naught our laws and statutes, as in many other ways." just lately, he continues, he had sent three bishops to exhort her, "in most loving fashion," to obey the law; and "she hath in most ungodly, obstinate, and inobedient wise, wilfully resisted, set at naught and contemned our laws and ordinances: so if we would administer to her any rigour or extremity she were undoubtedly within the extreme danger of our laws." the blast of persecution swept over the land. the oaths demanded by the new statutes were stubbornly resisted by many. fisher and more, as learned and noble as any men in the land, were sent to the tower (april 1534) to be entrapped and done to death a year later. throughout the country the commissioners with plenary powers were sent to administer the new oaths, and those citizens who cavilled at taking them were treated as traitors to the king. but all this did not satisfy anne whilst katharine and mary remained recalcitrant and unpunished for the same offence. henry was in dire fear, however, of some action of the emperor in enforcement of the papal excommunication against him and his kingdom, which according to the catholic law he had forfeited by the pope's ban. francis, willing as he was to oppose the emperor, dared not expose his own kingdom to excommunication by siding with henry, and the latter was statesman enough to see, as indeed was cromwell, that extreme measures against mary would turn all christendom against him, and probably prove the last unbearable infliction that would drive his own people to aid a foreign invasion. so, although anne sneered at the king's weakness, as she called it, and eagerly anticipated his projected visit to francis, during which she would remain regent in england, and be able to wreak her wicked will on the young princess, the king, held by political fear, and probably, too, by some fatherly regard, refused to be nagged by his wife into the murder of his daughter, and even relinquished the meeting with francis rather than leave england with anne in power. in the meanwhile katharine's health grew worse. henry told the french ambassador in january, soon after suffolk's attempt to administer the first oath to her, that "she was dropsical and could not live long": and his enemies were ready with the suggestion--which was probably unfounded--that she was being poisoned. she shut herself up in her own chamber, and refused to eat the food prepared by the new servants; what little food she took being cooked in her own room by her one maid. early in the summer (may) she was removed from buckden to kimbolton castle, within the miasmic influence of the fens, and there was no attempt to conceal the desire on the part of the king and those who had brought him to this pass that katharine should die, for by that means alone, it seemed, could foreign intervention and civil war be averted. katharine herself was, as we have seen, full of suspicion. in march chapuys reported that she had sent a man to london to procure some old wine for her, as she refused to drink the wine provided for her use. "they were trying," he said, "to give her artificial dropsy." two months later, just after the stormy scene when lee and tunstall had endeavoured to extort from the queen the oath to the new act of succession, chapuys in hot indignation suddenly appeared at richmond, where the king was, to protest against such treatment. henry was intensely annoyed and offended, and refused to see the ambassador. he was master, he said, in his own realm; and it was no good coming to him with such remonstrances. no wonder that chapuys concluded, "everybody fears some ill turn will be done to the queen, seeing the rudeness to which she is daily subjected, both in deeds and words; especially as the concubine has said that she will not cease till she has got rid of her; and as the prophecies say that one queen of england is to be burnt, she hopes it will be katharine."[120] early in june katharine urged strongly that chapuys should travel to kimbolton to see her, alleging the bad condition of her health as a reason. the king and cromwell believed that her true object in desiring an interview was to devise plans with her nephew's ambassador for obtaining the enforcement of the papal censure,[121] which would have meant the subversion of henry's power; and for weeks chapuys begged for permission to see her in vain. "ladies were not to be trusted," cromwell told him; whilst fresh commissioners were sent, one after the other, to extort, by force if necessary, the oath of katharine's lady attendants to the act of succession, much to the queen's distress.[122] at length, tired of waiting, the ambassador told cromwell that he was determined to start at once; which he did two days later, on the 16th july. with a train of sixty horsemen, his own household and spaniards resident in england, he rode through london towards the eastern counties, ostensibly on a religious pilgrimage to our lady of walsingham. riding through the leafy lanes of hertfordshire in the full summer tide, solaced by music, minstrelsy, and the quaint antics of chapuys' fool, the party were surprised on the second day of their journey to see gallop past them on the road stephen vaughan, one of the king's officers who spoke spanish; and later, when they had arrived within a few miles of kimbolton, they were met by the same man, accompanied this time by a humble servitor of katharine, bringing to the pilgrims wine and provisions in abundance, but also the ill news that the king had ordered that chapuys was to be forbidden access to the queen. the ambassador was exceedingly indignant. he did not wish to offend the king, he said, but, having come so far and being now in the immediate neighbourhood, he would not return unsuccessful without an effort to obtain a more authoritative decision. early the next morning one of katharine's old officers came to chapuys and repeated the prohibition, begging him not even to pass through the village, lest the king should take it ill. other messages passed, but all to the same effect. poor katharine herself sent secret word that she was as thankful for chapuys' journey as if it had been successful, and hinted that it would be a consolation to her if some of her countrymen could at least approach the castle. needless to say that the spaniards gathered beneath the walls of the castle and chatted gallantly across the moat to the ladies upon the terraces, and some indeed, including the jester, are asserted to have found their way inside the castle, where they were regaled heartily, and the fool played some of the usual tricks of his motley.[123] chapuys, in high dudgeon, returned by another road to london without attempting to complete his pilgrimage to walsingham, secretly spied upon as he was, the whole way, by the king's envoy, vaughan. "tell cromwell," he said to the latter, as he discovered himself on the outskirts of london, "that i should have judged it more honourable if the king and he had informed me of his intention before i left london, so that all the world should not have been acquainted with a proceeding which i refrain from characterising. but the queen," he continued, "nevertheless had cause to thank him (cromwell) since the rudeness shown to her would now be so patent that it could not well be denied." henry and cromwell had good reason to fear foreign machinations to their detriment. the emperor and francis were in ominous negotiations; for the king of france could not afford to break with the papacy, the rising of kildare in ireland was known to have the sympathy, if not the aid, of spain, and it was felt throughout christendom that the emperor must, sooner or later, give force to the papal sentence against england to avoid the utter loss of prestige which would follow if the ban of rome was after all seen to be utterly innocuous. a sympathetic english lord told chapuys secretly that cromwell had ridiculed the idea of the emperor's attacking england; for his subjects would not put up with the consequent loss of trade. but if he did, continued cromwell, "the death of katharine and mary would put an end to all the trouble." chapuys told his informant, for cromwell's behoof, that if any harm was done to either of the ladies the emperor would have the greater cause for quarrel. in the autumn mary fell seriously ill. she had been obliged to follow "the bastard," elizabeth, against her will, for ever intriguing cleverly to avoid humiliation to herself. but the long struggle against such odds broke down her health, and henry, who, in his heart of hearts, could hardly condemn his daughter's stubbornness, so like his own, softened to the extent of his sending his favourite physician, dr. butts, to visit her. a greater concession was to allow katharine's two medical men to attend the princess; and permission was given to katharine herself to see her, but under conditions which rendered the concession nugatory. the queen wrote a pathetic letter in spanish to cromwell, praying that mary might be permitted to come and stay with her. "it will half cure her," she urged. as a small boon, henry had consented that the sick girl should be sent to a house at no great distance from kimbolton. "alas!" urged katharine, "if it be only a mile away, i cannot visit her. i beseech that she be allowed to come to where i am. i will answer for her security with my life." but cromwell or his master was full of suspicion of imperial plots for the escape of mary to foreign soil, and katharine's maternal prayer remained unheard. the unhappy mother tried again soon afterwards to obtain access to her sick daughter by means of chapuys. she besought for charity's sake that the king would allow her to tend mary with her own hands. "you shall also tell his highness that there is no need for any other person but myself to nurse her: i will put her in my own bed where i sleep, and will watch her when needful." when chapuys saw the king with this pathetic message henry was less arrogant than usual. "he wished to do his best for his daughter's health; but he must be careful of his own honour and interests, which would be jeopardised if mary were conveyed abroad, or if she escaped, as she easily might do if she were with her mother; for he had some suspicion that the emperor had a design to get her away." henry threw all the blame for mary's obstinacy upon katharine, who he knew was in close and constant touch with his opponents: and the fear he expressed that the emperor and his friends in england would try to spirit mary across the sea to flanders, where, indeed, she might have been made a thorn in her father's side, were perfectly well founded, and these plans were at the time the gravest peril that threatened henry and england.[124] cruel, therefore, as his action towards his daughter may seem, it was really prompted by pressing considerations of his own safety. apart from this desire to keep mary away from foreign influence working against him through her mother, henry exhibited frequent signs of tenderness towards his elder daughter, much to anne's dismay. in may 1534, for instance, he sent her a gentle message to the effect that he hoped she would obey him, and that in such case her position would be preserved. but the girl was proud and, not unnaturally, resentful, and sent back a haughty answer to what she thought was an attempt to entrap her. to her foreign friends she said that she believed her father meant to poison her, but that she cared little. she was sure of going to heaven, and was only sorry for her mother. in the meanwhile anne's influence over the king was weakening. she saw the gathering clouds from all parts of christendom ready to launch their lightning upon her head, and ruin upon england for her sake; and her temper, never good, became intolerable. henry, having had his way, was now face to face with the threatening consequences, and could ill brook snappish petulance from the woman for whom he had brought himself to brave the world. as usual with weak men, he pitied himself sincerely, and looked around for comfort, finding none from anne. francis, eldest son of the church and most christian king, was far from being the genial ally he once had been, now that henry was excommunicate; the german protestant princes even stood apart and rejected henry's approaches for an alliance to the detriment of their own suzerain;[125] and, worst of all, the english lords of the north, hussey, dacre, and the rest of them, were in close conspiracy with the imperialists for an armed rising aided from abroad; which, if successful, would make short work of henry and his anti-papal policy.[126] in return for all this danger, the king could only look at the cross, discontented woman by his side, who apparently was as incapable of bearing him a son as katharine had been. for some months in the spring of 1534 anne had endeavoured to retain her hold upon him by saying that she was again with child, and during the royal progress in the midland counties in the summer henry was more attentive than he had been to the woman he still hoped might bear him a son, although her shrewish temper sorely tried him and all around her. at length, however, the truth had to be told, and henry's hopes fled, and his eyes again turned elsewhere for solace. anne knew that her position was unstable, and her husband's open flirtation with a lady of the court drove her to fury. presuming upon her former influence, she imperiously attempted to have her new rival removed from the proximity of the king. henry flared up at this, and let anne know, as brutally as language could put it, that the days of his complaisance with her were over, and that he regretted having done so much for her sake. who the king's new lady-love was is not certain. chapuys calls her "a very beautiful and adroit young lady, for whom his love is daily increasing, whilst the credit and insolence of the concubine (_i.e._ anne) decreases." that the new favourite was supported by the aristocratic party that opposed anne and the religious changes is evident from chapuys' remark that "there is some good hope that if this love of the king's continues the affairs of the queen (katharine) and the princess will prosper, for the young lady is greatly attached to them." anne and her family struggled to keep their footing, but when henry had once plucked up courage to shake off the trammels, he had all a weak man's violence and obstinacy in following his new course. one of princess mary's household came to tell chapuys in october that "the king had turned lady rochford (anne's sister-in-law) out of the court because she had conspired with the concubine by hook or by crook to get rid of the young lady." the rise of the new favourite immediately changed the attitude of the courtiers towards mary. "on wednesday before leaving the more she (mary) was visited by all the ladies and gentlemen, regardless of the annoyance of anne. the day before yesterday (october 22nd) the princess was at richmond with the brat (_garse, i.e._ elizabeth), and the lady (anne) came to see her daughter accompanied by the dukes of norfolk and suffolk and others, all of whom went and saluted the princess (mary) with some of the ladies; which was quite a new thing." the death of pope clement and the advent of cardinal farnese as paul iii., known to be not too well affected towards the emperor, seemed at this time to offer a chance of the reconciliation of england with the papacy: and the aristocratic party in henry's counsels hoped, now that the king had grown tired of his second wife, that they might influence him by a fresh appeal to his sensuality. france also took a hand in the game in its new aspect, the aim being to obtain the hand of mary for the dauphin, to whom, it will be recollected, she had been betrothed as a child, with the legitimisation of the princess and the return of henry to the fold of the church with a french alliance. this would, of course, have involved the repudiation of anne, with the probable final result of a french domination of england after the king's death. the admiral of france, chabot de brion, came to england late in the autumn to forward some such arrangement as that described, and incidentally to keep alive henry's distrust of the emperor, whilst threatening him that the dauphin would marry a spanish princess if the king of england held aloof. but, though anne's influence over her husband was gone, cromwell, the strong spirit, was still by his side; and reconciliation with the papacy in any form would have meant ruin to him and the growing interests that he represented. even if henry had now been inclined to yield to the papacy, of which there is no evidence, cromwell had gone too far to recede; and when parliament met in november the act of supremacy was passed, giving the force of statute law to the independence of the church of england. chabot de brion's mission was therefore doomed to failure from the first, and the envoy took no pains to conceal his resentment towards anne, the origin of all the trouble that dislocated the european balance of power. there was much hollow feasting and insincere professions of friendship between the two kings, but it was clear now to the frenchmen that, with anne or without her, henry would bow his neck no more to the papacy; and it was to the princess mary that the catholic elements looked for a future restoration of the old state of things. a grand ball was given at court in chabot's honour the day before he left london, and the dignified french envoy sat in a seat of state by the side of anne, looking at the dancing. suddenly, without apparent reason, she burst into a violent fit of laughter. the admiral of france, already in no very amiable mood, frowned angrily, and, turning to her, said, "are you laughing at me, madam, or what?" after she had laughed to her heart's content, she excused herself to him by saying that she was laughing because the king had told her that he was going to fetch the admiral's secretary to be introduced to her, and on the way the king had met a lady who had made him forget everything else. though henry would not submit to the papacy at the charming of francis, he was loath to forego the french alliance, and proposed a marriage between the younger french prince, the duke of angoulême, and elizabeth; and this was under discussion during the early months of 1535. but it is clear that, although the daughter of the second marriage was to be held legitimate, anne was to gain no accession of strength by the new alliance, for the french flouted her almost openly, and henry was already contemplating a divorce from her. we are told by chapuys that he only desisted from the idea when a councillor told him that "if he separated from 'the concubine' he would have to recognise the validity of his first marriage, and, worst of all, submit to the pope."[127] who the councillor was that gave this advice is not stated; but we may fairly assume that it was cromwell, who soon found a shorter, and, for him, a safer way of ridding his master of a wife who had tired him and could bear him no son. a french alliance, with a possible reconciliation with rome in some form, would not have suited cromwell; for it would have meant a triumph for the aristocratic party at henry's court, and the overthrow of the men who had led henry to defy the papacy. if the aristocratic party could influence henry by means of the nameless "new young lady," the boleyns and reformers could fight with the same weapons, and early in february 1535 we find chapuys writing, "the young lady formerly in this king's good graces is so no longer, and has been succeeded by a cousin-german of the concubine, the daughter of the present governess of the princess."[128] this new mistress, whilst her little reign lasted, worked well for anne and cromwell, but in the meantime the conspiracy amongst the nobles grew and strengthened. throughout the upper classes in the country a feeling of deep resentment was felt at the treatment of mary, and there was hardly a nobleman, except anne's father and brother, who was not pledged to take up arms in her cause and against the religious changes.[129] cromwell's answer to the disaffection, of which he was quite cognisant, was the closer keeping than ever of the royal ladies, with threats of their death if they were the cause of a revolt, and the stern enforcement of the oath prescribed by the act of supremacy. the martyrdom of the london carthusians for refusing to take the oath of supremacy, and shortly afterwards the sacrifice of the venerable bishop fisher, sir thomas more and katharine's priest abel, and the renewed severity towards her favourite confessor, friar forest,[130] soon also to be martyred with atrocious cruelty, shocked and horrified england, and aroused the strongest reprobation in france and rome, as well as in the dominions of the emperor; destroying for a time all hope of a french alliance, and any lingering chance of a reconciliation with rome during henry's life. all catholic aspirations both at home and abroad centred for the next year or so in the princess mary, and her father's friendship was shunned even by francis, except upon impossible conditions. henry's throne, indeed, was tottering. his country was riddled with disaffection and dislike of his proceedings. the new pope had forged the final thunderbolt of rome, enjoining all christian potentates to execute the sentence of the church, though as yet the fiat was held back at the instance of the emperor. the dread of war and the general unrest arising from this state of things had well-nigh destroyed the english oversea trade; the harvest was a bad one, and food was dear. ecclesiastics throughout the country were whispering to their flocks curses of nan bullen, for whose sake the church of christ was being split in twain and its ministers persecuted.[131] anne, it is true, was now quite a secondary personage as a political factor, but upon her unpopular head was heaped the blame for everything. the wretched woman, fully conscious that she was the general scapegoat, could only pray for a son, whose advent might save her at the eleventh hour; for failing him she knew that she was doomed. in the meanwhile the struggle was breaking katharine's heart. for seven years she had fought as hard against her fate as an outraged woman could. she had seen that her rights, her happiness, were only a small stake in the great game of european politics. to her it seemed but righteous that her nephew the emperor should, at any cost, rise in indignant wrath and avenge the insult put upon his proud line, and upon the papacy whose earthly champion he was, by crushing the forces that had wrought the wrong. but charles was held back by all sorts of considerations arising from his political position. francis was for ever on the look-out for a weak spot in the imperial armour; the german protestant princes, although quite out of sympathy with henry's matrimonial vagaries, would look askance at a crusade to enforce the pope's executorial decree against england, the french and moderate influence in the college of cardinals was strong, and charles could not afford by too aggressive an action against henry to drive francis and the cardinals into closer union against imperial aims, especially in the mediterranean and italy, where, owing to the vacancy in the duchy of milan, they now mainly centred. so katharine clamoured in vain to those whose sacred duty she thought it was to vindicate her honour and the faith. both she, and her daughter at her instigation, wrote burning letters to the pope and the imperial agents, urging, beseeching, exhorting the catholic powers to activity against their oppressor. henry and cromwell knew all this, and recognising the dire danger that sooner or later katharine's prayer to a united christendom might launch upon england an avalanche of ruin, strove as best they might to avert such a catastrophe. every courier who went to the emperor from england carried alarmist rumours that katharine and mary were to be put out of the way; and the ladies, in a true spirit of martyrdom, awaited without flinching the hour of their sacrifice. cromwell himself darkly hinted that the only way out of the maze of difficulty and peril was the death of katharine; and in this he was apparently right. but at this distance of time it seems evident that much of the threatening talk, both of the king's friends and those of the catholic church in england, was intended, on the one hand to drive katharine and her daughter into submission, and prevent them from continuing their appeals for foreign aid, and on the other to move the emperor to action against henry. so, in the welter of political interests, katharine wept and raged fruitlessly. the papal decree directing the execution of the deprivation of henry, though signed by the pope, was still held back; for charles could not afford to invade england himself, and was determined to give no excuse for francis to do so. though there is no known ground for the then prevailing belief that henry was aiding nature in hastening the death of his first wife, the long unequal combat against invincible circumstances was doing its work upon a constitution never robust; and by the late autumn of 1535 the stout-hearted daughter of isabel the catholic was known to be sick beyond surgery. in december 1535 chapuys had business with cromwell, and during the course of their conversation the latter told him that he had just sent a messenger to inform the king of katharine's serious illness. this was the first that chapuys had heard of it, and he at once requested leave to go and see her, to which cromwell replied that he might send a servant to inquire as to her condition, but that the king must be consulted before he (chapuys) himself could be allowed to see her. as chapuys was leaving whitehall a letter was brought to him from katharine's physician, saying that the queen's illness was not serious, and would pass off; so that unless later unfavourable news was sent chapuys need not press for leave to see her. two days afterwards a letter reached him from katharine herself, enclosing one to the emperor. she wrote in the deepest depression, praying again, and for the hundredth time, in words that, as chapuys says, "would move a stone to compassion," that prompt action should be taken on behalf of herself and her daughter before the parliament could do them to death and consummate the apostasy of england. it was her last heart-broken cry for help, and like all those that had preceded it during the seven bitter years of katharine's penance, it was unheard amidst the din of great national interests that was ringing through europe. it was during the feast of christmas 1535, which henry passed at eltham, that news came to chapuys from dr. de la sá that katharine had relapsed and was in grave peril. the ambassador was to see the king on other business in a day or two, in any case, but this news caused him to beg cromwell to obtain for him instant leave to go to the queen. there would be no difficulty about it, the secretary replied, but chapuys must see the king first at greenwich, whither he would go to meet him. the ambassador found henry in the tiltyard all amiability. with a good deal of overdone cordiality, the king walked up and down the lists arm in arm with chapuys, the while he reverted to the proposal of a new friendship and alliance with the emperor.[132] the french, he said, were up to their old pranks, especially since the duke of milan had died, but he should at last be forced into an intimate alliance with them, unless the emperor would let bygones be bygones, and make friends with him. chapuys was cool and non-committal. he feared, he said, that it was only a device to make the french jealous, and after much word-bandying between them, the ambassador flatly asked henry what he wanted the emperor to do. "i want him," replied the king, "not only to cease to support madam katharine and my daughter, but also to get the papal sentence in madam's favour revoked." to this chapuys replied that he saw no good reason for doing either, and had no authority to discuss the point raised; and, as a parting shot, henry told him that katharine could not live long, and when she died the emperor would have no need to follow the matter up. when chapuys had taken his leave, the duke of suffolk came after him and brought him back to the king, who told him that news had just reached him that katharine was dying--chapuys might go and see her, but he would hardly find her alive; her death, moreover, would do away with all cause for dissension between the emperor and himself. a request that the princess mary might be allowed to see her dying mother was at first met with a flat refusal, and after chapuys' remonstrance by a temporising evasion which was as bad, so that mary saw her mother no more in life. chapuys instantly took horse and sped to london, and then northward to kimbolton, anxious to reach the queen before she breathed her last, for he was told that for days the patient had eaten and drank nothing, and slept hardly at all. it took chapuys two days of hard travel over the miry roads before he reached kimbolton on the morning of the 2nd january 1536.[133] he found that the queen's dearest friend, lady willoughby (doña maria de sarmiento), had preceded him by a day and was with her mistress. she had prayed in vain for license to come before, and even now katharine's stern guardian, bedingfield, asked in vain to see lady willoughby's permit, which she probably had not got. she had come in great agitation and fear, for, according to her own account, she had fallen from her horse, and had suffered other adventures on her way, but she braved everything to receive the last sigh of the queen, whose girlhood's friend she had been. bedingfield looked askance at the arrival of "these folks"; and at chapuys' first interview with katharine he, the chamberlain, and vaughan who understood spanish, were present, and listened to all that was said. it was a consolation, said the queen, that if she could not recover she might die in the presence of her nephew's ambassador and not unprepared. he tried to cheer her with encouraging promises that the king would let her be removed to another house, and would accede to other requests made in her favour; but katharine only smiled sadly, and bade him rest after his long journey. she saw the ambassador again alone later in the day, and spoke at length with him, as she did on each day of the four that he stayed, her principal discourse being of the misfortune that had overtaken england by reason of the long delay of the emperor in enforcing justice to her.[134] after four days' stay of chapuys, katharine seemed better, and the apothecary, de la sá, gave it as his opinion that she was out of immediate danger. she even laughed a little at the antics of chapuys' fool, who was called in to amuse her; and, reassured by the apparent improvement, the ambassador started on his leisurely return to london.[135] on the second day after his departure, soon after midnight, the queen asked if it was near day, and repeated the question several times at short intervals afterwards. when at length the watchers asked her the reason for her impatience for the dawn, she replied that it was because she wished to hear mass and receive the holy sacrament. the aged dominican bishop of llandaff (jorge de ateca) volunteered to celebrate at four o'clock in the morning, but katharine refused, and quoted the latin authorities to prove that it should not be done before dawn. with the first struggling of the grey light of morning the offices of the church for the dying were solemnly performed, whilst katharine prayed fervently for herself, for england, and for the man who had so cruelly wronged her. when all was done but the administration of extreme unction, she bade her physician write a short memorandum of a few gifts she craved for her faithful servants; for she knew, and said, that by the law of england a married woman could make no valid will. the testament is in the form of a supplication to henry, and is remarkable as the dictation of a woman within a few hours of her death. each of her servants is remembered: a hundred pounds to her principal spanish lady, blanche de vargas, "twenty pounds to mistress darrel for her marriage"; his wages and forty pounds were to be paid to francisco felipe, the groom of the chambers, twenty pounds to each of the three lackeys, including the burgundian bastian, and like bequests, one by one, to each of the little household. not even the sum she owed for a gown was forgotten. for her daughter she craved her furs and the gold chain and cross she had brought from spain, all that was left of her treasures after anne's greed had been satisfied;[136] and for the convent of observant franciscans, where she begged for sepulture, "my gowns which he (the king) holdeth." it is a sad little document, compliance with which was for the most part meanly evaded by henry; even francisco felipe "getting nothing and returning poor to his own country." thus, dignified and saintly, at the second hour after midday on the 8th january 1536, katharine of aragon died unconquered as she had lived; a great lady to the last, sacrificed in death, as she had been in life, to the opportunism of high politics. "_in manus tuas domine commendo spiritum meum_," she murmured with her last breath. from man she had received no mercy, and she turned to a gentler judge with confidence and hope. as usual in such cases as hers, the people about her whispered of poison; and when the body was hastily cered and lapped in lead, "by the candlemaker of the house, a servant and one companion," not even the queen's physician was allowed to be present. but the despised "candlemaker," who really seems to have been a skilled embalmer, secretly told the bishop of llandaff, who waited at the door, that all the body was sound "except the heart, which was black and hideous," with a black excrescence "which clung closely to the outside"; on which report dr. de la sá unhesitatingly opined that his mistress had died of poison.[137] the news, the joyous news, sped quickly to greenwich; and within four-and-twenty hours, on saturday, 9th january, henry heard with exultation that the incubus was raised from his shoulders. "god be praised," was his first exclamation, "we are free from all suspicion of war." now, he continued, he would be able to manage the french better. they would be obliged to dance to his tune, for fear he should join the emperor, which would be easy now that the cause for disagreement had gone. thus, heartlessly, and haggling meanly over his wife's little bequests, even that to her daughter, henry greeted the death of the woman he once had seemed to love. he snivelled a little when he read the affecting letter to him that she had dictated in her last hour;[138] but the word went forth that on the next day, sunday, the court should be at its gayest; and henry and anne, in gala garb of yellow finery, went to mass with their child in full state to the sound of trumpets. after dinner the king could not restrain his joy even within the bounds of decency. entering the hall in which the ladies were dancing, he pirouetted about in the exuberance of his heart, and then, calling for his fair little daughter elizabeth, he proudly carried her in his arms from one courtier to another to be petted and praised. there was only one drop of gall in the cup for the boleyns, and they made no secret of it, namely, that the princess mary had not gone to accompany her mother. if anne had only known it, her last chance of keeping at the king's side as his wife was the survival of katharine; and lamentation instead of rejoicing should have been her greeting of the news of her rival's death. henry, in fact, was tired of anne already, and the cabal of nobles against her and the religious system she represented was stronger than ever; but the repudiation of his second wife on any excuse during the life of the first would have necessitated the return of katharine as the king's lawful spouse, with all the consequences that such a change would entail, and this henry's pride, as well as his inclinations, would never permit. now that katharine was dead, anne was doomed to speedy ruin by one instrumentality or another, and before many weeks the cruel truth came home to her. katharine was buried not in such a convent as she had wished, for henry said there was not one in england, but in peterborough cathedral, within fifteen miles of kimbolton. the honours paid to her corpse were those of a dowager princess of wales, but the country folk who bordered the miry tracks through which the procession ploughed paid to the dead katharine in her funeral litter the honours they had paid her in her life. parliament, far away in london, might order them to swear allegiance to nan bullen as queen, and to her daughter as heiress of england; king harry on his throne might threaten them, as he did, with stake and gibbet if they dared to disobey; but, though they bowed the head and mumbled such oaths as were dictated to them, katharine to them had always been queen consort of england, and mary her daughter was no bastard, but true princess of wales, whatever king and parliament might say. all people and all interests were, as if instinctively, shrinking away from anne.[139] her uncle norfolk had quarrelled with her and retired from court; the french were now almost as inimical as the imperialists; and even the time-serving courtiers turned from the waning favourite. she was no longer young, and her ill temper and many anxieties had marred her good looks. her gaiety and lightness of manner had to a great extent fled; and sedate occupations, reading, needlework, charity, and devotion occupied most of her time. "oh for a son!" was all the unhappy woman could sigh in her misery; for that, she knew, was the only thing that could save her, now that katharine was dead and anne might be repudiated by her husband without the need for taking back his first discarded wife.[140] hope existed again that the prayed-for son might come into the world, and at the first prospect of it anne made an attempt to utilise the influence it gave her by cajoling or crushing mary into submission to the king's will. the girl was desolate at her mother's death; but she had her mother's proud spirit, and her answers to anne's approaches were as cold and haughty as before. "the concubine (writes chapuys, 21st january 1536) has thrown out the first bait to the princess, telling her by her aunt (lady shelton) that if she will discontinue her obstinacy, and obey her father like a good girl, she (anne) will be the best friend in the world to her, and like another mother will try to obtain for her all she wants. if she will come to court she shall be exempt from carrying her (anne's) train and shall always walk by her side." but obedience meant that mary should recognise cranmer's sentence against her mother, the repudiation of the papal authority and her own illegitimacy, and she refused the olive branch held out to her. then anne changed her tone, and wrote to her aunt a letter to be put into mary's way, threatening the princess. in her former approaches, she said, she had only desired to save mary out of charity. it was no affair of hers: she did not care; but when she had the son she expected the king would show no mercy to his rebellious daughter. but mary remained unmoved. she knew that all catholic europe looked upon her now as the sole heiress of england, and that the emperor was busy planning her escape, in order that she might, from the safe refuge of his dominions, be used as the main instrument for the submission of england to the papacy and the destruction of henry's rule. for things had turned out somewhat differently in this respect from what the king had expected. the death of katharine, very far from making the armed intervention of charles in england more improbable, had brought it sensibly nearer, for the great war-storm that had long been looming between the french and spaniards in italy was now about to burst. francis could no longer afford to alienate the papacy by even pretending to a friendship with the excommunicated henry, whilst england might be paralysed, and all chance of a diversion against imperial arms in favour of france averted, by the slight aid and subsidy by the emperor of a catholic rising in england against henry and anne. on the 29th january 1536 anne's last hope was crushed. in the fourth month of her pregnancy she had a miscarriage, which she attributed passionately to her love for the king and her pain at seeing him flirting with another woman. henry showed his rage and disappointment brutally, as was now his wont. he had hardly spoken to anne for weeks before; and when he visited her at her bedside he said that it was quite evident that god meant to deny him heirs male by her. "when you get up," he growled in answer to the poor woman's complaints, as he left her, "i will talk to you." the lady of whom anne was jealous was probably the same that had attracted the king at the ball given to the admiral of france two months previously, and had made him, as anne hysterically complained, "forget everything else." this lady was mistress jane seymour, a daughter of sir john seymour of wolf hall, wilts. she was at the time just over twenty-five years of age, and had been at court for some time as a maid of honour to katharine, and afterwards to anne. during the king's progress in the autumn of 1535, he had visited wolf hall, where the daughter of the house had attracted his admiring attention, apparently for the first time. jane is described as possessing no great beauty, being somewhat colourless as to complexion; but her demeanour was sweet and gracious; and the king's admiration for her at once marked her out as a fit instrument for the conservative party of nobles at court to use against anne and the political and religious policy which she represented. apparently jane had no ability, and none was needed in the circumstances. chapuys, moreover, suggests with unnecessary spite that in morals she was no better than she should have been, on the unconvincing grounds that "being an englishwoman, and having been so long at court, whether she would not hold it a sin to be still a maid." her supposed unchastity, indeed, is represented as being an attraction to henry: "for he may marry her on condition that she is a maid, and when he wants a divorce there will be plenty of witnesses ready to testify that she was not." this, however, is mere detraction by a man who firmly believed that the cruelly wronged katharine whose cause he served had just been murdered by henry's orders. that jane had no strength of character is plain, and throughout her short reign she was merely an instrument by which politicians sought to turn the king's passion for her to their own ends. the seymours were a family of good descent, allied with some of the great historic houses, and jane's two brothers, edward and thomas, were already handsome and notable figures at henry's court: the elder, sir edward seymour, especially, having accompanied the showy visits of the duke of suffolk, cardinal wolsey, and the king himself to france. so far as can be ascertained, however, the brothers, prompt as they were to profit by their sister's elevation, were no parties to the political intrigue of which jane was probably the unconscious tool. she was carefully indoctrinated by anne's enemies, especially sir nicholas carew, how she was to behave. she must, above all, profess great devotion and friendship to the princess mary, to assume a mien of rigid virtue and high principles which would be likely to pique a sensual man like henry without gratifying his passion except by marriage. many of the enemies of the french connection, which included the great majority of the nation, looked with hope towards the king's new infatuation as a means of luring back england to the comity of catholic nations and friendship with the emperor; though there was still a section, especially in the north of england, which believed that their best interests would be served by an open rebellion in the interests of mary, supported from flanders by her cousin the emperor. all this was, of course, well known to cromwell. he had been one of the first to counsel defiance of the pope, but throughout he had been anxious to avoid an open quarrel with the emperor, or to pledge england too closely to french interests; and now that even the french had turned against anne, cromwell saw that, unless he himself was to be dragged down when she fell, he must put the break hard down upon the religious policy that he had initiated, and make common cause with anne's enemies. in a secret conference that he held with chapuys at the austin friars, which in future was to be his own mansion, cromwell proposed a new alliance between england and the emperor, which would necessarily have to be accompanied by some compromise with the pope and the recognition of mary's legitimacy.[141] he assured the imperial ambassador that norfolk, suffolk, and the rest of the nobles formerly attached to france were of the same opinion as himself, and tried earnestly to convince his interlocutor that he had no sympathy with anne, whom he was ready to throw overboard to save himself. when charles received this news from his ambassador, he took a somewhat tortuous but characteristic course. he was willing to a great extent to let bygones be bygones, and to forget the sufferings, and perhaps the murder, of his aunt katharine, if henry would come to terms with the papacy and legitimise the princess mary; but, curiously enough, he preferred that anne should remain at henry's side, instead of being repudiated. her marriage, he reasoned, was obviously invalid, and any children she might have by henry would consequently be unable to interfere with mary's rights to the succession: whereas if henry were to divorce anne and contract a legal marriage, any son born to him would disinherit mary. to this extent was charles ready to descend if he could obtain english help and money in the coming war; and cromwell, at all events, was anxious to go quite as far to meet him. he now showed ostentatious respect to the princess mary, restoring to her the little gold cross that had been her mother's, and of which she had been cruelly deprived, condemned openly the continued execution of his own policy of spoliation of the monasteries, and quarrelled both with anne and the only man now in the same boat with her, archbishop cranmer, who trembled in his shoes at the ruin he saw impending upon his patroness, ready at any moment to turn his coat, but ignorant of how to do it; for cranmer, however able a casuist he might be, possessed little statesmanship and less courage. lady exeter was the go-between who brought the imperial ambassador into the conspiracy to oust anne. the time was seen to be ripening. henry was already talking in secret about "his having been seduced into the marriage with anne by sorcery, and consequently that he considered it to be null, which was clearly seen by god's denying a son. he thought he should be quite justified in taking another wife,"[142] and jane seymour's company seemed daily more necessary to his comfort. sir edward seymour was made a gentleman of the privy chamber early in march; and a fortnight later the marchioness of exeter reported to her friend chapuys that the king, who was at whitehall, had sent a loving letter, and a purse of gold, to his new lady-love.[143] the latter had been carefully schooled as to the wise course to pursue, and played prudery to perfection. she kissed the royal letter fervently without opening it; and then, throwing herself upon her knees, besought the messenger to pray the king in her name to consider that she was a gentlewoman of fair and honourable lineage and without reproach. "she had nothing in the world but her honour, which for a thousand deaths she would not wound. if the king deigned to make her a present of money she prayed that it might be when she made an honourable marriage."[144] according to lady exeter's report, this answer inflamed even more the king's love for jane. "she had behaved herself in the matter very modestly," he said; "and in order to let it be seen that his intentions and affection were honourable, he intended in future only to speak to her in the presence of some of her relatives." cromwell, moreover, was turned out of a convenient apartment to which secret access could be obtained from the king's quarters, in order that sir edward seymour, now viscount beauchamp, and his wife should be lodged there, and facility thus given for the king's virtuous billing and cooing with jane, whilst saving the proprieties. when it was too late, even anne attempted to desert her own political party and to rally to the side of the emperor, whether because she understood the indulgent way in which the latter now regarded her union with henry, or whether from mere desperation at the ruin impending, it is not easy to say. but the conspiracy for her destruction had already gone too far when the emperor's diplomatic instructions came to his ambassador.[145] it was understood now at court that the king intended somehow to get rid of his doubtful wife and marry another woman, and cromwell, with a hypocritical smile behind his hand, whispered to chapuys that though the king might divorce anne he would live more virtuously in future. when the imperial ambassador with his master's friendly replies to henry's advances saw the king at greenwich on the 18th april 1536 the court was all smiles for him, and anne desperately clutched at the chance of making friends with him. chapuys was cool, and declined to go and salute her, as he was invited to do. he was ready, as he said, to hold a candle to the devil, or a hundred of them, if his master's interests would thereby be served; but he knew that anne was doomed, and notwithstanding his master's permission he made no attempt to conciliate her. all the courtiers were watching to see how he would treat her on this the first occasion that they had met since katharine's death. as anne passed into the chapel to high mass she looked eagerly around to greet her enemy. where was he? in the chapel, she knew, and to sit close by her side; but he was nowhere to be seen. he was, in fact, standing behind the open door by which she entered; but, determined not to be balked, she turned completely round and made him a profound courtesy, which, as he was bound to do, he returned. in anne's rooms afterwards, where the king and the other ambassadors dined, chapuys was not present, much to the "concubine's" chagrin; but the princess mary and her friends in the conspiracy were suspicious and jealous even of the bow that had been exchanged under such adverse circumstances in the chapel. anne at dinner coarsely abused the king of france, and strove her utmost to lead people to think that she, too, was hand in glove with the imperialists, as her enemies were, whilst henry was graciousness itself to chapuys, until he came to close quarters and heard that the emperor was determined to drive a hard bargain, and force his english uncle to eat a large piece of humble pie before he could be taken to his bosom again. then henry hectored and vaunted like the bully that he was, and upon cromwell fell his ill humour, for having, as henry thought, been too pliant with the imperialists; and for the next week cromwell was ill and in disgrace. submission to the pope to the extent that charles demanded was almost impossible now, both in consequence of henry's own vanity, and because the vast revenues and estates of the monasteries had in many cases replenished the king's exchequer, or had endowed his nobles and favourites, catholics though many of them were. a surrender of these estates and revenues would have been resisted, even if such had been possible, to the death, by those who had profited by the spoliation; and unless the pope and the emperor were willing to forget much, the hope of reconciling england with the church was an impossible dream.[146] the great nobles who had battened upon the spoils, especially norfolk, themselves took fright at the emperor's uncompromising demands, and tried to play off france against charles, during cromwell's short disgrace. the secretary saw that if the friends of france once more obtained the control over henry's fickle mind, the revolutionary section of the catholic party in favour of mary and the imperial connection would carry all before them, and that in the flood of change cromwell and all his works would certainly be swept away. if anne could be got rid of, and the king married to mistress seymour, jointly with the adoption of a moderate policy of compromise with rome and the emperor, all might be well, and cromwell might retain the helm, but either an uncompromising persistence in the open protestant defiance with probably a french alliance against the emperor, or, on the other hand, an armed catholic revolution in england, subsidised from flanders, would have been inevitable ruin to cromwell. anne, then, must be destroyed at any cost, and the king be won to the side of the man who would devise a means of doing it. but how? a repudiation or formal divorce on the ground of invalidity would, of course, have been easy; but it would have been too scandalous. it would also have convicted the king of levity, and above all have bastardised his second daughter, leaving him with no child that the law of the realm regarded as legitimate. henry himself, as we have seen, talked about his having been drawn into the marriage by sorcery, and ardently desired to get rid of his wife. his intercourse with jane seymour, who was being cleverly coached by anne's enemies and mary's friends, plainly indicated that marriage was intended; but it was the intriguing brain of cromwell that devised the only satisfactory way in which the king's caprice and his own interests could be served in the treatment of anne. appearances must, at any cost, be saved for henry. he must not appear to blame, whatever happened. cromwell must be able, for his own safety, to drag down anne's family and friends at the same time that she was ruined, and the affair must be so managed that some sort of reconciliation could be patched up with the emperor, whilst norfolk and the french adherents were thrust into the background. cromwell pondered well on the problem as he lay in bed, sick with annoyance at henry's rough answer to the emperor's terms, and thus he hit upon the scheme that alone would serve the aims he had in view.[147] the idea gave him health and boldness again, and just as henry under norfolk's influence was smiling upon the french ambassador, cromwell appeared once more before his master after his five days' absence. what passed at their interview can only be guessed by the light of the events that followed. it is quite possible that cromwell did not tell the king of his designs against anne, but only that he had discovered a practice of treason against him. but whether the actual words were pronounced or not, henry must have understood, before he signed and gave to cromwell the secret instrument demanded of him, that evil was intended to the woman of whom he had grown tired. it was a patent dated the 24th april, appointing the lord chancellor audley and a number of nobles, including the duke of norfolk and anne's father, the earl of wiltshire, together with the judges, a commission to inquire into any intended treasonable action, no matter by whom committed, and to hold a special court to try the persons accused. with this instrument in his pocket, cromwell held at will the lives of those whom he sought to destroy. anne, as we have seen, had loved and courted the admiration of men, even as her daughter elizabeth afterwards did to an extent that bordered upon mania. her manners were free and somewhat hysterical, and her reputation before marriage had been more than doubtful, but the stern act of succession, which in 1534 made it treason to question the legitimacy of anne's daughter, barred all accusation against her except in respect to actions after elizabeth's birth. cromwell was well served by spies, even in anne's chamber; for her star was visibly paling, and people feared her vengeance little; and not many days passed before the secretary had in his hand testimony enough to strike his first blow. it was little enough according to our present notions of evidence, and at another time would have passed unnoticed. a young fellow of humble origin, named mark smeaton, had by anne's influence been appointed one of henry's grooms of the chamber in consequence of his skill as a lute player. anne herself, who was a fine musician and composer, delighted in listening to mark's performances; and doubtless, as was her wont, she challenged his admiration because he was a man. a contemporary who repeated the tattle of the court[148] says that she had fallen in love with the lute player, and had told him so; and that she had aroused the jealousy of her rival admirers, norreys, brereton, and others, by her lavish gifts and open favour to mark smeaton. according to this story, she endeavoured to appease the former by renewed flirting with them, and to silence mark's discontent by large gifts of money. others of her courtiers, especially sir thomas percy, indignant that an upstart like mark should be treated better than themselves, insulted and picked quarrels with the musician; and it is evident that anne, at the very time that cromwell was spreading his nets for her, was hard put to it to keep the peace between a number of idle, jealous young men whose admiration she had sought for pastime. on the 29th april, mark smeaton was standing sulkily in the deep embrasure of a window in anne's chamber in the palace of greenwich. the queen asked him why he was so out of humour. he replied that it was nothing that mattered. she evidently knew the real reason for his gloom, for she reminded him that he could not expect her to speak to him as if he were a nobleman. "no, no!" said mark, "a look sufficeth for me, and so fare you well."[149] sir thomas percy seems to have heard this little speech, and have conveyed it, with many hints of mark's sudden prosperity, to cromwell. "it is hardly three months since mark came to court, and though he has only a hundred pounds a year from the king, and has received no more than a third, he has just bought three horses that have cost him 500 ducats, as well as very rich arms and fine liveries for his servants for the may-day ridings, such as no gentleman at court has been able to buy, and many are wondering where he gets the money."[150] mark smeaton was a safe quarry, for he had no influential friends, and it suited cromwell's turn to begin with him to build up his case against anne. there was to be a may-day jousting in the tilt-yard at greenwich, at which anne's brother, lord rochford, was the challenger, and sir henry norreys was the principal defender. early in the morning of the day, cromwell, who of course took no part in such shows, went to london, and asked smeaton to accompany him and dine,[151] returning in the afternoon to greenwich in time for the ridings. mark accepted the invitation, and was taken ostensibly for dinner to a house at stepney, that probably being a convenient half-way place between greenwich and westminster by water. no sooner had the unsuspecting youth entered the chamber than he saw the trap into which he had fallen. six armed men closed around him, and cromwell's face grew grave, as the secretary warned the terrified lad to confess where he obtained so much money. smeaton prevaricated, and "then two stout young fellows were called, and the secretary asked for a rope and a cudgel. the rope, which was filled with knots, was put around mark's head and twisted with the cudgel until mark cried, 'sir secretary, no more! i will tell the truth. the queen gave me the money.'"[152] then, bit by bit, by threats of torture, some sort of confession incriminating anne was wrung out of the poor wretch: though exactly what he confessed is not on record. later, when the affair was made public, the quidnuncs of london could tell the most private details of his adultery with the queen;[153] for cromwell took care that such gossip should be well circulated. whatever confession was extorted from smeaton, it implicated not only himself but the various gentlemen who shared with him the queen's smiles, and was quite sufficient for cromwell's purpose. hurrying the unfortunate musician to the tower in the strictest secrecy, cromwell sent his nephew richard post haste to greenwich with a letter divulging smeaton's story to the king. richard cromwell arrived at the tiltyard as the tournament was in progress, the king and anne witnessing the bouts from a glazed gallery. several versions of what then happened are given; but the most probable is that as soon as henry had glanced at the contents of the letter and knew that cromwell had succeeded, he abruptly rose and left the sports; starting almost immediately afterwards for london without the knowledge of anne. with him went a great favourite of his, sir henry norreys, keeper of the privy purse, who was engaged to be married to madge shelton, anne's cousin, who had at one time been put forward by the boleyn interest as the king's mistress. norreys had, no doubt, flirted platonically with the queen, who had openly bidden for his admiration, but there is not an atom of evidence that their connection was a guilty one.[154] on the way to london the king taxed him with undue familiarity with anne. horror-stricken, norreys could only protest his innocence, and resist all the temptations held out to him to make a clean breast of the queen's immorality. one of the party of anne's enemies, sir william fitzwilliam, was also in attendance on the king; and to him was given the order to convey norreys to the tower. after the king's departure from greenwich, anne learnt that he had gone without a word of farewell, and that smeaton was absent from the joust, detained in london. the poor woman's heart must have sunk with fear, for the portents of her doom were all around her. she could not cry for mercy to the flabby coward her husband, who, as usual, slunk from bearing the responsibility of his own acts, and ran away from the danger of personal appeal from those whom he wronged. late at night the dread news was whispered to her that smeaton and norreys were both in the tower; and early in the morning she herself was summoned to appear before a quorum of the royal commissioners, presided over by her uncle and enemy, the duke of norfolk. she was rudely told that she was accused of committing adultery with smeaton and norreys, both of whom had confessed. she cried and protested in vain that it was untrue. she was told to hold her peace, and was placed under arrest until her barge was ready and the tide served to bear her up stream to the tower. with her went a large guard of halberdiers and the duke of norfolk. thinking that she was being carried to her husband at westminster, she was composed and tranquil on the way; but when she found that the traitors' gate of the tower was her destination, her presence of mind deserted her. sir william kingston, one of the chief conspirators in mary's favour, and governor of the fortress, stood upon the steps under the gloomy archway to receive her, and in sign of custody took her by the arm as she ascended. "i was received with greater ceremony the last time i entered here," she cried indignantly; and as the heavy gates clanged behind her and the portcullis dropped, she fell upon her knees and burst into a storm of hysterical tears. kingston and his wife did their best to tranquillise her; but her passionate protestations of innocence made no impression upon them. her brother, lord rochford, had, unknown to her, been a few hours before lodged in the same fortress on the hideous and utterly unsupported charge of incest with his sister; and cromwell's drag-net was cast awide to bring in all those whose names were connected, however loosely, with that of the queen by her servants, all of whom were tumbling over each other in their haste to denounce their fallen mistress. sir thomas weston and william brereton, with both of whom anne had been fond of bandying questionable compliments, were arrested on the 4th may; and on the 5th sir thomas wyatt, the poet, and a great friend of the king, was put under guard on similar accusations. with regard to wyatt there seems to have been no doubt, as has been shown in an earlier chapter, that some love passages had passed between him and anne before her marriage; and there is contemporary assertion to support the belief that their connection had not been an innocent one;[155] but the case against him was finally dropped and he was again taken into henry's favour; a proof that there was no evidence of any guilt on his part since anne was queen. he is asserted to have begged henry not to contract the marriage, and subsequently to have reminded him that he had done so, confessing after her arrest that anne had been his mistress before she married the king. the wretched woman babbled hysterically without cessation in her chamber in the tower; all her distraught ravings being carefully noted and repeated by the ladies, mostly her personal enemies, who watched her night and day; artful leading questions being put to her to tempt her to talk the more. she was imprudent in her speech at the best of times, but now, in a condition of acute hysteria, she served the interests of her enemies to the full, dragging into her discourse the names of the gentlemen who were accused and repeating their risky conversations with her, which were now twisted to their worst meaning.[156] at one time she would only desire death; then she would make merry with a good dinner or supper, chatting and jesting, only to break down into hysterical laughter and tears in the midst of her merriment. anon she would affect to believe that her husband was but trying her constancy, and pleaded with all her heart to be allowed to see him again.[157] but he, once having broken the shackles, was gaily amusing himself in gallant guise with mistress seymour, who was lodged, for appearance' sake, in the house of her mentor, sir nicholas carew, a few miles from london, but within easy reach of a horseman. anne in her sober moments must have known that she was doomed. she hoped much from cranmer, almost the only friend of hers not now in prison; but cranmer, however strong in counsel, was a weak reed in combat; and hastened to save himself at the cost of the woman upon whose shoulders he had climbed to greatness. the day after anne's arrest, cranmer wrote to the king "a letter of consolation; yet wisely making no apology for her, but acknowledging how divers of the lords had told him of certain of her faults, which, he said, he was sorry to hear, and concluded desiring that the king would continue his love to the gospel, lest it should be thought that it was for her sake only that he had favoured it."[158] before he had time to despatch the letter, the timorous archbishop was summoned across the river to westminster to answer certain disquieting questions of the commissioners, who informed him of the evidence against the queen; and in growing alarm for himself and his cause, he hurried back to lambeth without uttering a word in favour of the accused, whose guilt he accepted without question. thenceforward anne's enemies worked their way unchecked, even her father being silenced by fear for himself. for cromwell's safety it was necessary that none of the accused should escape who later might do him injury; and now that he and his imperialistic policy had been buttressed by the "discovery" of anne's infidelity, not even the nobles of the french faction dared to oppose it by seeming to side with the unhappy woman. the secretary did his work thoroughly. the indictments were laid before the grand juries of middlesex and kent, as the offences were asserted to have been committed over a long period both at greenwich and whitehall or hampton court. to the charges against anne of adultery with smeaton, who it was asserted had confessed, norreys, weston, brereton, and lord rochford, was added that of having conspired with them to kill the king. there was not an atom of evidence worth the name to support any of the charges except the doubtful confession of smeaton, wrung from him by torture; and it is certain that at the period in question the death of henry would have been fatal to the interests of anne. but a state prosecution in the then condition of the law almost invariably meant a condemnation of the accused; and when smeaton, weston, norreys, and brereton were arraigned in westminster hall on the 12th may, their doom was practically sealed before the trial. smeaton simply pleaded guilty of adultery only, and prayed for mercy: the rest of the accused strenuously denied their guilt on the whole of the charges; but all were condemned to the terrible death awarded to traitors, though on what detailed evidence, if any, does not now appear.[159] every effort was made to tempt norreys to confess, but he replied that he would rather die a thousand deaths than confess a lie, for he verily believed the queen innocent.[160] in the meanwhile anne in the tower continued her strange behaviour, at times arrogantly claiming all her royal prerogatives, at times reduced to hysterical self-abasement and despair. on the 15th may she and her brother were brought to the great hall of the tower before a large panel of peers under the presidency of the duke of norfolk. all that could add ignominy to the accused was done. the lieges were crowded into the space behind barriers at the end of the hall, the city fathers under the lord mayor were bidden to attend, and with bated breath the subjects saw the woman they had always scorned publicly branded as an incestuous adulteress. the charges, as usual at the time, were made in a way and upon grounds that now would not be permitted in any court of justice. scraps of overheard conversation with norreys and others were twisted into sinister significance, allegations unsupported, and not included in the indictment, were dragged in to prejudice the accused; and loose statements incapable of proof or disproof were liberally introduced for the same purpose. the charge of incest with rochford depended entirely upon the assertion that he once remained in his sister's room a long time; and in his case also loose gossip was alleged as a proof of crime: that anne had said that the king was impotent,[161] that rochford had thrown doubts upon the king being the father of anne's child, and similar hearsay ribaldry. both anne and her brother defended themselves, unaided, with ability and dignity. they pointed out the absence of evidence against them, and the inherent improbability of the charges. but it was of no avail, for her death had already been settled between henry and cromwell: and the duke of norfolk, with his sinister squint, condemned his niece, anne queen of england, to be burnt or beheaded at the king's pleasure; and viscount rochford to a similar death. both denied their guilt after sentence, but acknowledged, as was the custom of the time, that they deserved death, this being the only way in which mercy might be gained, so far as forfeiture of property was concerned. anne had been cordially hated by the people. her rise had meant the destruction of the ancient religious foundations, the shaking of the ecclesiastical bases of english society; but the sense of justice was not dead, and the procedure at the trial shocked the public conscience. already men and women murmured that the king's goings on with mistress seymour whilst his wife was under trial for adultery were a scandal, and anne in her death had more friends than in her life. on all sides in london now, from the lord mayor downwards, it was said that anne had been condemned, not because she was guilty, but because the king was tired of her: at all events, wrote chapuys to granvelle, there was surely never a man who wore the horns so gaily as he.[162] on the 17th may the five condemned men were led to their death upon tower hill, all of them, including smeaton, being beheaded.[163] as usual in such cases, they acknowledged general guilt, but not one (except perhaps smeaton) admitted the particular crimes for which they died, for their kin might have suffered in property, if not in person, if the king's justice had been too strongly impugned. anne, in alternate hope and despair, still remained in the tower, but mostly longing for the rapid death she felt in her heart must come. little knew she, however, why her sacrifice was deferred yet from day to day. in one of her excited, nervous outbursts she had cried that, no matter what they did, no one could prevent her from dying queen of england. she had reckoned without henry's meanness, cromwell's cunning, and cranmer's suppleness. her death warrant had been signed by the king on the 16th may, and cranmer was sent to receive her last confession. the coming of the archbishop--_her_ archbishop, as she called him--gave her fresh hope. she was not to be killed after all, but to be banished, and cranmer was to bring her the good news. alas! poor soul, she little knew her cranmer even yet. he had been primed by cromwell for a very different purpose, that of worming out of anne some admission that would give him a pretext for pronouncing her marriage with the king invalid from the first. the task was a repulsive one for the primate, whose act alone had made the marriage possible; but cranmer was--cranmer. the position was a complicated one. henry, as he invariably did, wished to save his face and seem in the right before the world, consequently he could not confess that he had been mistaken in the divorce from katharine, and get rid of anne's marriage in that way, nor did he wish to restore mary to the position of heiress to the crown. what he needed cranmer's help for was to render elizabeth also illegitimate, but still his daughter, in order that any child he might have by jane seymour, or failing that, his natural son, the duke of richmond, might be acknowledged his successor. at intervals during anne's career her alleged betrothal to the earl of northumberland before her marriage (see p. 126) had been brought up to her detriment; and the poor hare-brained earl had foresworn himself more than once on the subject. he was dying now, but he was again pressed to say that a regular betrothal had taken place with anne. but he was past earthly fear, and finally asserted that no contract had been made. foiled in this attempt, henry--or rather cromwell--sent cranmer to the tower on the 16th may on his shameful errand: to lure the poor woman by hopes of pardon to confess the existence of an impediment to her marriage with the king. what the impediment was was never made public, but anne's latest biographer, mr. friedmann, adduces excellent reasons for arriving at the conclusions that i have drawn, namely, that mary boleyn having been henry's mistress, he and anne were within the prohibited degrees of affinity for husband and wife; the fact that no marriage had taken place between henry and mary boleyn being regarded as canonically immaterial.[164] in any case, the admission of a known impediment having been made by anne, no time was lost. the next day, the 17th may, cranmer sat, with cromwell and other members of the council, in his primate's court at lambeth to condemn the marriage that he himself had made. anne was formally represented, but nothing was said on her behalf; and sentence was hurriedly pronounced that the king's marriage with anne boleyn had never been a marriage at all. at the same time order was sent to sir william kingston that the "concubine" was to suffer the last penalty on the following morning. when the sleepless night for anne had passed, mostly in prayer, she took the sacrament with the utmost devotion, and in that most solemn moment swore before the host, on her hopes of eternal life, that she had never misused her body to the king's dishonour.[165] in the meanwhile her execution had been deferred until the next day, and anne again lost her nerve. it was cruel, she said, to keep her so long in suspense: pray, she petitioned, put her out of her misery now that she was prepared. the operation would not be painful, kingston assured her. "my neck is small enough," she said, spanning it with her fingers, and again burst into hysterics. soon she became calm once more; and thenceforward only yearned for despatch. "no one ever had a better will for death than she," wrote chapuys to his master: and kingston, hardened as he was to the sight of the condemned in their last hours, expressed surprise to cromwell that instead of sorrow "this lady has much joy and pleasure in death." remorse for her ungenerous treatment of the princess mary principally troubled her. she herself, she said, was not going to execution by the divine judgment for what she had been accused of, but for having planned the death of the princess. and so, in alternate prayer and light chatter, passed anne's last night on earth, and at nine o'clock on the spring morning of the 19th may she was led forth to the courtyard within the tower, where a group of gentlemen, including cromwell and the dukes of richmond and suffolk, stood on or close to a low scaffold or staging reached by four steps from the ground. anne was dressed in grey damask trimmed with fur, over a crimson petticoat, and cut low at the neck, so as to offer no impediment to the executioner's steel; and for the same reason the brown hair was dressed high in a net under the pearl-bordered coif. kept back by guards to some little distance from the platform stood a large crowd of spectators, who had flocked in at the heels of the lord mayor and sheriffs; though foreigners had been rigidly excluded.[166] when anne had ascended the steps she received permission to say a few words; and followed the tradition of not complaining against the king's justice which had condemned her. she had not come thither to preach, she said, but to die, though she was not guilty of the particular crimes for which she had been condemned. when, however, she began to speak of jane seymour being the cause of her fall, those on the scaffold stopped her, and she said no more. a headsman of st. omer had been brought over from calais, in order that the broadsword instead of the axe might be used; and this man, who was undistinguishable by his garb from the other bystanders, now came forward, and, kneeling, asked the doomed woman's pardon, which granted, anne herself knelt in a distraught way, as if to pray, but really gazed around her in mute appeal from one pitiless face to another. the headsman, taking compassion upon her, assured her that he would not strike until she gave the signal. "you will have to take this coif off," said the poor woman, and one of the ladies who attended her did so, and partially bound her eyes with a handkerchief; but anne still imagined that her headdress was in the way, and kept her hand upon her hair, straining her eyes and ears towards the steps where from the headsman's words she expected the sword to be handed to him. whilst she was thus kneeling erect in suspense, the sword which was hidden in the straw behind her was deftly seized by the french executioner, who, swinging the heavy blade around, in an instant cut through the erect, slender neck; and the head of anne boleyn jerked from the shoulders and rolled upon the cloth that covered the platform. katharine in her neglected tomb at peterborough was avenged, but the fissure that had been opened up between england and the papacy for the sake of this woman had widened now past bridging. politicians might, and did, make up their differences now that the "concubine" was dead, and form alliances regardless of religious affinities; but submission to the papacy in future might mean that the most powerful people in england would be deprived of the fat spoils of the church with which cromwell had bought them, and that the vainest king on earth must humbly confess himself in the wrong. anne herself was a mere straw upon a whirlpool, though her abilities, as cromwell confessed, were not to be despised. she did not plan or make the reformation, though she was forced by her circumstances to patronise it. the real author of the great schism of england was not anne or cranmer, but luther's enemy, charles v., the champion of catholicism. but for the pressure he put upon the pope to refuse henry's divorce, in order to prevent a coalition of england and france, cranmer's defiance of the papacy would not have been needed, and henry might have come back to rome again easily. but with cranmer to provide him with plausible pretexts for the repeated indulgence of his self-will, and cromwell to feed his pride and cupidity by the plunder of the church, henry had already been drawn too far to go back. greed and vanity of the ruling powers thus conspired to make permanent in england the influence of evanescent anne boleyn. [illustration: _jane seymour_ _from a painting by_ holbein _in the imperial collection at vienna_] chapter vii 1536-1540 plot and counterplot--jane seymour and anne of cleves from the moment that henry abruptly left the lists at may-day on the receipt of cromwell's letter detailing the admissions of smeaton, he saw anne no more. no pang of remorse, no wave of compassion passed over him. he easily believed what he wished to believe, and anne was left to the tender mercies of cromwell, to be done to death. again henry was a prey to profound self-pity for ever having fallen under the enchantment of such a wicked woman. he, of course, was not to blame for anything. he never was. he was always the clement, just man whose unsuspecting goodness of heart had been abused by others, and who tried to find distraction and to forget the evil done him. on the very night of the day that anne was arrested the duke of richmond, henry's son, now a grown youth, went, as was his custom, into his father's room at whitehall to bid him good night and ask his blessing. the king, we are told,[167] fell a-weeping as he blessed his son, "saying that he and his sister (mary) might well be grateful to god for saving them from the hands of that accursed and venomous harlot who had intended to poison them." that anne may have planned the assassination of mary is quite probable, even if she had no hand in the shortening of katharine's days, and this may have been the real hidden pretext of her death acting upon henry's fears for himself.[168] but if such were the case, henry, at least, was deserving of no pity, for when it was only katharine's life that was in danger he was, as we have seen, brutally callous, and only awoke to the enormity of the "venomous harlot" when cromwell made him believe that his own safety was jeopardised. then no fate was too cruel for the woman he once had loved. on the day preceding anne's trial, jane seymour was brought from sir nicholas carew's house to another residence on the river bank, only a mile from whitehall stairs, to be ready for her intended elevation as soon as the queen was disposed of. here jane was served for the few days she stayed "very splendidly by the cooks and certain officers of the king, and very richly adorned."[169] so certain was henry that nothing would now stand in the way of his new marriage that jane was informed beforehand that on the 15th, by three in the afternoon, she would hear of her predecessor's condemnation; and anne's cousin and enemy, sir francis brian, eagerly brought the news to the expectant lady at the hour anticipated. the next day, when the sword of the french headsman had made henry indeed a widower, the king only awaited receipt of the intelligence to enter his barge and seek the consolation of jane seymour. at six o'clock in the morning of the 20th may, when the headless body of anne, barely cold, still awaited sepulture huddled in an old arrow-box in the church of st. peter within the tower, jane was secretly carried by water from her residence to hampton court; and before nine o'clock she had been privately married to the king,[170] by virtue of a dispensation issued the day previously by the accommodating cranmer.[171] it would seem probable that the day after the private espousals jane travelled to her home in wiltshire, where she stayed for several days whilst preparations were being made in the king's abodes for her reception as queen: for all the a's had to be changed to j's in the royal ciphers, and traces of anne's former presence abolished wherever possible. whether henry accompanied his new wife to wiltshire on this occasion is not quite certain, though from sir john russell's account it is probable that he did. in any case the king and his new wife visited mercer's hall, in cheapside, on the 29th may, st. peter's eve, to witness from the windows the civic ceremony of the annual setting of the watch; and on the following day, 30th may, the pair were formally married in the queen's closet at whitehall. the people at large looked somewhat askance at this furious haste to marry the new wife before the shed blood of the previous one was dry;[172] but the court, and those who still recollected the wronged princess mary and her dead mother, were enthusiastic in their welcome to jane.[173] the emperor's friends, too, were in joyous mood; and princess mary at hunsdon was full of hope, and eager to be allowed to greet her father and his wife now that "that woman" was dead. chapuys, we may be sure, did not stand behind the door now when he went to court. on the contrary, when he first visited whitehall a few days after the wedding, henry led him by the hand to jane's apartments, and allowed the diplomatist to kiss the queen--"congratulating her upon her marriage and wishing her prosperity. i told her that, although the device of the lady who had preceded her on the throne was 'the happiest of women,' i had no doubt that she herself would realise that motto. i was sure that the emperor would be equally rejoiced as the king himself had been at meeting such a virtuous and amiable queen, the more so that her brother (_i.e._ sir e. seymour, afterwards the duke of somerset) had been in the emperor's service. i added that it was almost impossible to believe the joy and pleasure which englishmen generally had felt at the marriage; especially as it was said that she was continually trying to persuade the king to restore the princess to his favour, as formerly." most of chapuys' courtly talk with jane, indeed, was directed to this point of the restoration of mary; but the new queen, though inexperienced, had been well coached, and did not unduly commit herself; only promising to favour the princess, and to endeavour to deserve the title that chapuys had given her of "peacemaker." henry strolled up to the pair at this point, and excused his new wife for any want of expertness: "as i was the first ambassador she had received, and she was not used yet to such receptions. he (henry) felt sure, however, that she would do her utmost to obtain the title of 'peacemaker,' with which i (chapuys) had greeted her, as, besides being naturally of a kind and amiable disposition and much inclined to peace, she would strive to prevent his (henry's) taking part in a foreign war, if only out of the fear of being separated from him."[174] but all these fine hopes were rapidly banished. jane never possessed or attempted to exercise any political influence on her husband. she smiled sweetly and in a non-committal way upon the princess mary, and upon the imperialist and moderate catholic party that had hoped to make the new queen their instrument; but cromwell's was still the strong mind that swayed the king. he had obtained renewed control over his master by ridding him of anne; and had, at all events, prevented england from being drawn into a coalition with france against the emperor; but he had no intention, even if it had been possible, of going to the other extreme and binding his country to go to war against france to please the emperor. henry's self-will and vanity, as well as his greed, also stood in the way of a complete submission to the papacy, and those who had brought jane seymour in, hoping that her advent would mean a return to the same position as that previous to anne's rise, now found that they had been over sanguine. charles and francis were left to fight out their great duel alone in italy and provence, to the general discomfiture of the imperial cause; and, instead of hastening to humble himself at the feet of paul iii., as the pontiff had fondly expected, henry summoned parliament, and gave stronger statutory sanction than ever to his ecclesiastical independence of rome.[175] anne's condemnation and elizabeth's bastardy were obediently confirmed by the legislature, and the entire freedom of the english church from rome reasserted. but the question of the succession was that which aroused the strongest feeling, and its settlement the keenest disappointment. now that anne's offspring was disinherited, princess mary and her friends naturally expected that she, with the help of the new queen, would once more enter into the enjoyment of her birthright. eagerly mary wrote to cromwell bespeaking his aid, which she had been led to expect that he would give; and by his intercession she was allowed to send her humble petition to her father, praying for leave to see him. her letters are all couched in terms of cringing humility, praying forgiveness for past offences, and promising to be a truly dutiful daughter in future. but this did not satisfy henry. cromwell, desirous, in pursuance of his policy of keeping friendly with the emperor without going to war with france, or kneeling to rome, hoped to bring about peace between mary and her father. but the strongest passions of henry's nature were now at stake, and he would only accept his daughter's submission on terms that made her a self-confessed bastard, and against this the girl, as obstinate as her father and as righteously proud as her mother, still rebelled. henry's son, the duke of richmond, was now a straight stripling of eighteen, already married to norfolk's daughter, and, failing issue by jane, here was an heir to the crown that might carry the tudor line onward in the male blood, if parliament could be chicaned or threatened into acknowledging him. so mary was plied with letters from cromwell, each more pressing and cruel than the previous one, driving the girl to distraction by the king's insistence upon his terms.[176] threats, cajolery, and artful casuistry were all tried. again mary turned to her foreign advisers and the king's rebellious subjects for support, and again her father's heart hardened when he knew it. norfolk, who with others was sent to persuade her, was so incensed with her firmness that he said if she had been his daughter he would have knocked her head against the wall until it was as soft as a codlin. but norfolk's daughter was the duchess of richmond, and might be queen consort after henry's death if mary were disinherited, so that there was some excuse for his violence. those who were in favour of mary were dismissed from the council--even cromwell was in fear--and jane seymour was rudely snubbed by the king for daring to intercede for the princess. at length, with death threatening her, mary could stand out no longer. without even reading it, she signed with a mental reservation, and confident of obtaining the papal absolution for which she secretly asked, the shameful declaration forced upon her, repudiating the papal authority, and specifically acknowledging herself a bastard. then henry was all amiability with his wronged daughter. he and jane went to visit her at richmond, whither she had been brought, giving her handsome presents of money and jewels; liberty was given to her to come to court, and stately service surrounded her. but it was all embittered by the knowledge that parliament had been induced to acknowledge that all the king's children were illegitimate, and to grant to henry himself the right of appointing his own successor by letters patent or by will. alas! the youth in whose immediate interest the injustice was done was fast sinking to his grave; and on the 22nd july 1536 the duke of richmond breathed his last, to henry's bitter grief, mary's prospects again became brighter, and all those who resented the religious policy and henry's recalcitrancy now looked to the girl as their only hope of a return to the old order of things. chapuys, too, was ceaseless in his intrigues to bring england once more into a condition of obedience to the pope, that should make her a fit instrument for the imperial policy, and soon the disappointment that followed on the elevation of jane seymour found vent in the outbreak of rebellion in lincolnshire and yorkshire. the priests and the great mass of the people had bent the neck patiently to the king's violent innovations in the observances that they had been taught to hold sacred. they had seen the religious houses, to which they looked for help and succour in distress, destroyed and alienated. the abuses of the clergy had doubtless been great, and the first measures against them had been welcomed; but the complete confiscation of vast properties, in the main administered for the benefit of the lowly, the continued enclosure of common lands by the gentry newly enriched by ecclesiastical plunder, and the rankling sense of the scandalous injustice that had been suffered by katharine and mary, for the sake, as the people said, of the king's lustful caprice, at last provided the extreme militant catholic party with the impetus needed for revolt against the crown. imperious henry was beside himself with rage; and for a time it looked as if he and his system might be swept away in favour of his daughter, or one of the poles, who were being put forward by the pope. the bull of excommunication against henry and england, so long held back, was now launched, making rebellion righteous; and the imperial interest in england, which was still strong, did its best to aid the rising of henry's lieges against him. but the rebels were weakly led: the greater nobles had for the most part been bought by grants of ecclesiastical lands; and norfolk, for all his moral baseness, was an experienced and able soldier. so the pilgrimage of grace, threatening as it looked for a time, flickered out; and the yoke was riveted tighter than ever upon the neck of rural england. to the party that had hoped to make use of her, jane seymour was thus, to some extent, a disappointment;[177] but her placid submissiveness, which made her a bad political instrument, exactly suited a husband so imperious as henry; and from a domestic point of view the union was successful. during the summer jane shared in her husband's progresses and recreations, but as the months rolled on and no hope came of offspring, ominous rumours ran that jane's coronation would be deferred until it was proved that she might bear children to the king; and some said that if she proved barren a pretext would be found for displacing her in favour of another. indeed, only a few days after the public marriage, henry noticed two very beautiful girls at court, and showed his annoyance that he had not seen them before taking jane. after six months of marriage without sign of issue, henry began to take fright. the duke of richmond was dead, and both the king's daughters were acknowledged by the law of england to be illegitimate. he was already forty-six years of age, and had lately grown very obese; and his death without further issue or a resettlement of the succession would inevitably lead to a dynastic dispute, with the probable result of the return of the house of york to the throne in the person of one of the poles under the ægis of rome. whenever possible, jane had said a good word for the princess mary, and henry began to listen more kindly than before to his wife's well-meant attempts to soften him in favour of his daughter. the catholic party was all alert with new hopes that the king, convinced that he could father no more sons, would cause his elder daughter to be acknowledged his heir;[178] but the reformers, who had grown up numerously, especially in and about london, during henry's defiance of rome, looked askance at a policy which in time they feared might bring back the old order of things. the mainstay of this party at court, apart from the professed lutherans and the new bishops, were those who, having received grants of ecclesiastical property, despaired of any return to the roman communion and the imperial alliance without the restoration of the church property. amongst these courtiers was jane's brother, edward seymour, viscount beauchamp, who had received large grants of ecclesiastical lands at intervals since 1528. he was a personal friend of the king, and had taken no active part in the intrigue that accompanied his sister's elevation, though after the marriage he naturally rose higher than before in the favour of the king. he was a clever and superficially brilliant, but ostentatious and greedy man, of no great strength of purpose, whose new relationship to the king marked him out as a dominating influence in the future. the dukes of norfolk and suffolk, upon whom henry had depended as generals, were now very old and ailing, and there was no other peer but cromwell of any ability in the councils. even thus early it was clear that seymour's weight would, notwithstanding the circumstances of his sister's rise, be thrown on to the anti-papal side when the crucial struggle came. he was, moreover, a new man; and as such not welcomed by the older nobility, who, though desirous of retaining their church plunder, were yet bound by their traditions against bureaucrats such as cromwell, and the policy of defiance of the papacy that he and his like had suggested and carried out. cromwell's own position at this time (1536-37) was a paradoxical one. it was he who had led henry on, step by step, to entire schism and the plunder of the church; it was he who not only had shown how to get rid of katharine, but how to destroy her successor; and it was he whom the catholic party hated with a whole-hearted detestation, for the king's acts as well as his own. on the other hand, he was hardly less distrusted by the reforming party; for his efforts were known to be directed to a reconciliation with the emperor, which could only be effected conjointly with some sort of arrangement with the papacy. his efforts to please the imperialists by siding with the princess mary during her dispute with her father led him to the very verge of destruction. whilst the young princess was being badgered into making her shameful and insincere renunciation of her faith and birthright, cromwell, the very man who was the instrument for extorting her submission, sat, as he says, for a week in the council considering himself "a dead man," because the king believed that he was encouraging mary to resist. cromwell, therefore, like most men who endeavour to hold a middle course, was distrusted and hated by every one; and it must have been obvious to him that if he could ensure the adhesion of the rising seymour interest his chance of weathering the storm would be infinitely improved. his son had recently married jane seymour's sister, and this brought him into close relationship with the family, and, as will be seen, led in the next year to a compact political union between the seymour brothers, cromwell, and the reforming party, as against the nobles and traditional conservatives. for the time, however, cromwell held on his way, endeavouring to keep in with the imperialists and mary; and it was doubtless to his prompting that jane used her influence, when at its highest point, to reconcile the princess personally to her father. to the great joy of the king, in march 1537, jane was declared to be with child. the emperor had already opened a negotiation for the marriage of mary with his brother-in-law, the infante luiz of portugal, and henry was playing a waiting game till he saw if jane would bear him a child. if so, mary might go; although he still refused to legitimise her; but if no more issue was to be born to him, he could hardly allow his elder daughter to leave england and fall into the hands of the emperor. charles, on the other hand, was extremely anxious to obtain possession of so valuable a pledge for the future as mary; and was willing to go to almost any lengths to get her, either by fair means or foul, fearing, as he did, that the girl might be married discreditably in england--he thought even to cromwell himself--in order to destroy her international value to henry's rivals. as soon, however, as jane's pregnancy was announced mary's position changed. if a child was born in wedlock to the king, especially if it were a son, there would be no need to degrade mary by joining her to a lowly husband; she might, on the contrary, become a good international marriage asset in the hands of her father, who might bargain with charles or francis for her. the fresh move of jane seymour, therefore, in her favour, in the spring of 1537, when the queen's pregnancy had given her greater power over her husband, was probably welcome both to the king and cromwell, as enhancing mary's importance at a time when she might be used as an international political pawn without danger. jane was sad one day in the early period of her pregnancy. "why, darling," said the king, "how happeneth it you are not merrier?"[179] "it hath pleased your grace," replied the queen, "to make me your wife, and there are none but my inferiors with whom to make merry, withal, your grace excepted; unless it would please you that we might enjoy the company of the lady mary at court. i could be merry with her." "we will have her here, darling, if that will make thee merry," said the king. and before many days had gone, mary, with a full train of ladies, was brought from hunsdon, magnificently dressed, to whitehall, where, in the great presence chamber, henry and his wife stood before the fire. the poor girl was almost overcome at the tenderness of her reception, and fell upon her knees before her father and his wife. henry, as usual anxious to throw upon others the responsibility of his ill-treatment of his daughter, turned to his councillors, who stood around, and said, "some of you were desirous that i should put this jewel to death." "that were a pity," quoth the queen, "to have lost your chiefest jewel of england."[180] the hint was too much for mary, who changed colour and fell into a swoon, greatly to her father's concern. at length the day long yearned and prayed for by henry came. jane had for some months lived in the strictest quietude, and prayers and masses for her safe delivery were offered in the churches for weeks before. in september she had travelled slowly to hampton court, and on the 12th october 1537 a healthy son was born to her and henry. the joy of the king was great beyond words. the gross sensualist, old beyond his years, had in vain hoped through all his sturdy youth for a boy, who, beyond reproach, might bear his regal name. he had flouted christendom and defied the greatest powers on earth in order to marry a woman who might bear him a man child. when she failed to do so, he had coldly stood aside whilst his instruments defamed her and did her to death; and now, at last, in his declining years, his prayer was answered, and the house of tudor was secure upon the future throne of england. bonfires blazed and joy bells rang throughout the land; feasts of unexampled bounteousness coarsely brought home to the lieges the blessing that had come to save the country from the calamity of a disputed succession. the seymour brothers at once became, next the king and his son, the most important personages in england, the elder, edward, being created earl of hertford, and both receiving great additional grants of monastic lands. in the general jubilation at the birth, the interests of the mother were forgotten. no attempt appears to have been made to save her from the excitement that surrounded her; and on the very day of her delivery she signed an official letter "jane the quene" to cromwell, directing him to communicate to the privy council the joyful news. the most sumptuous royal christening ever seen was in bustling preparation in and about her sick-chamber; and that no circumstance of state should be lacking, the mother herself, only four days after the birth, was forced to take part in the exhausting ceremony. in the chapel at hampton court, newly decorated like the splendid banqueting-hall adjoining, where the initials of jane carved in stone with those of the king, and her arms and device on glowing glass and gilded scutcheon still perpetuate her fleeting presence, the christening ceremony was held by torchlight late in the chill autumn evening. through the long draughty corridors, preceded by braying trumpets and followed by rustling crowds of elated courtiers, the sick woman was carried on her stately pallet covered with heavy robes of crimson velvet and ermine. under a golden canopy, supported by the four greatest nobles in the land, next to norfolk, who was one of the godfathers, the marchioness of exeter bore the infant in her arms to the scene of the ceremony; and the princess mary, fiercely avid of love as she ever was, held the prince at the font. suffolk, arundel, and doomed exeter, with a host of other magnates, stood around; whilst one towering handsome figure, with a long brown beard, carried aloft in his arms the tiny fair girl-child of anne, the lady elizabeth, holding in her dainty hands the holy chrisom. it was edward seymour, earl of hertford, looked at askance by the rest as a new man, but already overlapping them all as the uncle of the infant prince. during the _te deum_ and the long, pompous ceremony of the baptism the mother lay flushed and excited upon her couch; whilst the proud father, his broad face beaming with pride, sat by her side, holding her hand. it was hard upon midnight when the queen gave her blessing to her child and was carried back to her chamber, with more trumpet blasts and noisy gratulation. the next day, as was to be expected, she was in a high fever, so ill that she was confessed and received extreme unction. but she rallied, and seemed somewhat amended for the next few days, though ominous rumours were rife in london that her life had purposely been jeopardised in order to save that of the child at birth.[181] they were not true, but they give the measure of the public estimate of henry's character, and have been made the most of by sanders, rivadeneyra, and the other jesuit historians. on the 23rd october the queen fell gravely ill again, and in the night was thought to be dying. henry had intended to ride to esher that day, but "could not find it in his heart" to go; and the next night, the 24th october, jane seymour died, a sacrifice to improper treatment and heartlessly exacted ceremonial. henry had not been married long enough to her to have become tired of her, and her somewhat lethargic placidity had suited him. she had, moreover, borne him the long-looked-for son; and his grief for her loss was profound, and no doubt sincere. much as he hated signs of mortality, he wore black mourning for her for three months, and shut himself up at windsor away from the world, and above all away from the corpse of his dead wife, for a fortnight. jane's body, embalmed, lay in the presence chamber at hampton court for a week. blazing tapers surrounded the great hearse, and masses went on from dawn to midday in the chamber. all night long the queen's ladies, with princess mary, watched before the bier, until the end of the month, when the catafalque had been erected in the chapel for the formal lying in state. on the 12th november, with the greatest possible pomp, the funeral procession bore the dead queen to windsor for burial in a grave in st. george's chapel, destined to receive the remains of henry as well as that of his third wife, the mother of his son.[182] the writers of the time, following the lead of henry and his courtiers, never mentioned their grief for the queen without promptly suggesting that it was more than counterbalanced by their joy at the birth of her son, who from his first appearance in the world was hailed as a paragon of beauty and perfection. thanksgivings for the boon of a male heir to the king blended their sounds of jubilation with the droning of the masses for the mother's soul, and the flare of the bonfires died down into the flickering tapers that dimly lit the funerals. even henry himself, in writing to give the news of his son's birth, confessed that his joy at the event had far exceeded his grief for jane's death. so far as the catholic party that had promoted it was concerned, the marriage with jane had been a failure. the pilgrimage of grace had been drowned in the blood of ruthless slaughter: and partly because of mary's scruples and fears, partly because they themselves had been gorged with the plunder of the church, nearly all the great nobles stood aside and raised no voice whilst cromwell and his master still worked havoc on the religious houses, regardless of jane's timid intercession. boxley, walsingham, and even the sacred shrine of canterbury, yielded their relics and images, venerated for centuries, to be scorned and destroyed; whilst the vast accumulated treasures of gold and gems that enriched them went to fill the coffers of the king, and their lands to bribe his favourites. throughout england the work of confiscation was carried on now with a zeal which only greed for the resultant profit can explain.[183] the attacks upon superstition in the church by those in authority naturally aroused a feeling of greater freedom of thought amongst the mass of the people. the establishment of an open bible in english in every church for the perusal of the parishioners, due, as indeed most of the doctrinal changes were, to cranmer, encouraged men to think to some extent for themselves. but though, for purposes to which reference will be made presently, henry willingly concurred in cranmer's reforming tendencies and cromwell's anti-ecclesiastical plans for providing him with abundant money, he would allow no departure from orthodoxy as he understood it. his love for theological controversy, and his undoubted ability and learning in that direction, enabled him to enforce his views with apparently unanswerable arguments, especially as he was able, and quite ready, to close the dispute with an obstinate antagonist by prescribing the stake and the gibbet either to those who repudiated his spiritual supremacy or to those who, like the anabaptists, questioned the efficacy of a sacrament which he had adopted. for henry it was to a great extent a matter of pride and self-esteem now to show to his own subjects and the world that he was absolutely supreme and infallible, and this feeling unquestionably had greatly influenced the progress effected by the reformation and emancipation from rome made after the disappointing marriage with jane seymour. but there was also policy in henry's present action. throughout the years 1536 and 1537 francis and the emperor had continued at war; but by the close of the latter year it was evident that both combatants were exhausted, and would shortly make up their differences. the papal excommunication of henry and his realm was now in full force, making rebellion against the king a laudable act for all good catholics; and any agreement between the two great continental sovereigns in union with rome boded ill for england and for its king. there were others, too, to whom such a combination boded ill. the alliance between france and the infidel turk to attack the christian emperor had aroused intense indignation amongst catholics throughout the world against francis; and the pope, utilising this feeling, strove hard to persuade both christian sovereigns to cease their fratricidal struggle and to recognise that the real enemy to be feared and destroyed was lutheranism or heresy in their midst. during the emperor's absence, and the war, protestantism in germany had advanced with giant strides. the princes had boldly refused to recognise any conciliatory council of the church under the control of the pope; and the pressure used by the emperor to compel them to do so aroused the suspicion that the day was fast approaching when lutheranism would have to fight for its life against the imperial suzerain of germany. already the forces were gathering. george of saxony, the enemy of luther, was hurrying to the grave, and henry his brother and heir was a strong protestant. philip of hesse had two years before thrown down the gage, and had taken by force from the emperor the territory of würtemburg, and had restored the protestant duke ulrich. charles' brother ferdinand, who ruled the empire, clamoured as loudly as did mary of hungary in flanders and eleanor of austria in france, for a peace between the two champions of christendom, the repudiation by france of the turkish alliance, and a concentration of the catholic forces in the world before it was too late to crush the hydra of heresy which threatened them all. it was natural in the circumstances that the enemies of the papacy should be drawn together. a fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind, and a common danger drew henry of england and philip of hesse together. henry was no lutheran, and did not pretend to be. he had been drawn into the reformation by the process that we have followed, in which interested advisers had worked upon his passions and self-esteem; but he had gone too far in defiance of rome now to turn back, and was forced to look to his own safety by such policy as was possible to him. for several months after jane seymour's death the envoys of the german protestants were in england in close negotiation with henry and cromwell. in order that a close league should be made, it was necessary that some common doctrinal standpoint should be agreed upon, and infinite theological discussions took place to bring this about. henry would not give way on any principal point, and the protestant ambassadors went home again without a formal understanding. but though henry remained, as he intended to do, thus unpledged, it was good policy for him to impress upon the germans by his ruthless suppression of the monasteries, and his prohibition of the ancient superstitions, that he was the enemy of their enemy; and that if he was attacked for heresy, it would be incumbent upon the lutherans to be on his side even against their own suzerain. this was not, however, the only move made by henry against the threatening danger of a joint attack of the catholic powers. he had hardly thrown off his mourning for jane before he turned his hand to the old game of dividing his rivals. his bluff was as audacious and brilliant as usual. to the imperial and french ambassadors in turn he boasted that either of their masters would prefer his friendship and alliance to that of the other; and, rightly convinced that he would really be more likely to gain latitudinarian francis than charles, he proposed in the spring of 1538 that he should marry a french princess. as the two great catholic sovereigns drew closer together, though still nominally at war in italy, henry became, indeed, quite an eager wooer. his friend, sir francis brian, was sent to paris, secretly to forward his suit, and obtained a portrait of the duke of guise's second daughter, the sister of the king of scotland's bride, mary of lorraine; with which henry confessed himself quite smitten. he had, before this, only three months after jane's death, made a desperate attempt to prevail upon francis to let him have mary of lorraine herself; though she was already betrothed to the king of scots, his nephew; but this had been positively and even indignantly refused. even the younger daughter of guise, beautiful as she was, did not quite satisfy his vanity. both he and his agent brian, who was a fit representative for him, disgusted francis by suggesting that three other french princesses should be taken to calais by the queen of navarre--francis' sister--in order that they might be paraded before the king of england for his selection, "like hackneys," as was said at the time.[184] he thought that the angry repudiation of such an insulting proposal was most unreasonable. "how can i choose a wife by deputy?" he asked. "i must depend upon my own eyes"; besides, he added, he must hear them sing, and see how they comported themselves. perhaps, suggested the french ambassador sarcastically, he would like to go further and test the ladies in other ways, as the knights of king arthur used to do. henry coloured at this; but vauntingly replied that he could, if he pleased, marry into the imperial house; but he would not marry at all unless he was quite sure that his new relation would prefer his alliance to all others. when, at length, in june, the truce of nice was signed, and soon afterwards the fraternal meeting and close community between francis and charles was effected at aigues mortes, henry began to get seriously alarmed. his matrimonial offers, to his surprise, were treated very coolly; all his attempts to breed dissension between the imperial and french ambassadors, who were now hand and glove, were laughed at;[185] and the intimate confidence and friendship between his two catholic rivals seemed at last to bring disaster to henry's very doors; for it was not concealed that the first blow to be struck by the catholic confederacy was to be upon the schismatic heretic who ruled england. with francis there was no more to be done; for henry and brian, by their want of delicacy, had between them deeply wounded all the possible french brides and their families. but, at least, henry hoped that sufficient show of friendship with charles might be simulated to arouse francis' jealousy of his new ally. henry therefore began to sneer at the patched-up friendship, as he called it.[186] "and how about milan?" he asked the french ambassador, knowing that that was the still rankling sore; and soon he began to boast more openly that he himself might have milan by the cession of it as a dower to dom luiz of portugal, on his marriage with the princess mary; whilst henry himself married the young widowed duchess of milan, charles' niece, christina of denmark, that clever, quick-witted woman, whose humorous face lives for ever on the canvas of holbein in the english national gallery.[187] there had been a spanish ambassador, diego hurtado de mendoza, in england since the spring of 1537, to negotiate the portuguese marriage of the princess mary; but the eternal questions of dowry, security, and the legitimacy of the princess had made all negotiations so far abortive. now they were taken up more strongly, by means of wyatt at madrid, and by special envoys to mary of hungary in flanders. but it was all "buckler play," as the imperial agents and charles himself soon found out. henry and cromwell knew perfectly well that no stable alliance with the emperor was possible then unless their religious policy was changed; and they had gone too far to change it without humiliation, if not destruction, to henry; the real object of the negotiations being simply to obtain some sort of promise about the cession of milan, by which francis might be detached from the imperial alliance. but it was unsuccessful; and, for once, the two great antagonists held together for a time against all lutheranism and heresy. then henry and cromwell had to look anxiously for support and alliances elsewhere. to the king it was a repugnant and humiliating necessity. he had puffed himself into the belief that he was the most potent and infallible of sovereigns, and he found himself, for the first time, scorned by all those he had reason to fear. he, the embodiment of the idea of regal omnipotence, would be forced to make common cause with those who, like the german protestants, stood for resistance to supreme authority; with usurpers like christian iii. of denmark, and trading democracies like lübeck. with much hesitation and dislike, therefore, he listened, whilst cromwell urged the inevitable policy upon him, which led him farther and farther away from the inner circle of potentates to which he and his father had gained entrance in the course of the events related in the first chapters of this book. cromwell's arguments would probably have been unavailing but for the opportune "discovery," in the usual fortuitous cromwell fashion, of a dangerous aristocratic conspiracy against henry himself. cardinal pole had been entrusted with the papal excommunication, and everywhere impressed upon english catholics the duty of obeying their spiritual father by deposing the king.[188] whether anything in the form of a regular conspiracy to do this existed in england is extremely doubtful; but the cardinal had naturally written to his relatives in england, especially to his brother geoffrey, and perhaps to his mother, the countess of salisbury, a princess of the blood royal of york. first geoffrey was seized and carried to the tower, and some sort of incriminating admission drawn from him by threats of torture, though, so far as can be gathered, nothing but the repetition of disaffected conversations. it was enough, however, for cromwell's purpose when he needed it; and the fatal net was cast over pole's elder brother, lord montague, the marquis of exeter, allied to the royal house, the master of the horse, sir nicholas carew, sir edward neville, and half a score of other high gentlemen, known to be faithful to the old cause--all to be unjustly sacrificed on the scaffold to the fears of henry and the political exigencies of cromwell. even the women and children of the supposed sympathisers with the papacy were not spared; and the aged countess of salisbury, with her grandson, and the marchioness of exeter, with her son, were imprisoned with many humbler ones. the defences of the kingdom on the coast and towards scotland were rapidly made ready to resist attack from abroad, which indeed looked imminent; and when the noble and conservative party had been sufficiently cowed by the sight of the blood of the highest of its members, when the reign of terror over the land had made all men so dumb and fearsome that none dared say him nay, cromwell felt himself strong enough to endeavour to draw england into the league of protestant princes and defy the catholic world. the position for henry personally was an extraordinary one. he had gradually drifted into a position of independence from rome; but he still professed to be a strict catholic in other respects. his primate, cranmer, and several other of his bishops whose ecclesiastical status was unrecognised by the pope, were unquestionably, and not unnaturally, protestant in their sympathies; whilst cromwell was simply a politician who cared nothing for creeds and faiths, except as ancillary to state policy. francis, and even on occasion charles himself, made little of taking church property for lay purposes when he needed it: he had more than once been the ally of the infidel against catholic princes, and his religious belief was notoriously lax; and yet he remained "the eldest son of the church." charles had struggled successfully against the papal pretensions to control the temporalities of the spanish church, his troops had sacked rome and imprisoned the pope, and his ministers for years had bullied pontiffs and scolded them as if they were erring schoolboys. excommunication had fallen upon him and his, and as hard things had been said of him in rome as of henry; and yet he was the champion of catholic christendom. the conclusion is obvious that henry's sin towards the papacy was not primarily the spoliation of the church, the repudiation of katharine, or even the assumption of control over the temporalities, but that he had arrogated to himself the spiritual headship in his realm. in most other respects he was as good a catholic as charles, and a much better one than francis; and yet under stress of circumstances he was forced into common cause with the growing party of reform in europe, whose separation from the church was profoundly doctrinal, and arose from entirely different motives from those of henry. the danger that threatened england at the time (early in 1539) was not really quite so serious as it seemed; for, close as the alliance between charles and francis was, old jealousies were not dead, and a joint war against england would have revived them; whilst the papal plan of treating england commercially as outside the pale of civilisation would have ruined charles' subject and was impracticable. but, in any case, the peril was real to henry and cromwell; and under the stress of it they were driven into the attempted policy of a protestant confederacy. at the end of january 1539, christopher mont was sent to germany with the first overtures. he carried letters of credence to philip of hesse, and hans frederick of saxony, with the ostensible object of asking whether they had come to any conclusion respecting the theological disputations held in the previous year between their envoys and the english bishops to establish a common doctrinal basis. this, of course, was a mere pretext, the real object of the mission being to discover to what extent henry could depend upon the german protestant princes if he were attacked by their suzerain the emperor. a private instruction was given to mont by cromwell, to remind one of the saxon ministers who had come to england of a former conversation about a possible marriage between the young duke of cleves and the princess mary; and he was to take the opportunity of finding out all he could about the "beauty and qualities, shape, stature, and complexion" of the elder of the two unmarried daughters of the old duke of cleves, whose eldest daughter, sybilla, had married hans frederick of saxony himself, and was as bold a protestant as he was. at the same time approaches were made to christian iii. of denmark, who had joined the evangelical league; and gradually the forces against the papacy were to be knitted together. an excuse also was found to send english envoys to cleves itself to offer an alliance in the matter of the duchy of gueldres, which the duke of cleves had just seized without the emperor's connivance or consent. carne and wotton, the envoys, were also to offer the hand of the princess mary to the young duke, and cautiously to hint at a marriage between his sister anne and henry, if conditions were favourable; and, like mont in saxony, were to close the ranks of protestantism around the threatened henry, from whose court both the imperial and french ambassadors had now been withdrawn. whilst these intrigues for protestant support on the continent were being carried on, and the defences of england on all sides were being strengthened, henry, apparently for the purpose of disarming the catholic elements, and proving that, apart from the papal submission, he was as good a catholic as any, forced through parliament (may 1539) the extraordinary statute called the six articles, or the bloody statute, which threw all english protestants into a panic. the act was drafted on henry's instructions by bishop gardiner, and was called an "act to abolish diversity of opinions." the articles of faith dictated by the king to his subjects under ferocious penalties included the main catholic doctrine; the real presence in the sacrament in its fullest sense; the celibacy of the clergy; that the administration of the sacrament in two kinds is not necessary; that auricular confession is compulsory, that private masses may be said, and that vows of chastity must be kept for ever. cranmer, who was married and had children, dared to argue against the bill when the duke of norfolk introduced it in the house of lords, and others of the new bishops timidly did likewise; but they were overborne by the old bishops and the great majority of the lay peers, influenced by their traditions and by the peremptory arguments of the king himself. even more important was an act passed in the same servile parliament giving to the king's proclamations the force of law; and an act of attainder against every one, living or dead, in england or abroad, who had opposed the king, completed the terror under which thenceforward the country lay. henry was now, indeed, master of the bodies and souls of his subjects, and had reduced them all, protestants and catholics alike, to a condition of abject subjection to his mere will. the passage of these acts, especially the six articles, marks a temporarily successful attempt of the conservative party, represented by the old bishops and the nobles under norfolk, to overcome the influence of cromwell, who was forwarding the protestant league;[189] but to henry the policy must in any case have seemed a good one, as it tended to increase his personal power and prestige, and to keep both parties dependent upon him. before the summer of 1539 had passed it was evident to henry that the new combination against him would not stand the strain of a joint attack upon england. charles was full of cares of his own. the lutherans were increasingly threatening; even his own city of ghent had revolted, and it was plain from his reception of pole at toledo that he could not proceed to extremes against henry. it certainly was not the intention of francis to do so; and the panic in england--never fully justified--passed away. the french ambassador came back, and once more henry's intrigues to sow dissension between the catholic powers went ceaselessly on. in the circumstances it was natural that, after the passage of the six articles and the resumption of diplomatic relations with france, the negotiations with the german protestants slackened. but the proposed marriage of henry with the princess of cleves offered too good an opportunity, as cromwell pointed out to him, of troubling the emperor when he liked, to be dropped, even though no general political league was effected with the german lutherans. her brother-in-law, hans frederick of saxony, was cool about it. he said that some sort of engagement had been made by her father and the duke of lorraine to marry her to the heir of the latter, but finally in august wotton reported from duren that hans frederick would send envoys to cleves to propose the match, and they would then proceed to england to close the matter. wotton had been somewhat distrustful about the previous engagement of anne with the duke of lorraine's son, but was assured by the council of cleves that it was not binding upon the princess, "who was free to marry as she pleased." "she has been brought up," he writes, "with the lady duchess, her mother ... and in a manner never from her elbow; the lady duchess being a wise lady, and one that very straitly looketh to her children. all report her (anne) to be of very lowly and gentle conditions, by the which she hath so much won her mother's favour that she is loth to suffer her to depart from her. she occupieth her time mostly with her needle, wherewithal ... she can read and write (dutch); but as to french, latin, or any other language, she hath none. nor yet she cannot sing nor play any instrument, for they take it here in germany for a rebuke, and an occasion of lightness that great ladies should be learned or have any knowledge of music. her wit is good, and she will no doubt learn english soon when she puts her mind to it. i could never hear that she is inclined to the good cheer of this country; and marvel it were if she should, seeing that her brother ... doth so well abstain from it. your grace's servant hans holbein hath taken the effigies of my lady anne and the lady amelia, and hath expressed their images very lively."[190] holbein was not usually a flattering painter to his sitters, and the portrait he sent of anne was that of a somewhat masculine and large-featured, but handsome and intellectual young woman, with fine, soft, contemplative brown eyes, thick lashes, and strong eyebrows. the general appearance is dignified, though handicapped by the very unbecoming dutch dress of the period; and though there is nothing of the _petite_ sprightliness and soft rotundity that would be likely to attract a man of henry's characteristics, the princess cannot have been ill-favoured. cromwell some months earlier had reported to henry that mont informed him that "everybody praises the lady's beauty, both of face and body. one said she excelled the duchess (of milan ?) as the golden sun did the silver moon."[191] if the latter statement be near the truth, anne, in her own way, must have been quite good-looking. there was no delay or difficulty in carrying through the arrangements for the marriage. the envoys from cleves and saxony arrived in london in september, and saw henry at windsor. they could offer no great dowry, for cleves was poor; but they would not be exacting about the appanage to be settled upon the queen by her husband, to whom they left the decision of the sum; and the other covenants as to the eventual succession to her brother's duchy, in case of his death without heirs, were to be the same as those under which her elder sister married hans frederick. this was the sort of spirit that pleased henry in negotiators, and with such he was always disposed to be liberal. he practically waived the dowry, and only urged that the lady should come at once, before the winter was too far advanced. when he suggested that she should come from her home down the rhine through holland, and thence by sea to england, the envoys prayed that she might go through germany and flanders by land to calais, and so across. for, said they, by sea there will be great peril of capture and insult by some too zealous subjects of the emperor. "besides, they fear lest, the time of year being now cold and tempestuous, she might there, though she never were so well ordered, take such cold or other disease, considering she never was before upon the seas, as should be to her great peril.... she is, moreover, young and beautiful; and if she should be transported by sea they fear much how it might alter her complexion."[192] no sooner was the marriage treaty signed than splendid preparations were made for the reception of the king's coming bride. the lord admiral (fitzwilliam) was ordered to prepare a fleet of ten vessels to escort her from calais; repairs and redecorations of the royal residences went on apace; and especially in the queen's apartments, where again the initials of poor jane had to be altered to those of her successor, and the "principal lords have bought much cloth of gold and silk, a thing unusual for them except for some great solemnity."[193] the conclusion of the treaty was a triumph for cromwell and the protestant party in henry's council; and the commissioners who signed it reflect the fact. cranmer, cromwell, the duke of suffolk, lord chancellor audley, and lord admiral fitzwilliam, were all of them inclined to the reforming side, whilst bishop tunstal, though on the catholic side, was a personal friend of the king; and the new man, hertford, jane seymour's brother, though not one of the commissioners, gave emphatic approval of the match. "i am as glad," he wrote to cromwell, "of the good resolution (of the marriage) as ever i was of a thing since the birth of the prince; for i think the king's highness could not in christendom marry in any place meet for his grace's honour that should be less prejudicial to his majesty's succession."[194] henry himself was in his usual vaunting mood about the alliance. he had long desired, he said, to cement a union with the german confederation, and could now disregard both france and the emperor; besides, his influence would suffice to prevent the lutherans from going too far in their religious innovations. as for the lady, he had only one male child, and he was convinced that his desire for more issue could not be better fulfilled "than with the said lady, who is of convenient age, healthy temperament, elegant stature, and endowed with other graces." the news of the engagement was ill received by francis and charles. they became more ostentatiously friendly than ever; and their ambassadors in london were inseparable. when marillac and the emperor's temporary envoy went together to tell cromwell that the emperor was so confident of the friendship of francis that he was riding through france from spain to flanders, the english minister quite lost his composure. he was informed, he told the ambassadors, that this meeting of the monarchs was "merely with the view to making war on this poor king (henry), who aimed at nothing but peace and friendship." ominous mutterings came, too, from flanders at the scant courtesy henry had shown in throwing over the match with the duchess of milan in the midst of the negotiation. cromwell was therefore full of anxiety, whilst the elaborate preparations were being made in calais and in england for the new queen's reception. not only was a fresh household to be appointed, the nobility and gentry and their retinues summoned, fine clothes galore ordered or enjoined for others, the towns on the way from dover to be warned of the welcome expected from them, and the hundred details dependent upon the arrival and installation of the king's fourth wife, but henry himself had to be carefully handled, to prevent the fears engendered by the attitude of his rivals causing him to turn to the party opposed to cromwell before the protestant marriage was effected. in the meanwhile, anne with a great train of guards and courtiers, three hundred horsemen strong, rode from dusseldorf towards calais through cleves, antwerp, bruges, and dunkirk. it was ordered that lord lisle, lord deputy of calais, should meet the queen on the english frontier, near gravelines, and that at st. pierre, lord admiral fitzwilliam, who had a fleet of fifty sail in the harbour, should greet her in the name of his king, gorgeously dressed in blue velvet, smothered with gold embroidery, and faced with crimson satin, royal blue and crimson, the king's colours, in velvet, damask, and silk, being the universal wear, even of the sailors and men-at-arms. the aged duke of suffolk and the lord warden were to receive her on her landing at dover; and at canterbury she was to be welcomed and entertained by archbishop cranmer. norfolk and a great company of armed nobles were to greet the new queen on the downs beyond rochester; whilst the queen's household, with lady margaret douglas, the king's niece, and the duchess of richmond, his daughter-in-law, were to join her at deptford, and the whole vast and glittering multitude were to convey her thence to where the king's pavilions were erected for her reception at blackheath.[195] in the midwinter twilight of early morning, on the 11th december 1539, anne's cavalcade entered the english town of calais, and during the long time she remained weather-bound there she was entertained as sumptuously as the nobles and townsmen could entertain her. the day she had passed through dunkirk in the emperor's dominions, just before coming to calais, a sermon was preached against her and all lutherans; but with that exception no molestation was offered to her. the ship that was to carry her over, dressed fore and aft with silken flags, streamers, and banners, was exhibited to her admiration by fitzwilliam, royal salutes thundered welcome to her, bands of martial music clashed in her honour, and banquets and jousts were held to delight her.[196] good sense and modesty were shown by her in many ways at this somewhat trying time. her principal mentor, chancellor olsiliger, begged fitzwilliam to advise her as to her behaviour; and she herself asked him to teach her some game of cards that the king of england usually played. he taught her a game which he calls "sent, which she did learn with good grace and countenance"; and she then begged him to come to sup with her, and bring some noble folk with him to sit with her in the german way. he told her that this was not the fashion in england, but he accepted her invitation. thus anne began betimes to prepare for what she hoped--greatly daring--would be a happy married life in england; whilst the wind and the waves thundering outside the harbour forbade all attempt to convey the bride to her now expectant bridegroom. henry had intended to keep christmas with unusual state at greenwich in the company of his new wife; but week after week slipped by, with the wind still contrary, and it was the 27th december before a happy change of weather enabled anne to set sail for her new home. she had a stout heart, for the passage was a rough though rapid one. when she landed at deal, and thence, after a short rest, was conducted in state to dover castle, the wind blew blusterously, and the hail and winter sleet drove "continually in her grace's face"; but she would hear of no delay in her journey forward, "so desirous was her grace of reaching the king's presence." at canterbury the citizens received her with a great torchlight procession and peals of guns. "in her chamber were forty or fifty gentlewomen waiting to receive her in velvet bonnets; all of which she took very joyously, and was so glad to see the king's subjects resorting to her so lovingly, that she forgot all the foul weather and was very merry at supper."[197] and so, with an evident determination to make the best of everything, anne rode onward, accompanied by an ever-growing cavalcade of sumptuously bedizened folk, through sittingbourne, and so to rochester, where she was lodged at the bishop's palace, and passed new year's day 1540. news daily reached the king of his bride's approach, whilst he remained consumed with impatience at greenwich. at each successive stage of her journey forward supple courtiers had written to henry glowing accounts of the beauty and elegance of the bride. fitzwilliam from calais had been especially emphatic, and the king's curiosity was piqued to see the paragon he was to marry. at length, when he knew that anne was on the way from sittingbourne to rochester, and would arrive there on new year's eve, he told cromwell that he himself, with an escort of eight gentlemen clad in grey, would ride to rochester incognito to get early sight of his bride, "whom he sorely desired to see." he went, he said, "to nourish love"; and full of hopeful anticipation, henry on a great courser ambled over gad's hill from gravesend to rochester soon after dawn on new year's day 1540, with sir anthony browne, his master of the horse, on one side, and sir john russell on the other. it was in accordance with the chivalrous tradition that this should be done, and that the lady should pretend to be extremely surprised when she was informed who her visitor was; so that anne must have made a fair guess as to what was coming when sir anthony browne, riding a few hundred yards ahead of his master, entered her presence, and, kneeling, told her that he had brought a new year's gift for her. when the courtier raised his eyes and looked critically upon the lady before him, experienced as he was in henry's tastes, "he was never more dismayed in his life to see her so far unlike that which was reported."[198] anne was about twenty-four years of age, but looked older, and her frame was large, bony, and masculine, which in the facial portraits that had been sent to henry was not indicated, and her large, low-german features, deeply pitted with the ravages of smallpox, were, as browne knew, the very opposite of the type of beauty which would be likely to stimulate a gross, unwholesome voluptuary of nearly fifty. so, with a sinking heart, he went back to his master, not daring to prepare him for what was before him by any hint of disparagement of the bride. as soon as henry entered with russell and browne and saw for himself, his countenance fell, and he made a wry face, which those who knew him understood too well; and they trembled in their shoes at what was to come of it. he nevertheless greeted the lady politely, raising her from the kneeling position she had assumed, and kissed her upon the cheek, passing a few minutes in conversation with her about her long journey. he had brought with him some rich presents of sables and other furs; but he was "so marvellously astonished and abashed" that he had not the heart to give them to her, but sent them the next morning with a cold message by sir anthony browne. in the night the royal barge had been brought round from gravesend to rochester, and the king returned to greenwich in the morning by water. he had hardly passed another word with anne since the first meeting, though they had supped together, and it was with a sulky, frowning face that he took his place in the shelter of his galley. turning to russell, he asked, "do you think this woman so fair or of such beauty as report has made her?" russell, courtier-like, fenced with the question by feigning to misunderstand it. "i should hardly take her to be fair," he replied, "but of brown complexion." "alas!" continued the king, "whom should men trust? i promise you i see no such thing in her as hath been showed unto me of her, and am ashamed that men have so praised her as they have done. i like her not."[199] to browne he was quite as outspoken. "i see nothing in this woman as men report of her," he said angrily, "and i am surprised that wise men should make such reports as they have done." whereat browne, who knew that his brother-in-law, fitzwilliam, was one of the "wise men" referred to, scented danger and was silent. the english ladies, too, who had accompanied anne on the road began to whisper in confidence to their spouses that anne's manners were coarse, and that she would never suit the king's fastidious taste. but he who had most to lose and most to fear was cromwell. it was he who had drawn and driven his master into the protestant friendship against the emperor and the pope, of which the marriage was to be the pledge, and he had repeated eagerly for months the inflated praises of anne's beauty sent by his agents and friends in order to pique henry to the union. he knew that vigilant enemies of himself and his policy were around him, watching for their opportunity, norfolk and the older nobles, the pope's bishops, and, above all, able, ambitious stephen gardiner, now sulking at winchester, determined to supplant him if he could. when, on friday the 2nd january, henry entered his working closet at greenwich after his water journey from rochester, cromwell asked him "how he liked the lady anne." the king answered gloomily, "nothing so well as she was spoken of," adding that if he had known before as much as he knew then, she should never have come within his realm. in the grievous self-pity usual with him in his perplexity, he turned to cromwell, the man hitherto so fertile in expedients, and wailed, "what is the remedy?"[200] cromwell, for once at a loss, could only express his grief, and say he knew of none. in very truth it was too late now to stop the state reception; for preparations had been ordered for such a pageant as had rarely been seen in england. cromwell had intended it for his own triumph, and as marking the completeness of his victory over his opponents. once more ambition o'erleaped itself, and the day that was to establish cromwell's supremacy sealed his doom. what anne thought of the situation is not on record. she had seen little of the world, outside the coarse boorishness of a petty low-german court; she was neither educated nor naturally refined, and she probably looked upon the lumpishness of her lover as an ordinary thing. in any case, she bated none of her state and apparent contentment, as she rode gorgeously bedight with her great train towards greenwich. at the foot of shooter's hill there had been erected an imposing pavilion of cloth of gold, and divers other tents warmed with fires of perfumed wood; and here a company of ladies awaited the coming of the queen on saturday, 3rd january 1540. a broad way was cleared from the pavilion, across woolwich common and blackheath, for over two miles, to the gates of greenwich park; and the merchants and corporation of london joined with the king's retinue in lining each side of this long lane. cromwell had recently gained the goodwill of foreigners settled in london by granting them exemption from special taxation for a term of years, and he had claimed, as some return, that they should make the most of this day of triumph. accordingly, the german merchants of the steelyard, the venetians, the spaniards, the french, and the rest of them, donned new velvet coats and jaunty crimson caps with white feathers, each master with a smartly clad servant behind him, and so stood each side of the way to do honour to the bride at the greenwich end of the route. then came the english merchants, the corporation of london, the knights and gentlemen who had been bidden from the country to do honour to their new queen, the gentlemen pensioners, the halberdiers, and, around the tent, the nobler courtiers and queen's household, all brave in velvet and gold chains.[201] behind the ranks of gentlemen and servitors there was ample room and verge enough upon the wide heath for the multitudes who came to gape and cheer king harry's new wife; more than a little perplexed in many cases as to the minimum amount of enthusiasm which would be accepted as seemly. cromwell himself marshalled the ranks on either side, "running up and down with a staff in his hand, for all the world as if he had been a running postman," as an eye-witness tells us. it was midday before the queen's procession rode down shooter's hill to the tents, where she was met by her official household and greeted with a long latin oration which she did not understand, whilst she sat in her chariot. then heartily kissing the great ladies sent to welcome her, she alighted and entered the tent to rest and warm herself over the perfumed fires, and to don even more magnificent raiment than that she wore. when she was ready for her bridegroom's coming she must have been a blaze of magnificence. she wore a wide skirt of cloth of gold with a raised pattern in bullion and no train, and her head was covered first with a close cap and then a round cap covered with pearls and fronted with black velvet; whilst her bodice was one glittering mass of precious stones. when swift messengers brought news that the king was coming, anne mounted at the door of the tent a beautiful white palfrey; and surrounded by her servitors, each bearing upon his golden coat the black lion of cleves, and followed by her train, she set forth to meet her husband. henry, unwieldy and lame as he was with a running ulcer in the leg, was as vain and fond of pomp as ever, and outdid his bride in splendour. his coat was of purple velvet cut like a frock, embroidered all over with a flat gold pattern interlined with narrow gold braid, and with gold lace laid crosswise over it all. a velvet overcoat surmounted the gorgeous garment, lined also with gold tissue, the sleeves and breast held together with great buttons of diamonds, rubies, and pearls. his sword and belt were covered with emeralds, and his bonnet and under-cap were "so rich in jewels that few men could value them"; whilst across his shoulders he wore a baldrick, composed of precious stones and pearls, that was the wonder of all beholders. the fat giant thus bedizened bestrode a great war-horse to match, and almost equally magnificent; and, preceded by heralds and trumpeters, followed by the great officers, the royal household and the bishops, and accompanied by the duke philip of bavaria, just betrothed to the princess mary, henry rode through the long lane of his velvet-clad admirers to meet anne, hard by the cross upon blackheath. when she approached him, he doffed his jewelled bonnet and bowed low; and then embraced her, whilst she, with every appearance of delight and duty, expressed her pleasure at meeting him. thus, together, with their great cavalcades united, over five thousand horsemen strong, they rode in the waning light of a midwinter afternoon to greenwich; and, as one who saw it but knew not the tragedy that lurked behind the splendour, exclaimed, "oh! what a sight was this to see, so goodly a prince and so noble a king to ride with so fair a lady of so goodly a stature, and so womanly a countenance, and especial of so good qualities. i think that no creature could see them but his heart rejoiced."[202] [illustration: _anne of cleves_ _from a portrait by a german artist in st. john's college, oxford_] there was one heart, at all events, that did not rejoice, and that was henry's. he went heavily through the ceremony of welcoming home his bride in the great hall at greenwich, and then led her to her chamber; but no sooner had he got quit of her, than retiring to his own room he summoned cromwell. "well!" he said, "is it not as i told you? say what they will, she is nothing like so fair as she was reported to be. she is well and seemly, but nothing else." cromwell, confused, could only mumble something about her having a queenly manner. but henry wanted a way out of his bargain rather than reconciliation to it; and he ordered cromwell to summon the council at once--norfolk, suffolk, cromwell, cranmer, fitzwilliam, and tunstal--to consider the prior engagement made between anne and the duke of lorraine's son.[203] the question had already been discussed and disposed of, and the revival of it thus at the eleventh hour shows how desperate henry was. the council assembled immediately, and summoned the german envoys who had negotiated the marriage and were now in attendance on anne. the poor men were thunderstruck at the point of an impediment to the marriage being raised then, and begged to be allowed to think the matter over till the next morning, sunday. when they met the council again in the morning, they could only protest that the prior covenant had only been a betrothal, which had never taken effect, and had been formally annulled. if there was any question about it, however, they offered to remain as prisoners in england until the original deed of revocation was sent from cleves. when this answer was carried to henry he broke out angrily that he was not being well treated, and upbraided cromwell for not finding a loophole for escape. he did not wish to marry the woman, he said. "if she had not come so far, and such great preparations made, and for fear of making a ruffle in the world--of driving her brother into the hands of the emperor and the french king--he never would marry her." cromwell was apparently afraid to encourage him in the idea of repudiation, and said nothing; and after dinner the king again summoned the council to his presence. to them he bitterly complained of having been deceived. would the lady, he asked, make a formal protestation before notaries that she was free from all contracts? of course she would, and did, as soon as she was asked; but henry's idea in demanding this is evident. if she had refused it would give a pretext for delay, but if she did as desired, and by any quibble the prior engagement was found to be valid, her protestation to the contrary would be good grounds for a divorce. but still henry would much rather not have married her at all. "oh! is there no other remedy?" he asked despairingly on monday, after anne had made her protestation. "must i needs against my will put my neck into the yoke?" cromwell could give him no comfort, and left him gloomy at the prospect of going through the ceremony on the morrow. on tuesday morning, when he was apparelled for the wedding, as usual in a blaze of magnificence of crimson satin and cloth of gold, cromwell entered his chamber on business. "my lord," said henry, "if it were not to satisfy the world and my realm, i would not do what i must do this day for any earthly thing." but withal he went through it as best he might, though with heavy heart and gloomy countenance, and the unfortunate bride, we are told, was remarked to be "demure and sad," as well she might be, when her husband and cranmer placed upon her finger the wedding-ring with the ominous inscription, "god send me well to keep." early the next morning cromwell entered the king's chamber between hope and fear, and found henry frowning and sulky. "how does your grace like the queen?" he asked. henry grumblingly, and not quite relevantly, replied that he, cromwell, was not everybody; and then he broke out, "surely, my lord, as you know, i liked her not well before, but now i like her much worse." with an incredible grossness, and want of common decency, he then went into certain details of his wife's physical qualities that had disgusted him and turned him against her. he did not believe, from certain peculiarities that he described, that she was a maid, he said; but so far as he was concerned, he was so "struck to the heart" that he had left her as good a maid as he had found her.[204] nor was the king more reticent with others. he was free with his details to the gentlemen of his chamber, denny, heneage, and others, as to the signs which it pleased him to consider suspicious as touching his wife's previous virtue, and protested that he never could, or would, consummate the marriage; though he professed later that for months after the wedding he did his best to overcome his repugnance, and lived constantly in contact with his wife. but he never lost sight of the hope of getting free. if he did not find means soon to do so, he said, he should have no more issue. his conscience told him--that tender conscience of his--that anne was not his legal wife; and he turned to cromwell for a remedy, and found none: for cromwell knew that the breaking up of the protestant union, upon which he had staked his future, would inevitably mean now the rise of his rivals and his own ruin. he fought stoutly for his position, though norfolk and gardiner were often now at the king's ear. his henchman, dr. barnes, who had gone to germany as envoy during the marriage negotiations, was a protestant, and in a sermon on justification by faith he violently attacked gardiner. the latter, in spite of cromwell and cranmer, secured from the king an order that barnes should humbly and publicly recant. he did so at easter at the spital, but at once repeated the offence, and he and two other clergymen who thought like him were burnt for heresy. men began to shake their heads and look grave now as they spoke of cromwell and cranmer; but the secretary stood sturdily, and in may seemed as if he would turn the tables upon his enemies. once, indeed, he threatened the duke of norfolk roughly with the king's displeasure, and at the opening of parliament he took the lead as usual, expressing the king's sorrow at the religious bitterness in the country, and demanding large supplies for the purposes of national defence. but, though still apparently as powerful as ever, and more than ever overbearing, he dared not yet propose to the king a way out of the matrimonial tangle. going home to austin friars from the sitting of parliament on the 7th june, he told his new colleague, wriothesley, that the thing that principally troubled him was that the king did not like the queen, and that his marriage had never been consummated. wriothesley, whose sympathies were then catholic, suggested that "some way might be devised for the relief of the king." "ah!" sighed cromwell, who knew what such a remedy would mean to him, "but it is a great matter." the next day wriothesley returned to the subject, and begged cromwell to devise some means of relief for the king: "for if he remained in this grief and trouble they should all smart for it some day." "yes," replied cromwell, "it is true; but it is a great matter." "marry!" exclaimed wriothesley, out of patience, "i grant that, but let a remedy be searched for." but cromwell had no remedy yet but one that would ruin himself, and that he dared not propose, so he shook his head sadly and changed the subject.[205] the repudiation of anne was, as cromwell said, a far greater matter than at first sight appeared. the plan to draw into one confederation for the objects of england the german protestants, the king of denmark, and the duke of cleves, whose seizure of guelderland had brought him in opposition to the emperor, was the most threatening that had faced charles for years. his own city of ghent was in open revolt, and francis after all was but a fickle ally. if once more the french king turned from him and made friends with the turk and the lutherans, then indeed would the imperial power have cause to tremble and henry to rejoice. cromwell had striven hard to cement the protestant combination; but again and again he had been thwarted by his rivals. the passage of the six articles against his wish, although the execution of the act was suspended at cromwell's instance, had caused the gravest distrust on the part of hans frederick and the landgrave of hesse; and if henry were encouraged to repudiate his german wife, not only would her brother--already in negotiation with the imperial agents for the investiture of gueldres, and his marriage with the emperor's niece, the duchess of milan--be at once driven into opposition to england, but hans frederick and hesse would also abandon henry to the tender mercies of his enemies. the only way to avoid such a disaster following upon the repudiation of anne was first to drive a wedge of distrust between charles and francis, now in close confederacy. in january the emperor had surprised the world by his boldness in traversing france to his flemish dominions. he was feasted splendidly by francis, and escaped unbetrayed; but during his stay in france desperate attempts were made by wyatt, henry's ambassador with charles, bonner, the ambassador in france, and by the duke of norfolk, who went in february on a special mission, to sow discord between the allied sovereigns, and not without some degree of success. charles during his stay in france was badgered by wyatt into saying some hasty words, which were deliberately twisted by norfolk into a menace to france and england alike. francis was reminded with irritating iteration that charles had plenty of smiles and soft words for his french friends, but avoided keeping his promises about the cession of milan or anything else. so in france those who were in favour of the imperial alliance, the montmorencies and the queen, declined in their hold over francis, and their opponents, the birons, the queen of navarre, francis' sister, and the duchess of etampes, his mistress, planned with henry's agents for an understanding with england. this, as may be supposed, was not primarily cromwell's policy, but that of norfolk and his friends, because its success would inevitably mean the conciliation of the german princes and cleves by the emperor, and the break-up of the protestant confederacy and england, by which cromwell must now stand or fall. as early as april, marillac, the french ambassador in england, foretold the great change that was coming. the arrest of barnes, garrard, and jerome, for anti-catholic teaching, and the persecutions everywhere for those who offended ever so slightly in the same way, presaged cromwell's fall. "cranmer and cromwell," writes marillac, "do not know where they are. within a few days there will be seen in this country a great change in many things, which this king begins to make in his ministers, recalling those he had disgraced, and degrading those he had raised. cromwell is tottering: for all those now recalled were dismissed at his request, and bear him no little grudge--amongst others, the bishops of winchester (_i.e._ gardiner), durham, and bath, men of great learning and experience, who are now summoned to the privy council. it is said that tunstal (_i.e._ durham) will be vicar-general, and bath privy seal, which are cromwell's principal offices.... if he holds his own (_i.e._ cromwell), it will only be because of his close assiduity in business, though he is very rude in his demeanour. he does nothing without consulting the king, and is desirous of doing justice, especially to foreigners." this was somewhat premature, but it gives a good idea of the process that was going on. there is no doubt that cromwell believed in his ability to keep his footing politically; for he was anything but rigid in his principles, and if the friendship with france initiated by his rivals had, as it showed signs of doing, developed into an alliance that would enable henry both to dismiss his fears of the emperor and throw over the protestants, he would probably have accepted the situation, and have proposed a means for henry to get rid of his distasteful wife. but this opportunism did not suit his opponents in henry's council. they wanted to get rid of the man quite as much as they did his policy; for his insolence had stung them to the quick, great nobles as most of them were, and he the son of a blacksmith. some other means, therefore, than a mere change of policy was necessary to dislodge the strong man who guided the king. parliament had met on the 12th april, and it was managed with cromwell's usual boldness and success.[206] as if to mark that his great ability was still paramount, he was made earl of essex and great chamberlain of england in the following week. but the struggle in the council, and around the king, continued unabated. henry was warned by cromwell's enemies of the danger of allowing religious freedom to be carried too far, and of thus giving the catholic powers an excuse for executing the pope's decree of deprivation against him. he was reminded that the emperor and francis were still friends, that the latter was suspiciously preparing for war, and that henry's brother-in-law the duke of cleves' quarrel with the emperor might drag england into war for the sake of a beggarly german dukedom of no importance or value to her. on the other hand, cromwell would point out to henry the disobedience and insolence of the catholics who questioned his spiritual supremacy, and cause churchmen who advocated a reconciliation with rome to be imprisoned. clearly such a position could not continue indefinitely, and norfolk anticipated cromwell by playing the final trump card--that of arousing henry's personal fears. the word treason and a hint that anything could be intended against his person always brought henry to heel. what the exact accusation against cromwell was no one knows, though it was whispered at the time that the nobles had told henry that cromwell had amassed great stores of money and arms, and maintained a vast number of dependants (1500 men, it was asserted, wore his livery), with a sinister object; some said to marry the princess mary and make himself king; and that he had received a great bribe from the duke of cleves and the protestants to bring about the marriage of anne. others said that he had boasted that he was to receive a crown abroad from a foreign potentate (_i.e._, the emperor), and that he had talked of defending the new doctrines at the sword's point.[207] no such accusations, however, are on official record; and there is no doubt that the real reason for his arrest was the animosity of the aristocratic and catholic party against him, acting upon the king's fears and his desire to get rid of anne of cleves. on the 9th june parliament was still sitting, discussing the religious question with a view to the settlement of some uniform doctrine. the lords of the council left the chamber to go across to whitehall to dinner before midday; and as they wended their way across the great courtyard of westminster a high wind carried away cromwell's flat cap from his head. it was the custom when one gentleman was even accidentally uncovered for those who were with him also to doff their bonnets. but, as an attendant ran and recovered cromwell's flying headgear on that occasion, the haughty minister looked grimly round and saw all his colleagues, once so humble, holding their own caps upon their heads. "a high wind indeed must this be," sneered cromwell, "to blow my cap off, and for you to need hold yours on." he must have known that ill foreboded; for during dinner no one spoke to him. the meal finished, cromwell went to the council chamber with the rest, and, as was his custom, stood at a window apart to hear appeals and applications to him, and when these were disposed of he turned to the table to take his usual seat with the rest. on this occasion norfolk stopped him, and told him that it was not meet that traitors should sit amongst loyal gentlemen. "i am no traitor!" shouted cromwell, dashing his cap upon the ground; but the captain of the guard was at the door, and still protesting the wretched man was hurried to the water gate and rowed swiftly to the tower, surrounded by halberdiers, norfolk as he left the council chamber tearing off the fallen minister's badge of the garter as a last stroke of ignominy. cromwell knew he was doomed, for by the iniquitous act that he himself had forged for the ruin of others, he might be attainted and condemned legally without his presence or defence. "mercy! mercy! mercy!" he wrote to the king in his agony; but for him there was as little mercy as he had shown to others. his death was a foregone conclusion, for henry's fears had been aroused: but cromwell had to be kept alive long enough for him to furnish such information as would provide a plausible pretext for the repudiation of anne. he was ready to do all that was asked of him--to swear to anything the king wished. he testified that he knew the marriage had never been consummated, and never would be; that the king was dissatisfied from the first, and had complained that the evidence of the nullification of the prior contract with the heir of lorraine was insufficient; that the king had never given full consent to the marriage, but had gone through the ceremony under compulsion of circumstances, and with mental reservation. when all this was sworn to, cromwell's hold upon the world was done. upon evidence now unknown he was condemned for treason and heresy without being heard in his own defence, and on the 28th july 1540 he stood, a sorry figure, upon the scaffold in the tower. he had been a sinner, he confessed, and had travailed after the things of this world; but he fervently avowed that he was a good catholic and no heretic, and had harboured no thought of evil towards his sovereign. but protestations availed not; and his head, the cleverest head in england, was pitiably hacked off by a bungling headsman. before that happened, the repudiation of anne of cleves was complete, and a revival of the aristocratic and catholic influence in england was an accomplished fact. chapter viii 1540-1542 the king's "good sister" and the king's bad wife--the lutherans and english catholics during her few months of incomplete wedlock with the king, anne had felt uneasily the strange anomaly of her position. she accompanied henry in his daily life at bed and board, and shared with him the various festivities held in celebration of the marriage; the last of which was a splendid tournament given by the bachelor courtiers at durham house on may-day. she had studied english diligently, and tried to please her husband in a hundred well-meant but ungainly ways. she had by her jovial manner and real kindness of heart become very popular with those around her; but yet she got no nearer to the glum, bloated man by her side. in truth she was no fit companion for him, either physically or mentally. her lack of the softer feminine charms, her homely manners, her lack of learning and of musical talent, on which henry set so much store, were not counterbalanced by strong will or commanding ability which might have enabled her to dominate him, or by feminine craft by which he might have been captivated. she was a woman, however, and could not fail to know that her repudiation in some form was in the air. it was one of the accusations against cromwell that he had divulged to her what the king had said about the marriage; but, so far from doing so, he had steadily avoided compliance with her oft-repeated requests for an interview with him. shortly before cromwell's fall, henry had complained to him that anne's temper was becoming tart; and then cromwell thought well to warn her through her chamberlain that she should try to please the king more. the poor woman, desirous of doing right, tactlessly flew to the other extreme, and her cloying fondness aroused henry's suspicion that cromwell had informed her of his intention to get rid of her. anne's lutheranism, moreover, had begun to grate upon the tender conscience of her husband under the prompting of the catholic party; although she scrupulously followed the english ritual, and later became a professed catholic; and to all these reasons which now made henry doubly anxious for prompt release, was added another more powerful than any. one of anne's maids of honour was a very beautiful girl of about eighteen, katharine, the orphan daughter of lord edmund howard, brother of the duke of norfolk, and consequently first cousin of anne boleyn. during the first months of his unsatisfying union with anne, henry's eyes must have been cast covetously upon katharine; for in april 1540 she received a grant from him of a certain felon's property, and in the following month twenty-three quilts of quilted sarsnet were given to her out of the royal wardrobe. when cromwell was still awaiting his fate in the tower, and whispers were rife of what was intended against the queen, marillac the observant french ambassador wrote in cipher to his master, telling him that there was another lady in the case; and a week afterwards (6th july) he amplified his hints by saying that, either for that reason or some other, anne had been sent to richmond, on the false pretence that plague had appeared in london, and that henry, very far from joining her there, as he had promised, had not left london, and was about to make a progress in another direction. marillac rightly says that "if there had been any suspicion of plague, the king would not stay for any affair, however great, as he is the most timid person that could be in such a case." the true reason why anne was sent away was henry's invariable cowardice, that made him afraid to face a person whom he was wronging. gardiner had promptly done what cromwell had been ruined for not doing, and had submitted to the king within a few days of the arrest of his rival a complete plan by which anne might be repudiated.[208] first certain ecclesiastics, under oath of secrecy, were to be asked for their opinion as to the best way to proceed, and the council was thereupon to discuss and settle the procedure in accordance: the question of the previous contract and its repudiation was to be examined; the manner in which the queen herself was to be approached was to be arranged, and evidence from every one to whom the king had spoken at the time as to his lack of consent and consummation was to be collected. all this had been done by the 7th july, when the clergy met at westminster, summoned by writ under the great seal, dated the 6th, to decide whether the king's marriage was valid or not in the circumstances detailed. the obedient parliament, sitting with closed doors, a few days previously had, by norfolk's orders, petitioned the king to solve certain doubts that had been raised about the marriage, and henry, ever desirous of pleasing his faithful lieges, and to set at rest conscientious scruples, referred the question to his prelates in synod for decision. anne, two days before this, summoned to richmond the ambassador of her brother, who came to her at four o'clock in the morning; and she then sent for the earl of rutland, the chief of her household, to be present at the interview. the king, she said, had sent her a message and asked for a reply. the effect of the message was to express doubts as to the validity of their marriage, and to ask her if she was content to leave the decision of it to the english clergy. the poor woman, much perturbed, had refused to send an answer without consideration, and she had then desired that her brother's envoy should give, or at all events carry, the answer to the king, but this he refused to do; and she in her trouble could only appeal to rutland for advice. he prated about the "graciousness and virtue" of the king, and assured her that he would "do nothing but that should stand by the law of god, and for the discharge of his conscience and hers, and the quietness of the realm, and at the suit of all his lords and commons." the king was content to refer the question to the learned and virtuous bishops, so that she had cause to be glad rather than sorry. anne was confused and doubtful; for she did not know what was intended towards her. but, considering the helplessness of her position and the danger of resistance, she met the deputation of the council that came to her next day (6th july) in a spirit of complete surrender. she was, she said in german, always content to obey the king, and would abide by the decision of the prelates; and with this answer gardiner posted back to london that night, to appear at the synod the next morning. neither anne, nor any one for her, appeared. the whole evidence, which was that already mentioned, was to show the existence of a prior contract, of the annulling of which no sufficient proofs had been produced, the avowals of the king and the queen to their confidants that the marriage had never been consummated, and never would be; and, lastly, the absence of "inner consent" on the part of the king from the first. under the pressure of gardiner--for cranmer, overshadowed by a cloud and in hourly fear of cromwell's fate, was ready to sign anything--the union was declared to be invalid, and both parties were pronounced capable of remarriage. a bill was then hurriedly rushed through parliament confirming the decision of convocation, and cranmer, for the third time, as primate, annulled his master's marriage. anne was still profoundly disturbed at the fate that might be in store for her; and when suffolk, southampton, and wriothesley went to richmond on the 10th july to obtain her acceptance of the decision, she fainted at the sight of them. they did their best to reassure her, giving her from the king a large present of money and a specially affectionate letter. she was assured that if she would acquiesce and remain in the realm she should be the king's adopted sister, with precedence before all other ladies but the king's wife and daughters; a large appanage should be secured to her, and jewels, furniture, and the household of a royal princess provided for her. she was still doubtful; and some persuasion had to be used before she would consent to sign the letter dictated to her as the king's "sister"; but at last she did so, and was made to say that "though the case was hard and sorrowful, for the great love she bears to his noble person, yet, having more regard for god and his truth than for any worldly affection, she accepts the judgment, praying that the king will take her as one of his most humble servants, and so determine of her that she may sometimes enjoy his presence." this seemed almost too good to be true when henry read it, and he insisted upon its being written and signed again in german, that anne might not subsequently profess ignorance of its wording. when anne, however, was asked to write to her brother, saying that she was fully satisfied, she at first refused. why should she write to him before he wrote to her? she asked. if he sent a complaint, she would answer it as the king wished; but after a few days she gave way on this point when further pressed.[209] so delighted was henry at so much submission to his will, that he was kindness and generosity itself. on the 14th july he sent the councillors again to richmond, with another handsome present and a letter to his "right dear, and right entirely beloved sister," thanking her gratefully for her "wise and honourable proceedings." "as it is done in respect of god and his truth; and, continuing your conformity, you shall find us a perfect friend content to repute you as our dearest sister." he promised her £4000 a year, with the two royal residences of richmond and bletchingly, and a welcome at court when she pleased to come. in return she sent him another amiable letter, and the wedding-ring; expressing herself fully satisfied. she certainly carried out her part of the arrangement to perfection, whether from fear or complaisance; assuring the envoys of her brother the duke that she was well treated, as in a material sense indeed she was, and thenceforward made the best of her life in england. her brother and the german protestants were of course furiously indignant; but, as the injured lady expressed herself not only satisfied but delighted with her position, no ground could be found for open quarrel. she was probably a person of little refinement of feeling, and highly appreciated the luxury and abundance with which she thenceforward was surrounded, enjoying, as she always did, recreation and fine dress, in which she was distinguished above any of henry's wives. on the day after the synod had met in westminster to decide the invalidity of the marriage (7th july), pate, the english ambassador, saw the emperor at bruges, with a message from henry which foreshadowed an entire change in the foreign policy of england. charles received pate at midnight, and was agreeably surprised to learn that conscientious scruples had made henry doubt the validity of his union with anne. the emperor's stiff demeanour changed at once, and, as the news came day by day of the progress of the separation of henry from his protestant wife, the cordiality of the emperor grew towards him,[210] whilst england itself was in full catholic reaction. the fall of cromwell had, as it was intended to do, provided henry with a scapegoat. the spoliation and destruction of the religious houses, by which the king and many of the catholic nobles had profited enormously, was laid to the dead man's door; the policy of plundering the church, of union with lutherans, and the favouring of heresy, had been the work of the wicked minister, and not of the good king--that ill-served and ungratefully-used king, who was always innocent, and never in the wrong, who simply differed from other good catholics in his independence of the bishop of rome: merely a domestic disagreement. with such suave hypocrisy as this difficulties were soon smoothed over; and to prove the perfect sincerity with which henry proceeded, protestants like barnes, garrard, and jerome were burnt impartially side by side with catholics who did not accept the spiritual supremacy of henry over the church in england, such as abell, powell, fetherstone, and cook. the catholic and aristocratic party in england had thus triumphed all along the line, by the aid of anti-protestant churchmen like gardiner and tunstal. their heavy-handed enemy, cromwell, had gone, bearing the whole responsibility for the past; the king had been flattered by exoneration from blame, and pleased by the release from his wife, so deftly and pleasantly effected. no one but cromwell was to blame for anything: they were all good catholics, whom the other catholic powers surely could not attack for a paltry quarrel with the pope; and, best of all, the ecclesiastical spoil was secured to them and their heirs for ever, for they all maintained the supremacy of the king in england, good catholics though they were. but, withal, they knew that henry must have some one close to him to keep him in the straight way.[211] the nobles were not afraid of cranmer, for he kept in the background, and was a man of poor spirit; and, moreover, for the moment the danger was hardly from the reformers. the nobles had triumphed by the aid of gardiner, and gardiner was now the strong spirit near the king; but the aims of the nobles were somewhat different from those of churchmen; and a catholic bishop as the sole director of the national policy might carry them farther than they wished to go. henry's concupiscence must therefore once more be utilised, and the woman upon whom he cast his eyes, if possible, made into a political instrument to forward the faction that favoured her. gardiner was nothing loath, for he was sure of himself; but how eager norfolk and his party were to take advantage of henry's fancy for katharine howard, to effect her lodgment by his side as queen, is seen by the almost indecent haste with which they began to spread the news of her rise, even before the final decision was given as to the validity of the marriage with anne. on the 12th july a humble dependant of the howards, mistress joan bulmer (of whom more will be heard), wrote to katharine, congratulating her upon her coming greatness, and begging for an office about her person: "for i trost the quyne of bretane wyll not forget her secretary." less than a fortnight later (21st july) the french ambassador gives as a piece of gossip that katharine howard was already pregnant by the king, and that the marriage was therefore being hurried on. exactly when or where the wedding took place is not known, but it was a private one, and by the 11th august katharine was called queen, and acknowledged as such by all the court. on the 15th marillac wrote that her name had been added to the prayers in the church service, and that the king had gone on a hunting expedition, presumably accompanied by his new wife; whilst "madame de cleves, so far from claiming to be married, is more joyous than ever, and wears new dresses every day." everybody thus was well satisfied except the protestants.[212] henry, indeed, was delighted with his tiny, sparkling girl-wife, and did his best to be a gallant bridegroom to her, though there was none of the pomp and splendour that accompanied his previous nuptials.[213] the autumn of 1540 was passed in a leisurely progress through the shires to grafton, where most of the honeymoon was spent. the rose crowned was chosen by henry as his bride's personal cognisance, and the most was made of her royal descent and connections by the enamoured king. "the king is so amorous of her," wrote marillac in september, "that he cannot treat her well enough, and caresses her more than he did the others." even thus early, however, whispers were heard of the king's fickleness. once it was said that anne of cleves was pregnant by him, and he would cast aside katharine in her favour, and shortly afterwards he refrained from seeing his new wife for ten days together, because of something she had done to offend him. the moral deterioration of henry's character, which had progressed in proportion with the growing conviction of his own infallibility and immunity, had now reached its lowest depth. he was rapidly becoming more and more bulky; and his temper, never angelic, was now irascible in the extreme. his health was bad, and increasing age had made him more than ever impatient of contradiction or restraint, and no consideration but that of his own interest and safety influenced him. the policy which he adopted under the guidance of gardiner and norfolk was one of rigorous enforcement of the six articles, and, at the same time, of his own spiritual supremacy in england. all chance of a coalition of henry with the lutherans was now out of the question ("squire harry means to be god, and to do as pleases himself," said luther at the time); and the emperor, freed from that danger, and faced with the greater peril of a coalition of the french and turks, industriously endeavoured to come to some _modus vivendi_ with his german electors. the rift between charles and francis was daily widening; and henry himself was aiding the process to his full ability; for he knew that whilst they were disunited he was safe. but for the first time in his reign, except when he defied the pope, he adopted a policy--probably his own and not that of his ministers--calculated to offend both the catholic powers, whilst he was alienated from the reforming element on the continent. by an act of parliament the ancient penal laws against foreign denizens were re-enacted, and all foreigners but established merchants were to be expelled the country; whilst alien merchants resident were to pay double taxation. the taxation of englishmen, enormous under cromwell, was now recklessly increased, with the set purpose of keeping the lieges poor, just as the atrocious religious executions were mainly to keep them submissive, and incapable of questioning the despot's will. but, though englishmen might be stricken dumb by persecution, the expulsion or oppression of foreigners led to much acrimony and reprisals on the part both of the emperor and francis. an entirely gratuitous policy of irritation towards france on the frontier of calais and elsewhere was also adopted, apparently to impress the emperor, and for the satisfaction of henry's arrogance, when he thought it might be safe to exercise it. the general drift of english policy at the time was undoubtedly to draw closer to the emperor, not entirely to the satisfaction of the duke of norfolk, who was usually pro-french; but even here the oppressive act against foreigners by which henry hoped to show charles that his friendship was worth buying made cordiality in the interim extremely difficult. when chapuys in the emperor's name remonstrated with the council about the new decree forbidding the export of goods from england except in english bottoms, the english ministers rudely said that the king could pass what laws he liked in his own country, just as the emperor could in his. charles and his sister, the regent of the netherlands, took the hint, and utterly astounded henry by forbidding goods being shipped in the netherlands in english vessels. the danger was understood at once. not only did this strike a heavy blow at english trade, but it upset the laboriously constructed pretence of close communion with the emperor which had been used to hoodwink the french. henry himself bullied and hectored, as if he was the first injured party; and then took chapuys aside in a window-bay and hinted at an alliance. he said that the french were plotting against the emperor, and trying to gain his (henry's) support, which, however, he would prefer to give to the emperor if he wished for it. henry saw, indeed, that he had drawn the bow too tight, and was ready to shuffle out of the position into which his own arrogance had led him. so gardiner was sent in the winter to see the emperor with the king's friend knyvett, who was to be the new resident ambassador; the object of the visit being partly to impress the french, and partly to persuade charles of henry's strict catholicism, and so to render more difficult any such agreement being made as that aimed at by the meeting at worms between the lutheran princes and their suzerain. gardiner's mission was not very successful, for charles understood the move perfectly; but it was not his policy then to alienate henry, for he was slowly maturing his plans for crushing france utterly, and hoped whilst catholic influence was paramount in england to obtain the help or at least the neutrality of henry. the fall of cromwell had been hailed by catholics in england as the salvation of their faith, and high hopes had attended the elevation of gardiner. but the crushing taxation, the arbitrary measures, and, above all, the cruel persecution of those who, however slightly, questioned the king's spiritual supremacy, caused renewed discontent amongst the extreme catholics, who still looked yearningly towards cardinal pole and his house. it is not probable that any yorkist conspiracy existed in england at the time; the people were too much terrified for that; but henry's ambassadors and agents in catholic countries had been forced sometimes to dally with the foreign view of the king's supremacy, and gardiner, whose methods were even more unscrupulous than those of cromwell, suddenly pounced upon those of henry's ministers who might be supposed to have come into contact with the friends of the house of york. pate, the english ambassador with the emperor, was suspicious, and escaped to rome; but sir thomas wyatt, who had been the ambassador in spain, was led to the tower handcuffed with ignominy; dr. mason, another ambassador, was also lodged in the fortress, at the suggestion of bonner. even sir ralph sadler, one of the secretaries of state, was imprisoned for a short time, whilst sir john wallop, the ambassador in france, was recalled and consigned to a dungeon, as was sir thomas palmer, knight porter of calais, and others; though most of them were soon afterwards pardoned at the instance of katharine howard. in the early spring of 1541 an unsuccessful attempt was made at a catholic rising in yorkshire, where the feeling was very bitter; and though the revolt was quickly suppressed, it was considered a good opportunity for striking terror into those who still doubted the spiritual supremacy of henry, and resented the plunder of the monasteries. the atrocious crime was perpetrated of bringing out the mother of pole, the aged countess of salisbury, last of the plantagenets, from her prison in the tower to the headsman's block. lord leonard gray was a another blameless victim, whilst lord dacre of the south was, on a trumped-up charge of murder, hanged like a common malefactor at tyburn. lord lisle, henry's illegitimate uncle, was also kept in the tower till his death. when the reign of terror had humbled all men to the dust, the king could venture to travel northward with the purpose of provoking and subjecting his nephew, the king of scots, the ally of france. all this seems to point to the probability that at this time (1541) henry had decided to take a share on the side of the emperor in the war which was evidently looming between charles and francis. he was broken and fretful, but his vanity and ambition were still boundless; and gardiner, whose policy, and not norfolk's, it undoubtedly was, would easily persuade him that an alliance in war with charles could not fail to secure for him increased consideration and readmission into the circle of catholic nations, whilst retaining his own supremacy unimpaired. henry's pompous progress in the north, accompanied by katharine, occupied nearly five months, till the end of october. how far the young wife was influential in keeping henry to the policy just described it is impossible to say, but beyond acquiescence in an occasional petition or hint, it is difficult to believe that the elderly, self-willed man would be moved by the thoughtless, giddy girl whom he had married. if the opposite had been the case, norfolk's traditions and leanings would have been more conspicuous than they are in henry's actions at the time. it is true that, during the whole period, a pretence of cordial negotiation was made for a marriage between princess mary and a french prince, but it is certain now, whatever norfolk may have thought at the time, that the negotiation was solely in order to stimulate charles to nearer approach, and to mislead francis whilst the english preparations for war and the strengthening of the garrisons towards france and scotland went steadily on. an alliance with the emperor in a war with france was evidently the policy upon which henry, instigated by his new adviser, now depended to bring him back with flying colours into the comity of catholic sovereigns, whilst bating no jot of his claims to do as he chose in his own realm. such a policy was one after henry's own heart. it was showy and tricky, and might, if successful, cover him with glory, as well as redound greatly to his profit in the case of the dismemberment of france. but it would have been impossible whilst the union symbolised by the cleves marriage existed; and, seen by this light, the eagerness of gardiner to find a way for the king to dismiss the wife who had personally repelled him is easily understood, as well as cromwell's disinclination to do so. the encouragement of the marriage with katharine howard, part of the same intrigue, was still further to attach the king to its promoters, and the match was doubtless intended at the same time to conciliate norfolk and the nobles whilst gardiner carried through his policy. we shall see that, either by strange chance or deep design, those who were opposed to this policy were the men who were instrumental in shattering the marriage that was its concomitant. henry and his consort arrived at hampton court from the north on the 30th october 1541, and to his distress he found his only son, edward, seriously ill of quartan fever. all the physicians within reach were summoned, and reported to the anxious father that the child was so fat and unhealthy as to be unlikely to live long. the king had now been married to katharine for fifteen months, and there were no signs of probable issue. strange whispers were going about on back stairs and ante-chambers with regard to the queen's proceedings. she was known to have been a giddy, neglected girl before her marriage, having been brought up by her grandmother, the dowager-duchess of norfolk, without the slightest regard for her welfare or the high rank of her family; and her confidants in a particularly dissolute court were many and untrustworthy. the king, naturally, was the last person to hear the malicious tittle-tattle of jealous waiting-maids and idle pages about the queen; and though his wife's want of reserve and dignity often displeased him, he lived usually upon affectionate terms with her. there was other loose talk, also, going on to the effect that on one of the visits of anne of cleves to hampton court after henry's marriage with katharine, the king and his repudiated wife had made up their differences, with the consequence that anne was pregnant by him. it was not true; though later it gave much trouble both to henry and anne, but it lent further support to the suggestions that were already being made that the king would dismiss katharine and take anne back again. the air was full of such rumours, some prompted, as we shall see, by personal malice, others evidently by the opponents of gardiner's policy, which was leading england to a war with france and a close alliance with the imperial champion of catholicism. on the 2nd november, henry, still in distress about the health of his son, attended mass, as usual, in the chapel at hampton court,[214] and as he came out cranmer prayed for a private interview with him. the archbishop had for many months been in the background, for gardiner would brook no competition; but cranmer was personally a favourite with the king,--cromwell said once that henry would forgive him anything,--and when they were alone cranmer put him in possession of a shameful story that a few days before had been told to him, which he had carefully put into writing; and, after grave discussion with the earl of hertford (seymour) and the lord chancellor (audley), had determined to hand to the king. the conjunction of cranmer, seymour, and audley, as the trio that thought it their duty to open henry's eyes to the suspicions cast upon his wife, is significant. they were all of them in sympathy with the reformed religion, and against the norfolk and gardiner policy; and it is difficult to escape from the conclusion that, however true may have been the statements as to katharine's behaviour, and there is no doubt that she was guilty of much that was laid to her charge, the enlightenment of henry as to her life before and after marriage was intended to serve the political and religious ends of those who were instrumental in it. the story as set forth by cranmer was a dreadful one. it appears that a man named john lascelles, who was a strong protestant, and had already foretold the overthrow of norfolk and gardiner,[215] went to cranmer and said that he had been visiting in sussex a sister of his, whose married name was hall. she had formerly been in the service of the howard family and of the dowager-duchess of norfolk, in whose houses katharine howard had passed her neglected childhood; and lascelles, recalling the fact, had, he said, recommended his sister to apply to the young queen, whom she had known so intimately as a girl, for a place in the household. "no," replied the sister, "i will not do that; but i am very sorry for her." "why are you sorry for her?" asked lascelles. "marry," quoth she, "because she is light, both in living and conditions" (_i.e._ behaviour). the brother asked for further particulars, and, thus pressed, mary hall related that "one francis derham had lain in bed with her, and between the sheets in his doublet and hose, a hundred nights; and a maid in the house had said that she would lie no longer with her (katharine) because she knew not what matrimony was. moreover, one mannock, a servant of the dowager-duchess, knew and spoke of a private mark upon the queen's body." this was the document which cranmer handed to the king, "not having the heart to say it by word of mouth": and it must be admitted that as it was only a bit of second-hand scandal, without corroboration, and could not refer to any period subsequent to katharine's marriage, it did not amount to much. henry is represented as having been inclined to make light of it, which was natural, but he nevertheless summoned fitzwilliam (southampton), lord russell (lord admiral), sir anthony browne, and wriothesley, and deputed to them the inquiry into the whole matter. fitzwilliam hurried to london and then to sussex to examine lascelles and his sister, whilst the others were sent to take the depositions of derham, who was now in katharine's service, and was ordered to be apprehended on a charge of piracy in ireland sometime previously, and mannock, who was a musician in the household of the duchess. on the 5th november the ministers came to hampton court with the shocking admissions which they had extracted from the persons examined. up to that time henry had been gay, and had thought little of the affair, but now, when he heard the statements presented to him, he was overcome with grief: "his heart was pierced with pensiveness," we are told, "so that it was long before he could utter his sorrow, and finally with copious tears, which was strange in his courage, opened the same." the next day, sunday, he met norfolk and the lord chancellor secretly in the fields, and then with the closest privacy took boat to london without bidding farewell to katharine, leaving in the hands of his council the unravelling of the disgraceful business. the story, pieced together from the many different depositions,[216] and divested of its repetitions and grossness of phraseology, may be summarised as follows. katharine, whose mother had died early, had grown up uncared for in the house of her grandmother at horsham in norfolk, and later at lambeth; apparently living her life in common with the women-servants. whilst she was yet quite a child, certainly not more than thirteen, probably younger, henry mannock, one of the duchess's musicians, had taught her to play the virginals; and, as he himself professed, had fallen in love with her. the age was a licentious one; and the maids, probably to disguise their own amours, appear to have taken a sport in promoting immoral liberties between the orphan girl and the musician, carrying backwards and forwards between the ill-matched pair tokens and messages, and facilitating secret meetings at untimely hours: and mannock deposed unblushingly to have corrupted the girl systematically and shamefully, though not criminally. on one occasion the old duchess found this scamp hugging her granddaughter, and in great anger she beat the girl, upbraided the musician, and forbade such meetings for the future. mary hall, who first gave the information, represents herself as having remonstrated indignantly with mannock for his presumption in pledging his troth, as one of the other women told her he had, with katharine. he replied impudently that all he wanted of the girl was to seduce her, and he had no doubt he should succeed in doing so, seeing the liberties she had already permitted him to take with her. mary hall said that she had warned him that the howards would kill or ruin him if he did not take care. katharine, according to mary hall's tale, when told of mannock's impudent speech, had angrily said that she cared nothing for him; but he managed the next time he saw her, by her own contrivance, to persuade her that he was so much in love as not to know what he said. before long, however, a more dangerous lover, because one of better rank, appeared in the field, and spoilt mannock's game. this was francis derham, a young gentleman of some means in the household of the duke of norfolk, of whom he seems to have been a distant connection. in his own confession he boldly admitted that he was in love with katharine, and had promised her marriage. the old duchess always had the keys of the maids' dormitory, where katharine also slept, brought to her chamber after the doors were locked; but means were found by the women to laugh at locksmiths, and the most unbridled licence prevailed amongst them. derham, with the lovers of two of the women, used to obtain access almost nightly to the dormitory, where they remained feasting and rioting until two or three in the morning: and there can remain little doubt that, on the promise of marriage, derham practically lived with katharine as his wife thus clandestinely, for a considerable period, whilst she was yet very young. mannock, who found himself supplanted, thereupon wrote an anonymous letter to the duchess and left it in her pew at chapel, saying that if her grace would rise again an hour after she had retired and visit the gentlewomen's chamber she would see something that would surprise her. the old lady, who was not free from reproach in the matter herself, railed and stormed at the women; and katharine, who was deeply in love with derham, stole the anonymous letter from her grandmother's room and showed it to him, charging mannock with having written it. the result, of course, was a quarrel, and the further enlightenment of the duchess with regard to her granddaughter's connection with derham. the old lady herself was afterwards accused of having introduced derham into her own household for the purpose of forwarding a match between him and katharine; and finally got into great trouble and danger by seizing and destroying derham's papers before the king's council could impound them: but when she learnt the lengths to which the immoral connection had been carried, and the shameful licentiousness that had accompanied it, she made a clean sweep of the servants inculpated, and brought her granddaughter to live in lambeth amongst a fresh set of people. there is no doubt that katharine and derham were secretly engaged to be married, and, apart from the immoral features of the engagement, no very great objection could have been taken to it. she was a member of a very large family, an orphan with no dower or prospects, and her marriage with derham, who was a sort of relative, would have been not a glaringly unequal one. with lover-like alacrity he provided her with the feminine treasures which she coveted, but which her lack of means prevented her from buying. artificial flowers, articles of dress, or materials for them, trinkets and adornments, not to speak of the delicacies which he brought to furnish forth the tables during the nightly orgy. he had made no great secret of his engagement to, and intention of marrying katharine, and had shown various little tokens of her troth that she had given him. on one of his piratical raids, moreover, he had handed to her the whole of his money, as to his affianced wife, and told her she might keep it if he came not back, whilst on other occasions he had exercised his authority, as her betrothed, to chide her for her attentions to others. when at last the old duchess learnt fully of the immoral proceedings that had been going on, katharine got another severe beating, and derham fled from the vengeance of the howards. after the matter had blown over, and katharine was living usually at lambeth, derham found his way back, and attempted clandestinely to renew the connection. but katharine by this time was older and more experienced, as beseemed a lady at court. it was said that she was affianced to her cousin, thomas culpeper; but in any case she indignantly refused to have anything to do with derham, and hotly resented his claim to interfere in her affairs. so far the disclosures referred solely to misconduct previous to katharine's marriage with the king, and, however reprehensible this may have been, it only constructively became treason _post facto_, by reason of the concealment from the king of his wife's previous immoral life; whereby the royal blood was "tainted," and he himself injured. cranmer was therefore sent to visit katharine with orders to set before her the iniquity of her conduct and the penalty prescribed by the law; and then to promise her the king's mercy on certain conditions. the poor girl was frantic with grief and fear when the primate entered; and he in compassion spared her the first parts of his mission, and began by telling her of her husband's pity and clemency. the reaction from her deadly fear sent her into greater paroxysms than ever of remorse and regret. "this sudden mercy made her offences seem the more heinous." "this was about the hour" (6 o'clock), she sobbed, "that master heneage was wont to bring me knowledge of his grace." the promise of mercy may or may not have been sincere; but it is evident that the real object of cranmer's visit was to learn from katharine whether the betrothal with derham was a binding contract. if that were alleged in her defence the marriage with the king was voidable, as that of anne of cleves was for a similar cause; and if, by reason of such prior contract, katharine had never legally been henry's wife, her guilt was much attenuated, and she and her accomplices could only be punished for concealment of fact to the king's detriment, a sufficiently grave crime, it is true, in those days, but much less grave if katharine was never legally henry's wife. it may therefore have seemed good policy to offer her clemency on such conditions as would have relieved him of her presence for ever, with as little obloquy as possible, but other counsels eventually prevailed. orders were given that she was to be sent to sion house, with a small suite and no canopy of state, pending further inquiry; whilst the lord chancellor, councillors, peers, bishops, and judges were convened on the 12th november, and the evidence touching the queen laid before them. it was decided, however, that derham should not be called, and that all reference to a previous contract of marriage should be suppressed. on the following sunday the whole of the queen's household was to be similarly informed of the offences and their gravity, and to them also no reference to a prior engagement that might serve to lighten the accusations or their own responsibility was to be made. katharine howard's fate if the matter had ended here would probably have been divorce on the ground of her previous immorality "tainting the royal blood," and lifelong seclusion; but in their confessions the men and women involved had mentioned other names; and on the 13th november, the day before katharine was to be taken to sion, the scope of the inquiry widened. mannock in his first examination on the 5th november had said that mistress katharine tylney, the queen's chamberwoman, a relative of the old duchess, could speak as to katharine's early immoral life; and when this lady found herself in the hands of wriothesley she told some startling tales. "did the queen leave her chamber any night at lincoln or elsewhere during her recent progress with the king?" "yes, her majesty had gone on two occasions to lady rochford's[217] room, which could be reached by a little pair of back stairs near the queen's apartment." mrs. tylney and the queen's other attendant, margery morton, had attempted to accompany their mistress, but had been sent back. mrs. tylney had obeyed, and had gone to bed; but margery had crept back up the stairs again to lady rochford's room. about two o'clock in the morning margery came to bed in the same dormitory as the other maids. "jesu! is not the queen abed yet?" asked the surprised tylney, as she awoke. "yes," in effect, replied margery, "she has just retired." on the second occasion katharine sent the rest of her attendants to bed and took tylney with her to lady rochford's room, but the maid, with lady rochford's servant, were shut up in a small closet, and not allowed to see who came into the principal apartments. but, nevertheless, her suspicions were aroused by the strange messages with which she was sent by katharine to lady rochford: "so strange that she knew not how to utter them." even at hampton court lately, as well as at grimsthorpe during the progress, she had been bidden by the queen to ask lady rochford "when she should have the thing she promised her," the answer being that she (lady rochford) was sitting up for it, and would bring the queen word herself. then margery morton was tackled by sir anthony browne. she had never mistrusted the queen until the other day, at hatfield, "when she saw her majesty look out of the window to mr. culpeper in such sort that she thought there was love between them." whilst at hatfield the queen had given orders that none of her attendants were to enter her bedroom unless they were summoned. margery, too, had been sent on mysterious secret errands to lady rochford, which she could not understand, and, with others of the maids, had considered herself slighted by the queen's preference for katharine tylney and for those who owed their position to lady rochford; which lady, she said, she considered the principal cause of the queen's folly. thus far there was nothing beyond the suspicions of jealous women, but lady rochford was frightened into telling a much more damning story, though she tried to make her own share in it as light as possible. the queen, she confessed, had had many interviews in her rooms with culpeper--at greenwich, lincoln, pontefract, york, and elsewhere--for many months past; but as culpeper stood at the farther end of the room with his foot upon the top of the back stairs, so as to be ready to slip down in case of alarm, and the queen talked to him at the door, lady rochford professed to be ignorant of what passed between them. one night, she recalled, the queen and herself were standing at the back door at eleven at night, when a watchman came with a lantern and locked the door. shortly afterwards, however, culpeper entered the room, saying that he and his servant had picked the lock. since the first suspicion had been cast upon the queen by lascelles, katharine, according to lady rochford, had continually asked after culpeper. "if that matter came not out she feared nothing," and finally, lady rochford, although professing to have been asleep during some of culpeper's compromising visits, declared her belief that criminal relations had existed between him and the queen: culpeper, according to the depositions,[218] made quite a clean breast of it, though what means were adopted for making him so frank is not clear. probably torture, or the threat of it, was resorted to, since hertford, riche, and audley had much to do with the examinations;[219] whilst even the duke of norfolk and wriothesley, not to appear backward in the king's service, were as anxious as their rivals to make the case complete. culpeper was a gentleman of great estate in kent and elsewhere, holding many houses and offices; a gentleman of the chamber, clerk of the armoury, steward and keeper of several royal manors; and he had received many favours from the king, with whom he ordinarily slept. he deposed to and described many stolen interviews with katharine, all apparently after the previous passion week (1541), when the queen, he said, had sent for him and given him a velvet cap. lady rochford, according to his statement, was the go-between, and arranged all the assignations in her apartments, whilst the queen, whenever she reached a house during the progress, would make herself acquainted with the back doors and back stairs, in order to facilitate the meetings. at pontefract she thought the back door was being watched by the king's orders, and lady rochford caused her servant to keep a counter watch. on one occasion, he said, the queen had hinted that she could favour him as a certain lady of the court had favoured lord parr; and when culpeper said he did not think that the queen was such a lady as the one mentioned, she had replied, "well, if i had tarried still in the maidens' chamber i would have tried you;" and on another occasion she had warned him that if he confessed, even when he was shriven, what had passed between them, the king would be sure to know, as he was the head of the church. culpeper's animus against lady rochford is evident. she had provoked him much, he said, to love the queen, and he intended to do ill with her. evidence began to grow, too, that not only was derham admittedly guilty with the queen before marriage, but that suspicious familiarity had been resumed afterwards. he himself confessed that he had been more than once in the queen's private apartment, and she had given him various sums of money, warning him to heed what he said; which, truth to tell, he had not done, according to other deponents. everybody implicated in the scandals was imprisoned, mostly in the tower, several members of the house of howard being put under guard; and norfolk, trembling for his own position, showed as much zeal as any one to condemn his unfortunate niece. he knew, indeed, at this time that he had been used simply as a catspaw in the advances towards france, and complained bitterly that the match he had secretly suggested between the princess mary and the duke of orleans was now common talk, which gave ground for his enemies who were jealous of him to denounce him to the king as wishing to embrace all great affairs of state. it is clear that at this period it was not only the protestants who were against norfolk, but his own colleagues who were planning the alliance with the emperor; which to some extent explains why such men as wriothesley, fitzwilliam, and browne were so anxious to make the case of katharine and her family look as black as possible, and why norfolk aided them so as not to be left behind. when, on the 15th december, the old dowager-duchess of norfolk, his stepmother, his half-brother, lord william howard and his wife, and his sister, lady bridgewater, were imprisoned on the charge of having been privy to katharine's doings before marriage, the duke wrote as follows to the king: "i learnt yesterday that mine ungracious mother-in-law, mine unhappy brother and his wife, and my lewd sister of bridgewater were committed to the tower; and am sure it was not done but for some false proceeding against your majesty. weighing this with the abominable deeds done by my two nieces (_i.e._ katharine howard and anne boleyn), and the repeated treasons of many of my kin, i fear your majesty will abhor to hear speak of me or my kin again. prostrate at your majesty's feet, i remind your majesty that much of this has come to light through my own report of my mother-in-law's words to me, when i was sent to lambeth to search derham's coffers. my own truth, and the small love my mother-in-law and nieces bear me, make me hope; and i pray your majesty for some comfortable assurance of your royal favour, without which i will never desire to live. kenninghall lodge, 15th december 1541."[220] on the 1st december, culpeper and derham had been arraigned before a special commission in guildhall, accused of treason.[221] the indictment set forth that before her marriage katharine had "led an abominable, base, carnal, voluptuous, and vicious life, like a common harlot ... whilst, at other times, maintaining an appearance of chastity and honesty. that she led the king to love her, believing her to be pure, and arrogantly coupled with him in marriage." that upon her and derham being charged with their former vicious life, they had excused themselves by saying that they were betrothed before the marriage with the king; which betrothal they falsely and traitorously concealed from the king when he married her. after the marriage they attempted to renew their former vicious courses at pontefract and elsewhere, the queen having procured derham's admission into her service, and entrusted secret affairs to him. against culpeper it was alleged that he had held secret and illicit meetings with the queen, who had "incited him to have intercourse with her, and insinuated to him that she loved him better than the king and all others. similarly culpeper incited the queen, and they had retained lady rochford as their go-between, she having traitorously aided and abetted them." it will be noticed that actual adultery is not alleged, and the indictment follows very closely the deposition of the witnesses. the _liaison_ with derham before the marriage was not denied; nor were the meetings with culpeper after the marriage. this and the concealment were sufficient for the king's purpose, without adding to his ignominy by labouring to prove the charge of adultery.[222] after pleading not guilty, the two men, in face of the evidence and their own admissions, changed their plea to guilty, and were promptly condemned to be drawn through london to tyburn, "and there hanged, cut down alive, disembowelled, and, they still living, their bowels burnt, the bodies then to be beheaded and quartered:" a brutal sentence that was carried out to the letter in derham's case only, on the 10th december, culpeper being beheaded. [illustration: _katharine howard_ _from a portrait by an unknown artist in the national portrait gallery_] although the procedure had saved the king as much humiliation as possible, the affair was a terrible blow to his self-esteem as well as to his affections; for he seems to have been really fond of his young wife. chapuys, writing on the 3rd december, says that he shows greater sorrow at her loss than at any of his previous matrimonial misfortunes. "it is like the case of the woman who cried more bitterly at the loss of her tenth husband than for all the rest put together, though they had all been good men; but it was because she had never buried one before without being sure of the next. as yet, it does not seem that he has any one else in view."[223] the french ambassador, a few days later, wrote that "the grief of the king was so great that it was believed that it had sent him mad; for he had called suddenly for a sword with which to kill the queen whom he had loved so much. sometimes sitting in council he suddenly calls for horses, without saying whither he would go. sometimes he will say irrelevantly that that wicked woman had never had such delight in her incontinency as she should have torture in her death; and then, finally, he bursts into tears, bewailing his misfortune in meeting such ill-conditioned wives, and blaming his council for this last mischief."[224] in the meanwhile henry sought such distraction as he might at oatlands and other country places, solaced by music and mummers, whilst norfolk, in grief and apprehension, lurked on his own lands, and gardiner kept a firm hand upon affairs. the discomfiture of the howards, who had brought about the catholic reaction, gave new hope to the protestants that the wheel of fate was turning in their favour. anne of cleves, they began to whisper, had been confined of a "fair boy"; "and whose should it be but the king's majesty's, begotten when she was at hampton court?" this rumour, which the king, apparently, was inclined to believe, gave great offence and annoyance to him and his council, as did the severely repressed but frequent statements that he intended to take back his repudiated wife. it was not irresponsible gossip alone that took this turn, for on the 12th december the ambassador from the duke of cleves brought letters to cranmer at lambeth from chancellor olsiliger, who had negotiated the marriage, commending to him the reconciliation of henry with anne. cranmer, who understood perfectly well that with gardiner as the king's factotum such a thing was impossible, was frightened out of his wits by such a suggestion, and promptly assured henry that he had declined to discuss it without the sovereign's orders. but the envoy of cleves was not lightly shaken off, and at once sought audience of henry himself to press the cause of "madam anne." he was assured that the king's grief at his present troubles would prevent his giving audience; and the protestant envoy then tackled the council on the subject. as may be supposed, he met with a rebuff. the lady would be better treated than ever, he was told, but the separation was just and final, and the duke of cleves must never again request that his sister should be restored to the position of the king's wife. the envoy begged that the answer might be repeated formally to him, whereupon gardiner flew into a rage, and said that the king would never take anne back, whatever happened. the envoy was afraid to retort for fear of evil consequences to anne, but the duke of cleves, who was now in close league with the french, endeavoured to obtain the aid of his new allies to forward his sister's cause in england. francis, however, saw, like every one else, that war between him and the emperor was now inevitable, and was anxious not to drive henry into alliance with charles against him. cleves by himself was powerless, and the trend of politics in england under gardiner, and with henry in his present mood, was entirely unfavourable to a union with the lutherans on the continent; so anne of cleves continued her placid and jovial existence as "the king's good sister," rather than his wife, whilst the protestants of england soon found that they had misjudged the situation produced by katharine howard's fall. all that the latter really had done was to place norfolk and the french sympathisers under a cloud, and make gardiner entirely master of the situation whilst he carried out the king's own policy. henry returned to greenwich for christmas 1541, and at once began his bargaining to sell his alliance with the emperor at as high a price as possible. he had already in hand the stoppage of trade with flanders, which his ministers were still laboriously and stiffly discussing with the emperor's representatives. any concession in that respect would have to be paid for. the french, too, were very anxious, according to his showing, for his friendship, and were offering him all manner of tempting matrimonial alliances, and when henry, on the day after christmas day, received chapuys at greenwich, he was all smiles, but determined to make the best of his opportunities. the emperor had just met with a terrible disaster at sea during his operations against algiers, and had returned to spain depressed at his losses, and the more ready to make terms with henry if possible. chapuys was a hard bargainer, and it was a fair game of brag that ensued between him and henry. chapuys began by flattering the king: "and got him into very high spirits by such words, which the lord privy seal (_i.e._ fitzwilliam) says are never thrown away upon him," and then told him that he would give him in strict confidence some important information about french intrigues. after dinner the ball opened in earnest, chapuys and henry being alone and seated, with fitzwilliam, russell, and browne at some distance away. the imperial ambassador began by saying that the king of france had made a determined bid to marry his second son, orleans, with the infanta of portugal. this was a shock to henry, and he changed colour; for one of his own trump cards was the sham negotiation in which norfolk had been the tool, to marry the princess mary to orleans. for a time he could only sputter and exclaim; but when he had collected his senses he countered by saying that francis only wished to get the infanta into his power, not for marriage, "but for objects of greater consequence than people imagined." besides, the french wanted the princess mary for orleans, and were anxious to send an embassy to him about it: indeed, the french ambassador was coming to see him about it with fresh powers next day. chapuys protested that he spoke as one devoted to henry's service; but he was sure the french did not mean business. they would never let orleans marry a princess of illegitimate birth. "ah!" replied henry, "but though she may be a bastard, i have power from parliament to appoint her my successor if i like;" but chapuys gave several other reasons why the match with mary would never suit the french. "why," cried henry, "francis is even now soliciting an interview with me with a view to alliances." "yes, i know they say that," replied the ambassador, "but at the same time francis has sent an ambassador to scotland, with orders not to touch at an english port." this was a sore point with henry, and he again winced at the blow. then he began to boast. he was prepared to face any one, and james of scotland was in mortal fear of him. chapuys then mentioned that france had made a secret treaty with sweden and denmark to obtain control of the north sea, and divert all the anglo-german trade to france, which henry parried, by saying that francis was in league with the german protestants, and, notwithstanding the new decree of the diet of ratisbon, could draw as many mercenary soldiers as he liked from the emperor's vassals. he felt sure that francis would invade flanders next spring; and if he, henry, had cared to marry a daughter of france, as her father wished him to do, he might have had a share of his conquests. this made chapuys angry, and he said that perhaps holstein and cleves had also been offered shares. henry then went on another tack, and said that he knew quite well that francis and charles together intended, if they could, to make war on england. considering, however, the emperor's disaster at algiers, and the state of europe, he was astonished that charles had not tried to make a close friendship with him. chapuys jumped at the hint, and begged henry to state his intentions, that they might be conveyed to the emperor. but the king was not to be drawn too rapidly, and would not say whether he was willing to form an alliance with the emperor until some one with full and special powers was sent to him. he had been cheated too often and left in the lurch before, he said. "he was quite independent. if people wanted him they might come forward with offers." this sparring went on for hours on that day and the next, interspersed with little wrangles about the commercial question, and innuendoes as to the french intrigues. but chapuys, who knew his man, quite understood that henry was for sale; and, as usual, might, if dexterously handled, be bought by flattery and feigned submission to his will, hurriedly wrote to his master that: "if the emperor wishes to gain the king, he must send hither at once an able person, with full powers, to take charge of the negotiation:" since he, chapuys, was in ill health and unequal to it. thus the english catholic reaction that had been symbolised by the repudiation of anne of cleves, and the marriage with katharine howard, was triumphantly producing the results which henry and gardiner had intended. the excommunicated king, the man who had flung aside his proud spanish wife and bade defiance to the vicegerent of christ, was to be flattered and sought in alliance by the head of the house of aragon and the appointed champion of roman orthodoxy. he was to come back into the fold unrepentant, with no submission or reparation made, a good catholic, but his own pope. it was a prospect that appealed strongly to a man of henry's vain and ostentatious character, for it gave apparent sanction to his favourite pose that everything he did was warranted by the strictest right and justice; it promised the possibility of an extension of his continental territory, and the establishment of his own fame as a warrior and a king. we shall see how his pompous self-conceit enabled his ally to trick him out of his reward, and how the consequent reaction against those who had beguiled him drew his country farther along the road of the reformation than henry ever meant to go. but at present all looked rose-coloured, for the imperial connection and the miserable scandal of katharine howard rather benefited than injured the chances of its successful negotiation. cranmer, hertford, and audley had shot their bolt in vain so far as political or religious aims were attained. in the meanwhile the evidence against katharine and her abettors was being laboriously wrung out of all those who had come into contact with her. the poor old duchess of norfolk and her son and daughters and several underlings were condemned for misprison of treason to perpetual imprisonment and confiscation,[225] and in parliament on the 21st january a bill of attainder against katharine and three lady accomplices was presented to the lords. the evidence presented against katharine was adjudged to be insufficient in the absence of direct allegations of adultery after her marriage, or of specific admissions from herself.[226] this and other objections seem to have delayed the passage of the bill until the 11th of february, when it received the royal assent by commission, condemning katharine and lady rochford to death for treason. during the passage of the bill, as soon, indeed, as the procedure of katharine's condemnation had been settled, henry plucked up spirits again, and with characteristic heartlessness once more began to play the gallant. "the king," writes chapuys, "had never been merry since first hearing of the queen's misconduct, but he has been so since (the attainder was arranged), especially on the 29th, when he gave a supper and banquet with twenty-six ladies at the table, besides gentlemen, and thirty-five at another table adjoining. the lady for whom he showed the greatest regard was a sister of lord cobham, whom wyatt, some time ago, divorced for adultery. she is a pretty young creature, with wit enough to do as badly as the others if she were to try. the king is also said to fancy a daughter of mistress albart(?) and niece of sir anthony browne; and also for a daughter, by her first marriage, of the wife of lord lisle, late deputy of calais."[227] up to this time katharine had remained at sion house, as chapuys reported, "making good cheer, fatter and more beautiful than ever; taking great care to be well apparelled, and more imperious and exacting to serve than even when she was with the king, although she believes she will be put to death, and admits that she deserves it. perhaps if the king does not wish to marry again he may show her some compassion."[228] no sooner, however, had the act of attainder passed its third reading in the commons (10th january) than fitzwilliam was sent to isleworth to convey her to the tower. she resisted at first, but was of course overpowered, and the sad procession swept along the wintry river londonward. first came fitzwilliam's barge with himself and several privy councillors, then, in a small covered barge, followed the doomed woman, and the rear was guarded by a great barge full of soldiers under the aged duke of suffolk, whose matrimonial adventures had been almost as numerous as those of his royal brother-in-law. under the frowning portcullis of the traitors' gate in the gathering twilight of the afternoon, the beautiful girl in black velvet landed amidst a crowd of councillors, who treated her with as much ceremony as if she still sat by the king's side. she proudly and calmly gloried in her love for her betrothed culpeper, whom she knew she soon would join in death. there was no hysterical babbling like that of her cousin, anne boleyn; no regret in her mien or her words now. even as he, with his last breath, had confessed his love for her, and mourned that the king's passion for her had stood in the way of their honest union, so did she, with flashing eyes and blazing cheeks, proclaim that love was victorious over death; and that since there had been no mercy for the man she loved she asked no mercy for herself from the king whose plaything of a year she had been. on sunday evening, 12th february, she was told that she must be prepared for death on the morrow, and she asked that the block should be brought to her room, that she might learn how to dispose her head upon it. this was done, and she calmly and smilingly rehearsed her part in the tragedy of the morrow. early in the morning, before it was fully light, she was led out across the green, upon which the hoar-frost glistened, to the scaffold erected on the same spot that had seen the sacrifice of anne boleyn. around it stood all the councillors except norfolk and suffolk: even her first cousin, the poet surrey, with his own doom not far off, witnessed the scene. upon the scaffold, half crazy with fear, stood the wretched lady rochford, the ministress of the queen's amours, who was to share her fate. katharine spoke shortly. she died, she said, in full confidence in god's goodness. she had grievously sinned and deserved death, though she had not wronged the king in the particular way that she had been accused of. if she had married the man she loved, instead of being dazzled by ambition, all would have been well; and when the headsman knelt to ask her forgiveness, she pardoned him, but exclaimed, "i die a queen, but i would rather have died the wife of culpeper;" and then, kneeling in prayer, her head was struck off whilst she was unaware.[229] lady rochford followed her to the block as soon as the head and trunk of the queen had been piteously gathered up in black cloth by the ladies who attended her at last, and conveyed to the adjoining chapel for sepulture close to the grave of anne boleyn. katharine howard had erred much for love, and had erred more for ambition, but taking a human view of the whole circumstances of her life, and of the personality of the man she married, she is surely more worthy of pity than condemnation. only a few days after her death we learn from chapuys (25th february) that "the king has been in better spirits since the execution, and during the last three days before lent there has been much feasting. sunday was devoted to the lords of his council and courtiers, monday to the men of the law, tuesday to the ladies, who all slept at the court. the king himself did nothing but go from room to room ordering and arranging the lodgings to be prepared for these ladies, and he made them great and hearty cheer, without showing special affection for any particular one. indeed, unless parliament prays him to take another wife, he will not be in a hurry to do so, i think. besides, there are few, if any, ladies now at court who would aspire to such an honour; for by a new act just passed, any lady that the king may marry, if she be a subject, is bound, on pain of death, to declare any charge of misconduct that can be brought against her; and all who know or suspect anything against her must declare it within twenty days, on pain of perpetual imprisonment and confiscation." henry, with five unsuccessful matrimonial adventures to his account, might well pause before taking another plunge; though, from the extract printed above, it was evident that he had no desire to put himself out of the way of temptation. the only course upon which he seemed quite determined was to resist all the blandishments of the protestants, the german lutherans, and the french to take back anne of cleves, who, we are told, had waxed half as beautiful again as she was since she had begun her jolly life of liberty and beneficence, away from so difficult a husband as henry. chapter ix 1542-1547 katharine parr--the protestants win the last trick the disappearance of katharine howard and the temporary eclipse of norfolk caused no check to the progress of the catholic cause in england. when gardiner was with the emperor in the summer of 1541 he had been able to make in henry's name an agreement by which neither monarch should treat anything to the other's disadvantage for the next ten months; and as war loomed nearer between charles and francis, the chances of a more durable and binding treaty being made between the former and henry improved. when gardiner had hinted at it in germany, both charles and granvelle had suggested that the submission of henry to the pope would be a necessary preliminary. but the emperor's brother, ferdinand, was in close grips with the turk in hungary, and getting the worst of it; francis was again in negotiation with the infidel, and french intrigue in italy was busy. henry therefore found that the emperor's tone softened considerably on the report of chapuys' conversation at windsor in february, whilst the english terms became stiffer, as francis endeavoured to turn his feigned negotiations with henry into real ones. the whole policy of henry at the period was really to effect an armed league with the emperor, by means of which france might be humiliated, perhaps dismembered, whilst henry was welcomed back with open arms by the great catholic power, in spite of his contumacy, and the hegemony of england established over scotland. in order the better to incline charles to essential concessions, it was good policy for henry to give several more turns of the screw upon his own subjects, to prove to his future ally how devout a catholic he was, and how entirely cromwell's later action was being reversed. the great bibles were withdrawn from the churches, the dissemination of the scriptures restricted, and the six articles were enforced more severely than ever;[230] but yet when, after some months of fencing and waiting, chapuys came to somewhat closer quarters with the english council, he still talked, though with bated breath now, about henry's submission to the pope and the legitimation of the princess mary. but the emperor's growing need for support gradually broke down the wall of reserve that henry's defection from rome had raised, and gardiner and chapuys, during the spring of 1542, were in almost daily confabulation in a quiet house in the fields at stepney.[231] in june the imperial ambassador made a hasty visit to flanders to submit the english terms for an alliance to the queen regent. henry's conditions in appearance were hard, for by going to war with france he would, he said, lose the great yearly tribute he received from that country; but charles and his sister knew how to manage him, and were not troubled with scruples as to keeping promises. so, to begin with, the commercial question that had so long been rankling, was now rapidly settled, and the relations daily grew more cordial. henry had agents in germany and flanders ordering munitions of war and making secret compacts with mercenary captains; he was actively reinforcing his own garrisons and castles, organising a fine fleet, collecting vast fresh sums of money from his groaning subjects, and in every way preparing himself to be an ally worth purchase by the emperor at a high price. in july 1542 the french simultaneously attacked the imperial territory in four distinct directions; and henry summoned the ambassadors of charles and francis to windsor to tell them that, as war was so near him, he must raise men for his defence, especially towards scotland, but meant no menace to either of the continental powers. chapuys had already been assured that the comedy was only to blind the french, and cheerfully acquiesced, but the frenchmen took a more gloomy view and knew it meant war. with scotland and henry it was a case of the lamb and the wolf. henry knew that he dared not send his army across the channel to attack france without first crushing his northern neighbour. the pretended negotiations with, and allegations against, the unfortunate stuart were never sincere. james was surrounded by traitors: for english money and religious rancour had profoundly divided the scottish gentry; cardinal beaton, the scots king's principal minister, was hated; the powerful douglas family were disaffected and in english pay; and the forces with which james v. rashly attempted to raid the english marches in reprisal for henry's unprovoked attacks upon him were wild and undisciplined. the battle of solway moss (november 1542) was a disgraceful rout for the scots, and james, heart-broken, fled from the ruin of his cause to tantallon and edinburgh, and thence to falkland to die. then, with scotland rent in twain, with a new-born baby for a queen, and a foreign woman as regent, henry could face a war with france by the side of the emperor, with assurance of safety on his northern border, especially if he could force upon the rulers of scotland a marriage between his only son and the infant mary stuart, as he intended to do. [illustration: _katharine parr_ _from a painting in the collection of the_ earl of ashburnham] there was infinite haggling with chapuys with regard to the style to be given to henry in the secret treaty, even after the heads of the treaty itself had been agreed upon. he must be called sovereign head of the english church, said gardiner, or there would be no alliance with the emperor at all, and the difficulty was only overcome by varying the style in the two copies of the document, that signed by chapuys bearing the style of; "king of england, france, and ireland, etc.," and that signed by the english ministers adding the king's ecclesiastical claims. if the territories of either monarch were invaded the other was bound to come to his aid. the french king was to be summoned to forbear intelligence with the turk, to satisfy the demands of the emperor and the king of england in the many old claims they had against him, and no peace was to be made with france by either ally, unless the other's claims were satisfied. the claims of henry included the town and county of boulogne, with montreuil and therouenne, his arrears of pension, and assurance of future payment: and the two allies agreed within two years to invade france together, each with 20,000 foot and 5000 horse.[232] this secret compact was signed on the 11th february 1543; and the diplomatic relations with france were at once broken off. at last the repudiation of katharine of aragon was condoned, and henry was once more the emperor's "good brother";--a fit ally for the catholic king, the champion of orthodox christianity. as if to put the finishing touch upon henry's victory, charles held an interview with the pope in june 1543 on his way through italy, and succeeded in persuading him that the inclusion of the king who defied the church in the league of militant catholics was a fit complement to the alliance of france and enemies of all christianity; and would secure the triumph of the papacy and the return of england into the fold. whilst the preparations for war thus went busily forward on all sides, with chantonnay in england and thomas seymour in germany and flanders arranging military details of arms, levies, and stores, and the emperor already clamouring constantly for prompt english subsidies and contingents against his enemies, henry, full of importance and self-satisfaction at his position, contracted the only one of his marriages which was not promoted by a political intrigue, although at the time it was effected it was doubtless looked upon as favouring the catholic party. certainly no lady of the court enjoyed a more blameless reputation than katharine lady latimer, upon whom the king now cast his eyes. a daughter of the great and wealthy house of parr of kendal, allied to the royal blood in no very distant degree, and related to most of the higher nobility of england, she was, so far as descent was concerned, quite as worthy to be the wife of a king as the unfortunate daughters of the house of howard. her brother, lord parr, soon to be created earl of essex and marquis of northampton, a favourite courtier of the king and a very splendid magnate,[233] had been one of the chief enemies of cromwell; who had in his last days usurped the ancient earldom which parr had claimed in right of his bourchier wife, whilst katharine's second husband, neville lord latimer, had been so strong a catholic as to have risked his great possessions, as well as his head, by joining the rising in the north that had assumed the name of the pilgrimage of grace and had been mainly directed against cromwell's measures. she was, moreover, closely related to the throckmortons, the stoutly catholic family whose chief, sir george, cromwell had despoiled and imprisoned until the intrigue already related drove the minister from power in june 1540, with the mysterious support, so it is asserted, of katharine lady latimer herself, though the evidence of it is not very convincing.[234] katharine had been brought up mostly in the north country with extreme care and wisdom by a hard-headed mother, and had been married almost as a child to an elderly widower, lord borough, who had died soon afterwards, leaving her a large jointure. her second husband, lord latimer, had also been many years older than herself; and accompanying him, as she did, in his periodical visits to london, where they had a house in the precincts of the charterhouse, she had for several years been remarkable in henry's court, not only for her wide culture and love of learning, but also for her friendship with the princess mary, whose tastes were exactly similar to her own. lord latimer died in london at the beginning of 1543, leaving to katharine considerable property; and certainly not many weeks can have passed before the king began to pay his court to the wealthy and dignified widow of thirty-two. his attentions were probably not very welcome to her, for he was a terribly dangerous husband, and any unrevealed peccadillo in the previous life of a woman he married might mean the loss of her head. there was another reason than this, however, that made the king's addresses especially embarrassing to katharine. the younger of the two magnificent seymour brothers, sir thomas, had thus early also approached her with offers of love. he was one of the handsomest men at court, and of similar age to katharine. he was already very rich with the church plunder, and was the king's brother-in-law; so that he was in all respects a good match for her. he must have arrived from his mission to germany immediately after lord latimer's death, and remained at court until early in may, about three months; during which time, from the evidence of katharine's subsequent letters, she seems to have made up her mind to marry him. it may be that the king noticed signs of their courtship, for sir thomas seymour was promptly sent on an embassy to flanders in company with dr. wotton, and subsequently with the english contingent to the emperor's army to france, where he remained until long after henry's sixth marriage. that henry himself lost no time in approaching the widow after her husband's death is seen by a tailor's bill for dresses for lady latimer being paid out of the exchequer by the king's orders as early as the 16th february 1543, when it would seem that her husband cannot have been dead much more than a month. this bill includes linen and buckram, the making of italian gowns, "pleats and sleeves," a slope hood and tippet, kirtles, french, dutch, and venetian gowns, venetian sleeves, french hoods, and other feminine fripperies; the amount of the total being £8, 9s. 5d.; and, as showing that even before the marriage considerable intimacy existed between katharine and the princess mary, it is curious to note that some of the garments appear to have been destined for the use of the latter.[235] by the middle of june the king's attentions to lady latimer were public; and already the lot of the sickly, disinherited princess mary was rendered happier by the prospective elevation of her friend. mary came to court at greenwich, as did her sister elizabeth; and katharine is specially mentioned as being with them in a letter from dudley, the new lord lisle, to katharine's brother, lord parr, the warden of the scottish marches. the king had then (20th june) just returned from a tour of inspection of his coast defences, and three weeks later cranmer as primate issued a licence for his marriage with katharine lady latimer, without the publication of banns. on the 12th july 1543 the marriage took place in the upper oratory "called the quynes preyevey closet" at hampton court. when gardiner the celebrant put the canonical question to the bridegroom, his majesty answered "with a smiling face," yea, and, taking his bride's hand, firmly recited the usual pledge. katharine, whatever her inner feelings may have been, made a bright and buxom bride, and from the first endeavoured, as none of the other wives had done, to bring together into some semblance of family life with her the three children of her husband. her reward was that she was beloved and respected by all of them; and princess mary, who was nearly her own age, continued her constant companion and friend.[236] as she began so she remained; amiable, tactful, and clever. throughout her life with henry her influence was exerted wherever possible in favour of concord, and i have not met with a single disparaging remark with regard to her, even from those who in the last days of the king's life became her political opponents. her character must have been an exceedingly lovable one, and she evidently knew to perfection how to manage men by humouring their weak points. she could be firm, too, on occasions where an injustice had to be remedied. a story is told of her in connection with her brother parr, earl of essex, in the _chronicle of henry viii._, which, so far as i know, has not been related by any other historian of the reign. parr fell in love with lord cobham's daughter, a very beautiful girl, who, as told in our text, was mentioned as one of the king's flames after katharine howard's fall. parr had married the great bourchier heiress, but had grown tired of her, and by suborned evidence charged her with adultery, and she was found guilty and sentenced to death. "the good queen, his sister, threw herself at the feet of the king and would not rise until he had promised to grant her the boon she craved, which was the life of the countess (of essex). when the king heard what it was, he said, but, madam, you know that the law enacts that a woman of rank who so forgets herself shall die unless her husband pardon her. to this the queen answered, your majesty is above the law, and i will try to get my brother to pardon. well, said the king, if your brother be content i will pardon her." the queen then sends for her brother and upbraids him for bringing perjured witnesses against his wife, which he denies and says he has only acted in accordance with the legal evidence. "i can promise you, brother, that it shall not be as you expect: i will have the witnesses put to the torture, and then by god's help we shall know the truth." before this could be done parr sent his witnesses to cornwall, out of the way: and again katharine insisted upon the countess' pardon, by virtue of the promise that the king had given her. this somewhat alarmed parr, and katharine managed to effect a mutual renunciation, after which parr married lord cobham's daughter.[237] gardiner had been not only the prelate who performed the ceremony but had himself given the bride away; so that it may fairly be concluded that he, at least, was not discontented with the match. wriothesley, his obedient creature, moreover, must have been voicing the general feeling of catholics when he wrote to the duke of suffolk in the north his eulogy of the bride a few days after the wedding. "the king's majesty was mareid onne thursdaye last to my ladye latimor, a woman, in my judgment, for vertewe, wisdomme and gentilnesse, most meite for his highnesse: and sure i am his mat{e} had never a wife more agreable to his harte than she is. our lorde sende them long lyf and moche joy togethir."[238] both the king's daughters had been at the wedding, mary receiving from katharine a handsome present as bride's-maid; but henry had the decency not to bid the presence of anne of cleves. she is represented as being somewhat disgusted at the turn of events. her friends, and perhaps she herself, had never lost the hope that if the protestant influence became paramount, henry might take her back. but the imperial alliance had made england an enemy of her brother of cleves, whose territory the emperor's troops were harrying with fire and sword; and her position in england was a most difficult one. "she would," says chapuys, "prefer to be with her mother, if with nothing but the clothes on her back, rather than be here now, having specially taken great grief and despair at the king's espousal of his new wife, who is not nearly so good-looking as she is, besides that there is no hope of her (katharine) having issue, seeing that she had none by her two former husbands."[239] as we have seen, katharine had all her life belonged to the catholic party, of which the northern nobles were the leaders, and doubtless this fact had secured for her marriage the ready acquiescence of gardiner and his friends, especially when coupled with the attachment known to exist between the bride and the princess mary. but katharine had studied hard, and was devoted to the "new learning," which had suddenly become fashionable for high-born ladies. the latin classics, the writings of erasmus, of juan luis vives, and others were the daily solace of the few ladies in england who had at this time been seized with the new craze of culture, katharine, the king's daughters, his grand-nieces the greys, and the daughters of sir anthony cook, being especially versed in classics, languages, philosophy, and theology. the "new learning" had been, and was still to be, for the most part promoted by those who sympathised with the reformed doctrines, and katharine's devotion to it brought her into intimate contact with the learned men at court whose zeal for the spread of classical and controversial knowledge was coupled with the spirit of inquiry which frequently went with religious heterodoxy. not many days after the marriage, gardiner scented danger in this foregathering of the queen with such men as cranmer and latimer, and at the encouragement and help given by her to the young princesses in the translation of portions of the scriptures, and of the writings of erasmus. there is no reason to conclude that katharine, as yet, had definitely attached herself to the reform party, but it is certain that very soon after her marriage her love of learning, or her distrust of gardiner's policy and methods, caused her to look sympathetically towards those at court who went beyond the king in his opposition to rome. gardiner dared not as yet directly attack either katharine or cranmer, for the king was personally much attached to both of them, whilst gardiner himself was never a favourite with him. but indirectly these two persons in privileged places might be ruined by attacking others first; and the plan was patiently and cunningly laid to do it, before a new party of reformers led by cranmer, reinforced by katharine, could gain the king's ear and reverse the policy of his present adviser. at the instance of gardiner's creature dr. london, a canon of windsor, a prosecution under the six articles was commenced against a priest and some choristers of the royal chapel, and one other person, who were known to meet together for religious discussion. for weeks london's spies had been listening to the talk of those in the castle and town who might be suspected of reformed ideas; and with the evidence so accumulated in his hand, gardiner moved the king in council to issue a warrant authorising a search for unauthorised books and papers in the town and castle of windsor. henry, whilst allowing the imprisonment of the accused persons with the addition of sir philip hoby and dr. haines, both resident in the castle, declined to allow his own residence to be searched for heretical books. this was a set back for gardiner's plan; but it succeeded to the extent of securing the conviction and execution at the stake of three of the accused. this was merely a beginning; and already those at court were saying that the bishop of winchester "aimed at higher deer" than those that had already fallen to his bow.[240] hardly had the ashes of the three martyrs cooled, than a mass of fresh accusations was formulated by london against several members of the royal household. the reports of spies and informers were sent to gardiner by the hand of ockham, the clerk of the court that had condemned the martyrs, but one of the persons accused, a member of katharine's household, received secret notice of what was intended and waylaid ockham. perusal of the documents he bore showed that much of the information had been suborned by dr. london and his assistant simons, and katharine was appealed to for her aid. she exerted her influence with her husband to have them both arrested and examined. unaware that their papers had been taken from ockham, they foreswore themselves and broke down when confronted with the written proofs that the case against the accused had been trumped up on false evidence with ulterior objects. disgrace and imprisonment for the two instruments, london and simons, followed,[241] but the prelate who had inspired their activity was too indispensable to the king to be attacked, and he, firm in his political predominance, bided his time for yet another blow at his enemies, amongst whom he now included the queen, whose union with the king he and other catholics had so recently blessed. cranmer, secure as he thought in the king's regard and in his great position as primate, had certainly laid himself open to the attacks of his enemies, by his almost ostentatious favour to the clergy of his province who were known to be evading or violating the six articles. the chapter of his own cathedral was profoundly divided, and the majority of its members were opposed to what they considered the injustice of their archbishop. cranmer's commissary, his nephew nevinson, whilst going out of his way to favour those who were accused before the chapter of false doctrine, offended deeply the majority of the clergy by his zeal--which really only reflected that of the archbishop himself--in the displacing and destruction of images in the churches, even when the figures did not offend against the law by being made the objects of superstitious pilgrimages and offerings. for several years past the cathedral church of canterbury had been a hotbed of discord, in consequence of cranmer's having appointed, apparently on principle, men of extreme opinions on both sides as canons, prebendaries, and preachers; and so great had grown the opposition in his own chapter to the primate's known views in the spring of 1543, that it was evident that a crisis could not be long delayed, especially as the clergy opposed to the prelate had the letter of the law on their side, and the countenance of gardiner, bishop of winchester, all powerful as he was in the lay counsels of the king. some of the kentish clergy who resented the archbishop's action had laid their heads together in march 1543, and formulated a set of accusations against him. this the two most active movers in the protest had carried to the metropolis for submission to gardiner. they first, however, approached the dr. london already referred to, who rewrote the accusations with additions of his own, in order to bring the accused within the penal law. the two first movers, willoughby and searl, took fright at this, for it was a dangerous thing to attack the archbishop, and hastily returned home; but dr. london had enough for his present purpose, and handed his enlarged version of their depositions to gardiner. london's disgrace, already related, stayed the matter for a time, but a few months afterwards a fresh set of articles, alleging illegal acts on the part of the archbishop, was forwarded by the discontented clergy to gardiner, and the accusers were then summoned before the privy council, where they were encouraged to make their testimony as strong as possible. when the depositions were complete they were sent to the king by gardiner, in the hope that now the great stumblingblock of the catholic party might be cleared from the path, and that the new queen's ruin might promptly follow that of the primate. but they reckoned without henry's love for cranmer. rowing on the thames one evening in the late autumn soon after the depositions had been handed to him, the king called at the pier by lambeth palace and took cranmer into his barge. "ah, my chaplain," he said jocosely, as the archbishop took his seat in the boat, "i have news for you. i know now who is the greatest heretic in kent;" and with this he drew from his sleeve and handed to cranmer the depositions of those who had sought to ruin him. the archbishop insisted upon a regular commission being issued to test the truth of the accusations; but henry could be generous when it suited him, and he never knew how soon he might need cranmer's pliable ingenuity again. so, although he issued the commission, he made cranmer its head, and gave to him the appointment of its members; with the natural result that the accusers and all their abettors were imprisoned and forced to beg the primate's forgiveness for their action.[242] but the man who gave life to the whole plot, bishop gardiner of winchester, still led the king's political counsels, much as henry disliked him personally; for the armed alliance with the emperor could only bring its full harvest of profit and glory to the king of england if the catholic powers on the continent were convinced of henry's essential orthodoxy, notwithstanding his quarrel with the pope.[243] so, though cranmer might be favoured privately and katharine's coquetting with the new learning and its professors winked at, gardiner, whose catholicism was stronger than that of his master, had to be the figure-head to impress foreigners. in july 1543 the english contingent to aid the imperial troops to protect flanders was sent from guisnes and calais under sir john wallop. by the strict terms of the treaty they were only to be employed for a limited period for the defence of territory invaded by the enemy; but soon after wallop's arrival he was asked to take part in the regular siege of landrecy in hainault, that had been occupied by the french. henry allowed him to do so under protest. it was waste of time, he said, and would divert the forces from what was to be their main object; but if he allowed it, he must have the same right when the war in france commenced to call upon the imperial contingent with him also to besiege a town if he wished to do so. both the allies, even before the war really began, were playing for their own hands with the deliberate intention of making use of each other; and in the dismal comedy of chicanery that followed and lasted almost to henry's death, this siege of landrecy and that of st. disier were made the peg upon which countless reclamations and recriminations were hung. the emperor was ill, in dire need of money, and overwhelmed with anxiety as to the attitude of the lutheran princes during the coming struggle. his eyes were turned towards italy, and he depended much upon the diversion that henry's forces might effect by land and sea; and conscious that the campaign must be prompt and rapid if he was to profit by it, he sent one of his most trusted lieutenants, ferrante gonzaga, viceroy of sicily, to england at the end of the year 1543 to settle with henry the plan of the campaign to be undertaken in the spring. his task was a difficult one; for henry was as determined to use charles for his advantage as charles was to use him. after much dispute it was agreed that henry, as early in the summer as possible, should lead his army of 35,000 foot and 7000 horse to invade france from calais, whilst the imperial troops were to invade by lorraine, form a junction with the english on the somme, and push on towards paris. rapidity was the very essence of such a plan; but henry would not promise celerity. he could not, he said, transport all his men across the sea before the end of june: the fact being that his own secret intention all along was to conquer the boulognais country for himself, gain a free hand in scotland, and leave the emperor to shift as he might. utter bad faith on both sides pervaded the affair from first to last. the engaging and payment of mercenaries by england, the purchase of horses, arms, and stores, the hire of transport, the interference with commerce--everything in which sharp dealing could be employed by one ally to get the better of the other was taken advantage of to the utmost. henry, enfeebled as he was by disease and obesity, was determined to turn to his personal glory the victory he anticipated for his arms. his own courtiers dared not remonstrate with him; and, although katharine prayed him to have regard for his safety, he brushed aside her remonstrances as becoming womanly fears for a dearly loved husband. charles knew that if the king himself crossed the channel the english army would not be at the imperial bidding. envoys were consequently sent from flanders to pray henry, for his health's sake, not to risk the hardships of a sea voyage and a campaign. the subject was a sore one with him; and when the envoy began to dwell too emphatically upon his infirmities, he flew into a passion and said that the emperor was suffering from gout, which was much worse than any malady he (henry) had, and it would be more dangerous for the emperor to go to the war. henry's decision to accompany his army at once increased the importance of katharine; who, in accordance with precedent, would become regent in her husband's absence. a glimpse of her growing influence at this time is seen in a letter of hers, dated 3rd june 1544, to the countess of hertford, that termagant ann stanhope who afterwards was her jealous enemy. hertford had been sent in march to the scottish border to invade again, and this time utterly crush scotland, where henry's pensioners had played him false, and betrothed their infant queen to the heir of france. the countess, anxious that her husband should be at home during the king's absence--probably in order that if anything happened to henry, hertford might take prompt measures on behalf of the new king, his nephew, and safeguard his own influence--wrote to katharine praying for her aid.[244] the queen's answer is written on the same sheet of paper as one from princess mary to the countess, whose letters to katharine had been sent through the princess. "my lord your husband's comyng hyther is not altered, for he schall come home before the kynge's majesty take hys journey over the sees, as it pleaseth his majesty to declare to me of late. you may be ryght assured i wold not have forgotten my promise to you in a matter of lesse effect than thys, and so i pray you most hartely to think....--kateryn the quene."[245] since henry insisted upon going to the war himself the next best thing, according to the emperor's point of view, to keeping him away was to cause some spanish officer of high rank and great experience to be constantly close to him during the campaign. except the little skirmishes on the borders of scotland, englishmen had seen no active military service for many years, and it was urged upon henry that a general well acquainted with modern continental warfare would be useful to him. the emperor's spanish and italian commanders were the best in the world, as were his men-at-arms; and a grandee, the duke of najera, who was on his way from flanders to spain by sea, was looked upon as being a suitable man for the purpose of advising the king of england. henry was determined to impress him and entertained him splendidly, delaying him as long as possible, in order that he might be persuaded to accompany the english forces. the accounts of najera's stay in england show that katharine had now, the spring of 1544, quite settled down in her position as queen and coming regent. chapuys mentions that when he first took najera to court he "visited the queen and princess (mary), who asked very minutely for news of the emperor ... and, although the queen was a little indisposed, she wished to dance for the honour of the company. the queen favours the princess all she can; and since the treaty with the emperor was made, she has constantly urged the princess' cause, insomuch as in this sitting of parliament she (mary) has been declared capable of succeeding in default of the prince."[246] a spaniard who attended najera tells the story of the duke's interview with katharine somewhat more fully. "the duke kissed the queen's hand and was then conducted to another chamber, to which the queen and ladies followed, and there was music and much beautiful dancing. the queen danced first with her brother very gracefully, and then princess mary and the princess of scotland (_i.e._ lady margaret douglas) danced with other gentlemen, and many other ladies also danced, a venetian of the king's household dancing some gaillards with such extraordinary activity that he seemed to have wings upon his feet; surely never was a man seen so agile. after the dancing had lasted several hours the queen returned to her chamber, first causing one of the noblemen who spoke spanish to offer some presents to the duke, who kissed her hand. he would likewise have kissed that of the princess mary, but she offered her lips; and so he saluted her and all the other ladies.[247] the king is regarded as a very powerful and handsome man. the queen is graceful and of cheerful countenance; and is praised for her virtue. she wore an underskirt, showing in front, of cloth of gold, and a sleeved over-dress of brocade lined with crimson satin, the sleeves themselves being lined with crimson velvet, and the train was two yards long. she wore hanging from the neck two crosses and a jewel of very magnificent diamonds, and she wore a great number of splendid diamonds in her headdress." the author of this curious contemporary document excels himself in praise of the princess mary, whose dress on the occasion described was even more splendid than that of the queen, consisting as it did entirely of cloth of gold and purple velvet. the house and gardens of whitehall also moved the witness to wonder and admiration. the green alleys with high hedges of the garden and the sculpture with which the walks were adorned especially attracted the attention of the visitors, and the greatness of london and the stately river thames are declared to be incomparable.[248] the duke of najera, unwilling to stay, and, apparently, not impressing henry very favourably, went on his way; and was immediately followed by another spanish commander of equal rank and much greater experience in warfare, the duke of alburquerque, and he, too, was received with the splendour and ostentation that henry loved, ultimately accompanying the king to the siege of boulogne as military adviser; both the king and queen, we are told, treating him with extraordinary favour.[249] by the time that henry was ready to cross the channel early in july to join his army, which several weeks before had preceded him under the command of norfolk and suffolk, the short-lived and insincere alliance with the emperor, from which henry and gardiner had expected so much, was already strained almost to breaking point. the great imperialist defeat at ceresole in savoy earlier in the year had made henry more disinclined than ever to sacrifice english men and treasure to fight indirectly the emperor's battle in italy. even before that henry had begun to show signs of an intention to break away from the plan of campaign agreed upon. how dangerous it would be, he said, for the emperor to push forward into france without securing the ground behind him. "far better to lay siege to two or three large towns on the road to paris than to go to the capital and burn it down." charles was indignant, and continued to send reminders and remonstrances that the plan agreed upon must be adhered to. henry retorted that charles himself had departed from it by laying siege to landecy. the question of supplies from flanders, the payment and passage of mercenaries through the emperor's territories, the free concession of trading licences by the queen regent of the netherlands, and a dozen other questions, kept the relations between the allies in a state of irritation and acrimony, even before the campaign well began, and it is clear thus early that henry started with the fixed intention of conquering the territory of boulogne, and then perhaps making friends with francis, leaving the emperor at war. with both the great rivals exhausted, he would be more sought after than ever. he at once laid siege to montreuil and boulogne, and personally took command, deaf to the prayers and remonstrances of charles and his sister, that he would not go beyond calais, "for his health's sake"; but would send the bulk of his forces to join the emperor's army before st. disier. the emperor had himself broken the compact by besieging landrecy and st. disier; and so the bulk of henry's army sat down before boulogne, whilst the emperor, short of provisions, far in an enemy's country, with weak lines of communication, unfriendly lorraine on his flank and two french armies approaching him, could only curse almost in despair the hour that he trusted the word of "his good brother," the king of england. katharine bade farewell to her husband at dover when he went on his pompous voyage,[250] and returned forthwith to london, fully empowered to rule england as regent during his absence. she was directed to use the advice and counsel of cranmer, wriothesley, the earl of hertford, who was to replace her if she became incapacitated, thirlby, and petre; gardiner accompanying the king as minister. the letters written by katharine to her husband during his short campaign show no such instances of want of tact as did those of the first katharine, quoted in the earlier pages of this book. it is plain to read in them the clever, discreet woman, determined to please a vain man; content to take a subordinate place and to shine by a reflected light alone. "she thanks god for a prosperous beginning of his affairs;" "she rejoices at the joyful news of his good health," and in a business-like way shows that she and her council are actively forwarding the interests of the king with a single-hearted view to his honour and glory alone. during this time the young prince edward and his sister mary were at hampton court with the queen; but the other daughter, elizabeth, lived apart at st. james's. though it is evident that the girl was generally regarded and treated as inferior to her sister, she appears to have felt a real regard for her stepmother, almost the only person who, since her infancy, had been kind to her. elizabeth wrote to the queen on the 31st july a curious letter in italian. "envious fortune," she writes, "for a whole year deprived me of your highness's presence, and, not content therewith, has again despoiled me of that boon. i know, nevertheless, that i have your love; and that you have not forgotten me in writing to the king. i pray you in writing to his majesty deign to recommend me to him; praying him for his ever-welcome blessing; praying at the same time to almighty god to send him good fortune and victory over his enemies; so that your highness and i together may the sooner rejoice at his happy return. i humbly pray to god to have your highness in his keeping; and respectfully kissing your highness' hand.--elizabeth."[251] katharine indeed, in this trying time of responsibility, comes well out of her ordeal. the prayer[252] composed by her for peace at this period is really a beautiful composition; and the letter from her to her husband, printed by strype, breathes sentiment likely to please such a man as henry, but in language at once womanly and dignified. "although the distance of time and account of days," she writes, "neither is long nor many, of your majesty's absence, yet the want of your presence, so much beloved and desired by me, maketh me that i cannot quietly pleasure in anything until i hear from your majesty. the time therefore seemeth to me very long, with a great desire to know how your highness hath done since your departing hence; whose prosperity and health i prefer and desire more than mine own. and, whereas i know your majesty's absence is never without great need, yet love and affection compel me to desire your presence. again the same zeal and affection forceth me to be best content with that which is your will and pleasure. thus, love maketh me in all things set apart mine own convenience and pleasure, and to embrace most joyfully his will and pleasure whom i love. god, the knower of secrets, can judge these words to be not only written with ink but most truly impressed upon the heart. much more i omit, less it be thought i go about to praise myself or crave a thank. which thing to do i mind nothing less, but a plain simple relation of the love and zeal i bear your majesty, proceeding from the abundance of the heart.... i make like account with your majesty, as i do with god, for his benefits and gifts heaped upon me daily; acknowledging myself to be a great debtor to him, not being able to recompense the least of his benefit. in which state i am certain and sure to die, yet i hope for his gracious acceptance of my goodwill. even such confidence have i in your majesty's gentleness, knowing myself never to have done my duty as were requisite and meet for such a noble prince, at whose hands i have received so much love and goodness that with words i cannot express it."[253] it will be seen by this, and nearly every other letter that katharine wrote to her husband, that she had taken the measure of his prodigious vanity, and indulged him to the top of his bent. in a letter written to him on the 9th august, referring to the success of the earl of lennox, who had just married henry's niece, margaret douglas, and had gone to scotland to seize the government in english interest, katharine says: "the good speed which lennox has had, is to be imputed to his serving a master whom god aids. he might have served the french king, his old master, many years without attaining such a victory." this is the attitude in which henry loved to be approached, and with such letters from his wife in england confirming the jove-like qualities attributed to him in consequence of his presence with his army in france, henry's short campaign before boulogne was doubtless one of the pleasantest experiences in his life. to add to his satisfaction, he had not been at calais a week before francis began to make secret overtures for peace. it was too early for that, however, just yet, for henry coveted boulogne, and the sole use made of the french approaches to him was to impress the imperial agents with his supreme importance. the warning was not lost upon charles and his sister the queen regent of the netherlands, who themselves began to listen to the unofficial suggestions for peace made by the agents of the duchess d'etampes, the mistress of francis, in order, if possible, to benefit herself and the duke of orleans in the conditions, to the detriment of the dauphin henry. thenceforward it was a close game of diplomatic finesse between henry and charles as to which should make terms first and arbitrate on the claims of the other. st. disier capitulated to the emperor on the 8th august; and charles at once sent another envoy to henry at boulogne, praying him urgently to fulfil the plan of campaign decided with gonzaga, or the whole french army would be concentrated upon the imperial forces and crush them. but henry would not budge from before boulogne, and charles, whilst rapidly pushing forward into france, and in serious danger of being cut off by the dauphin, listened intently for sounds of peace. they soon came, through the duke of lorraine; and before the end of august the emperor was in close negotiation with the french, determined, come what might, that the final settlement of terms should not be left in the hands of the king of england. henry's action at this juncture was pompous, inflated, and stupid, whilst that of charles was statesmanlike, though unscrupulous. even during the negotiations charles pushed forward and captured epernay and château thierry, where the dauphin's stores were. this was on the 7th september, and then having struck his blow he knew that he must make peace at once. he therefore sent the young bishop of arras, granvelle, with a message to henry which he knew would have the effect desired. the king of england was again to be urged formally but insincerely to advance and join the emperor, but if he would not the emperor must make peace, always providing that the english claims were satisfactorily settled. arras arrived in the english camp on the 11th september. he found henry in his most vaunting mood; for only three days before the ancient tower on the harbour side opposite boulogne had been captured by his men.[254] he could not move forward, he said; it was too late in the season to begin a new campaign, and he was only bound by the treaty to keep the field four months in a year. if the emperor was in a fix, that was his look-out. the terms, moreover, suggested for the peace between his ally and france were out of the question, especially the clause about english claims. the french had already offered him much better conditions than those. arras pushed his point. the emperor must know definitely, he urged, whether the king of england would make peace or not, as affairs could not be left pending. then henry lost his temper, as the clever imperial ministers knew he would do, and blurted out in a rage: "let the emperor make peace for himself if he likes, but nothing must be done to prejudice my claims." it was enough for the purpose desired, for in good truth the emperor had already agreed with the french, and arras posted back to his master with henry's hasty words giving permission for him to make a separate peace. in vain for the next two years henry strove to unsay, to palliate, to disclaim these words. quarrels, bursts of violent passion, incoherent rage, indignant denials, were all of no avail; the words were said, and vouched for by those who heard them; and charles hurriedly ratified the peace already practically made with france on terms that surprised the world, and made henry wild with indignation. the emperor, victor though he was, in appearance gave away everything. his daughter or niece was to marry orleans, with milan or flanders as a dowry; savoy was to be restored to the duke, and the french were to join the emperor in alliance against the turk. none knew yet--though henry may have suspected it--that behind the public treaty there was a secret compact by which the two catholic sovereigns agreed to concentrate their joint powers and extirpate a greater enemy than the turk, namely, the rising power of protestantism in europe. henry was thus betrayed and was at war alone with france, all of whose forces were now directed against him. boulogne fell to the english on the 14th september, three days after arras arrived in henry's camp, and the king hurried back to england in blazing wrath with the emperor and inflated with the glorification of his own victory, eager for the applause of his subjects before his laurels faded and the french beleagured the captured town. gardiner and paget, soon to be joined temporarily by hertford, remained in calais in order to continue, if possible, the abortive peace negotiations with france. but it was a hopeless task now; for francis, free from fear on his north-east frontier, was determined to win back boulogne at any cost. the dauphin swore that he would have no peace whilst boulogne remained in english hands, and henry boastfully declared that he would hold it for ever now that he had won it. thenceforward the relations between henry and the emperor became daily more unamiable. henry claimed under the treaty that charles should still help him in the war, but that was out of the question. when in 1546 the french made a descent upon the isle of wight, once more the treaty was invoked violently by the king of england: almost daily claims, complaints, and denunciations were made on both sides with regard to the vexed question of contraband of war for the french, mostly dutch herrings; and the right of capture by the english. the emperor was seriously intent upon keeping henry on fairly good terms, and certainly did not wish to go to war with him; but he had submitted to the hard terms of the peace of crespy with a distinct object, and dared not jeopardise it by renewing his quarrel with france for the sake of henry. slowly it had forced itself upon the mind of charles that his own protestant vassals, the princes of the schmalkaldic league, must be crushed into obedience, or his own power would become a shadow; and his aim was to keep all christendom friendly until he had choked lutheranism at its fountain-head. from the period of henry's return to england in these circumstances, growing sympathy for those whom a papal and imperial coalition were attacking caused the influence of the catholic party in his councils gradually but spasmodically to decline. chapuys, who himself was hastening to the grave, accompanied his successor van der delft as ambassador to england at christmas (1544), and describes henry as looking very old and broken, but more boastful of his victory over the french than ever. he professed, no doubt sincerely, a desire to remain friendly with the emperor; and after their interview with him the ambassadors, without any desire being expressed on their part, were conducted to the queen's oratory during divine service. in reply to their greetings and thanks for her good offices for the preservation of friendship and her kindness to princess mary, katharine "replied, very graciously, that she did not deserve so much courtesy from your majesty (the emperor). what she did for lady mary was less than she would like to do, and was only her duty in every respect. with regard to the maintenance of friendship, she said she had done, and would do, nothing to prevent its growing still firmer, and she hoped that god would avert the slightest dissension; as the friendship was so necessary, and both sovereigns were so good."[255] [illustration: _henry viii._ _from a portrait by_ holbein _in the possession of the earl of warwick_] katharine was equally amiable, though evidently now playing a political part, when four months later the aged and crippled chapuys bade his last farewell to england. he was being carried in a chair to take leave of henry at whitehall one morning in may at nine o'clock. he was an hour earlier than the time fixed for his audience, and was passing through the green alleys of the garden towards the king's apartments, when notice was brought to him that the queen and princess mary were hastening after him. he stopped at once, and had just time to hobble out of his chair before the two ladies reached him. "it seemed from the small suite she had with her, and the haste with which she came, as if her purpose in coming was specially to speak to me. she was attended only by four or five ladies of the chamber, and opened the conversation by saying that the king had told her the previous evening that i was coming that morning to say good-bye. she was very sorry, on the one hand, for my departure, as she had been told that i had always performed my duties well, and the king trusted me; but on the other hand she doubted not that my health would be better on the other side of the sea. i could, however, she said, do as much on the other side as here, for the maintenance of the friendship, of which i had been one of the chief promoters. for this reason she was glad i was going; although she had no doubt that so wise and good a sovereign as your majesty (_i.e._ the emperor) would see the need and importance of upholding the friendship, of which the king, on his side, had given so many proofs in the past. yet it seemed to her that your majesty had not been so thoroughly informed hitherto, either by my letters or otherwise, of the king's sincere affection and goodwill, as i should be able to report verbally. she therefore begged me earnestly, after i had presented to your majesty her humble service, to express explicitly to you, all that i had learned here of the good wishes of the king."[256] there was much more high-flown compliment both from katharine and her step-daughter before the gouty ambassador went on his way; but it is evident that katharine, like her husband, was at this time (may 1545) apprehensive as to the intentions of charles and his french allies towards england, and was still desirous to obtain some aid in the war under the treaty, in order, if possible, to weaken the new friendship with france and the catholic alliance. in the meanwhile the failure of gardiner's policy, and the irritation felt at the emperor's abandonment of england, placed the minister somewhat under a cloud. he had failed, too, to persuade the emperor personally to fulfil the treaty, as well as in his negotiations for peace with the french; and, as his sun gradually sank before the king's annoyance, that of secretary paget, of hertford, of dudley, and of wriothesley, now lord chancellor, a mere time-serving courtier, rose. the protestant element around katharine, too, became bolder, and her own participation in politics was now frankly on the anti-catholic side. the alliance--insincere and temporary though it was--between the emperor and france, once more produced its inevitable effect of drawing together england and the german lutherans. it is true that charles' great plan for crushing dissent by the aid of the pope was not yet publicly known; but the council of trent was slowly gathering, and it was clear to the german princes of the schmalkaldic league that great events touching religion and their independence were in the air; for cardinal farnese and the papal agents were running backward and forward to the emperor on secret missions, and all the catholic world rang with denunciation of heresy. in june the new imperial ambassador, van der delft, sounded the first note of alarm from england. katharine parr's secretary, buckler, he said, had been in germany for weeks, trying to arrange a league between the protestant princes and england. this was a matter of the highest importance, and charles when he heard of it was doubly desirous of keeping his english brother from quite breaking away; whilst in september there arrived in england from france a regular embassy from the duke of saxony, the landgrave of hesse, the duke of würtemburg, and the king of denmark, ostensibly to promote peace between england and france, but really bent upon effecting a protestant alliance. henry, indeed, was seriously alarmed. he was exhausted by his long war in france, harassed in the victualling of boulogne and even of calais, and fully alive to the fact that he was practically defenceless against an armed coalition of the emperor and france. in the circumstances it was natural that the influence over him of his wife, and of his brother-in-law hertford, both inclined to a reconciliation with france and an understanding with the german protestants, should increase. katharine, now undisguisedly in favour of such a policy, was full of tact; during the king's frequent attacks of illness she was tender and useful to him, and the attachment to her of the young prince edward, testified by many charming little letters of the boy, too well known to need quotation here, seemed to promise a growth of her state importance. the tendency was one to be strenuously opposed by gardiner and his friends in the council, and once more attempts were made to strike at the queen through cranmer, almost simultaneously with a movement, flattering to henry and hopeful for the catholic party, to negotiate a meeting at calais or in flanders between him and the emperor, to settle all questions and make france distrustful. for any such approach to be productive of the full effects desired by gardiner, it was necessary to couple with it severe measures against the protestants. henry was reminded that the coming attack upon the german lutherans by the emperor, with the acquiescence of france, would certainly portend an attack upon himself later; and he was told by the catholic majority of his council that any tenderness on his part towards heresy now would be specially perilous. the first blow was struck at cranmer, and was struck in vain. the story in full is told by strype from morice and foxe, and has been repeated by every historian of the reign. gardiner and his colleagues represented to henry that, although the archbishop was spreading heresy, no one dared to give evidence against a privy councillor whilst he was free. the king promised that they might send cranmer to the tower, if on examination of him they found reason to do so. late that night henry sent across the river to lambeth to summon the archbishop from his bed to see him, told him of the accusation, and his consent that the accused should be judged and, if advisable, committed to the tower by his own colleagues on the council. cranmer humbly thanked the king, sure, as he said, that no injustice would be permitted. henry, however, knew better, and indignantly said so; giving to his favourite prelate his ring for a token that summoned the council to the royal presence. the next morning early cranmer was summoned to the council, and was kept long waiting in an ante-room amongst suitors and serving-men. dr. butts, henry's privileged physician, saw this and told the king that the archbishop of canterbury had turned lackey; for he had stood humbly waiting outside the council door for an hour. henry, in a towering rage, growled, "i shall talk to them by-and-by." when cranmer was charged with encouraging heresy he demanded of his colleagues that he should be confronted with his accusers. they refused him rudely, and told him he should be sent to the tower. then cranmer's turn came, and he produced the king's ring, to the dismay of the council, who, when they tremblingly faced their irate sovereign, were taken to task with a violence that promised them ill, if ever they dared to touch again the king's friend. but though cranmer was unassailable, the preachers who followed his creed were not. in the spring of 1546 the persecutions under the six articles commenced afresh, and for a short time the catholic party in the council had much their own way, having frightened henry into abandoning the lutheran connection, in order that the vengeance of the catholic league might not fall upon him, when the emperor had crushed the schmalkaldic princes.[257] henry's health was visibly failing, and the two factions in his court knew that time was short in which to establish the predominance of either at the critical moment. on the protestant side were hertford, dudley, cranmer, and the queen, and on the other gardiner, paget, paulet, and wriothesley; and as katharine's influence grew with her husband's increasing infirmity, it became necessary for the opposite party if possible to get rid of her before the king died. in february 1546 the imperial ambassador reported: "i am confused and apprehensive to have to inform your majesty that there are rumours here of a new queen, although i do not know why or how true they may be. some people attribute them to the sterility of the queen, whilst others say that there will be no change whilst the present war lasts. the duchess of suffolk is much talked about, and is in great favour; but the king shows no alteration in his behaviour towards the queen, though she is, i am informed, annoyed at the rumours."[258] hints of this sort continued for some time, and evidently took their rise from a deliberate attack upon katharine by the catholic councillors. she herself, for once, failed in her tact, and laid herself open to the designs of her enemies. she was betrayed into a religious discussion with henry during one of his attacks of illness, in the presence of gardiner, much to the king's annoyance. when she had retired the bishop flattered henry by saying that he wondered how any one could have the temerity to differ from him on theology, and carried his suggestions further by saying that such a person might well oppose him in other things than opinions. moved by the hints at his danger, always a safe card to play with him, the king allowed an indictment to be drawn up against katharine, and certain ladies of her family, under the six articles. everything was arranged for the queen's arrest and examination, when wriothesley, the lord chancellor, a servile creature who always clung to the strongest side, seems to have taken fright and divulged the plot to one of her friends. katharine was at once informed and fell ill with fright, which for a short time deferred the arrest. being partially recovered she sought the king, and when he began to talk about religion, she by her submission and refusal to contradict his views, as those of one far too learned for her to controvert, easily flattered him back into a good humour with her. the next day was fixed for carrying her to the tower, and again henry determined to play a trick upon his ministers. sending for his wife in the garden, he kept her in conversation until the hour appointed for her arrest. when wriothesley and the guard approached, the king turned upon him in a fury, calling him knave, fool, beast, and other opprobrious names, to the lord chancellor's utter surprise and confusion. the failure of the attack upon katharine in the summer of 1546 marks the decline of the catholic party in the council. peace was made with france in the autumn; and katharine did her part in the splendid reception of the admiral of france and the great rejoicings over the new peace treaty (september 1546). almost simultaneously came the news of fresh dissensions between the emperor and francis; for the terms of the peace of crespy were flagrantly evaded, and it began to be seen now that the treaty had for its sole object the keeping of france quiet and england at war whilst the german protestants were crushed. not in france alone, but in england too, the revulsion of feeling against the emperor's aims was great. the treacherous attack upon his own vassals in order to force orthodoxy upon them at the sword's point had been successful, and it was seen to constitute a menace to all the world. again protestant envoys came to england and obtained a loan from henry: again the duke philip of bavaria, who said that he had never heard mass in his life until he arrived in england, came to claim the hand of the princess mary;[259] and the catholics in the king's council, forced to stand upon the defensive, became, not the conspirators but those conspired against. hertford and dudley, now lord admiral, were the king's principal companions, both in his pastimes and his business; and the imperial ambassador expressed his fears for the future to a caucus of the council consisting of gardiner, wriothesley, and paulet, deploring, as he said, that "not only had the protestants their openly declared champions ... but i had even heard that some of them had gained great favour with the king, though i wished they were as far away from court as they were last year. i did not mention names, but the persons i referred to were the earl of hertford and the lord admiral. the councillors made no reply, but they clearly showed that they understood me, and continued in their great devotion to your majesty."[260] late in september the king fell seriously ill, and his life for a time was despaired of. dr. butts had died some months before, and the queen was indefatigable in her attendance; and the seymours, as uncles of the heir, rose in importance as the danger to the king increased. the only strong men on the council on the catholic side were gardiner, who was extremely unpopular and already beaten, and norfolk. paulet was as obedient to the prevailing wind as a weathercock; wriothesley was an obsequious, greedy sycophant; paget a humble official with little influence, and the rest were nonentities. the enmity of the seymours against the howards was of long standing, and was as much personal as political; especially between the younger brother, sir thomas seymour, and the earl of surrey, the heir of norfolk, whose quarrels and affrays had several times caused scandal at court. there was much ill-will also between surrey and his sister, the widowed duchess of richmond, who after the death of her young husband had been almost betrothed to sir thomas seymour.[261] with these elements of enmity a story was trumped up which frightened the sick king into the absurd idea that surrey aimed at succeeding to the crown, to the exclusion of henry's children. it was sufficient to send him to the tower, and afterwards to the block as one of henry's most popular victims. his father, the aged duke of norfolk, was got rid of by charges of complicity with him. stripped of his garter, the first of english nobles was carried to the tower by water, whilst his brilliant poet son was led through the streets of london like a pickpurse, cheered to the echo by the crowd that loved him. the story hatched to explain the arrests to the public, besides the silly gossip about surrey's coat-of-arms and claims to the crown, was, that whilst the king was thought to be dying in november at windsor, the duke and his son had plotted to obtain possession of the prince for their own ends on the death of his father. having regard for the plots and counterplots that we know divided the council at the time, this is very probable, and was exactly what hertford and dudley were doing, the prince, indeed, being then in his uncle's keeping at hertford castle. at the end of december the king suffered from a fresh attack, which promised to be fatal. he was at whitehall at the time, whilst katharine was at greenwich, an unusual thing which attracted much comment; but whether she was purposely excluded by hertford from access to him or not, it is certain that the protestant party of which she, the duchess of suffolk, and the countess of hertford were the principal lady members, and the earl of hertford and lord admiral dudley the active leaders, alone had control of affairs. gardiner had been threatened with the tower months before, and had then only been saved by norfolk's bold protest. now norfolk was safe under bolts and bars, whilst wriothesley and paulet were openly insulted by hertford and dudley, and, like their chief gardiner, lay low in fear of what was to come when the king died.[262] they were soon to learn. the king had been growing worse daily during january. his legs, covered with running ulcers, were useless to him and in terrible torture. his bulk was so unwieldy that mechanical means had to be employed to lift him. surrey had been done to death in the tower for high treason, whilst yet the king's stiffened hand could sign the death-warrant; but when the time came for killing norfolk, henry was too far gone to place his signature to the fatal paper. wriothesley, always ready to oblige the strong, produced a commission, stated to be authorised by the king, empowering him as chancellor to sign for him, which he did upon the warrant ordering the death of norfolk, whose head was to fall on the following morning. but it was too late, for on the morrow before the hour fixed for the execution the soul of king henry had gone to its account, and none dared carry out the vicarious command to sacrifice the proudest noble in the realm for the convenience of the political party for the moment predominant. on the afternoon of 26th january 1547 the end of the king was seen to be approaching. the events of henry's deathbed have been told with so much religious passion on both sides that it is somewhat difficult to arrive at the truth. between the soul in despair and mortal anguish, as described by rivadeneyra, and the devout protestant deathbed portrayed by some of the ardent religious reformers, there is a world of difference. the accepted english version says that, fearing the dying man's anger, none of the courtiers dared to tell him of his coming dissolution, until his old friend sir anthony denny, leaning over him, gently broke the news. henry was calm and resigned, and when asked if he wished to see a priest, he answered: "only cranmer, and him not yet." it was to be never, for henry was speechless and sightless when the primate came, and the king could answer only by a pressure of his numbed fingers the question if he died in the faith of christ. another contemporary, whom i have several times quoted, though always with some reservation, says that henry, some days before he died, took a tender farewell of the princess mary, to whose motherly care he commended her young brother; and that he then sent for the queen and said to her, "'it is god's will that we should part, and i order all these gentlemen to honour and treat you as if i were living still; and, if it should be your pleasure to marry again, i order that you shall have seven thousand pounds for your service as long as you live, and all your jewels and ornaments.' the good queen could not answer for weeping, and he ordered her to leave him. the next day he confessed, took the sacrament, and commended his soul to god."[263] henry died, in fact, as he had lived, a catholic. the reformation in england, of which we have traced the beginnings in this book, did not spring mature from the mind and will of the king, but was gradually thrust upon him by the force of circumstances, arising out of the steps he took to satisfy his passion and gratify his imperious vanity. freedom of thought in religion was the last thing to commend itself to such a mind as his, and his treatment of those who disobeyed either the act of supremacy or the bloody statute (the six articles) shows that neither on the one side or the other would he tolerate dissent from his own views, which he characteristically caused to be embodied in the law of the land, either in politics or religion. the concession to subjects of the right of private judgment in matters of conscience seemed to the potentates of the sixteenth century to strike at the very base of all authority, and the very last to concede such a revolutionary claim was henry tudor. his separation from the papal obedience, whilst retaining what, in his view, were the essentials of the papal creed, was directed rather to the increase than to the diminution of his own authority over his subjects, and it was this fact that doubtless made it more than ever attractive to him. to ascribe to him a complete plan for the aggrandisement of england and her emancipation from foreign control, by means of religious schism, has always appeared to me to endow him with a political sagacity and prescience which, in my opinion, he did not possess, and to estimate imperfectly the forces by which he was impelled. we have seen how, entirely in consequence of the unexpected difficulties raised by the papacy to the first divorce, he adopted the bold advice of cranmer and cromwell to defy the pope on that particular point. the opposition of the pope was a purely political one, forced upon him by the emperor for reasons of state, in order to prevent a coalition between england and france; and there were several occasions when, if the pope had been left to himself, he would have found a solution that would have kept england in the orthodox fold. but for the persistence of the opposition henry would never have taken the first step that led to the reformation. having taken it, each other step onward was the almost inevitable consequence of the first, having regard to the peculiar character of the king. it has been the main business of this book to trace in what respect the policy that ended in the great religious schism was reflected or influenced by the matrimonial adventures of the king, who has gone down to history as the most married monarch of modern times. we have seen that, although, with the exception of katharine of aragon and anne boleyn, each for a short time, the direct influence of henry's wives upon events was small, each one represented, and coincided in point of time with, a change in the ruling forces around the king. we have seen that the libidinous tendency of the monarch was utilised by the rival parties, as were all other elements that might help them, to forward the opportunity by which a person to some extent dependent upon them might be placed at the side of the king as his wife; and when for the purpose it was necessary to remove the wife in possession first, we have witnessed the process by which it was effected. the story from this point of view has not been told before in its entirety, and as the whole panorama unrolls before us, we mark curiously the regular degeneration of henry's character, as the only checks upon his action were removed, and he progressively defied traditional authority and established standards of conduct without disaster to himself. the power of the church to censure or punish him, and the fear of personal reprobation by the world, were the influences that, had they retained their force over him to the end, would probably have kept henry to all appearance a good man. but when he found, probably to his own surprise, that the jealous divisions of the catholic powers on the continent made defiance of the church in his case unpunishable, and that crafty advisers and servile parliaments could give to his deeds, however violent and cruel, the sanction of holy writ and the law of the land, there was no power on earth to hold in check the devil in the breast of henry tudor; and the man who began a vain, brilliant sensualist, with the feelings of a gentleman, ended a repulsive, bloodstained monster, the more dangerous because his evil was always held to be good by himself and those around him. in his own eyes he was a deeply wronged and ill-used man when katharine of aragon refused to surrender her position as his wife after twenty years of wedlock, and appealed to forces outside england to aid her in supporting her claim. it was a rebellious, a cruel, and a wicked thing for her and her friends to stand in the way of his tender conscience, and of his laudable and natural desire to be succeeded on the throne by a son of his own. similarly, it seemed very hard upon him that all europe, and most of his own country, should be threateningly against him for the sake of anne boleyn, for whom he had already sacrificed and suffered so much, and particularly as she was shrewish and had brought him no son. he really was a most ill-used man, and it was a providential instance of divine justice that cromwell, in the nick of time, when the situation had become unendurable and jane seymour's prudish charms were most elusive, should fortunately discover that anne was unworthy to be henry's wife, and cranmer should decide that she never _had_ been his wife. it was not his fault, moreover, that anne of cleves' physical qualities had repelled him. a wicked and ungenerous trick had been played upon him. his trustful ingenuousness had been betrayed by flatterers at the instance of a knavish minister, who, not content with bringing him a large unsympathetic dutch vrow for a wife, had pledged him to an alliance with a lot of insignificant vassal princes in rebellion against the greater sovereigns who were his own peers. it was a just decree of heaven that the righteous wisdom of gardiner and norfolk should enable it to be demonstrated clearly that the good king had once more been deceived, and that anne, and the policy she stood for, could be repudiated at the same time without opprobrium or wrongdoing. again, how relentless was the persecution of the powers of evil against the obese invalid of fifty who married in ignorance of her immoral past a light-lived beauty of seventeen, and was undeceived when her frivolity began to pall upon him by those whose political and religious views might benefit by the disgrace of the party that had placed katharine howard by the king's side as his wife. that the girl queen should lose her head for lack of virtue before her marriage and lack of prudence after it, was, of course, quite just, and in accordance with the law of the land--for all that henry did was strictly legal--but it was a heartrending thing that the good husband should suffer the distress of having once believed in so unworthy a wife. still katharine howard was not sacrificed in vain, for, although the catholic policy she represented suffered no check, for reasons set forth in earlier pages, the king's sad bereavement left him in the matrimonial market and enhanced his price as an ally, for much of the future depended upon the wife and the party that should be in possession when the king died. as we have seen, the protestants, or rather the anti-catholics, won the last trick; and somerset's predominance meant that the reformation in england should not be one of form alone but of substance. the life of katharine parr after henry's death hardly enters into the plan of this book; but a few lines may be devoted to it, and to her pitiable end. the instant rise of the protector somerset on the death of henry brought with it a corresponding increase in the importance of his brother sir thomas, then lord seymour of sudeley, who was certainly no less ambitious than his brother, and probably of much stronger character. for a time all went well between the brothers, thomas being created lord admiral, to the annoyance of dudley--now earl of warwick--who had held the office, and receiving great grants of forfeited estates and other wealth. but soon the evident attempts of lord seymour to rival his elder brother, and perhaps to supplant him, aroused the jealousy of somerset, or more likely of his quarrelsome and haughty wife. some love passages, we have seen, took place between seymour and katharine parr before her marriage with the king, so that it need not be ascribed to ambition that the lover should once more cast his eyes upon the royal widow before the weeds for the king had been cast aside.[264] katharine, with a large dower that has already been mentioned, lived alternately in her two mansion-houses at chelsea and hanworth; and to her care was consigned the lady elizabeth, then a girl of fourteen. as early as the beginning of may 1547, seymour had visited the widowed queen at chelsea with his tale of love. katharine was now thirty-four years of age, and having married in succession three old men, might fairly be entitled to contract a fourth marriage to please herself. there was no more manly or handsome figure in england than that of seymour, with his stately stature, his sonorous voice, and his fine brown beard; and in his quiet meetings with the queen in her pretty riverside garden at chelsea, he appears to have found no difficulty in persuading katharine of the sincerity of his love. for a time the engagement was kept secret; but watchful eyes were around the queen, especially those of her own kin, and the following letter, written by seymour to her on the 17th may, shows that her sister, lady herbert, at least, had wind from katharine of what was going on: "after my humble commendations of your highness. yester night i supped at my brother herbert's, of whom, for your sake besydes my nown, i receved good cheyre. and after the same i received from your highness by my sister herbert[265] your commendations, which were more welcome than they were sent. and after the same she (lady herbert) waded further with me touching my being with your highness at chelsey, which i denied; but that, indeed, i went by the garden as i went to the bishop of london's howse; and at this point i stood with her for a time, till at last she told me further tokens that made me change colour; and she, like a false wench, took me with the maner. then, remembering what she was, and knowing how well ye trusted her, i examined her whether these things came from your highness and by that knew it to be true; for the which i render unto your highness my most umbell and harty thanks: for by her company (in default of yours) i shall shorten the weeks in these parts, which heretofore were three days longer in every of them than they were under the planets at chelsey. besydes this commoditye i may ascertain (_i.e._ inform) your highness by her how i do proceed in my matter...." seymour goes on to say that he has not yet dared to try his strength until he is fully in favour, this having reference apparently to his intention of begging his brother to permit the marriage, and then he proceeds: "if i knew by what means i might gratify your highness for your goodness to me at our last being together, i should not be slack to declare mine to you again, and the intent that i will be more bound to your highness, i do make my request that, yf it be nott painfull to your highness, that once in three days i may receve three lynes in a letter from you; and as many lynes and letters more as shall seem good to your highness. also i shall ombeley desyr your highness to geve me one of your small pictures yf ye hav one left, who with his silence shall give me occasion to think on the friendly cheere i shall have when my sawght (suit?) shall be at an end. 12 o'clock in the night this tewsday the 17th may 1547. from him whom ye have bound to honour, love, and in all lawful thynges obbey.--t. seymour." the queen had evidently pledged her troth to her lover at the previous meeting; and it would appear that when katharine had promised to write to him but once a fortnight her impatience, as much as his, could ill suffer so long a silence. either in answer to the above letter, or another similar one, katharine wrote: "my lord, i send you my most humble and hearty commendations, being desirous to know how ye have done since i saw you. i pray ye be not offended with me in that i send sooner to you than i said i would, for my promise was but once a fortnight. howbeit, the time is well abbreviated, by what means i know not, except weeks be shorter at chelsey than in other places. my lord, your brother hath deferred answering such requests as i made to him till his coming hither, which he sayeth shall be immediately after the term. this is not the first promise i have received of his coming, and yet unperformed. i think my lady (_i.e._ the duchess of somerset) hath taught him that lesson, for it is her custom to promise many comings to her friends and to perform none. i trust in greater matters she is more circumspect."[266] then follows a curious loving postscript, which shows that katharine's fancy for seymour was no new passion. "i would not have you think that this, mine honest good will toward you, proceeds from any sudden motion of passion; for, as truly as god is god, my mind was fully bent the other time i was at liberty to marry you before any man i know. howbeit, god withstood my will therein most vehemently for a time, and through his grace and goodness made that possible which seemed to me most impossible: that was, made me renounce utterly mine own will, and follow his most willingly. it were long to write all the process of this matter. if i live i shall declare it to you myself. i can say nothing; but as my lady of suffolk saith: 'god is a marvellous man.'--katheryn the quene."[267] the course of true love did not run smoothly. somerset, and especially his wife, did not like the idea of his younger brother's elevation to higher influence by his marrying the queen-dowager; and the protector proved unwilling to grant his consent to the marriage. katharine evidently resented this, and was inclined to use her great influence with the young king himself over his elder uncle's head. when seymour was in doubt how to approach his brother about it, katharine wrote spiritedly: "the denial of your request shall make his folly more manifest to the world, which will more grieve me than the want of his speaking. i would not wish you to importune for his goodwill if it come not frankly at first. it shall be sufficient once to require it, and then to cease. i would desire you might obtain the king's letters in your favour, and also the aid and furtherance of the most notable of the council, such as ye shall think convenient, which thing being obtained shall be no small shame to your brother and sister in case they do not the like." in the same letter katharine rather playfully dallies with her lover's request that she will abridge the period of waiting from two years to two months, and then she concludes in a way which proves if nothing else did how deeply she was in love with seymour. "when it shall pleasure you to repair hither (chelsea) ye must take some pains to come early in the morning, so that ye may be gone again by seven o'clock; and thus i suppose ye may come without being suspect. i pray ye let me have knowledge overnight at what hour ye will come, that your portress (_i.e._ katharine herself) may wait at the gate to the fields for you." it was not two years, or even two months, that the impatient lovers waited: for they must have been married before the last day in may 1547, four months after henry's death. katharine's suggestion that the boy king himself should be enlisted on their side, was adopted; and he was induced to press seymour's suit to his father's widow, as if he were the promoter of it. when the secret marriage was known to somerset, he expressed the greatest indignation and anger at it; and a system of petty persecution of katharine began. her jewels, of which the king had left her the use during her life, were withheld from her; her jointure estates were dealt with by somerset regardless of her wishes and protests; and her every appearance at court led to a squabble with the protector's wife as to the precedence to be accorded to her. on one occasion it is stated that this question of precedence led in the chapel royal to a personal encounter between katharine and proud ann stanhope. nor was katharine's life at home with her gallant, empty-headed, turbulent husband, cloudless. the princess elizabeth lived with them; and though she was but a girl, seymour began before many months of married life to act suspiciously with her. the manners of the time were free; and seymour might perhaps innocently romp suggestively, as he did, sometimes alone and sometimes in his wife's presence, with the young princess as she lay in bed; but when katharine, entering a chamber suddenly once, found young elizabeth embraced in her husband's arms, there was a domestic explosion which led to the departure of the girl from the chelsea household.[268] katharine was pregnant at the time; and elizabeth's letter to her on her leaving chelsea shows that although, for the sake of prudence, the girl was sent away, there was no great unkindness between her and her stepmother in consequence. she says that she was chary of her thanks when leaving, because "i was replete with sorrow to depart from your highness, especially leaving you undoubtful of health, and, albeit i answered little, i weighed more deeper when you said you would warn me of all the evils that you should hear of me." when the poor lady's time drew near, she wrote a hopeful yet pathetic letter to her husband, who was already involving himself in the ambitious schemes that brought his head to the block. both she and her husband in their letters anticipated the birth of their child with a frankness of detail which make the documents unfitted for reproduction here; and it is evident that, though they were now often separated, this looked-for son was to be a new pledge to bind them together for the future. in june 1548 seymour took his wife to sudeley castle for her confinement; and from there carried on, through his agents with the king, his secret plots to supersede his brother somerset as protector of the realm. he and his wife were surrounded by a retinue so large, as of itself to constitute a menace to the protector; but katharine's royal title gave a pretext for so large a household, and this and her personal influence secured whilst she lived her husband's safety from attack by his brother. at length, on the 30th august, katharine's child was born, a daughter, and at first all went well. even somerset, angry and distrustful as he was, was infected by his brother's joy, and sent congratulations. but on the fourth day the mother became excited, and wandered somewhat; saying that she thought she would die, and that she was not being well treated. "those who are about me do not care for me, but stand laughing at my grief," she complained to her friend lady tyrwhitt. this was evidently directed against seymour, who stood by. "why, sweetheart," he said, "i would you no hurt." "no, my lord," replied katharine, "i think so; but," she whispered, "you have given me many shrewd taunts." this seems to have troubled seymour, and he suggested to lady tyrwhitt that he should lie on the bed by the queen's side and try to calm her; but his efforts were without effect, for she continued excitedly to say that she had not been properly dealt with. these facts, related and magnified by attendants, and coupled with seymour's desire to marry elizabeth as soon as his wife died, gave rise to a pretty general opinion that katharine was either poisoned or otherwise ill treated. but there are many circumstances that point in the contrary direction, and there can be no reasonable doubt now, that although in her inmost mind she had begun to distrust her husband, and the anxiety so caused may have contributed to her illness, she died (on the 5th september) of ordinary puerperal fever. she was buried in great state in the chapel at sudeley castle, and her remains, which have been examined and described several times, add their testimony to the belief that the unfortunate queen died a natural death. the death of katharine parr, the last, and least politically important, of henry's six wives, took place, so far as english history is concerned, on the day that heralded the death of her royal husband. from the moment that somerset and his wife sat in the seats of the mighty there was no room for the exercise of political influence by the queen-dowager; and these latter pages telling of her fourth marriage, this time for love, form but a human postscript to a political history. footnotes: [1] _spanish calendar_, vol. 1. [2] the second marriage, by proxy, of arthur and katharine eventually took place at the chapel of the royal manor of bewdley on the 19th may 1499, and the young prince appears to have performed his part of the ceremony with much decorum: "saying in a loud, clear voice to dr. puebla, who represented the bride, that he was much rejoiced to contract an indissoluble marriage with katharine, princess of wales, not only in obedience to the pope and king henry, but also from his deep and sincere love for the said princess, his wife."--_spanish calendar_, vol. 1. [3] hall's _chronicle_. [4] leland's _collectanea_. [5] hall's _chronicle_. [6] _spanish calendar_, vol. 1. [7] the spanish agent believed that henry would have preferred that katharine had not accompanied arthur to wales, but for his desire to force her to use her valuables, so that he might obtain their equivalent in money. both doña elvira and bishop ayala told henry that they considered that it would be well that the young couple should be separated and not live together for a time, as arthur was so young. but puebla and the princess's chaplain, alexander (fitzgerald), had apparently said to the king that the bride's parents did not wish the princess to be separated from her husband on any account. doña elvira's opinion on the matter assumes importance from her subsequent declaration soon after arthur's death that she knew the marriage had not been consummated. [8] _spanish calendar_, vol. 1, 271. [9] there is in the biblioteca nacional at madrid (i. 325) a spanish document, apparently a contemporary translation of the report sent to henry from valencia by the three agents he sent thither in 1505 to report upon the appearance of the two widowed queens of naples resident there. james braybrooke, john stile, and francis marsin express an extremely free, but favourable, opinion of the charms of the younger queen, aged twenty-seven. katharine appears to have given letters of recommendation to the envoys. the spanish version of the document varies but little from the printed english copy in the calendar. the date of it is not given, but it must have been written in the late autumn of 1505. henry was evidently anxious for the match, though he said that he would not marry the lady for all the treasures in the world if she turned out to be ugly. the queen of naples, however, would not allow a portrait to be taken of her, and decidedly objected to the match. the various phases of henry's own matrimonial intrigues cannot be dealt with in this book, but it appears certain that if he could have allied himself to spain by marrying the queen of naples, he would have broken his son's betrothal with katharine, and have married him to one of the young princesses of france, a master-stroke which would have bound him to all the principal political factors in europe. [10] _spanish calendar_, vol. 1, p. 309. [11] she insisted--in accord with ferdinand and isabel--that katharine should live in great seclusion as a widow until the second marriage actually took place, and katharine appears to have done so at this time, though not very willingly. some of her friends seem to have incited her to enjoy more freedom, but a tight hand was kept upon her, until events made her her own mistress, when, as will be seen in a subsequent page, she quite lost her head for a time, and committed what at least were the gravest indiscretions. (see _spanish calendar_, vol. 1 and supplement.) [12] the protest is dated 24th june 1505, when henry was fourteen. [13] margaret absolutely refused to marry henry, and a substitute was found in the betrothal of young charles, the eldest son of philip, to henry's younger daughter, mary tudor, afterwards queen of france and duchess of suffolk. [14] _spanish calendar_, vol. 1, 386. [15] this letter is dated in march 1507, and is a most characteristic epistle. ferdinand in it professes the deepest love for his daughter and sympathy for her unhappiness. he had had the money all ready to send, he assures her, but king philip had stopped it; and she must keep friendly with king henry, never allowing any question to be raised as to the binding nature of her marriage with his son. as to the king's marriage with juana, the proposal must be kept very secret or juana will do something to prevent it; but if she ever marry again it shall be with no one else but henry. whether ferdinand ever meant in any case to sell his distraught daughter to henry may be doubted; but the proposal offered a good opportunity of gaining a fresh hold upon the king of england. [16] puebla says that henry had bought very cheaply the jewels of the deposed kings of naples and had great stores of them. he would only take katharine's at a very low price. [17] _spanish calendar_, vol. 1, 409, 15th april 1507. [18] the letters relating to this curious affair were for some years kept secret by the authorities at simancas; but were eventually printed in the supplement to vols. 2 and 3 of the _spanish calendar_. [19] _calendar henry viii._, 26th july 1509. [20] it is doubtful if he was ever present at an engagement, and he hurried home from boulogne as soon as hard fighting seemed to the fore. his fear of contagion and sickness was exhibited in most undignified fashion on several occasions. [21] _calendar henry viii._, 23rd september 1513. [22] katharine to wolsey, 13th august 1513. _calendar henry viii._ [23] _venetian calendar_, vol. 2, 7th october 1513. [24] _venetian calendar_, vol. 2. [25] lippomano from rome, 1st september. _venetian calendar_, vol. 2. [26] _calendar henry viii._, 31st december 1514. [27] see giustiani's letters in the _venetian calendars_ of the date. [28] see the letters of henry's secretary, richard pace, in the _calendar of henry viii._, vol. 2. [29] the emperor's fleet was sighted off plymouth on the 23rd may 1520. [30] in the _rutland papers_ (camden society), hall's _chronicle_, and camden's _annales_ full and interesting details will be found. [31] the ambassador martin de salinas, who arrived in england during the emperor's stay, from the archduke ferdinand who acted as _locum tenens_ in germany for his brother, reports (_spanish calendar henry viii._, vol. 2) that he delivered separate credentials to queen katharine, who promised to read them and give him her answer later. he continues: "i went to see her again this morning. she said that one of the letters had contained my credentials and the other spoke of the business of the turks. the time for a war with the turks, she declared, was ill chosen; as the war with france absorbed all the english resources. i told her that the infante (_i.e._ ferdinand) regarded her as his true mother, and prayed her not to forsake him, but to see that the king of england sent him succour against the turk. she answered that it will be impossible for the king to do so." it will be seen by this and other references to the same matter that katharine at this time, during the imperial alliance, was again taking a powerful part in political affairs. [32] see the series of letters in bradford's "charles v." and pace's correspondence in the _henry viii. calendar_. [33] a good idea of the magnitude and splendour of the preparations may be gained by the official lists of personages and "diets," in the _rutland papers_, camden society. the pageants themselves are fully described in hall. [34] amongst others the 10 per cent. tax on all property in 1523. see roper's "life of more," hall's _chronicle_, herbert's "henry viii.," &c. [35] henry's answer, which was very emphatic, testified that although he had lost affection for his wife he respected her still; indeed his attitude to her throughout all his subsequent cruelty was consistently respectful to her character as a woman and a queen. "if," he said on this occasion, "he should seek a mistress for her (the princess mary), to frame her after the manner of spain, and of whom she might take example of virtue, he should not find in all christendom a more mete than she now hath, that is the queen's grace, her mother."--_venetian calendar._ [36] _spanish calendar_, vol. 3, p. 1. [37] late in 1525. a sad little letter written by katharine in her quaint english to her daughter at this time is well known, but will bear repeating. mary had written asking how she was; and the reply assures the princess that it had not been forgetfulness of her that had caused her mother to delay the answer. "i am in that case that the long absence of the king and you troubleth me. my health is metely good; and i trust in god, he that sent me the last (illness?) doth it to the best and will shortly turn it (_i.e._ like?) to the fyrst to come to good effect. and in the meantime, i am veray glad to hear from you, specially when they shew me that ye be well amended. as for your writing in latin, i am glad ye shall change from me to master federston; for that shall do you much good to learn by him to write right. but yet sometimes i would be glad when ye do write to master federston of your own enditing, when he hath read it that i may see it. for it shall be a great comfort to me to see you keep your latin and fair writing and all." (ellis' "original letters," b.m. cotton vesp. f. xiii.) [38] mr. froude denied that there is any foundation for the assertion that mary boleyn was the king's mistress. it seems to me, on the contrary, to be as fully supported by evidence as any such fact can be. [39] as usual, hall is very diffuse in his descriptions of these festivities, especially in their sartorial aspects, and those readers who desire such details may be referred to his _chronicle_. [40] cavendish, "life of wolsey." [41] letters of iñigo lopez de mendoza early in 1527. _spanish calendar_, vol. 3, part 2. [42] _spanish calendar_, vol. 3, part 2, mendoza's letters, and _henry viii. calendar_, vol. 4, part 2, wolsey to the king, 5th july 1527. [43] how false were all the parties to each other at this time may be seen in a curious letter from knight, the king's secretary, to wolsey (when in france) about this man's going (ellis' "original letters"). "so yt is that francisco philip spaniard hath instantly laboured for license to go into spain pretendyng cawse and colour of his goyng to be forasmuch as he saiyth he wolde visite his modre which is veari sore syk. the queen hath both refused to assent unto his going and allso laboured unto the king's highnesse to empesh the same. the king's highnesse, knowing grete colusion and dissymulation betwene theym, doth allso dissymule faynyng that philip's desyre is made upon good grownde and consideration, and hath easyli persuaded the quene to be content with his goyng." the writer continues that the king had even promised to ransom felipe if he was captured on his way through france, and desires wolsey, notwithstanding the man's passport, to have him secretly captured, taking care that the king's share in the plot should never be known. wolsey in reply says that it shall be done, unless felipe went to spain by sea. probably katharine guessed her husband's trick, for felipe must have gone by sea, as he duly arrived at valladolid and told the emperor his message. [44] blickling hall, norfolk, is frequently claimed as her birthplace, and even ireland has put in its claim for the doubtful honour. the evidence in favour of hever is, however, the strongest. [45] mr. brewer was strongly of opinion that anne did not go to france until some years afterwards, and that it was mary boleyn who accompanied the princess in 1514. he also believed that anne was the younger of the two sisters. there was, of course, some ground for both of these contentions, but the evidence marshalled against them by mr. friedmann in an appendix to his "anne boleyn" appears to me unanswerable. [46] "life of wolsey." cavendish was the cardinal's gentleman usher. [47] "life of wolsey." it was afterwards stated, with much probability of truth, that anne's _liaison_ with percy had gone much further than a mere engagement to marry. [48] cavendish, wolsey's usher, tells a story which shows how katharine regarded the king's flirtation with anne at this time. playing at cards with her rival, the queen noticed that anne held the king several times. "my lady anne," she said, "you have good hap ever to stop at a king; but you are like the others, you will have all or none." contemptuous tolerance by a proud royal lady of a light jade who was scheming to be her husband's mistress, was evidently katharine's sentiment. [49] wolsey to henry from compiegne, 5th september 1527. _calendar henry viii._, vol. 4, part 2. [50] wolsey to ghinucci and lee, 5th august 1527. _calendar henry viii._, vol. 4, part 2. [51] several long speeches stated to have been uttered by her to henry when he sought her illicit love are given in the sloane mss., 2495, in the british museum, but they are stilted expressions of exalted virtue quite foreign to anne's character and manner. [52] although it was said to have been suggested by dr. barlow, lord rochford's chaplain. [53] the dispensation asked for was to permit henry to marry a woman, even if she stood in the first degree of affinity, "either by reason of licit or illicit connection," provided she was not the widow of his deceased brother. this could only refer to the fact that mary boleyn, anne's sister, had been his mistress, and that henry desired to provide against all risk of a disputed succession arising out of the invalidity of the proposed marriage. by the canon law previous to 1533 no difference had been made between legitimate and illegitimate intercourse so far as concerned the forbidden degrees of affinity between husband and wife. in that year (1533) when henry's marriage with anne had just been celebrated, an act of parliament was passed setting forth a list of forbidden degrees for husband and wife, and in this the affinities by reason of illicit intercourse were omitted. in 1536, when anne was doomed, another act was passed ordering every man who had married the sister of a former mistress to separate from her and forbidding such marriages in future. before henry's marriage with anne, sir george throgmorton mentioned to him the common belief that henry had carried on a _liaison_ with both the stepmother and the sister of anne. "_never with the mother_," replied the king; "nor with the sister either," added cromwell. but most people will conclude that the king's remark was an admission that mary boleyn was his mistress. (friedmann's "anne boleyn," appendix b.) [54] it would not be fair to accept as gospel the unsupported assertions of the enemies of anne with regard to her light behaviour before marriage, though they are numerous and circumstantial, but wyatt's own story of his snatching a locket from her and wearing it under his doublet, by which henry's jealousy was aroused, gives us the clue to the meaning of another contemporary statement (_chronicle of henry viii._, edited by the writer), to the effect that wyatt, who was a great friend of the king, and was one of those accused at the time of anne's fall, when confronted with cromwell, privately told him to remind the king of the warning he gave him about anne before the marriage. chapuys, also, writing at the time when anne was in the highest favour (1530), told the emperor that she had been accused by the duke of suffolk of undue familiarity with "a gentleman who on a former occasion had been banished on suspicion." this might apply either to percy or wyatt. all authorities agree that her demeanour was not usually modest or decorous. [55] _calendar henry viii._, vol. 4, part 2. [56] not content with her howard descent through her mother, anne, or rather her father, had caused a bogus pedigree to be drawn up by which the city mercer who had been his grandfather was represented as being of noble norman blood. the duchess of norfolk was scornful and indignant, and gave to anne "a piece of her mind" on the subject, greatly to henry's annoyance. (_spanish calendar henry viii._, vol. 4, part 2.) [57] they took with them a love-letter from the king to anne which is still extant (_calendar henry viii._, vol. 4, part 2). he tells her that "they were despatched with as many things to compass our matter as wit could imagine," and he trusts that he and his sweetheart will shortly have their desired end. "this would be more to my heart's ease and quietness of mind than anything in the world.... keep him (_i.e._ gardiner) not too long with you, but desire him for your sake to make the more speed; for the sooner we have word of him the sooner shall our matter come to pass. and thus upon trust of your short repair to london i make end of my letter, mine own sweetheart. written with the hand of him which desireth as much to be yours as you do to have him." gardiner also took with him henry's book justifying his view of the invalidity of his marriage. a good description of the pope's cautious attitude whilst he read this production is contained in gardiner's letter from orvieto, 31st march 1528. (_henry viii. calendar_, vol. 4, part 2.) [58] hall tells a curious and circumstantial story that the declaration of war, which led to the confiscation of great quantities of english property in the imperial dominions, was brought about purely by a trick of wolsey, his intention being to sacrifice clarencieux herald, who was sent to spain with the defiance. clarencieux, however, learnt of the intention as he passed through bayonne on his way home, and found means through nicholas carew to see the king at hampton court before wolsey knew of his return. when he had shown henry by the cardinal's own letters that the grounds for the declaration of war had been invented by the latter, the king burst out angrily: "o lorde jesu! he that i trusted moste told me all these things contrary. well, clarencieux, i will be no more of so light credence hereafter, for now i see perfectly that i am made to believe the thing that never was done." hall continues that the king was closeted with wolsey, from which audience the cardinal came "not very mery, and after that time the kyng mistrusted hym ever after." this must have been in april 1528. [59] for erasmus' letter see _calendar henry viii._, vol. 4, part 2, and for vives' letter see "vives opera," vol. 7. [60] the pope was told that there were certain secret reasons which could not be committed to writing why the marriage should be dissolved, the queen "suffering from certain diseases defying all remedy, for which, as well as other reasons, the king would never again live with her as his wife." [61] this was written before the death of the courtiers already mentioned. [62] see the letters on the question of the appointment of the abbess of wilton in fiddes' "life of wolsey," and the _calendar henry viii._, vol. 4, part 2, &c. [63] this letter was stated by sir h. ellis in his "original letters" to be from katharine and henry; and many false presumptions with regard to their relations at this time have been founded on the error. [64] it will be remarked that her statement was limited to the fact that she had remained intact _da lui_, "by him." this might well be true, and yet there might be grounds for henry's silence in non-confirmation of her public and repeated reiteration of the statement in the course of the proceedings, and for the stress laid by his advocates upon the boyish boast of arthur related in an earlier chapter. the episode of the young cleric, diego fernandez, must not be forgotten in this connection. [65] the words, often quoted, are given by hall. [66] _calendar henry viii._, vol. 4, part 2. [67] wolsey to sir gregory casale, 1st november 1528. _calendar henry viii._, vol. 4, part 2. [68] or as henry himself puts it in his letters to his envoys in rome, "for him to have two legal wives instead of one," katharine in a convent and the other by his side. [69] so desirous was the papal interest to persuade katharine to this course that one of the cardinals in rome (salviati) told the emperor's envoy mai that she would be very unwise to resist further or she might be poisoned, as the english ambassadors had hinted she would be. mai's reply was that "the queen was ready to incur that danger rather than be a bad wife and prejudice her daughter." (_calendar henry viii._, vol. 4, part 3.) [70] hall's _chronicle_. [71] this is hall's version. du bellay, the french ambassador (_calendar henry viii._, vol. 4, part 2), adds that henry began to hector at the end of the speech, saying that if any one dared in future to speak of the matter in a way disrespectful to him he would let him know who was master. "there was no head so fine," he said, "that he would not make it fly." [72] _calendar henry viii._, vol. 4, part 2. "intended address of the legates to the queen." [73] this is not surprising, as only a month before she had been reproved and threatened for not being sad enough. [74] there seems to be no doubt, from a letter written in january 1529 by the pope to campeggio, that the copy sent to katharine from spain was a forgery, or contained clauses which operated in her favour, but which were not in the original document. it was said that there was no entry of such a brief in the papal archives, and katharine herself asserted that the wording of it--alleging the consummation of arthur's marriage--was unknown to her. the spaniards explained the absence of any record of the document in the papal registry by saying that at the urgent prayer of isabel the catholic on her deathbed, the original brief had been sent to her as soon as it was granted. (_calendar henry viii._, vol. 4, part 3, p. 2278.) [75] _ibid._ [76] _calendar henry viii._, vol. 4, part 3. [77] _ibid._ the suspicion against wolsey at this time arose doubtless from his renewed attempts to obtain the papacy on clement's death. these led him to oppose a decision of the divorce except by the ecclesiastical authority. [78] it was on this occasion that charles brandon, duke of suffolk, henry's old friend and brother-in-law, lost patience. "banging the table before him violently, he shouted: 'by the mass! now i see that the old saw is true, that there never was legate or cardinal that did good in england;' and with that all the temporal lords departed to the king, leaving the legates sitting looking at each other, sore astonished."--hall's _chronicle_, and cavendish's "wolsey." [79] du bellay to montmorency, 22nd october 1529. _henry viii. calendar_, vol. 4, part 3. [80] this peremptory order seems to have been precipitated by a peculiarly acrimonious correspondence between henry and his wife at the end of july. she had been in the habit of sending him private messages under token; and when he and anne had left windsor on their hunting tour, katharine sent to him, as usual, to inquire after his health and to say that, though she had been forbidden to accompany him, she had hoped, at least, that she might have been allowed to bid him good-bye. the king burst into a violent rage. "tell the queen," he said to the messenger, "that he did not want any of her good-byes, and had no wish to afford her consolation. he did not care whether she asked after his health or not. she had caused him no end of trouble, and had obstinately refused the reasonable request of his privy council. she depended, he knew, upon the emperor; but she would find that god almighty was more powerful still. in any case, he wanted no more of her messages." to this angry outburst the queen must needs write a long, cold, dignified, and utterly tactless letter, which irritated the king still more, and his reply was that of a vulgar bully without a spark of good feeling. "it would be a great deal better," he wrote, "if she spent her time in seeking witnesses to prove her pretended virginity at the time of her marriage with him, than in talking about it to whoever would listen to her, as she was doing. as for sending messages to him, let her stop it, and mind her own business. (chapuys to the emperor, 21st july 1531. _spanish calendar henry viii._) [81] _spanish calendar henry viii._, 1531. [82] katharine to the emperor, _spanish calendar henry viii._, 28th july 1531. [83] foxe. [84] chapuys relates in may 1532 that when henry asked the house of commons for a grant to fortify the scottish border, two members spoke strongly against it. the best guarantee of peace, they said, was to keep friendly with the emperor. they urged the house to beg the king to return to his lawful wife, and treat her properly, or the whole kingdom would be ruined; since the emperor was more capable of harming england than any other potentate, and would not fail to avenge his aunt. the house, it is represented, was in favour of this view with the exception of two or three members, and the question of the grant demanded was held in abeyance. henry, of course, was extremely angry, and sent for the majority, whom he harangued in a long speech, saying that the matter of the divorce was not then before them, but that he was determined to protect them against ecclesiastical encroachment. the leaders of the protest, however, were made to understand they were treading on dangerous ground, and hastened to submit before henry's threats.--_spanish calendar_, vol. 4, 2nd may 1532. [85] chapuys to the emperor, 16th april 1532.--_spanish calendar_, vol. 4, 2nd may 1532. [86] in may 1532 the nuncio complained to norfolk of a preacher who in the pulpit had dared to call the pope a heretic. the duke replied that he was not surprised, for the man was a lutheran. if it had not been for the earl of wiltshire _and another person_ (evidently anne) he, norfolk, would have burnt the man alive, with another like him. it is clear from this that norfolk was now gravely alarmed at the religious situation created by anne. [87] _spanish calendar henry viii._, 1st october 1532. [88] hall's _chronicle_, and _the chronicle of calais_, camden society. [89] it is often stated to have been celebrated by dr. lee, and sometimes even by cranmer, who appears to have been present. [90] _spanish calendar henry viii._, chapuys to the emperor, 9th february 1533. [91] _ibid._, 15th february. [92] chapuys, writing to granville on the 23rd february, relates that anne, "without rhyme or reason, amidst a great company as she came out her chamber, began to say to one whom she loves well, and who was formerly sent away from court by the king out of jealousy (probably wyatt), that three days before she had had a furious hankering to eat apples, such as she had never had in her life before; and the king had told her that it was a sign she was pregnant, but she had said that it was nothing of the sort. then she burst out laughing loudly and returned to her room. almost all the court heard what she said and did; and most of those present were much surprised and shocked." (_spanish calendar henry viii._) [93] mountjoy, katharine's chamberlain, or rather gaoler, immediately afterwards gave the queen a still harsher message, to the effect that not only was she to be deprived of the regal title, but that the king would not continue to provide for her household. "he would retire her to some private house of her own, there to live on a small allowance, which, i am told, will scarcely be sufficient to cover the expenses of her household for the first quarter of next year." katharine replied that, so long as she lived, she should call herself queen. as to beginning housekeeping on her own account, she could not begin so late in life. if her expenses were too heavy the king might take her personal property, and place her where he chose, with a confessor, a physician, an apothecary, and two chamber-maids. if that was too much to ask, and there was nothing for her and her servants to live upon, she would willingly go out into the world and beg for alms for the sake of god. (_spanish calendar henry viii._, 15th april 1533.) [94] _spanish calendar henry viii._, chapuys to the emperor, 15th april 1533. [95] it was shortly after this that friar george brown first publicly prayed for the new queen at austin friars. [96] chapuys to the emperor, 27th april and 18th may 1533. [97] an interesting letter from cranmer on the subject is in the harleian mss., british museum (ellis's letters, vol. 2, series 1). [98] the duke of norfolk was apparently delighted to be absent from his niece's triumph, though the duchess followed anne in a carriage. he started the day before to be present at the interview between francis and the pope at nice. he had two extraordinary secret conferences with chapuys just before he left london, in which he displayed without attempt at concealment his and the king's vivid apprehension that the emperor would make war upon england. norfolk went from humble cringing and flattery to desperate threats, praying that chapuys would do his best to reconcile katharine to cranmer's sentence and to prevent war. he praised katharine to the skies "for her great modesty, prudence, and forbearance during the divorce proceedings, as well as on former occasions, the king having been at all times inclined to amours." most significant of all was norfolk's declaration "that he had not been either the originator or promoter of this second marriage, but on the contrary had always been opposed to it, and had tried to dissuade the king therefrom." (_spanish calendar henry viii._, vol. 6, part 2, 29th may 1533.) [99] norfolk, on the morning of the water pageant, told chapuys that the king had been very angry to learn that katharine's barge had been appropriated by anne, and the arms ignominiously torn off and hacked; and the new queen's chamberlain had been reprimanded for it, as there were plenty of barges on the river as fit for the purpose as that one. but anne would bate no jot of her spiteful triumph over her rival; and, as is told in the text, she used katharine's barge for her progress, in spite of all. [100] _spanish chronicle of henry viii._, edited by the present writer, 1889. [101] _spanish calendar henry viii._, chapuys to the emperor, 11th and 30th july 1533. [102] _chronicle of henry viii._, edited by the present writer. [103] _chronicle of henry viii._ cranmer, in his letter to hawkins giving an account of the festivities on this occasion (harl. mss., ellis's original letters, vol. 2, series 1), says that after the banquet in the hall of the old palace, "she was conveyed owte of the bake syde of the palice into a barge and, soe unto yorke place, where the king's grace was before her comyng; for this you must ever presuppose that his grace came allwayes before her secretlye in a barge as well frome grenewyche to the tower, as from the tower to yorke place." [104] stow gives some curious glimpses of the public detestation of the marriage, and of the boldness of friar peto in preaching before the king at greenwich in condemnation of it; and the letter of the earl of derby and sir henry faryngton to henry (ellis's original letters, vol. 2, series 1) recounts several instances of bold talk in lancashire on the subject, the most insulting and opprobrious words being used to describe "nan bullen the hoore." [105] lord herbert of cherbury. [106] _spanish calendar henry viii._, 11th july 1533. [107] katharine was even more indignant shortly afterwards, when she was informed that of the sum apportioned to her sustenance, only 12,000 crowns a year was to be at her own disposal, the rest, 18,000 crowns, being administered by an agent of the king, who would pay the bills and servants. she was for open rebellion on this point--she would rather beg her bread in the streets, she said, than consent to it--but chapuys knew that his master did not wish to drive affairs to an extremity just then, and counselled submission and patience. (_ibid._, 23rd august.) [108] chapuys to the emperor, 30th july 1533. [109] chapuys writes a day or two afterwards: "the baptism ceremony was sad and unpleasant as the mother's coronation had been. neither at court nor in the city have there been the bonfires, illuminations, and rejoicings usual on such occasions." [110] katharine had shortly before complained of the insalubrity of buckden and its distance from london. [111] katharine's appeal that she might not be deprived of the service of her own countrymen is very pathetic. she wrote to the council: "as to my physician and apothecary, they be my countrymen: the king knoweth them as well as i do. they have continued many years with me and (i thank them) have taken great pains with me, for i am often sickly, as the king's grace doth know right well, and i require their attendance for the preservation of my poor body, that i may live as long as it pleaseth god. they have been faithful and diligent in my service, and also daily do pray that the king's royal estate may long endure. but if they take any other oath to the king and to me (to serve me) than that which they have taken, i shall never trust them again, for in so doing i should live continually in fear of my life with them. wherefore i trust the king, in his high honour and goodness, and for the great love that hath been between us (which love in me is as faithful to him as ever it was, i take god to record) will not use extremity with me, my request being so reasonable."--_privy council papers_, december 1533. [112] _spanish calendar henry viii._, 27th december 1533. [113] _spanish calendar henry viii._, 27th december 1533. [114] chapuys to the emperor, 17th january 1534. [115] many instances are given by chapuys of anne's bitter spite against mary about this time. in february 1534 he mentions that northumberland (anne's old flame, who had more than once got into trouble about her) had said that she was determined to poison mary. some one else had told him that anne had sent to her aunt, lady clare, who was mary's governess, telling her if the princess used her title "to give her a good banging like the cursed bastard that she was." soon afterwards the girl is reported to be nearly destitute of clothes and other necessaries. when anne visited her daughter at hatfield in march, she sent for mary to come and pay her respects to her as queen. "i know no queen in england but my mother," was mary's proud answer: and a few days afterwards norfolk took away all the girl's jewels, and told her brutally that she was no princess and it was time her pride was abated: and lady clare assured her that the king did not care whether she renounced her title or not. parliament by statute had declared her a bastard, and if she (lady clare) were in the king's place she would kick her out of the house. it was said also that the king himself had threatened that mary should lose her head. there was, no doubt, some truth in all this, but it must not be forgotten that chapuys, who reports most of it, was anne's deadly enemy. [116] lee's instructions are said to have been "not to press the queen very hard." it must have been evident that no pressure would suffice. [117] the queen wrote to chapuys soon afterwards saying that the bishops had threatened her with the gibbet. she asked which of them was going to be the hangman, and said that she must ask them to hang her in public, not secretly. lee's and tunstall's own account of their proceedings is in the _calendar of henry viii._, 29th may 1534. [118] this lackey's name is given bastian hennyocke in the english state papers. to him katharine left £20 in her will. the other spanish servants with katharine at the time, besides francisco felipe, the groom of the chambers, and the bishop of llandaff (fray jorge de ateca), were dr. miguel de la sá, juan soto, felipe de granada, and antonio roca. [119] this narrative is taken from the _spanish chronicle of henry viii._, edited by the present writer. the author of the chronicle was a spanish merchant resident in london, and he was evidently indebted for this description of the scene to his friend and countryman, francisco felipe, katharine's groom of the chambers. the account supplements but does not materially contradict the official report of lee and tunstall, and chapuys' account to the emperor gained from the queen and her spanish attendants. [120] chapuys to the emperor, 29th may 1534. [121] she had written more than one fiery letter to charles during the previous few months, fervently urging him to strike for the authority of the church. all considerations of her safety and that of her daughter, she said, were to be put aside. it was the duty of the emperor to his faith that the march of heresy and iniquity in england should be stayed at any cost, and she exhorted him not to fail. (_calendar henry viii._, february and may 1534.) [122] bedingfield and tyrell were instructed in may 1534 to inform katharine that the appeal she had made that her spanish servants should not be penalised for refusing to take the oath to the new act of succession had been rejected, but licenses for the spaniards to stay with their mistress on the old footing were soon afterwards given. (_calendar henry viii._, may 1534.) [123] the account here given, that of chapuys himself, is quaintly and minutely confirmed by that of one of the spanish merchants who accompanied him, antonio de guaras, the author of the _spanish chronicle of henry viii._ [124] see chapuys' many letters on the subject. [125] letters of stephen vaughan, henry's envoy to germany. (_calendar henry viii._, vol. 7, etc.) [126] letters of chapuys in the autumn of 1534. (_spanish calendar._) [127] chapuys to the emperor, 2nd may 1536. [128] lady shelton. [129] the plans for mary's flight from eltham and her deportation to the continent were nearly successful at this time. [130] katharine had first met the saintly friar forest when she had gone on the famous pilgrimage to walsingham after the victory of flodden (october 1513), and on his first imprisonment she and her maid, elizabeth hammon, wrote heart-broken letters to him urging him to escape. (_calendar henry viii._) [131] a vivid picture of the general discontent in england at this time, and the steadfast fidelity of the people to the cause of katharine and mary, is given by the french envoy, the bishop of tarbes. (_calendar henry viii._, october 1535.) [132] the suggestion had been tentatively put forward by the english minister in flanders three months before. [133] this is according to bedingfield's statement, although from chapuys' letters, in which the chronology is a little confusing, it might possibly be inferred that he arrived at kimbolton on the 1st january and that lady willoughby arrived soon after him. i am inclined to think that the day i have mentioned, however, is the correct one. [134] in the previous month of november she had written what she called her final appeal to the emperor through chapuys. in the most solemn and exalted manner she exhorted her nephew to strike and save her before she and her daughter were done to death by the forthcoming parliament. this supreme heart-cry having been met as all similar appeals had been by smooth evasions on the part of charles, katharine thenceforward lost hope, and resigned herself to her fate. [135] before chapuys left kimbolton he asked de la sá if he had any suspicion that the queen was being poisoned. the spanish doctor replied that he feared that such was the case, though some slow and cunningly contrived poison must be that employed, as he could not see any signs or appearance of a simple poison. the queen, he said, had never been well since she had partaken of some welsh beer. the matter is still greatly in doubt, and there are many suspicious circumstances--the exclusion of de la sá and the bishop of llandaff from the room when the body was opened, and the strenuous efforts to retain both of them in england after katharine's death; and, above all, the urgent political reasons that henry had for wishing katharine to die, since he dared not carry out his threat of having her attainted and taken to the tower. such a proceeding would have provoked a rising which would almost certainly have swept him from the throne. [136] even this small gold cross with a sacred relic enclosed in it--the jewel itself not being worth, as chapuys says, more than ten crowns--was demanded of mary by cromwell soon afterwards. [137] this account of katharine's death is compiled from chapuys' letters, bedingfield's letters, and others in the _spanish_ and _henry viii. calendars_, and from the _chronicle of henry viii._ [138] the letter tells henry that death draws near to her, and she must remind him for her love's sake to safeguard his soul before the desires of his body, "for which you have cast me into many miseries and yourself into many cares. for my part i do pardon you all, yea i do wish and devoutly pray god that he will also pardon you." she commends her daughter and her maids to him, and concludes, "lastly, i do vow that mine eyes desire you above all things." katharine, queen of england. (cotton mss., british museum, otho c. x.) [139] the death of sir thomas more greatly increased anne's unpopularity. it is recorded (more's _life of more_) that when the news came of the execution the king and anne sat at play, and henry ungenerously told her she was the cause of it, and abruptly left the table in anger. [140] even the king's fool dared (july 1535) to call her a bawd and her child a bastard. [141] chapuys to the emperor, 24th february 1536. [142] chapuys to the emperor, 29th january 1536. [143] probably the following letter, which has been frequently printed:--"my dear friend and mistress. the bearer of these few lines from thy entirely devoted servant will deliver into thy fair hands a token of my true affection for thee, hoping you will keep it for ever in your sincere love for me. advertising you that there is a ballad made lately of great derision against us, which if it go much abroad and is seen by you i pray you pay no manner of regard to it. i am not at present informed who is the setter forth of this malignant writing, but if he is found he shall be straitly punished for it. for the things ye lacked i have minded my lord to supply them to you as soon as he can buy them. thus hoping shortly to receive you in these arms i end for the present your own loving servant and sovereign. h. r." [144] chapuys to the emperor, 1st april 1536. [145] see p. 264. [146] it will be recollected that this question of the return of the alienated ecclesiastical property was the principal difficulty when mary brought england back again into the fold of the church. pole and the churchmen at rome were for unconditional restitution, which would have made mary's task an impossible one; the political view which recommended conciliation and a recognition of facts being that urged by charles and his son philip, and subsequently adopted. charles had never shown undue respect for ecclesiastical property in spain, and had on more than one occasion spoliated the church for his own purposes. [147] chapuys to the emperor, 6th june 1536. (_spanish calendar._) [148] _spanish chronicle of henry viii._, ed. martin hume. the author was antonio de guaras, a spanish merchant in london, and afterwards chargé d'affaires. his evidence is to a great extent hearsay, but it truly represented the belief current at the time. [149] british museum, cotton, otho c. x., and singer's addition to cavendish's _wolsey_. [150] _spanish chronicle of henry viii._ [151] it must not be forgotten that the dinner hour was before noon. [152] _spanish chronicle of henry viii._ [153] _spanish chronicle of henry viii._ [154] see letter from sir w. kingston, governor of the tower, to cromwell, 3rd may 1536, cotton mss., otho c. x. [155] _spanish chronicle of henry viii._ [156] full account of her behaviour from day to day in the tower will be found in kingston's letters to cromwell, cotton mss., otho c. x., which have been printed in several places, and especially in the _calendars henry viii._ [157] the beautiful letter signed ann bullen and addressed to the king with the date of 6th may, in which the writer in dignified language protests innocence and begs for an impartial trial, is well known, having been printed many times. it is, however, of extremely doubtful authenticity; the writing and signature being certainly not that of anne, and the composition unconvincing, though the letter is said to have been found amongst cromwell's papers after his arrest. the genuineness of the document being so questionable, i have not thought well to reproduce it here. [158] strype's _cranmer_. cranmer was at croydon when cromwell sent him news of anne's arrest, with the king's command that he should go to lambeth and stay there till further orders reached him. this letter was written as soon as he arrived there. [159] much appears to have been made of a certain alleged death-bed deposition of lady wingfield recently dead, who had been one of anne's attendants, and as it was asserted, the conniver of her amours. exactly what lady wingfield had confessed is not now known, nor the amount of credence to be given to her declarations. they appear, however, to have principally incriminated anne with smeaton, and, on the whole, the balance of probability is that if anne was guilty at all, which certainly was not proved, as she had no fair trial or defence, it was with smeaton. the charge that she and norreys had "imagined" the death of the king is fantastically improbable. [160] godwin. [161] "je ne veux pas omettre qu'entre autres choses luy fust objecté pour crime que sa soeur la putain avait dit a sa femme (_i.e._ lady rochford) que le roy n'estait habile en cas de soy copuler avec femme, et qu'il navait ni vertu ni puissance." this accusation was handed to rochford in writing to answer, but to the dismay of the court he read it out before denying it. (chapuys to the emperor, 19th may. _spanish calendar._) [162] chapuys to granvelle, 18th may 1536. see also camden. [163] froude says smeaton was hanged; but the evidence that he was beheaded like the rest is the stronger. [164] the whole question is exhaustively discussed by mr. friedmann in his _anne boleyn_, to which i am indebted for several references on the subject. [165] lady kingston, who was present, hastened to send this news secretly to chapuys, who, bitter enemy as he was to anne, to do him justice seems to have been shocked at the disregard of legality in the procedure against her. [166] the curious gossip, antonio de guaras, a spaniard, says that he got into the fortress overnight. constantine gives also a good account of the execution, varying little from that of guaras. the portuguese account used by lingard and froude confirms them. [167] chapuys to the emperor, 19th may 1536. (_spanish calendar._) [168] this was cromwell's version as sent to the english agents in foreign courts. he speaks of a conspiracy to kill the king which "made them all quake at the danger he was in." [169] chapuys to the emperor, 19th may. (_spanish calendar._) [170] chapuys to granvelle, 20th may. (_spanish calendar._) [171] the local story that the marriage took place at wolf hall, the seat of the seymours in wiltshire, and that a barn now standing on the estate was the scene of the wedding feast, may be dismissed. that festivities would take place there in celebration of the wedding is certain; and on more than one occasion henry was entertained at wolf hall, and probably feasted in the barn itself; but the royal couple were not there on the occasion of their marriage. the romantic account given by nott in his _life of surrey_, of henry's waiting with straining ears, either in epping forest or elsewhere in hunting garb, to hear the signal gun announcing anne's death before galloping off to be married at tottenham church, near wolf hall, is equally unsupported, and, indeed, impossible. henry's private marriage undoubtedly took place, as related in the text, at hampton court, and the public ceremony on the 30th may at whitehall. [172] henry's apologists have found decent explanations for his hurry to marry jane. mr. froude pointed to the urgent petition of the privy council and the peers that the king would marry at once, and opined that it could hardly be disregarded; and another writer reminds us that if henry had not married jane privately on the day he did, 20th may, the ceremony would have had to be postponed--as, in fact, the full ceremony was--until after the rogation days preceding whitsuntide. but nothing but callous concupiscence can really explain the unwillingness of henry to wait even a week before his remarriage. [173] the catholics were saying that before anne's head fell the wax tapers on katharine's shrine at peterborough kindled themselves. (john de ponte's letter to cromwell, cotton mss., titus b 1, printed by ellis.) [174] _spanish calendar_, 6th june 1536. [175] the parliament of 1536 enacted that all bulls, briefs, and dispensations from rome should be held void; that every officer, lay or clerical, should take an oath to renounce and resist all authority of the pope on pain of high treason. in convocation, cromwell for the king at the same time introduced a new ecclesiastical constitution, establishing the scriptures as the basis of faith, as interpreted by the four first councils of the church. three sacraments only were acknowledged--baptism, penance, and the eucharist. the use of images and invocation of the saints were regulated and modified, all idolatrous or material worship of them being forbidden. cromwell at the same period was raised to the peerage under the title of baron cromwell, and made vicar-general of the church. (lord herbert's _henry viii._) [176] they are all in cotton mss., otho x., and have been printed in hearne's _sylloge_. [177] she did her best for her backers during the pilgrimage of grace, throwing herself upon her knees before the king and beseeching him to restore the dissolved abbeys. henry's reply was to bid her get up and not meddle in his affairs--she should bear in mind what happened to her predecessor through having done so. the hint was enough for jane, who appears to have had no strength of character, and thenceforward, though interesting herself personally for the princess mary, she let politics alone. (_calendar henry viii._, vol. 12.) [178] chapuys to the emperor. (_calendar henry viii._) [179] _hist. mss. commission_, report xii., appendix iv. vol. 1, duke of rutland's papers. [180] _ibid._ [181] the assertion almost invariably made that bishop nicholas sanders, the jesuit writer, "invented" the story that the cesarian operation was performed at birth is not true. the facts of this time are to a great extent copied textually by sanders from the ms. _cronica de enrico otavo_, by guaras, and the statement is there made as an unsupported rumour only. [182] henry's elaborate testamentary directions for the erection and adornment with precious stones of a sumptuous monument to himself and jane were never carried out. [183] an account of these confiscations will be found in the _henry viii. calendar_, vol. 13. [184] chastillon correspondence in _henry viii. calendar_, vol. 13. [185] the extraordinary attentions showered upon the elderly french lady, mme de montreuil, and her daughter, mme de brun, and their large train of attendant ladies, in the autumn of 1538, is an amusing instance of henry's diplomacy. it has usually been concluded by historians that it was a question of amour or gallantry on henry's part; but this was not the case. the lady had been the governess of the late queen madeleine of scotland, and was passing through england on her way home. the most elaborate comedy was played by henry and cromwell on the occasion. the ladies were treated like princesses. the lord mayor and all the authorities on their way to the coast had to banquet them; they were taken sight-seeing and feasting everywhere, and loaded with gifts; and the most ostentatious appearance made of a close intimacy with them, in order to hoodwink the imperial agent into the idea that a french match was under discussion. henry himself went to dover to see them, and gave them all presents. but the french and imperial ambassadors were in close touch one with the other, and themselves dined with the ladies at chelsea; having a good laugh with them at the farce that was being played, which they quite understood. (_calendar henry viii._, vol. 13, part 2.) [186] the terms of the arrangement were the maintenance of the _status quo ante_, but were generally in favour of france, which retained savoy and some of the lombard fortresses threatening milan, that state, the principal bone of contention, being still held by the emperor's troops; but with a vague understanding that it might be given as a dowry to a princess of the emperor's house, if she married a french prince. the latter clause was hollow, and never intended to be carried out, as henry knew. [187] her own well-known comment on henry's proposal was, that if she had two heads one should be at the disposal of his majesty of england. [188] pole had been sent to spain by the pope for the purpose of urging the emperor to execute the decree against england, at least to the extent of stopping commerce with his dominions. charles saw pole in toledo early in march 1539. the cardinal found the emperor professedly sympathetic, but evidently not willing to adopt extreme measures of force against henry. pole, disappointed, thereupon returned to papal avignon instead of going on to france with a similar errand. nothing is clearer in the correspondence on the subject (_henry viii. calendar_, vol. 14) than charles' determination--which was invariable throughout his life--not to allow churchmen or ecclesiastical polity to guide his state action. whilst pole was thus seeking in vain to urge the catholic powers to overthrow henry, wyatt the english ambassador in spain, poet and gentle wit though he was, was busily plotting the murder of the cardinal, together with some secret device to raise trouble in italy and set charles and francis by the ears. this was probably the treacherous surrender of parma and piacenza to england for france, to the detriment of the emperor and the pope--who claimed them. [189] the influence of this party led by norfolk and gardiner, though it sufficed to secure the passage of the six articles, did not last long enough to carry them into rigid execution. cromwell, by arousing henry's fears that the german confederation would abandon him to his enemies, soon gained the upper hand; and the saxon envoy burchardus, writing to melancthon in the autumn, expressed hopes that the coming of anne would coincide with the repeal of the act. (_calendar henry viii._, vol. 14, part 2.) the english protestants blamed cranmer for what they considered his timid opposition, soon silenced, to the passage of the bill, and approved of the action of latimer, who fled rather than assent to it, as did the bishop of salisbury. before the bill had been passed three months, of its principal promoters stokesley of london was dead, gardiner sent away from court, and norfolk entirely in the background. [190] wotton to the king, 11th august 1539. (_henry viii. calendar_, vol. 14, p. 2.) [191] it has been suggested that the duchess with whom this comparison was instituted was anne's sister, the duchess of saxony, who was quite as beautiful as the duchess of milan. [192] memorandum in _henry viii. calendar_, vol. 14, part 2, p. 96. [193] marillac to francis i., 3rd october 1539. [194] the last passage meant that a union with france or the empire might have led to the putting of the princess mary forward as heir after the king's death, as against prince edward. the letter with hertford's truly dreadful spelling is printed by ellis. [195] a list of the personages appointed to attend will be found in the _calendar of henry viii._, vol. 14. [196] as usual, tedious lists of the finery worn on the occasion are given by hall, and copied by miss strickland. [197] the duke of suffolk to cromwell. (_calendar henry viii._, vol. 14). [198] deposition of sir a. browne. (_calendar henry viii._, vol. 14, 2.) [199] russell's deposition. (_calendar henry viii._, vol. 14, 2.) [200] cromwell (after his disgrace) to the king. (hatfield mss.) [201] for descriptions of the pageant see hall, also _calendar henry viii._, vol. 15, and _chronicle of henry viii._, edited by the present writer. [202] hall. [203] cromwell to henry. (_calendar henry viii._, vol. 14.) [204] cromwell's statement. (_calendar henry viii._, vol. 15, p. 391.) [205] wriothesley's deposition. (_henry viii. calendar_, vol. 15.) [206] the king got a double grant of four fifteenths and tenths, payable by instalments in four years; a shilling in the pound on all lands, and sixpence in the pound on personal property; aliens paying double; besides the confiscation of the great revenues of the order of st. john. such taxation was almost without precedent in england, and certainly added to cromwell's unpopularity, already very great, owing to the oppressiveness of his religious policy with regard to the religious houses and his personal harshness. [207] _the spanish chronicle of henry viii._, edited by the present writer. in this record, seymour, earl of hertford, is made to take a leading part in the fall of cromwell in the interests of his nephew the prince of wales (edward vi.), but i can find no official confirmation of this. [208] memo. in gardiner's handwriting, record office. (_henry viii. calendar_, vol. 15.) [209] she does not appear to have done so, however, until the king had received a letter from the duke of cleves, dated 13th july, couched in somewhat indignant terms. she then wrote to her brother that she "had consented to the examination and determination, wherein i had more respect, as beseemed me, to truth than to any worldly affection that might move me to the contrary, and did the rather condescend thereto for that my body remaineth in the integrity which i brought into this realm." she continues that the king has adopted her as a sister and has treated her very liberally, more than she or her brother could well wish. she is well satisfied. the king's friendship for her brother, she says, will not be impaired for this matter unless the fault should be in himself (_i.e._ cleves). she thinks it necessary to write this, and to say that she intends to live in england, lest for want of true knowledge her brother should take the matter otherwise than he ought. the letter is signed "anna duchess, born, of cleves, gulik, geldre and berg; your loving sister." the english and german drafts are in the record office, the former abstracted in _calendar henry viii._, vol. 15. the king instructed wotton and clerk, his envoys at cleves, to deal with the duke in the same spirit, holding out hopes of reward if he took the matter quietly, and to assume a haughty tone if he seemed threatening. [210] within a week of this--to show how rapid was the change of feeling--pate wrote to the king and to the duke of norfolk saying how that "while thomas cromwell ruled, slanders and obloquies of england were common," but that now all was changed. the brother of the duke of ferrara had sent to him to say that he was going to visit the king of england, for "the emperor these years and days past often praised the king's gifts of body and mind, which made him the very image of his creator." this praise had "engendered such love in the stomach" of don francesco d'este that he could no longer defer his wish to see such a paragon of excellence as henry, and he rejoices "that so many gentlemen belonging to the emperor" are doing likewise. this was even before the marriage with anne was declared invalid. (12th july, _calendar henry viii._, vol. 15.) chapuys, the emperor's ambassador, was again sent to england immediately, and cordial relations were promptly resumed. (_spanish calendar_, vol. 6, part 1.) [211] richard hilles, the protestant merchant, writing to bullinger in latin (zurich letters, parker society), says that for some weeks before the divorce from anne of cleves, henry was captivated by katharine howard, whom he calls "a very little girl"; and that he frequently used to cross the thames from westminster to lambeth to visit, both by night and day, the bishop of winchester (gardiner) providing feasts for them in his palace. but at that time katharine was, hilles tells us, looked upon simply as henry's mistress--as indeed she probably was--rather than his future wife. [212] hilles to bullinger (parker society, zurich letters) gives voice to bitter complaints, and melancthon wrote (17th august, etc.) praying that god might destroy "this british nero." (_calendar henry viii._, vol. 15.) [213] there is in the british museum (stowe ms. 559) a list of the jewels and other things given by henry to katharine at the marriage and subsequently. the inventory was made at the time of her attainder, when she was deprived of everything. the jewels appear to have been very numerous and rich: one square or stomacher, given on new year's day 1540, containing 33 diamonds, 60 rubies, and a border of pearls. another gift at christmas the same year was "two laces containing 26 fair table diamonds and 158 fair pearls, with a rope of fair large pearls, 200 pearls." magnificent jewels of all sorts are to be counted by the dozen in this list, comparing strangely with the meagre list of katharine of aragon's treasures. one curious item in katharine's list is "a book of gold enamelled, wherein is a clock, upon every side of which book is three diamonds, a little man standing upon one of them, four turquoises and three rubies with a little chain of gold enamelled blue hanging to it." this book, together with "a purse of gold enamelled red containing eight diamonds set in goldsmith's work," was taken by the king himself when poor katharine fell, and another splendid jewelled pomander containing a clock was taken by him for princess mary. [214] he had on the same morning taken the sacrament, it being all souls' day, and had directed his confessor, the bishop of lincoln, to offer up a prayer of thanks with him "for the good life he (henry) led, and hoped to lead with his wife." (_calendar henry viii._, vol. 16, p. 615.) [215] _calendar henry viii._, vol. 16, p. 48, september 1540. this was a year before he made his statement to cranmer. the hatred expressed to the king's new catholic policy by lascelles proves him to have been a fit instrument for the delation and ruin of katharine. [216] they are all in the record office, and are summarised in the _henry viii. calendar_, vol. 16. [217] lady rochford, who seems to have been a most abandoned woman, was the widow of anne boleyn's brother, who had been beheaded at the time of his sister's fall. [218] in the record office, abstracted (much condensed) in _henry viii. calendar_, vol. 16. for the purposes of this book i have used the original manuscripts. [219] in the curious and detailed but in many respects unveracious account of the affair given in the _spanish chronicle of henry viii._, edited by the present writer, it is distinctly stated that culpeper made his confession on the threat of the rack in the tower. he is made in this account to say that he was deeply in love with katharine before her marriage, and had fallen ill with grief when she became henry's wife. she had taken pity upon him, and had arranged a meeting at richmond, which had been betrayed to hertford by one of katharine's servants. the writer of the _chronicle_ (guaras), who had good sources of information and was a close observer, did not believe that any guilty act had been committed by katharine after her marriage. [220] record office, state papers, 1, 721. the duke had gone to demand of his stepmother derham's box of papers. he found that she had already overhauled them and destroyed many of them. in his conversation with her, she admitted that she knew katharine was immoral before marriage. [221] the commissioners included michael dormer, lord mayor, lord chancellor audley, the dukes of norfolk and suffolk, with the lords of the council and judges. norfolk, in order to show his zeal and freedom from complicity, jeered and laughed as the examination of the prisoners proceeded. for a similar reason he brought his son, the earl of surrey, to the trial: and it was noted that both the queen's brothers and those of culpeper rode about the city unconcernedly, in order to prove that they had no sympathy with the accused. as soon as the trial was over, however, norfolk retired to kenninghall, some said by the king's orders, and rumours were rife that not only was he in disgrace, but that danger to him portended. we shall see that his fate was deferred for a time, as henry needed his military aid in the coming wars with scotland and france, and he was the only soldier of experience and authority in england. [222] one of katharine's love letters to culpeper, written during the progress in the north, is in the record office; and although it does not offer direct corroboration of guilt, it would have offered good presumptive evidence, and is, to say the least of it, an extremely indiscreet letter for a married woman and a queen to write to a man who had been her lover before her marriage. the letter is all in katharine's writing except the first line. "master culpeper," it runs, "i heartily recommend me unto you, praying you to send me word how that you do. i did hear that ye were sick and i never longed so much for anything as to see you. it maketh my heart to die when i do think that i cannot always be in your company. come to me when my lady rochford be here, for then i shall be best at leisure to be at your commandment. i do thank you that you have promised to be good to that poor fellow my man; for when he is gone there be none i dare trust to send to you. i pray you to give me a horse for my man, for i have much ado to get one, and therefore i pray you send me one by him, and in so doing i am as i said before: and thus i take my leave of you trusting to see you shortly again; and i would you were with me now that you might see what pain i take in writing to you. yours as long as life endures, katheryn. one thing i had forgotten, and that is to speak to my man. entreat him to tarry here with me still, for he says whatsoever you order he will do it." the letter is extremely illiterate in style and spelling. (_henry viii. calendar_, vol. 16.) [223] _spanish calendar_, vol. 6, part 1. [224] marillac correspondence, ed. kaulec. there is a transcript in the record office and abstracts in the _henry viii. calendar_, vol. 16. [225] they were soon afterwards pardoned. [226] this difficulty seems to have been met by sending to the unhappy girl a committee of the council to invite her to appear in person and defend herself if she pleased; but she threw herself entirely upon the king's mercy, and admitted that she deserved death. this facilitated her condemnation, and there was no more difficulty. the duke of suffolk in the house of lords and wriothesley stated that she had "confessed her great crime" to the deputation of the council, but exactly what or how much she confessed is not known. she most solemnly assured the bishop of lincoln (white) in her last hours that she had not offended criminally after her marriage; and as has been pointed out in the text, she is not specifically charged with having done so in the indictment. this might be, of course, to save the king's honour as much as possible; but taking all things into consideration, the probability is that no guilty act had been committed since the marriage, though it is clear that katharine was fluttering perilously close to the flame. [227] this was anne bassett. lord lisle, the illegitimate son of edward iv., was at this time released from his unjust imprisonment in the tower, but died immediately. [228] chapuys to the emperor, 29th january 1542. [229] the accounts of chapuys, hall, and ottewell johnson say simply that she confessed her faults and made a christian end. the _spanish chronicle of henry viii._ gives an account of her speech of which the above is a summary. [230] the book which, although it was largely gardiner's work, was called "the king's book," or "the necessary doctrine and erudition of any christian man," laid down afresh the doctrines to be accepted. it was authorised by parliament in may 1543, and greatly straitened the creed prescribed in 1537. just previously a large number of persecutions were begun against those who questioned transubstantiation (see foxe), and printers were newly harried for daring to print books not in accordance with the king's proclamation. strict inquests were also held through london for any householders who ate meat in lent, the young, turbulent earl of surrey being one of the offenders. (_henry viii. calendar_, vol. 17, part 1.) it is to be noted, however, that, side by side with these anti-protestant measures, greater efforts than ever were made to emphasise the king's supremacy; the mass books being carefully revised in order to eliminate all reference even indirectly to the pope, and to saints not mentioned in the bible. [231] in his account of these and similar interviews chapuys dwells much upon gardiner's anxiety to adopt the best course to induce henry to enter into the agreement. he begged the imperial ambassador not to rub the king the wrong way by dwelling upon the advantage to accrue to england from the alliance. (_spanish calendar_, vol. 6, part 2.) [232] the treaty is in the record office. printed in full in rymer. [233] at the time of katharine's marriage, her brother, lord parr, was on the scottish border as warden of the marches; and a few days after the wedding the new queen-consort wrote to him from oatlands saying that "it having pleased god to incline the king to take her as his wife, which is the greatest joy and comfort that could happen to her, she desires to inform her brother of it, as the person who has most cause to rejoice thereat. she requires him to let her hear sometimes of his health as friendly as if she had not been called to this honour." (_henry viii. calendar_, vol. 18, part 1.) [234] it depends upon a metrical family history written by katharine's cousin, sir thomas throckmorton. [235] the document is in the record office. about half way down the margin is written, "for your daughter." at the top is written, "lady latimer." [236] the author of the _chronicle of henry viii._ thus portrays katharine's character: "she was quieter than any of the young wives the king had, and as she knew more of the world she always got on pleasantly with the king and had no caprices. she had much honour to lady mary and the wives of the nobles, but she kept her ladies very strictly.... the king was very well satisfied with her." [237] many years afterwards when parr, then marquis of northampton and a leading anti-catholic, was with other nobles urging queen elizabeth to drop shilly-shally and get married in earnest, the queen, who was of course playing a deep game which they did not understand, turned upon parr in a rage and told him that he was a nice fellow to talk about marriage, considering how he had managed his own matrimonial affairs. (hume, "courtships of queen elizabeth.") [238] record office. _henry viii. calendar_, vol. 18, part 1. [239] _spanish state papers, calendar_, vol. 6, part 2. the author of the _chronicle of henry viii._ (guaras) says that the king ordered anne to come to the wedding, but if that be the case there is no record of her presence; though all the other guests and witnesses are enumerated in the notarial deed attesting the marriage. the spanish chronicler puts into anne's mouth, as a sign of her indifference, a somewhat ill-natured gibe at the "burden that madam katharine hath taken upon herself," explaining that she referred to the king's immense bulk. "the king was so fat that such a man had never been seen. three of the biggest men that could be found could get inside his doublet." anne's trouble with regard to her brother was soon at an end. the emperor's troops crushed him completely, and in september he begged for mercy on his knees, receiving the disputed duchies from charles as an imperial fief. anne's mother, who had stoutly resisted the emperor's claims upon her duchies, died of grief during the campaign. [240] strype's "memorials of cranmer." [241] strype's "memorials," foxe's "acts and monuments," and burnet; all of whom followed the account given by cranmer's secretary morice as to cranmer's part. [242] morice's anecdotes in "narratives of the reformation," camden society. see also strype's "memorials" and foxe. the ms. record of the whole investigation is in corpus christi college, cambridge. i am indebted for this fact to my friend dr. james gairdner, c.b. [243] how necessary this was is seen by the strenuous efforts, even thus late, of the pope to effect a reconciliation between charles and francis rather than acquiesce in a combination between the former and the excommunicated king of england. paul iii. sent his grandson, cardinal farnese, in november 1543 to flanders and to the emperor with this object; but charles was determined, and told the cardinal in no gentle terms that the pope's dallying with the infidel turks, and francis' intrigues with the lutherans, were a hundred times worse than his own alliance with the schismatic king of england. (_spanish calendar_, vol. 7.) [244] hertford had sacked edinburgh and leith and completely cowed the scots before the letter was written. his presence in london at a crisis was therefore more necessary than on the border. [245] _hatfield papers_, hist. mss. commission, part 1. [246] _spanish calendar_, vol. 7. this reparation to mary had been urged very strongly by the emperor, ever since the negotiations began. mary, however, was not legitimated, and not only came after edward, but also after any children katharine might bear. the queen undoubtedly urged mary's cause. [247] it was constantly noted by foreign visitors that english ladies were kissed on the lips by men. it appears to have been quite an english custom, and greatly surprised spaniards, who kept their women in almost oriental seclusion. [248] mss. british museum, add. 8219, fol. 114. [249] a full account of his visit and service will be found in my _chronicle of henry viii._ in the _spanish calendar_ and in the _chronicle_ it is asserted that the duke stayed with henry very unwillingly and at the emperor's request. [250] we are told that even the sails of his ship were of cloth of silver, and probably no king of england ever took the field under such splendid conditions before or since. [251] hearne's _sylloge_. [252] "prayers and meditations," london, 1545. the prayer is printed at length by miss strickland, as well as several extracts from katharine's "lamentations of a sinner," which show that she had studied vives and guevara. [253] although this letter is always assigned to the period when henry was at boulogne, i have very considerable doubt as to its having been written then. i should be inclined to ascribe it to the following year. [254] the following is his letter to katharine informing her of this: "at the closing up of these our letters this day the castle aforesaid with the dyke is at our commandment, and not like to be recovered by the frenchmen again, as we trust, not doubting with god's grace but that the castle and town shall shortly follow the same trade, for as this day, which is the 8th september, we began three batteries and have three mines going, besides one which hath done its execution, shaking and tearing off one of their greatest bulwarks. no more to you at this time, sweetheart, but for lack of time and great occupations of business, saving we pray you to give in our name our hearty blessings to all our children, and recommendations to our cousin margaret, and the rest of the ladies and gentlewomen, and to our council also. written with the hand of your loving husband--henry r."--"royal letters." [255] _spanish calendar_, vol. 8. hume. [256] _spanish calendar_, vol. 8. hume. [257] _spanish calendar_, vol. 8. hume. [258] _ibid._ the duchess of suffolk, a great friend of katharine parr's, and widow of charles brandon, who had recently died, was the daughter of a spanish lady and of lord willoughby d'eresby, which title she inherited. she soon after married one of her esquires, francis bertie, and became a strong protestant. [259] _spanish calendar_, vol. 8. hume. september 1546. [260] _spanish calendar_, vol. 8. hume. september 1546. [261] surrey prompted his sister on this occasion to appeal to the king for permission to marry seymour, and to act in such a way that the king might fall in love with her, and make her his mistress, "so that she might have as much power as the duchess d'etampes in france." the suggestion was specially atrocious, as she was the widow of henry's son. [262] _spanish calendar_, vol. 8. hume. [263] _chronicle of henry viii._ hume. [264] the author of the _chronicle of henry viii._ makes paget and his wife the first promoters of the match between seymour and katharine, though i can find no confirmation of his story. he says that the queen being in the great hall with her ladies and princess mary, lord seymour came in as had been arranged, looking very handsome. lady paget whispered to the queen an inquiry as to what she thought of the lord admiral's looks, to which katharine replied that she liked his looks very much. "all the ill i wish you, madam," whispered lady paget, "is that he should become your husband." "i could wish that it had been my fate to have him for a husband," replied katharine; "but god hath so placed me that any lowering of my condition would be a reproach to me." the arguments used to both lovers by lady paget are then detailed, and the final consent of katharine to accept seymour. there may have been a small germ of truth in this account, but it can hardly have happened as described, in view of the correspondence of the lovers now before us. [265] this use of the words brother and sister as referring to the herberts, who were no relations of seymour's, indicates that the latter and the queen were already betrothed. [266] _state papers, domestic_, vol. 1. [267] hearne's _sylloge_, &c. [268] the deposition of katharine ashley. (_hatfield papers_, part 1.) index a abell, martyred, 358 adrian, pope, 105, 107 alburquerque, duke of, accompanies henry to the war, 422 alençon, duchess of, proposed marriage of henry viii., 116 alexander vi. (pope), borgia, 14 amelia of cleves, 322 angoulême, duke of, 245 anne boleyn, early life, 124-128; the divorce, 129-162; courtship of henry, 137, 139-147; her party, 168-170; her life with henry, 171, 180, 181, 182, 183, 190, 192; in france, 193-197; married, 199, 202; her procession through london, 204-208; her unpopularity, 209; birth of her child, 214-216, 217, 222, 227, 233; her influence declines, 240-243, 244, 257, 260-261; her fall inevitable, 269-270, 271; her betrayal, 271-274; her arrest, 275; in the tower, 276-280; her trial, 281; condemnation and death, 282-288, 291 anne of cleves, 320, 322; her voyage to england, 324-330; her arrival and interview with henry, 331-334; her marriage, 334-339, 340, 341, 342, 349, 350-352; her repudiation, 353-356, 360, 368; talk of her rehabilitation, 386, 387, 397, 409 aragon, ambition of, 3-5 arras. _see_ granvelle arthur, prince of wales, his first betrothal to katharine, 6, 8-12, 15, 16, 17, 18; his first meeting with katharine, 27; description of him, 28; his marriage, 29-33, 34, 36, 37; his death, 38 arundel, earl of, 305 audrey, sir thomas, lord chancellor, 201, 270, 326, 369, 371, 376, 380 ayala, bishop, spanish envoy, 36 b bar, duke of, betrothal of anne of cleves to, 322, 323, 338, 348 barnes, dr., prosecution of, 341, 344, 358 bassett, anne, 393 bastian, katharine's burgundian lackey, 231, 255 bedingfield, 252, 256 bennet, dr., 184 boleyn, anne. _see_ anne boleyn, mary, 112, 124, 284 boleyn, thomas (earl of wiltshire), 124, 169, 170, 190, 200, 270 bonner, dr., 343, 365 boulogne, siege of, &c., 423-427, 435 brandon, charles, duke of suffolk, 85, 87, 96, 162, 169, 175, 178, 181, 201, 216, 217, 219, 234, 243, 251, 263, 286, 300, 326, 328, 338, 392, 394, 409, 422 brereton, william, 272, 276, 280; executed, 282 brian, sir francis, 93, 290, 312, 314 bridewell, the divorce tribunal there, 157, 163-166 bridgewater, lady, 382 brittany, duchess of, 12, 13 brown, friar george, 199 browne, sir anthony, 331, 332, 370, 382, 393 buckingham, duke of, 28 buckler, katharine parr's secretary, 435 bulmer, mrs. joan, 359 burgo, baron di, the papal envoy, 199 c campeggio, cardinal, 140, 143, 144, 147, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 157-159, 162, 163-166, 167, 168 cañazares, protonotary, 26 carew, sir nicholas, 262, 287, 290, 317 carey, william, 112, 124 carne, dr., 320 carroz, spanish ambassador, 78 carthusians, martyrdom of, 246 castillon, french ambassador, 221 chabot de brion, admiral of france, in england, 243, 244 chantonnay (perennot), 402 chapuys, imperial ambassador, 198, 200, 201, 202, 203, 211, 214, 215, 228, 234; his journey to kimbolton, 235-239, 240, 242, 245; last interviews with katharine, 250-256, 259, 265, 266; his coldness towards anne, 267, 282, 285; his reception by jane seymour, 293, 385, 388-399, 393, 398, 401, 409, 432, 433, 434 charles v., emperor, 60, 65, 69, 70, 85, 90, 97, 98; visits to england, 99-106; his attitude towards the divorce, 129-130, 154, 155, 160, 170, 173, 174, 177, 181, 188, 192, 209, 232, 238, 243, 248, 263; his attitude after katharine's death, 263-4, 288, 300-302, 312, 313, 319, 322, 326, 343, 357; renewed friendship with henry, 357-366, 388-390, 398; his alliance with henry, 402, 416, 417, 418, 427-431; makes peace, 428-431; attacks the lutherans, 435, 438 charles viii. of france, 7, 12, 13-15, 40 christian iii. of denmark, 316, 319, 324 christina of denmark, duchess of milan, 314-15, 324, 343 clare, lady, 228 clement vii., pope, 107, 115, 129, 141, 153, 160, 170, 173, 174-177, 183, 198, 199, 210, 216, 220, 221, 222; gives sentence in the divorce case, 223; death of, 243 clergy, english, and the divorce, 176, 177, 221, 247 cleves, anne, princess of. _see_ anne cleves, duke of, 319, 320, 323, 342, 346, 386, 387, 409 cleves, duchess of, 323 compton, sir william, 78, 106 cook martyred, 358 cranmer, archbishop, 185-187, 190, 194, 196, 197; appointed to canterbury, 198, 199, 201; pronounces the divorce from katharine of aragon, 203-204, 208, 209, 215, 217, 222, 223, 264, 283, 288, 317, 321, 326, 328, 338, 339, 341, 344, 354, 369, 370, 375, 386, 410, 411; plots of gardiner against him, 411-415, 436-437, 438, 444, 446, 448 cromwell, richard, 274 cromwell, thomas, 186, 187, 190, 192, 200, 212, 215, 217, 222, 233, 235, 237, 238, 239, 245, 246, 248, 263, 266, 268, 269, 270, 271-281, 288, 295, 296, 301, 311, 315, 319, 322, 324, 326, 333, 338, 339; decline of his influence, 340, 341, 342, 343, 344, 345; created earl of essex, 345, 346; his arrest, 347; execution, 348, 349, 351, 352, 357, 358, 359 culpeper, thomas, the lover of katharine howard, accused, 375, 378 _et seq._; trial and execution, 383-385, 395 cuero, juan de, chamberlain of katharine of aragon, 35 d dacre, lord, 365 darrel, mistress, 255 daubeney, giles, 10 dauphin of france, betrothed to princess mary, 94, 95, 97, 99 de la sá, katharine's apothecary, 218, 231, 250, 253, 256 denny, sir anthony, 340, 444 derham, francis, accused of immorality with katharine howard, 373 _et seq._; trial and execution, 383-385 divorce proceedings between henry and katharine of aragon, 117-123, 129-162, 170, 184-192, 198-204 dogmersfield, hants, katharine meets arthur there, 27 dorset, marquis of, commands english contingent in navarre, 81 douglas, lady margaret, 328, 421, 427 dowry of katharine of aragon, 9, 11, 15, 34-37, 39, 40, 55, 57, 58, 61, 70 du bellay, bishop of paris, 220, 221, 222 dudley, john (lord lisle, afterwards earl of warwick, and duke of northumberland), 434, 438, 440, 441, 443, 450 e edward, prince of wales, 304; his baptism, 305-6, 326, 367, 425, 442, 455 elizabeth of york, queen, 10, 30, 38; death of, 42 elizabeth, princess, 214, 215, 216, 223, 228, 238, 243, 245, 257, 284, 295, 305, 425, 456 empson and dudley, 33, 69 erasmus, 44, 410 estrada, duke of, 39 etampes, duchess of, 344, 428 europe, condition of, at the end of the fifteenth century, 4 evil may day, 91, 92 exeter, bishop of, 10 exeter, marquis of, 229, 305, 317 exeter, the marchioness of, 264, 265, 305, 317 f felipe, francisco, katharine's groom of the chambers, 121, 122, 129, 231, 255 ferdinand, king of aragon, 1-24, 34, 39, 43, 44, 45, 51, 52, 55-60, 70, 71, 78, 80, 87, 90 fernandez, diego, katharine's confessor, 63-68, 78 fetherston martyred, 358 field of the cloth of gold, 101 fisher, dr., bishop of rochester, 122, 150, 159, 164, 177, 179, 215, 233 fitzwilliam, sir william, 275, 325, 326, 328, 329, 330, 338, 370, 382, 394 flodden, battle of, 82, 83 fox, bishop of winchester, 83, 138, 139, 188, 221 francis i., 97, 98, 99; on the field of the cloth of gold, 101; at war with england, 103, 108, 109, 113, 117; receives wolsey, 129, 154, 155; his attitude towards the divorce, 190-192; meets henry, 193-197; renewed coolness, 209-211, 220, 233, 310, 312, 313, 319, 322, 326, 343, 362, 389, 390; at war with charles, 400, 423, 427 g gardiner, stephen, bishop of winchester, 119, 138, 139, 166, 179, 184, 190, 211, 221, 320, 321, 333, 341, 344, 352, 354, 359, 361, 364, 366, 368, 369, 386, 387, 391, 398, 400, 410, 411; his plots against cranmer and katharine parr, 411-415, 422; with henry in france, 424, 434, 436, 438, 439, 441 garrard, dr., 344, 358 german protestants and england, 209, 211, 241, 248, 310, 311, 315, 316-320, 322-325, 338, 341, 342, 343, 344, 345, 358, 364, 387, 390, 397, 431, 435, 436, 440 germaine de foix, second wife of ferdinand, 52 ghinucci, henry's envoy to spain and rome, 129, 130 gomez de fuensalida, spanish envoy, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 70, 74 granvelle, bishop of arras, 429, 430 grey, lord leonard, 365 guildford, sir j., controller, 179, 180, 181 guildford, lady, 28 h haines, dr., 412 hall, mary, 370 _et seq._ heneage, sir thomas, 340, 376 henry vii., his political aims, 6; his relations with puebla, 7-8; his negotiations for the spanish marriage, 9-20; his first meeting with katharine, 26, 27; at arthur's marriage, 30, 33, 34; his treatment of katharine, 35-42; proposes to marry katharine, 43; his negotiations with ferdinand after henry's betrothal, 45; his treatment of katharine, 48; receives philip and juana, 49-54; proposes marriage to juana, 55-60, 62, 66, 68; his death, 68, 69, 70 henry viii., at arthur's wedding, 31; first betrothal to katharine of aragon, 39-43, 44, 46; secret denunciation of his betrothal, 49; his accession, 69; marriage, 71-77; his character, 72, 73; his first tiff with katharine, 78; birth of his first child, rejoicings, 79-80; war with france, 80-83; french alliance, 84, 85; his relations with katharine, 83-89; his pretensions to the imperial crown, 97-99; meets charles and francis, 101-106; war with france, 107, 108; proposed alliance with france, 116; proposals for divorcing katharine and marrying a french princess, 117; the divorce, 119-123; in love with anne boleyn, 127, 128; his attempts to obtain a divorce, 129-173; his courtship of anne boleyn, 141-147; appears at bridewell, 157, 163-166; defies the pope, 174-177, 180-183; second meeting with francis, 192-197; the divorce, 199; marries anne, 200-208; change of policy, 210-211, 220-223; further emancipation, 223-226, 238-241, 243; estrangement from anne, 245; approaches the emperor, 251; his behaviour on katharine's death, 257; he tires of anne, 260, 261; in love with jane seymour, 265; approaches the emperor, 266-269; his sacrifice of anne, 271-287; marries jane seymour, 291; his religious measures, 294; his treatment of mary, 295, 296, 302-303; religious persecutions, 308-310; proposes a matrimonial alliance with france, 312-313, 315; approaches the german protestants, 315-320; religious measures, 320-322; betrothed to anne of cleves, 323-330; his reception of his bride, 331; his discontent, 332-334; his marriage, 334-340; his attempts to get rid of anne, 340-352, 353-356; his approaches to the emperor, 357-359; marries katharine howard, 360; change of policy, 361-367; katharine howard accused, 369-372; plans for her repudiation, 375; great grief at katharine howard's conduct, 385, 386; preparations for an alliance with the emperor, 388, 398, 401; the alliance signed, 402; at war with france, 402; enamoured of katharine parr, 405; marries her, 409; his invasion of france, 417, 418, 419, 420; at the siege of boulogne, 424, 427; left in the lurch by charles, 428-431; approaches of the german protestants, 435, 436; his last illness, 441; death, 444; his character and career, 445-449 herbert, lady, 451 hertford, countess of, 418, 453, 455 hesse, philip of, 310, 311, 319, 343, 435 hoby, sir philip, 412 howard, lord william, 382, 392 i isabel, princess of (castile), 7 isabel, the catholic, of castile, 1-5, 13-16, 17, 20, 21, 34, 39, 41, 42, 43; death of, 47, 48 j james iv. of scotland, 15, 25, 41, 81; death at flodden, 82 james v. of scotland, 312, 366, 389; death of, 401 jerome, dr., 358 john, prince of asturias, 5, 17, 21 john ii. of aragon, 3 juana, queen of castile, 5, 18, 21, 47, 48; visit to england, 49-54; widowed, 55; negotiations for her marriage with henry vii., 55-60, 69 k katharine of aragon, first betrothal to arthur, prince of wales, 6, 8-12, 15, 16, 17; her coming to england, 18, 19, 20, 21; her voyage, 21-24; her arrival, 25-26; her character, 28; her reception in london and marriage, 29-33; her journey to wales, 36, 37; widowed, 38, 39; betrothed to henry, 39-43, 44-49; her betrothal denounced, 49; her position in england, 49, 50, 54-60; her relations with her confessor, 63-68; marriage with henry, 70, 71-77; birth of her first child, 79; regent of england, 81-85; her life with henry, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 92, 93, 95, 96, 102-106, 109, 110, 111, 112; her separation from henry, 112, 116; the divorce, 117-123, 129-173; her statement to campeggio, 151; her firmness, 155, 156, 159; appears at bridewell, 164, 165; her appeals to the pope, 177-179; sent away from court, 181, 191, 195; renewed hopes, 198, 199; again undeceived, 200; persecution, 201, 211-213, 216-224, 227, 229-232; illness of, 234-238, 247, 248; death of, 249-256 katharine howard, her origin, 351-359; married to henry, 360, 365, 367, 368; denunciation of her by cranmer and his friends, 369-372; the story of her accusers, 372-384; her attainder, 392, 393; her execution, 394, 395, 396, 397, 398 katharine parr, 403-408; married to henry, 409, 410; her religious leanings, 411; gardiner's plots to ruin her, 412-415, 419; described, 421; regent in henry's absence, 424, 425, 426, 427; chapuys' interviews with her, 432, 433; sides with the protestants, 435; her danger, 438, 439, 443; her widowhood, 450; marries thomas seymour, 450-456; her death, 457-458 kingston, sir w., governor of the tower, 275, 276, 285 knight, dr., sent to the pope, 133, 138 l lascelles, john, denounces katharine howard, 369 _et seq._ latimer, bishop, 411 latimer, lord, 404 lee, dr., henry's ambassador to the emperor, 130; interview with katharine, 179, 186, 199, 230 lennox, earl of, 427 leo x., pope, 102, 104 lisle, lord, 365, 393 llandaff, bishop of, jorge de ateca, katharine's confessor, 218, 231, 254, 256 london, reception in, of katharine of aragon, 29-32, 75 london, anne boleyn's reception in, 205-208 london, dr., 411, 412, 414 longueville, duke of, 83, 84, 85 lorraine, duke of, 428 lorraine, duke of. _see also_ bar louis xii. of france, 84, 85, 86 ludlow, arthur at, 18, 20, 38 luiz, dom, of portugal, 314 luther, 102, 103, 154, 173, 362 m mannoch accused of immorality with katharine howard, 370 _et seq._ manuel, doña elvira, 35, 41, 44, 48, 49, 50, 60 manuel, don juan, 18, 50 margaret of austria, 17, 48, 49, 52, 53, 58, 60 margaret plantagenet, duchess of burgundy, 6, 25 marillac, french ambassador, 344, 351, 361 mary of hungary, governess of flanders, 315, 400, 423, 427 mary of lorraine, 312 mary queen of scots, 401 mary tudor (daughter of henry vii.), 46, 60, 65, 66, 69, 70, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 90, 101, 125, 195 mary tudor (daughter of henry viii.), 88, 94, 95, 97, 99, 101; betrothed to charles, 103-107, 110; betrothed to the duke of orleans, 113-115, 117, 130, 174, 181, 202, 213, 215, 216, 222, 227, 228, 233, 238, 239, 242, 243-245, 246-247, 249, 258-260, 264, 266-267, 269, 289; her submission, 296, 299, 301-303, 305, 307, 315, 319, 326, 337, 381, 389, 399, 404, 409, 410, 421, 425, 432 mason, dr., 365 maximilian, emperor, 5, 13, 15, 17, 18, 48, 90 medici, alexander de, duke of florence, 222 medici, katharine de, 192, 210 mendoza, diego hurtado de, spanish ambassador, 315 mendoza, iñigo lopez de, spanish ambassador, 118, 129, 130, 132 mont, christopher, 319, 320, 324 montague, lord, 317 montreuil, mme. de, 313 more, sir thomas, 169, 187, 190, 201, 233, 258 morton, margery, 377, 378 mountjoy, katharine of aragon's chamberlain at ampthill, 201 n najera, duke of, his visit to the english court, 420, 421, 422 naples, queen of, 43 neville, sir edward, 317 nevinson, cranmer's nephew, 413 norfolk, duke of, 26, 81, 83, 131, 162, 169, 171, 173, 174, 175, 178, 179, 190, 192, 201, 202, 205; mission to france, 205, 209-210, 219, 227, 243, 258, 263, 268, 270, 275, 276, 280, 281, 296, 297, 298, 300, 321, 338, 341, 346, 347, 348, 351, 359, 361, 366, 369, 371, 380, 381, 382, 383, 386, 389, 395, 398, 422, 441, 442, 443 norfolk, duchess of, 26, 370-377, 382, 392 norreys, sir henry, 167, 272, 273-275, 280; executed, 282 o ockham, 412, 413 olsiliger, chancellor, 329, 386 orleans, henry, duke of, second son of francis i., and afterwards dauphin, 114, 192, 210, 381, 389, 428 p pace, richard, 93 paget, secretary, 434, 438, 450 palmer, sir thomas, 365 parr, lord, 381, 403, 404, 405, 407, 408 pate, henry's envoy to the emperor, 357, 365 paul iii. (farnese), pope, 242, 249, 294, 416 paulet (lord st. john), 438, 441, 443 pavia, battle of, 107, 108 peachy, 95 pembroke, marchioness. _see_ boleyn, anne percy, henry (earl of northumberland), 126, 127 percy, thomas, 272 perkin warbeck, 15, 18 peto, friar, 209 petre, dr., 424 philip, duke of bavaria, 337, 440 philip the handsome, 5, 18, 19, 21, 23, 47, 48; visit to england, 49-54; death of, 55 pilgrimage of grace, 298, 308 plymouth, arrival of katharine of aragon at, 23 pole, cardinal reginald, 186, 215, 316, 317, 322, 364 pole, geoffrey, 316 pole, richard, 45 poles, the, 45, 299 powell martyred, 358 poynings commands english contingent in flanders, 80 puebla, dr., spanish ambassador, 7-8, 10, 16, 17, 19, 31, 34, 36, 37, 39, 42, 49, 50, 51, 54, 56, 57, 60, 61, 62 r renée of france, princess, proposed marriage with henry viii., 116 richards, griffin, 165 richmond, duchess of, 202, 295, 296, 328, 442 richmond, duke of, henry's son, 96, 110, 202, 284, 286, 289, 295, 296 rochford, lord, 169, 209, 273, 280; his trial, 281; executed, 282 rochford, lady, 242, 280, 377, 378, 379, 380, 381, 384; her execution, 395 rome sacked by the imperial forces under bourbon, 114 russell, sir john, 291, 331, 332, 370 rutland, earl of, 200, 353 s sadler, sir ralph, 365 salisbury, countess of, 316, 317; beheaded, 365 saxony, hans frederick of, 319, 322, 323, 324, 343, 435 saxony, george, duke of, 310 sampson, dr., 121, 164, 179, 184 sepulveda, juan de, spanish ambassador, 8, 10 seymour, sir edward (lord beauchamp, earl of hertford, and afterwards duke of somerset), 262, 265, 266, 293, 300, 304, 305, 306, 326, 346, 369, 380, 419, 424, 434, 435, 438, 440, 441, 443, 450, 454, 455, 456 seymour, jane, her first appearance, 261; her family, 262, 265, 269, 282, 284, 286, 290; married to henry, 291; her small political influence, 293, 296-299; gives birth to a son, 304; her death, 307, 308, 309 seymour, sir thomas (lord seymour of sudeley), 262, 402, 405, 441; marries katharine parr, 450-458 shelton, lady, 259 six articles, the act so called, 320, 321, 362, 399, 411, 413, 437, 445 smeaton, mark, 271, 272; arrested, by cromwell, 273; his admissions, 273-274, 280; executed, 282 solway moss, 401 spurs, battle of, 81 stokesley, bishop of london, 179, 184, 186, 221 succession, act of, 223, 230-232, 233 suffolk, duke of. _see_ brandon suffolk, duchess of (katharine, lady willoughby), 438, 443 suffolk, earl of (pole), 45, 53 supremacy, act of, 246, 445 surrey, earl of, 395, 441, 443 sybilla of cleves, duchess of saxony, 319, 324 t tarbes, bishop of (grammont), 113, 114, 117 tailebois, lady (eleanor blunt), 85, 88, 96, 112, 128 talbot, lord, 179, 180 therouenne, henry at the siege of, 82, 83 thirlby, dr., 424 throckmorton, sir george, 404 trenchard, sir john, 53 tunstall, bishop of durham, 179, 230, 326, 338, 344 turenne, vicomte de, 113, 114 tylney, katharine, 377, 378 tyrwhitt, lady, 457 v van der delft, imperial ambassador in england, 432, 435, 441 vargas, blanche de, 255 vaughan, stephen, 236, 237, 253 vives, j. luis, 410 w wallop, sir j., commands the english contingent in flanders, 416 warham, archbishop of canterbury, 74, 75, 108, 119, 150, 174, 189; death of, 193 weston, sir thomas, 276, 280; executed, 282 wingfield, 95 wingfield, lady, 280 willoughby, lady, 252 wolf hall, the home of the seymours, 261, 262, 291 wolsey, cardinal, 82, 83, 87, 90, 92, 93, 94, 95; his french leanings, 96, 97, 99; won to the side of the emperor, 101-106; renewed approaches to france, 107-109, 110, 111, 114; proposes katharine's divorce, 116-123, 126; his attitude towards anne boleyn, 127; embassy in france, 129-134; decline of influence, 134-135; acts as legate, 140, 149-154, 160-167; his disgrace, 167-169; his death, 173 wotton, dr., 320, 322, 405 wriothesley, thomas, 341, 342, 370, 377, 380, 392, 408, 424, 434, 438, 439, 441, 443 würtemburg, duke of, 435 wyatt, sir thomas, 137, 276, 315, 343, 365, 393 wyatt, lady (daughter of lord cobham), 393, 408 the end printed by ballantyne, hanson & co. edinburgh & london transcriber's notes: passages in italics are indicated by _underscore_. superscripted letters are shown in {brackets}. the following misprints have been corrected: "fitzwilliam" corrected to "fitzwilliam" (page 180) "been been" corrected to "been" (page 204) "francisans" corrected to "franciscans" (page 255) "cramner" corrected to "cranmer" (page 369) "wth" corrected to "with" (page 389) "appproaching" corrected to "approaching" (page 424) "wore" corrected to "were" (footnote 118) "ininstructed" corrected to "instructed" (footnote 209) "dona" standardized to "doña" (index) "inigo" standardized to "iñigo" (index) "nagera" corrected to "najera" (index) other than the corrections listed above, printer's inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation usage have been retained. some quotes are opened with marks but are not closed. obvious errors have been silently closed, while those requiring interpretation have been left open. other punctuation has been corrected without note. the divorce of catherine of aragon the divorce of catherine of aragon the story as told by the imperial ambassadors resident at the court of henry viii. _in usum laicorum_ by j. a. froude _being a supplementary volume to the author's history of england_ new york charles scribner's sons 1891 [_all rights reserved_] copyright, 1891, by charles scribner's sons. _the riverside press, cambridge, mass., u. s. a._ electrotyped and printed by h. o. houghton & company. contents page introduction 1 chapter i. prospects of a disputed succession to the crown--various claimants--catherine incapable of having further children- irregularity of her marriage with the king--papal dispensations- first mention of the divorce--situation of the papacy--charles v.--policy of wolsey--anglo-french alliance--imperial troops in italy--appeal of the pope--mission of inigo de mendoza--the bishop of tarbes--legitimacy of the princess mary called in question--secret meeting of the legates' court--alarms of catherine--sack of rome by the duke of bourbon--proposed reform of the papacy--the divorce promoted by wolsey--unpopular in england---attempts of the emperor to gain wolsey 21 chapter ii. mission of wolsey to paris--visits bishop fisher on the way- anxieties of the emperor--letter of the emperor to henry viii.- large offers to wolsey--address of the french cardinals to the pope--anne boleyn chosen by henry to succeed catherine--surprise and displeasure of wolsey--fresh attempts of the emperor to bribe him--wolsey forced to continue to advocate the divorce--mission of dr. knight to rome--the pope at orvieto--the king applies for a dispensation to make a second marriage--language of the dispensation demanded--inferences drawn from it--alleged intrigue between the king and mary boleyn 41 chapter iii. anxiety of the pope to satisfy the king--fears of the emperor- proposed alternatives--france and england declare war in the pope's defence--campeggio to be sent to england--the king's account of the pope's conduct--the pope's distress and alarm--the secret decretal--instructions to campeggio 62 chapter iv. anne boleyn--letters to her from the king--the convent at wilton--the divorce--the pope's promises--arrival of campeggio in england--reception at the bridewell palace--proposal to catherine to take the veil--her refusal--uncertainty of the succession--a singular expedient--alarms of wolsey--the true issue--speech of the king in the city--threats of the emperor- defects in the bull of pope julius--alleged discovery of a brief supplying them--distress of clement 70 chapter v. demands of the imperial agent at rome--the alleged brief--illness of the pope--aspirations of wolsey--the pope recovers--imperial menaces--clement between the anvil and the hammer--appeal of henry to francis--the trial of the cause to proceed--instructions to campeggio--opinion at rome--recall of mendoza--final interview between mendoza and the king 86 chapter vi. the court at blackfriars--the point at issue--the pope's competency as judge--catherine appeals to rome--imperial pressure upon clement--the emperor insists on the pope's admission of the appeal--henry demands sentence--interference of bishop fisher- the legates refuse to give judgment--the court broken up--peace of cambray 99 chapter vii. call of parliament--wolsey to be called to account--anxiety of the emperor to prevent a quarrel--mission of eustace chapuys- long interview with the king--alarm of catherine--growth of lutheranism--the english clergy--lord darcy's articles against wolsey--wolsey's fall--departure of campeggio--letter of henry to the pope--action of parliament--intended reform of the church- alienation of english feeling from the papacy 110 chapter viii. hope of wolsey to return to power--anger of anne boleyn and the duke of norfolk--charles v. at bologna--issue of a prohibitory brief--the pope secretly on henry's side--collection of opinions--norfolk warns chapuys--state of feeling in england- intrigues of wolsey--his illness and death 131 chapter ix. danger of challenging the papal dispensing power--the royal family of spain--address of the english peers to the pope- compromise proposed by the duke of norfolk--the english agents at rome--arrival of a new nuncio in england--his interview with the king--chapuys advises the king's excommunication--position of the english clergy--statute of provisors--the clergy in a præmunire- remonstrances of the nuncio--despair of catherine--her letter to the pope--henry prepares for war--the introduction of briefs from rome forbidden--warnings given to the spanish ambassador and the nuncio 141 chapter x. state of feeling in england--clergy and laity--the clergy in a præmunire--the royal supremacy--hesitation at rome--submission of the clergy--the meaning of the new title--more and fisher--alarm of the emperor--appeal of catherine to him--unpopularity of anne boleyn--threats of excommunication--determination of henry- deputation of peers to catherine--catherine's reply--intolerable pretensions of the emperor--removal of catherine from the court 157 chapter xi. proposals for the reunion of christendom--warning addressed to the pope--address of the english nobles to queen catherine- advances of clement to henry--embarrassments of the pope and the emperor--unwillingness of the pope to decide against the king- business in parliament--reform of the english church--death of archbishop warham--bishop fisher and chapuys--question of annates--papal briefs--the pope urged to excommunicate henry--the pope refuses--anger of queen catherine's agent 175 chapter xii. henry advised to marry without waiting for sentence--meeting of henry and francis--anne boleyn present at the interview--value of anne to the french court--pressure on the pope by the agents of the emperor--complaints of catherine--engagements of francis- action of clement--the king conditionally excommunicated--demand for final sentence--cranmer appointed archbishop of canterbury- marriage of henry and anne boleyn--supposed connivance of the pope--the nuncio attends parliament--the act of appeals--the emperor entreated to intervene--chapuys and the king 192 chapter xiii. the king's claim--the obstinacy of catherine--the court at dunstable--judgment given by cranmer--debate in the spanish council of state--objections to armed interference--the english opposition--warning given to chapuys--chapuys and the privy council--conversation with cromwell--coronation of anne boleyn- discussions at rome--bull supra attentatis--confusion of the catholic powers--libels against henry--personal history of cromwell--birth of elizabeth--the king's disappointment--bishop fisher desires the introduction of a spanish army into england- growth of lutheranism 218 chapter xiv. interview between the pope and francis at marseilles--proposed compromise--the divorce case to be heard at cambray--the emperor consents--catherine refuses--the story of the nun of kent--bishop fisher in the tower--imminent breach with the papacy--catherine and the princess mary--separation of the princess from her mother--catherine at kimbolton--appeals to the emperor- encouragement of lutheranism--last efforts at rome--final sentence delivered by the pope--the pope's authority abolished in england 243 chapter xv. the papal curse--determined attitude of the princess mary- chapuys desires to be heard in parliament--interview with the king--permission refused--the act of succession--catherine loses the title of queen--more and fisher refuse to swear to the statute--prospects of rebellion in ireland--the emperor unwilling to interfere--perplexity of the catholic party--chapuys before the privy council--insists on catherine's rights--singular defence of the pope's action--chapuys's intrigues--defiant attitude of catherine--fears for her life--condition of europe- prospect of war between france and the empire--unwillingness of the emperor to interfere in england--disappointment of catherine--visit of chapuys to kimbolton 260 chapter xvi. prosecution of lord dacre--failure of the crown--rebellion in ireland--lord thomas fitzgerald--delight of the catholic party- preparations for a rising in england--the princess mary--lord hussey and lord darcy--schemes for insurrection submitted to chapuys--general disaffection among the english peers--death of clement vii.--election of paul iii.--expectation at rome that henry would now submit--the expectation disappointed--the act of supremacy--the italian conjuror--reginald pole--violence and insolence of anne boleyn--spread of lutheranism--intended escape of the princess mary out of england 283 chapter xvii. prospects of civil war--england and spain--illness of the princess mary--plans for her escape--spirit of queen catherine- the emperor unwilling to interfere--negotiations for a new treaty between henry and charles--debate in the spanish council of state--the rival alliances--disappointment of the confederate peers--advance of lutheranism in england--cromwell and chapuys- catherine and mary the obstacles to peace--supposed designs on mary's life 301 chapter xviii. negotiations for a treaty--appeal of catherine to the emperor- fresh plans for the escape of mary--forbidden by the emperor- the king and his daughter--suggestion of dr. butts--the clergy and the reformation--the charterhouse monks--more and fisher in the tower--the emperor in africa--the treaty--rebellion in ireland--absolution of lord thomas fitzgerald for the murder of the archbishop of dublin--treason of lord hussey--fresh debates in the spanish council--fisher created cardinal--trial and execution of fisher and more--effect in europe 318 chapter xix. campaign of the emperor in africa--uncertainties at rome--policy of francis--english preparations for war--fresh appeals to the emperor--delay in the issue of the censures--the princess mary- letter of catherine to the pope--disaffection of the english catholics--libels against henry--cromwell and chapuys--lord thomas fitzgerald--dangerous position of henry--death of the duke of milan--effect on european policy--intended bull of paul iii.- indecision of charles--prospect of war with france--advice of charles to catherine--distrust of the emperor at the papal court--warlike resolution of the pope restrained by the cardinals 347 chapter xx. illness of queen catherine--her physicians' report of her health---her last letter to the emperor--she sends for chapuys- interview between chapuys and henry--chapuys at kimbolton--death of catherine--examination of the body--suspicion of poison- chapuys's opinion--reception of the news at the court--message of anne boleyn to the princess mary--advice of chapuys--unpopularity of anne--court rumours 371 chapter xxi. funeral of catherine--miscarriage of anne--the princess mary and the act of supremacy--her continued desire to escape--effect of catherine's death on spanish policy--desire of the emperor to recover the english alliance--chapuys and cromwell--conditions of the treaty--efforts of the emperor to recover henry to the church--matrimonial schemes--likelihood of a separation of the king from anne--jane seymour--anne's conduct--the imperial treaty--easter at greenwich--debate in council--the french alliance or the imperial--the alternative advantages--letter of the king to his ambassador in spain 389 chapter xxii. easter at greenwich--french and imperial factions at the english court--influence of anne boleyn--reports of anne's conduct submitted to the king--flying rumours--secret commission of enquiry--arrests of various persons--sir henry norris and the king--anne before the privy council--sent to the tower--her behaviour and admissions--evidence taken before the commission- trials of norris, weston, brereton, and smeton--letter of weston--trial of anne and her brother--executions--speech of rochford on the scaffold--anne sentenced to die--makes a confession to cranmer--declared to have not been the king's lawful wife--nature of the confession not known--execution 412 chapter xxiii. competition for henry's hand--solicitations from france and from the emperor--overtures from the pope--jane seymour--general eagerness for the king's marriage--conduct of henry in the interval before anne's execution--marriage with jane seymour- universal satisfaction--the princess mary--proposal for a general council--neutrality of england in the war between france and the empire 436 chapter xxiv. expectation that henry would return to the roman communion--henry persists in carrying out the reformation--the crown and the clergy--meeting of a new parliament--fresh repudiation of the pope's authority--complications of the succession--attitude of the princess mary--her reluctant submission--the king empowered to name his successor by will--indication of his policy--the pilgrimage of grace--cost of the reformation--the martyrs, catholic and protestant 450 index 465 the divorce of catherine of aragon. introduction. the mythic element cannot be eliminated out of history. men who play leading parts on the world's stage gather about them the admiration of friends and the animosity of disappointed rivals or political enemies. the atmosphere becomes charged with legends of what they have said or done--some inventions, some distortions of facts, but rarely or never accurate. their outward acts, being public, cannot be absolutely misstated; their motives, being known only to themselves, are an open field for imagination; and as the disposition is to believe evil rather than good, the portraits drawn may vary indefinitely, according to the sympathies of the describer, but are seldom too favourable. the more distinguished a man is the more he is talked about. stories are current about him in his own lifetime, guaranteed apparently by the highest authorities; related, insisted upon; time, place, and circumstance accurately given--most of them mere malicious lies; yet, if written down, to reappear in memoirs a hundred years hence, they are likely to pass for authentic, or at least probable. even where there is no malice, imagination will still be active. people believe or disbelieve, repeat or suppress, according to their own inclinations; and death, which ends the feuds of unimportant persons, lets loose the tongues over the characters of the great. kings are especially sufferers; when alive they hear only flattery; when they are gone men revenge themselves by drawing hideous portraits of them, and the more distinguished they may have been the more minutely their weaknesses are dwelt upon. "c'est un plaisir indicible," says voltaire, "de donner des décrets contre des souverains morts quand on ne peut en lancer contre eux de leur vivant de peur de perdre ses oreilles." the dead sovereigns go their way. their real work for good or evil lives after them; but they themselves are where the opinions expressed about their character affect them no more. to cæsar or napoleon it matters nothing what judgment the world passes upon their conduct. it is of more importance for the ethical value of history that acts which as they are related appear wicked should be duly condemned, that acts which are represented as having advanced the welfare of mankind should be duly honoured, than that the real character of individuals should be correctly appreciated. to appreciate any single man with complete accuracy is impossible. to appreciate him even proximately is extremely difficult. rulers of kingdoms may have public reasons for what they do, which at the time may be understood or allowed for. times change, and new interests rise. the circumstances no longer exist which would explain their conduct. the student looks therefore for an explanation in elements which he thinks he understands--in pride, ambition, fear, avarice, jealousy, or sensuality; and, settling the question thus to his own satisfaction, resents or ridicules attempts to look for other motives. so long as his moral judgment is generally correct, he inflicts no injury, and he suffers none. cruelty and lust are proper objects of abhorrence; he learns to detest them in studying the tiberius of tacitus, though the character described by the great roman historian may have been a mere creation of the hatred of the old roman aristocracy. the manifesto of the prince of orange was a libel against philip the second; but the philip of protestant tradition is an embodiment of the persecuting spirit of catholic europe which it would be now useless to disturb. the tendency of history is to fall into wholesome moral lines whether they be accurate or not, and to interfere with harmless illusions may cause greater errors than it aspires to cure. crowned offenders are arraigned at the tribunal of history for the crimes which they are alleged to have committed. it may be sometimes shown that the crimes were not crimes at all, that the sufferers had deserved their fate, that the severities were useful and essential for some great and valuable purpose. but the reader sees in the apology for acts which he had regarded as tyrannical a defence of tyranny itself. preoccupied with the received interpretation, he finds deeds excused which he had learnt to execrate; and in learning something which, even if true, is of no real moment to him, he suffers in the maiming of his perceptions of the difference between right and wrong. the whitewashing of the villains of tradition is, therefore, justly regarded as waste of labour. if successful, it is of imperfect value; if unsuccessful, it is a misuse of industry which deserves to be censured. time is too precious to be squandered over paradoxes. the dead are gone; the censure of mankind has written their epitaphs, and so they may be left. their true award will be decided elsewhere. this is the common sense verdict. when the work of a man is done and ended; when, except indirectly and invisibly, he affects the living world no more, the book is closed, the sentence is passed, and there he may be allowed to rest. the case is altered, however, when the dead still live in their actions, when their principles and the effects of their conduct are still vigorous and operative, and the movements which they initiated continue to be fought over. it sometimes happens that mighty revolutions can be traced to the will and resolution of a single man, and that the conflict continues when he is gone. the personal character of such a man becomes then of intrinsic importance as an argument for attack or defence. the changes introduced by henry viii. are still denounced or defended with renewed violence; the ashes of a conflict which seemed to have been decided are again blown into a flame; and what manner of man henry was, and what the statesmen and churchmen were who stood by him and assisted him in reshaping the english constitution, becomes a practical question of our own time. by their fruits ye shall know them. a good tree cannot bear evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit. roman catholics argue from the act to the man, and from the man back to the act. the reformation, they say, was a rebellion against an authority appointed by god for the rule of the world; it was a wicked act in itself; the author or the authors of it were presumably, therefore, themselves wicked; and the worst interpretation of their conduct is antecedently probable, because a revolt against the church of christ could only have originated in depraved hearts. or again, inverting the argument, they say with sufficient plausibility that the sins and crimes of the king are acknowledged facts of history; that from so bad a man no good thing could ever rise; that henry was a visible servant of the devil, and therefore the reformation, of which he was the instrument, was the devil's work. if the picture drawn of him by his catholic contemporaries is correct, the inference is irresistible. that picture, however, was drawn by those whose faith he wounded and whose interests he touched, and therefore might be regarded with suspicion. religious animosity is fertile in calumny, because it assumes beforehand that every charge is likely to be true in proportion to its enormity, and catholic writers were credulous of evil when laid to the charge of so dangerous an adversary. but the catholics have not been henry's only accusers; all sorts and sects have combined in the general condemnation. the anglican high churchman is as bitter against him as reginald pole himself. he admits and maintains the separation from rome which henry accomplished for him; but he abhors as heartily as pole or lingard the internal principles of the reformation. he resents the control of the clergy by the civil power. he demands the restoration of the spiritual privileges which henry and his parliaments took away from them. he aspires to the recovery of ecclesiastical independence. he therefore with equal triumph points to the blots in henry's character, and deepens their shade with every accusation, proved or unproved, which he can find in contemporary records. with him, too, that a charge was alleged at the time is evidence sufficient to entitle him to accept it as a fact. again, protestant writers have been no less unsparing from an imprudent eagerness to detach their cause from a disreputable ally. in elizabeth's time it was a point of honour and loyalty to believe in the innocence of her mother. if anne boleyn was condemned on forged or false evidence to make way for jane seymour, what appears so clearly to us must have been far clearer to henry and his council; of all abominable crimes committed by tyrannical princes there was never one more base or cowardly than anne's execution; and in insisting on anne's guiltlessness they have condemned the king, his ministers, and his parliaments. having discovered him to have murdered his wife, they have found him also to have been a persecutor of the truth. the reformation in england was at its outset political rather than doctrinal. the avarice and tyranny of the church officials had galled the limbs of the laity. their first steps were to break the chains which fretted them, and to put a final end to the temporal power of the clergy. spiritual liberty came later, and came slowly from the constitution of the english mind. superstition had been familiarised by custom, protected by natural reverence, and shielded from inquiry by the peculiar horror attaching to unbelief. the nation had been taught from immemorial time that to doubt on the mysteries of faith was the worst crime which man could commit; and while they were willing to discover that on their human side the clergy were but brother mortals of questionable character, they drew a distinction between the church as a national institution and the doctrines which it taught. an old creed could not yield at once. the king did much; he protected individual lutherans to the edge of rashness. he gave the nation the english bible. he made latimer a bishop. he took away completely and for ever the power of the prelates to punish what they called heresy _ex officio_ and on their own authority; but the zeal of the ultra-protestants broke loose when the restraint was taken off; the sense of the country was offended by the irreverence with which objects and opinions were treated which they regarded as holy, and parliament, which had put a bit in the mouth of the ecclesiastical courts, was driven to a substitute in the bill of the six articles. the advanced section in popular movements is usually unwise. the characteristic excellence of the english reformation is, that throughout its course it was restrained by the law, and the six articles bill, tempered as it was in the execution, was a permissible, and perhaps useful, measure in restraint of intemperance. it was the same in germany. anabaptists continued to be burnt in saxony and hesse long after luther's revolt; calvin thought the stake a fitting penalty for doubts upon the trinity. john knox, in scotland, approved of witch-burning and sending mass-priests to the gallows. henry could not disregard the pronounced feeling of the majority of the english people. he was himself but one of them, and changed slowly as they changed. yet protestant tradition has assumed that the bloody whip with six strings was an act of arbitrary ferocity. it considers that the king could, and ought to, have advanced at once into an understanding of the principle of toleration--toleration of the new opinions, and a more severe repression of the old. the puritans and evangelicals forgot that he had given them the english testament. they forgot that by setting his foot upon the bishops he had opened the pulpits to themselves, and they classed him among the persecutors, or else joined in the shallow laughs of the ultramontane catholics at what they pleased to call his inconsistency. thus from all sides a catena of invective has been wrapped about henry's character. the sensible part of the country held its tongue. the speakers and writers were the passionate and fanatical of both persuasions, and by them the materials were supplied for the henry viii. who has been brought down to us by history, while the candid and philosophic thinkers of the last and present centuries have accepted the traditional figure. in their desire to be impartial they have held the balance equal between catholics and protestants, inclining slightly to the catholic side, from a wish to conciliate a respectable body who had been unjustly maligned and oppressed; while they have lavished invectives upon the early reformers violent enough to have satisfied even pole himself, whose rhetoric has formed the base of their declamation. liberal philosophy would have had a bad time of it in england, perhaps in all europe, if there had been no henry viii. to take the pope by the throat. but one service writers like macaulay have undoubtedly accomplished. they have shown that it is entirely impossible to separate the king from his ministers--to condemn henry and to spare cranmer. protestant writers, from burnet to southey, have tried to save the reforming bishops and statesmen at henry's expense. cranmer, and latimer, and ridley have been described as saints, though their master was a villain. but the cold impartiality of macaulay has pointed out unanswerably that in all henry's most questionable acts his own ministers and his prelates were active participants--that his privy council, his parliaments, his judges on the bench, the juries empanelled to try the victims of his tyranny, were equally his accomplices; some actively assisting; the rest, if these acts were really criminal, permitting themselves to be bribed or terrified into acquiescence. the leading men of all descriptions, the nation itself, through the guilt of its representatives, were all stained in the same detestable colours. it may be said, indeed, that they were worse than the king himself. for the king at least may be pleaded the coarse temptations of a brutal nature; but what palliation can be urged for the peers and judges who sacrificed anne boleyn, or more, or fisher, according to the received hypothesis? not even the excuse of personal fear of an all-powerful despot. for henry had no janissaries or prætorians to defend his person or execute his orders. he had but his hundred yeomen of the guard, not more numerous than the ordinary followers of a second-rate noble. the catholic leaders, who were infuriated at his attacks upon the church, and would if they could have introduced foreign armies to dethrone him, insisted on his weakness as an encouragement to an easy enterprise. beyond those few yeomen they urged that he had no protection save in the attachment of the subjects whom he was alienating. what strange influence was such a king able to exercise that he could overawe the lords and gentry of england, the learned professions, the municipal authorities? how was it that he was able to compel them to be the voluntary instruments of his cruelty? strangest of all, he seems to have needed no protection, but rather to have been personally popular, even among those who disapproved his public policy. the air was charged with threats of insurrection, but no conspiracy was ever formed to kill him, like those which so often menaced the life of his daughter. when the north was in arms in the pilgrimage of grace, and a question rose among the leaders whether in the event of victory the king was to be deposed, it was found that anyone who proposed to remove him would be torn in pieces by the people. granting that henry viii. was, as dickens said of him, "a spot of blood and grease" on the page of english history, the contemporary generation of englishmen must have been fit subjects of such a sovereign. every country, says carlyle, gets as good a government as it deserves. the england of the cromwells and the cranmers, the howards and the fitzwilliams, the wriothesleys and the pagets, seems to have been made of baser materials than any land of which mankind has preserved a record. roman catholics may fairly plead that out of such a race no spiritual reform is likely to have arisen which could benefit any human soul. of all the arguments which can be alleged for the return of england to the ancient fold, this is surely the most powerful. yet england shows no intention of returning. history may say what it pleases, yet england remains tenacious of the liberties which were then won for us, and unconscious of the disgrace attaching to them; unconscious, also, that the version of the story which it accepts contains anything which requires explanation. the legislation of henry viii., his privy council, and his parliaments is the magna charta of the modern world. the act of appeals and the act of supremacy asserted the national independence, and repudiated the interference of foreign bishop, prince, or potentate within the limits of the english empire. the clergy had held for many centuries an _imperium in imperio_. subject themselves to no law but their own, they had asserted an irresponsible jurisdiction over the souls and bodies of the people. the act for the submission of these persons reduced them to the common condition of subjects under the control of the law. popes were no longer allowed to dispense with ordinary obligations. clerical privileges were abolished. the spiritual courts, with their intolerable varieties of iniquity, were swept away, or coerced within rational limits. the religious houses were suppressed, their enormous wealth was applied for the defence of the realm, and the worse than augean dunghill of abuses was cleared out with resolute hand. these great results were accomplished in the face of papal curses, in defiance of superstitious terrors, so despicable when bravely confronted, so terrible while the spectre of supernatural power was still unexorcised; in the face, too, of earthly perils which might make stout hearts shake, of an infuriated priesthood stirring the people into rebellion, of an exasperated catholic europe threatening fire and sword in the name of the pope. these were distinguished achievements, not likely to have been done at all by an infamous prince and infamous ministers; yet done so well that their work is incorporated in the constitution almost in the form in which they left it; and this mighty revolution, the greatest and most far-reaching in modern times, was accomplished without a civil war, by firmness of hand, by the action of parliament, and a resolute enforcement of the law. nor has the effect of henry's legislation been confined to england. every great country, catholic or protestant, has practically adopted its chief provisions. popes no longer pretend a power of deposing princes, absolving subjects from their allegiance, or selling dispensations for offences against the law of the land. appeals are no longer carried from the national courts to the court of the rota. the papal treasury is no longer supplied by the plunder of the national clergy, collected by resident papal officials. bishops and convocations have ceased to legislate above and independent of the secular authority, and clerks who commit crimes bear the same penalties as the profane. the high quality of the reformation statutes is guaranteed by their endurance; and it is hard to suppose that the politicians who conceived and carried them out were men of base conditions. the question is not of the character of the king. if nothing was at issue but the merits or demerits of a single sovereign, he might be left where he lies. the question is of the characters of the reforming leaders, who, jointly with the king, were the authors of this tremendous and beneficent revolution. henry in all that he did acted with these men and through them. is it possible to believe that qualities so opposite as the popular theory requires existed in the same persons? is it possible, for instance, that cranmer, who composed or translated the prayers in the english liturgy, was the miserable wretch which macaulay or lingard describes? the era of elizabeth was the outspring of the movement which henry viii. commenced, and it was the grandest period in english history. is it credible that so invigorating a stream flowed from a polluted fountain? before accepting a conclusion so disgraceful--before consigning the men who achieved so great a victory, and risked and lost their lives in the battle, to final execration--it is at least permissible to pause. the difficulty can only be made light of by impatience, by prejudice, or by want of thought. to me at any rate, who wished to discover what the real history of the reformation had been, it seemed so considerable, that, dismissing the polemical invectives of later writers, i turned to the accounts of their conduct, which had been left behind by the authors of it themselves. among the fortunate anomalies of the situation, henry departed from previous custom in holding annual parliaments. at every step which he took, either in the rearrangement of the realm or in his own domestic confusions, he took the lords and commons into his council, and ventured nothing without their consent. the preambles of the principal statutes contain a narrative clear and precise of the motives of everything that he did--a narrative which at least may have been a true one, which was not put forward as a defence, but was a mere explanation of acts which on the surface seemed violent and arbitrary. if the explanation is correct, it shows us a time of complications and difficulties, which, on the whole, were successfully encountered. it shows us severe measures severely executed, but directed to public and necessary purpose, involving no sycophancy or baseness, no mean subservience to capricious tyranny, but such as were the natural safeguards during a dangerous convulsion, or remedies of accidents incidental to hereditary monarchy. the story told is clear and distinct; pitiless, but not dishonourable. between the lines can be read the storm of popular passions, the beating of the national heart when it was stirred to its inmost depths. we see established institutions rooted out, idols overthrown, and injured worshippers exasperated to fury; the air, as was inevitable at such a crisis, full of flying rumours, some lies, some half lies with fragments of truth attaching to them, bred of malice or dizzy brains, the materials out of which the popular tradition has been built. it was no insular revolution. the stake played for was the liberty of mankind. all europe was watching england, for england was the hinge on which the fate of the reformation turned. could it be crushed in england, the catholics were assured of universal victory, and therefore tongues and pens were busy everywhere throughout christendom, catholic imagination representing henry as an incarnate satan, for which, it must be admitted, his domestic misadventures gave them tempting opportunities. so thick fell the showers of calumny, that, bold as he was, he at times himself winced under it. he complained to charles v. of the libels circulated about him in france and flanders. charles, too, had suffered in the same way. he answered, humorously, that "if kings gave occasion to be spoken about they would be spoken about; kings were not kings of tongues." henry viii. was an easy mark for slander; but if all slanders are to pass as true which are flung at public men whose policy provides them with an army of calumniators, the reputation of the best of them is but a spotted rag. the clergy were the vocal part of europe. they had the pulpits; they had the writing of the books and pamphlets. they had cause to hate henry, and they hated him with an intensity of passion which could not have been more savage had he been the devil himself. but there are men whose enmity is a compliment. they libelled luther almost as freely as they libelled the english king. i myself, after reading and weighing all that i could find forty years ago in prints or manuscripts, concluded that the real facts of henry's conduct were to be found in the statute book and nowhere else; that the preambles of the acts of parliament did actually represent the sincere opinion about him of the educated laymen of england, who had better opportunities of knowing the truth than we can have, and that a modern englishman may be allowed to follow their authority without the imputation of paradox or folly. with this impression, and with the statute book for a guide, i wrote the opening portion of my "history of england, from the fall of wolsey to the defeat of the armada." the published criticisms upon my work were generally unfavourable. catholic writers inherited the traditions and the temper of their forefathers, and believed the catena of their own historians. protestants could not believe in a defence of the author of the six articles bill. secular reviewers were easily witty at the "model husband" whom they supposed me to be imposing upon them, and resented the interference with a version of the story authenticated by great names among my predecessors. the public, however, took an interest in what i had to say. the book was read, and continues to be read; at the close of my life, therefore, i have to go once more over the ground; and as i am still substantially alone in maintaining an opinion considered heretical by orthodox historians, i have to decide in what condition i am to leave my work behind me. in the thirty-five years which have elapsed since those early volumes appeared large additions have been made to the materials for the history of the period. the vast collection of manuscripts in the english record office, which then were only partially accessible, have been sorted, catalogued, and calendared by the industry of my friends mr. brewer and mr. gairdner. private collections in great english houses have been examined and reported on by the historical manuscripts commission. foreign archives at paris, simancas, rome, venice, vienna, and brussels have been searched to some extent by myself, but in a far larger degree by able scholars specially appointed for the purpose. in the despatches, thus made accessible, of the foreign ambassadors resident at henry's court we have the invaluable, if not impartial, comments of trained and responsible politicians who related from day to day the events which were passing under their eyes. being catholics, and representatives of catholic powers, they were bitterly hostile to the reformation--hostile alike on political grounds and religious--and therefore inclined to believe and report the worst that could be said both of it and of its authors. but they wrote before the traditions had become stereotyped; their accounts are fresh and original; and, being men of the world, and writing in confidence to their own masters, they were as veracious as their prejudices would allow them to be. unconsciously, too, they render another service of infinite importance. being in close communication with the disaffected english peers and clergy, and engaged with them secretly in promoting rebellion, the ministers of charles v. reveal with extraordinary clearness the dangers with which the government had to deal. they make it perfectly plain that the act of supremacy, with its stern and peremptory demands, was no more than a legitimate and necessary defence against organised treason. it was thus inevitable that much would have to be added to what i had already published. when a microscope is applied to the petal of a flower or the wing of an insect, simple outlines and simple surfaces are resolved into complex organisms with curious and beautiful details. the effect of these despatches is precisely the same--we see with the eyes, we hear with the ears, of men who were living parts of the scenes which they describe. stories afterwards elaborated into established facts we trace to their origin in rumours of the hour; we read innumerable anecdotes, some with the clear stamp of truth on them, many mere creations of passing wit or malice, no more authentic than the thousands like them which circulate in modern society, guaranteed by the positive assertions of personal witnesses, yet visibly recognisable as lies. through all this the reader must pick his way and use his own judgment. he knows that many things are false which are reported about his own eminent contemporaries. he may be equally certain that lies were told as freely then as now. he will probably allow his sympathies to guide him. he will accept as fact what fits in with his creed or his theory. he will share the general disposition to believe evil, especially about kings and great men. the exaggerated homage paid to princes, when they are alive, has to be compensated by suspecting the worst of them as soon as they are gone. but the perusal of all these documents leaves the broad aspect of the story, in my opinion, precisely where it was. it is made more interesting by the greater fulness of particulars; it is made more vivid by the clear view which they afford of individual persons who before were no more than names. but i think now, as i thought forty years ago, that through the confusions and contradictions of a stormy and angry time, the statute-book remains the safest guide to follow. if there be any difference, it is that actions which till explained appeared gratuitously cruel, like the execution of bishop fisher, are seen beyond dispute to have been reasonable and just. bishop fisher is proved by the words of the spanish ambassador himself to have invited and pressed the introduction of a foreign catholic army into england in the pope's interest. thus i find nothing to withdraw in what i then wrote, and little to alter save in correcting some small errors of trivial moment; but, on the other hand, i find much to add; and the question rises in what way i had better do it, with fair consideration for those who have bought the book as it stands. to take the work to pieces and introduce the new material into the text or the notes will impose a necessity of buying a new copy, or of being left with an inferior one, on the many friends who least deserve to be so treated. i have concluded, therefore, on writing an additional volume, where such parts of the story as have had important light thrown upon them can be told over again in ampler form. the body of the history i leave as it stands. it contains what i believe to be a true account of the time, of the immediate causes which brought about the changes of the sixteenth century, and of the characters and principles of the actors in them. i have only to fill up certain deficiencies and throw light into places hitherto left dark. for the rest, i do not pretend to impartiality. i believe the reformation to have been the greatest incident in english history; the root and source of the expansive force which has spread the anglo-saxon race over the globe, and imprinted the english genius and character on the constitution of mankind. i am unwilling to believe more evil than i can help of my countrymen who accomplished so beneficent a work, and in a book written with such convictions the mythical element cannot be wholly wanting. even things which immediately surround us, things which we see and touch, we do not perceive as they are; we perceive only our own sensations, and our sensations are a combined result of certain objects and of the faculties which apprehend them. something of ourselves must always be intermixed before knowledge can reach us; in every conclusion which we form, in every conviction which is forced upon us, there is still a subjective element. it is so in physical science. it is so in art. it is so in our speculations on our own nature. it is so in religion. it is so even in pure mathematics. the curved and rectilineal figures on which we reason are our own creation, and have no existence exterior to the reasoning mind. most of all is it so in history, where we have no direct perceptions to help us, but are dependent on the narratives of others whose beliefs were necessarily influenced by their personal dispositions. the first duty of an historian is to be on his guard against his own sympathies; but he cannot wholly escape their influence. in judging of the truth of particular statements, the conclusion which he will form must be based partly upon evidence and partly upon what he conceives to be likely or unlikely. in a court of justice, where witnesses can be cross-examined, uncertain elements can in some degree be eliminated; yet, after all care is taken, judges and juries have been often blinded by passion and prejudice. when we have nothing before us but rumours set in circulation, we know not by whom or on what authority, and we are driven to consider probabilities, the protestant, who believes the reformation to have been a victory of truth over falsehood, cannot come to the same conclusion as the catholic, who believes it to have been a curse, or perhaps to the same conclusion as the indifferent philosopher, who regards protestant and catholic alike with benevolent contempt. for myself, i can but say that i have discriminated with such faculty as i possess. i have kept back nothing. i have consciously distorted nothing which conflicts with my own views. i have accepted what seems sufficiently proved. i have rejected what i can find no support for save in hearsay or prejudice. but whether accepting or rejecting, i have endeavoured to follow the rule that incidents must not be lightly accepted as authentic which are inconsistent with the universal laws of human nature, and that to disprove a calumny it is sufficient to show that there is no valid witness for it. finally, i do not allow myself to be tempted into controversy with particular writers whose views disagree with my own. to contradict in detail every hostile version of henry viii.'s or his ministers' conduct would be as tedious as it would be irritating and unprofitable. my censors have been so many that a reply to them all is impossible, and so distinguished that a selection would be invidious. those who wish for invectives against the king, or cranmer, or cromwell, can find them everywhere, from school manuals to the grave works of elaborate historians. for me, it is enough to tell the story as it presents itself to my own mind, and to leave what appears to me to be the truth to speak for itself. the english nation throughout their long history have borne an honourable reputation. luther quotes a saying of maximilian that there were three real sovereigns in europe--the emperor, the king of france, and the king of england. the emperor was a king of kings. if he gave an order to the princes of the reich, they obeyed or disobeyed as they pleased. the king of france was a king of asses. he ordered about his people at his will, and they obeyed like asses. the king of england was king of a loyal nation who obeyed him with heart and mind as loyal and faithful subjects. this was the character borne in the world by the fathers of the generation whom popular historians represent as having dishonoured themselves by subserviency to a bloodthirsty tyrant. it is at least possible that popular historians have been mistaken, and that the subjects of henry viii. were neither much better nor much worse than those who preceded or came after them. chapter i. prospects of a disputed succession to the crown--various claimants-catherine incapable of having further children--irregularity of her marriage with the king--papal dispensations--first mention of the divorce--situation of the papacy--charles v.--policy of wolsey-anglo-french alliance--imperial troops in italy--appeal of the pope-mission of inigo de mendoza--the bishop of tarbes--legitimacy of the princess mary called in question--secret meeting of the legates' court-alarms of catherine--sack of rome by the duke of bourbon--proposed reform of the papacy--the divorce promoted by wolsey--unpopular in england-attempts of the emperor to gain wolsey. in the year 1526 the political prospects of england became seriously clouded. a disputed succession had led in the previous century to a desperate civil war. in that year it became known in private circles that if henry viii. was to die the realm would again be left without a certain heir, and that the strife of the roses might be renewed on an even more distracting scale. the sons who had been born to queen catherine had died in childbirth or had died immediately after it. the passionate hope of the country that she might still produce a male child who would survive had been constantly disappointed, and now could be entertained no longer. she was eight years older than her husband. she had "certain diseases" which made it impossible that she should be again pregnant, and henry had for two years ceased to cohabit with her. he had two children still living--the princess mary, catherine's daughter, then a girl of eleven, and an illegitimate son born in 1519, the mother being a daughter of sir john blount, and married afterwards to sir gilbert talboys. by presumptive law the princess was the next heir; but no woman had ever sat on the throne of england alone and in her own right, and it was doubtful whether the nation would submit to a female sovereign. the boy, though excluded by his birth from the prospect of the crown, was yet brought up with exceptional care, called a prince by his tutors, and probably regarded by his father as a possible successor should his sister go the way of her brothers. in 1525, after the king had deliberately withdrawn from catherine, he was created duke of richmond--a title of peculiar significance, since it had been borne by his grandfather, henry vii.--and he was granted precedence over the rest of the peerage. illegitimacy was a serious, but, it might be thought, was not an absolute, bar. the conqueror had been himself a bastard. the church, by its habits of granting dispensations for irregular marriages or of dissolving them on pleas of affinity or consanguinity or other pretext, had confused the distinction between legitimate and illegitimate. a church court had illegitimatised the children of edward iv. and elizabeth grey, on the ground of one of edward's previous connections; yet no one regarded the princes murdered in the tower as having been illegitimate in reality; and to prevent disputes and for an adequate object, the duke of richmond, had he grown to manhood, might, in the absence of other claims, have been recognised by parliament. but the duke was still a child, and might die as henry's other sons had died; and other claims there were which, in the face of the bar sinister, could not fail to be asserted. james v. of scotland was next in blood, being the son of henry's eldest sister, margaret. there were the greys, inheriting from the second sister, mary. outside the royal house there were the still popular representatives of the white rose, the marquis of exeter, who was edward iv.'s grandson; the countess of salisbury, daughter of edward's brother the duke of clarence, and sister of the murdered earl of warwick; and henry's life was the only obstacle between the collision of these opposing pretensions. james, it was quite certain, would not be allowed to succeed without a struggle. national rivalry forbade it. yet it was no less certain that he would try, and would probably be backed by france. there was but one escape from convulsions which might easily be the ruin of the realm. the king was in the flower of his age, and might naturally look for a prince of wales to come after him if he was married to a woman capable of bearing one. it is neither unnatural nor, under the circumstances, a matter to be censured if he and others began to reflect upon the peculiar character of his connection with catherine of aragon. it is not sufficiently remembered that the marriage of a widow with her husband's brother was then, as it is now, forbidden by the laws of all civilised countries. such a marriage at the present day would be held _ipso facto_ invalid and not a marriage at all. an irregular power was then held to rest with the successors of st. peter to dispense, under certain conditions, with the inhibitory rules. the popes are now understood to have never rightly possessed such an authority, and therefore, according to modern law and sentiment, henry and catherine never were husband and wife at all. at the time it was uncertain whether the dispensing power extended so far as to sanction such a union, and when the discussion rose upon it the roman canonists were themselves divided. those who maintained the widest view of the papal faculty yet agreed that such a dispensation could only be granted for urgent cause, such as to prevent foreign wars or internal seditions, and no such cause was alleged to have existed when ferdinand and henry vii. arranged the marriage between their children. the dispensation had been granted by pope julius with reluctance, had been acted upon after considerable hesitation, and was of doubtful validity, since the necessary conditions were absent. the marriages of kings were determined with little reference to the personal affection of the parties. between henry and catherine there was probably as much and as little personal attachment as there usually is in such cases. he respected and perhaps admired her character; but she was not beautiful, she was not attractive, while she was as proud and intractable as her mother isabella. their union had been settled by the two fathers to cement the alliance between england and spain. such connections rest on a different foundation from those which are voluntarily entered into between private persons. what is made up for political reasons may pardonably be dissolved when other reasons of a similar kind require it; and when it became clear that catherine could never bear another child, that the penalty threatened in the levitical law against marriages of this precise kind had been literally enforced in the death of the male offspring, and that civil war was imminent in consequence upon the king's death, henry may have doubted in good faith whether she had ever been his wife at all--whether, in fact, the marriage was not of the character which everyone would now allow to attach to similar unions. had there been a prince of wales, the question would never have arisen, and henry, like other kings, would have borne his fate. but there was no prince, and the question had risen, and there was no reason why it should not. there was no trace at the outset of an attachment to another woman. if there had been, there would be little to condemn; but anne boleyn, when it was first mooted, was no more to the king than any other lady of the court. he required a wife who could produce a son to secure the succession. the powers which had allowed an irregular marriage could equally dissolve it, and the king felt that he had a right to demand a familiar concession which other sovereigns had often applied for in one form or another, and rarely in vain. thus as early as 1526 certainly, and probably as much as a year before, cardinal wolsey had been feeling his way at rome for a separation between henry and catherine. on september 7 in that year the bishop of bath, who was english ambassador at paris, informed the cardinal of the arrival there of a confidential agent of pope clement vii. the agent had spoken to the bishop on this especial subject, and had informed him that there would be difficulties about it.[1] the "blessed divorce"--_benedictum divorcium_ the bishop calls it--had been already under consideration at rome. the difficulties were not specified, but the political features of the time obliged clement to be circumspect, and it was these that were probably referred to. francis i. had been defeated and taken prisoner by the imperialists at pavia. he had been carried to spain, and had been released at henry's intercession, under severe conditions, to which he had reluctantly consented, and his sons had been left at madrid as hostages for the due fulfilment of them. the victorious army, half spanish, half german, remained under the duke of bourbon to complete the conquest of italy; and charles v., with his already vast dominions and a treasury which the world believed to be inexhaustibly supplied from the gold mines of the new world, seemed advancing to universal empire. france in the preceding centuries had been the hereditary enemy of england; spain and burgundy her hereditary friends. the marriage of catherine of aragon had been a special feature of the established alliance. she was given first to prince arthur, and then to henry, as a link in the confederacy which was to hold in check french ambition. times were changing. charles v. had been elected emperor, largely through english influence; but charles was threatening to be a more serious danger to europe than france had been. the italian princes were too weak to resist the conqueror of pavia. italy once conquered, the papacy would become a dependency of the empire, and, with charles's german subjects in open revolt against it, the church would lose its authority, and the organisation of the catholic world would fall into hopeless decrepitude. so thought wolsey, the most sharp-sighted of english ministers. he believed that the maintenance of the papacy was the best defence of order and liberty. the only remedy which he could see was a change of partners. england held the balance between the great rival powers. if the english alliance could be transferred from the empire to france, the emperor could be held in check, and his supposed ambition neutralised. wolsey was utterly mistaken; but the mistake was not an unnatural one. charles, busy with his italian wars, had treated the lutheran schism with suspicious forbearance. notwithstanding his indian ingots his finances were disordered. bourbon's lansquenets had been left to pay themselves by plunder. they had sacked monasteries, pillaged cathedral plate, and ravished nuns with irreverent ferocity. the estates of the church had been as little spared by them as lombardy; and to clement vii. the invasion was another inroad of barbarians, and bourbon a second attila. what bourbon's master meant by it, and what he might intend to do, was as uncertain to clement as perhaps it was to charles himself. in the prostrate, degraded, and desperate condition into which the church was falling, any resolution was possible. to the clearest eyes in europe the papacy seemed tottering to its fall, and charles's hand, if he chose to raise it, might precipitate the catastrophe. to ask a pope at such a time to give mortal offence to the spanish nation by agreeing to the divorce of catherine of aragon was to ask him to sign his death-warrant. no wonder, therefore, that he found difficulties. yet it was to france and england that clement had to look for help in his extremities. the divorce perhaps had as yet been no more than a suggestion, a part of a policy which was still in its infancy. it could wait at any rate for a more convenient season. meantime he sent his secretary, sanga, to paris to beg aid; and to henry personally he made a passionate appeal, imploring him not to desert the apostolic see in its hour of extreme need. he apologised for his importunacy, but he said he hoped that history would not have to record that italy had been devastated in the time of clement vii. to the dishonour of the king and of wolsey. if france and england failed him, he would himself be ruined. the emperor would be universal monarch. they would open their eyes at last, but they would open them too late. so piteous was the entreaty that henry when he read the pope's letter burst into tears.[2] clement had not been idle. he had brought his own small army into the field to oppose bourbon; he joined the italian league, and prepared to defend himself. he was called the father of christendom, yet he was at open war with the most catholic king. but wolsey reasonably considered that unless the western powers interfered the end would come. if england was to act, she could act only in alliance with france. the change of policy was ill understood, and was not popular among henry's subjects. the divorce as yet had not been spoken of. no breath of such a purpose had gone abroad. but english sentiment was imperial, and could endure with equanimity even the afflictions of a pope. the king was more papal than his people; he allowed wolsey to guide him, and negotiations were set on foot at once for a special treaty with france, one of the conditions of which was to be the marriage of the princess mary--allotted like a card in a game--either to francis or to one of his sons; another condition being that the english crown should be settled upon her should henry die without a legitimate son. sir john russell was simultaneously despatched to rome with money to help the pope in paying his troops and garrisoning the city. the ducats and the "kind words" which accompanied them "created incredible joy," encouraged his holiness to reject unjust conditions which had been offered, and restored him, if for the moment only, "from death to life."[3] if russell described correctly what he saw in passing through italy, clement had good cause for anxiety. "the swabians and spaniards," he wrote, "had committed horrible atrocities. they had burnt houses to the value of two hundred million ducats, with all the churches, images, and priests that fell into their hands. they had compelled the priests and monks to violate the nuns. even where they were received without opposition they had burned the place; they had not spared the boys, and they had carried off the girls; and whenever they found the sacrament of the church they had thrown it into a river or into the vilest place they could find. if god did not punish such cruelty and wickedness, men would infer that he did not trouble himself about the affairs of this world."[4] the news from italy gave a fresh impulse to wolsey's policy and the anglo-french alliance, which was pushed forward in spite of popular disapproval. the emperor, unable to pay, and therefore unable to control, his troops, became himself alarmed. he found himself pressed into a course which was stimulating the german revolt against the papacy, and he professed himself anxious to end the war. inigo de mendoza, the bishop of burgos, was despatched to paris to negotiate for a general pacification. from paris he was to proceed to london to assure henry of the emperor's inalienable friendship, and above all things to gain over wolsey by the means which experience had shown to be the nearest way to wolsey's heart. the great cardinal was already charles's pensionary, but the pension was several years in arrear. mendoza was to tell him not only that the arrears should be immediately paid up, but that a second pension should be secured to him on the revenues of milan, and that the emperor would make him a further grant of 6,000 ducats annually out of the income of spanish bishoprics. no means was to be spared to divert the hostility of so dangerous an enemy.[5] wolsey was not to be so easily gained. he had formed large schemes which he did not mean to part with, and in the matter of pensions francis i. was as liberal in promises as charles. the pope's prospects were brightening. besides the english money, he had improved his finances by creating six new cardinals, and making 240,000 crowns out of the disposition of these sacred offices.[6] a french embassy, with the bishop of tarbes at its head, came to england to complete the treaty with henry in the pope's defence. demands were to be made upon the emperor; if those demands were refused, war was to follow, and the cement of the alliance was to be the marriage of mary with a french prince. it is likely that other secret projects were in view also of a similar kind. the marriage of henry with catherine had been intended to secure the continuance of the alliance with spain. royal ladies were the counters with which politicians played; and probably enough there were thoughts of placing a french princess in catherine's place. however this may be, the legality of the king's marriage with his nominal queen was suddenly and indirectly raised in the discussion of the terms of the treaty, when the bishop of tarbes inquired whether it was certain that catherine's daughter was legitimate. mr. brewer, the careful and admirable editor of the "foreign and domestic calendar of state papers," doubts whether the bishop did anything of the kind. i cannot agree with mr. brewer. the bishop of tarbes was among the best-known diplomatists in europe. he was actively concerned during subsequent years in the process of the divorce case in london, in paris, and at rome. the expressions which he used on this occasion were publicly appealed to by henry in his addresses to the peers and to the country, in the public pleas which he laid before the english prelates, in the various repeated defences which he made for his conduct. it is impossible that the bishop should have been ignorant of the use which was made of his name, and impossible equally to suppose that he would have allowed his name to be used unfairly. the bishop of tarbes was unquestionably the first person to bring the question publicly forward. it is likely enough, however, that his introduction of so startling a topic had been privately arranged between himself and wolsey as a prelude to the further steps which were immediately to follow. for the divorce had by this time been finally resolved on as part of a general scheme for the alteration of the balance of power. the domestic reasons for it were as weighty as ever were alleged for similar separations. the pope's hesitation, it might be assumed, would now be overcome, since he had flung himself for support upon england and france, and his relations with the emperor could hardly be worse than they were. the outer world, and even the persons principally concerned, were taken entirely by surprise. for the two years during which it had been under consideration the secret had been successfully preserved. not a hint had reached catherine herself, and even when the match had been lighted by the bishop of tarbes the full meaning of it does not seem to have occurred to her. mendoza, on his arrival in england, had found her disturbed; she was irritated at the position which had been given to the duke of richmond; she was angry, of course, at the french alliance; she complained that she was kept in the dark about public affairs; she was exerting herself to the utmost among the friends of the imperial connection to arrest wolsey's policy and maintain the ancient traditions; but of the divorce she had not heard a word. it was to come upon her like a thunderstroke.[7] before the drama opens a brief description will not be out of place of the two persons who were to play the principal parts on the stage, as they were seen a year later by ludovico falieri, the venetian ambassador in england. of catherine his account is brief. "the queen is of low stature and rather stout; very good and very religious; speaks spanish, french, flemish, and english; more beloved by the islanders than any queen that has ever reigned; about forty-five years old, and has been in england thirty years. she has had two sons and one daughter. both the sons died in infancy. one daughter survives." on the king, falieri is more elaborate. "in the 8th henry such beauty of mind and body is combined as to surprise and astonish. grand stature, suited to his exalted position, showing the superiority of mind and character; a face like an angel's, so fair it is; his head bald like cæsar's, and he wears a beard, which is not the english custom. he is accomplished in every manly exercise, sits his horse well, tilts with his lance, throws the quoit, shoots with his bow excellent well; he is a fine tennis player, and he practises all these gifts with the greatest industry. such a prince could not fail to have cultivated also his character and his intellect. he has been a student from his childhood; he knows literature, philosophy, and theology; speaks and writes spanish, french, and italian, besides latin and english. he is kind, gracious, courteous, liberal, especially to men of learning, whom he is always ready to help. he appears religious also, generally hears two masses a day, and on holy days high mass besides. he is very charitable, giving away ten thousand gold ducats annually among orphans, widows, and cripples."[8] such was the king, such the queen, whom fate and the preposterous pretensions of the papacy to dispense with the established marriage laws had irregularly mated, and whose separation was to shake the european world. pope clement complained in subsequent years that the burden of decision should have been thrown in the first instance upon himself. if the king had proceeded at the outset to try the question in the english courts; if a judgment had been given unfavourable to the marriage, and had he immediately acted upon it, queen catherine might have appealed to the holy see; but accomplished facts were solid things. her case might have been indefinitely protracted by legal technicalities till it died of itself. it would have been a characteristic method of escape out of the difficulty, and it was a view which wolsey himself perhaps at first entertained. he knew that the pope was unwilling to take the first step. on the 17th of may, 1527, after a discussion of the treaty with france, he called a meeting of his legatine court at york place. archbishop warham sate with him as assessor. the king attended, and the cardinal, having stated that a question had arisen on the lawfulness of his marriage, enquired whether the king, for the sake of public morals and the good of his own soul, would allow the objections to be examined into. the king assented, and named a proctor. the bull of julius ii. was introduced and considered. wolsey declared that in a case so intricate the canon lawyers must be consulted, and he asked for the opinions of the assembled bishops. the bishops, one only excepted, gave dubious answers. the aged bishop of rochester, reputed the holiest and wisest of them, said decidedly that the marriage was good, and the bull which legalised it sufficient. these proceedings were not followed up, but the secrecy which had hitherto been observed was no longer possible, and catherine and her friends learnt now for the first time the measure which was in contemplation. mendoza, writing on the day following the york place meeting to the emperor, informed him, as a fact which he had learnt on reliable authority, that wolsey, for a final stroke of wickedness, was scheming to divorce the queen. she was so much alarmed that she did not venture herself to speak of it, but it was certain that the lawyers and bishops had been invited to sign a declaration that, being his brother's widow, she could not be the wife of the king. the pope, she was afraid, might be tempted to take part against her, or the cardinal himself might deliver judgment as papal legate. her one hope was in the emperor. the cause of the action taken against her was her fidelity to the imperial interests. nothing as yet had been made formally public, and she begged that the whole matter might be kept as private as possible.[9] that the pope would be willing, if he dared, to gratify henry at charles's expense was only too likely. the german lutherans and the german emperor were at the moment his most dangerous enemies. france and england were the only powers who seemed willing to assist him, and a week before the meeting of wolsey's court he had experienced in the most terrible form what the imperial hostility might bring upon him. on the 7th of that same month of may the army of the duke of bourbon had taken rome by storm. the city was given up to pillage. reverend cardinals were dragged through the streets on mules' backs, dishonoured and mutilated. convents of nuns were abandoned to the licentious soldiery. the horrors of the capture may have been exaggerated, but it is quite certain that to holy things or holy persons no respect was paid, and that the atrocities which in those days were usually perpetrated in stormed towns were on this occasion eminently conspicuous. the unfortunate pope, shut up in the castle of st. angelo, looked down from its battlements upon scenes so dreadful that it must have appeared as if the papacy and the church itself had been overtaken by the final judgment. we regard the spaniards as a nation of bigots, we consider it impossible that the countrymen of charles and philip could have been animated by any such bitterness against the centre of catholic christendom. charles himself is not likely to have intended the humiliation of the holy see. but clement had reason for his misgivings, and wolsey's policy was not without excuse. lope de soria was charles's minister at genoa, and lope de soria's opinions, freely uttered, may have been shared by many a catholic besides himself. on the 25th of may, a fortnight after the storm, he wrote to his master the following noticeable letter:-"the sack of rome must be regarded as a visitation from god, who permits his servant the emperor to teach his vicar on earth and other christian princes that their wicked purposes shall be defeated, the unjust wars which they have raised shall cease, peace be restored to christendom, the faith be exalted, and heresy extirpated.... should the emperor think that the church of god is not what it ought to be, and that the pope's temporal power emboldens him to promote war among christian princes, i cannot but remind your majesty that it will not be a sin, but a meritorious action, to reform the church; so that the pope's authority be confined exclusively to his own spiritual affairs, and temporal affairs to be left to cæsar, since by right what is god's belongs to god, and what is cæsar's to cæsar. i have been twenty-eight years in italy, and i have observed that the popes have been the sole cause of all the wars and miseries during that time. your imperial majesty, as supreme lord on earth, is bound to apply a remedy to that evil."[10] heretical english and germans were not the only persons who could recognise the fitness of the secular supremacy of princes over popes and churches. such thoughts must have passed through the mind of charles himself, and of many more besides him. de soria's words might have been dictated by luther or thomas cromwell. had the emperor at that moment placed himself at the head of the reformation, all later history would have been different. one statesman at any rate had cause to fear that this might be what was about to happen. wolsey was the embodiment of everything most objectionable and odious to the laity in the ecclesiastical administration of europe. to defend the papacy and to embarrass charles was the surest method of protecting himself and his order. the divorce was an incident in the situation, but not the least important. catherine represented the imperialist interest in england. to put her away was to make the breach with her countrymen and kindred irreparable. he took upon himself to assure the king that after the last outrage the pope would agree to anything that france and england demanded of him, and would trust to his allies to bear him harmless. that the divorce was a thing reasonable in itself to ask for, and certain to be conceded by any pope who was free to act on his own judgment, was assumed as a matter of course. sir gregory casalis, the english agent at rome, was instructed to obtain access to clement in st. angelo, to convey to him the indignation felt in england at his treatment, and then to insist on the illegality of the king's relations with catherine, on the king's own scruples of conscience, and on the anxiety of his subjects that there should be a male heir to the crown. the "urgent cause" such as was necessary to be produced when exceptional actions were required of the popes was the imminence or even certainty of civil war if no such heir was born. catherine meanwhile had again communicated with mendoza. she had spoken to her husband, and henry, since further reticence was impossible, had told her that they had been living in mortal sin, and that a separation was necessary. a violent scene had followed, with natural tears and reproaches.[11] the king endeavoured to console her, but it was not a matter where consolation could avail. wolsey advised him to deal with her gently, till it was seen what the pope and the king of france would do in the matter. wolsey himself was to go immediately to paris to see francis, and consult with him on the measures necessary to be taken in consequence of the pope's imprisonment. it was possible that clement, finding himself helpless, might become a puppet in the emperor's hands. under such circumstances he could not be trusted by other countries with the spiritual authority attaching to his office, and schemes were being formed for some interim arrangement by which france and england were to constitute themselves into a separate patriarchate, with wolsey at its head as archbishop of rouen. mendoza says that this proposal had been actually made to wolsey by the french ambassador.[12] in spain it was even believed to be contemplated as a permanent modification of the ecclesiastical system. the imperial councillors at valladolid told the venetian minister that the cardinal intended to separate the churches of england and france from that of rome, saying that as the pope was a prisoner he was not to be obeyed, and that even if the emperor released him, he still would not be free unless his fortresses and territory now in the emperor's hands were restored to him.[13] wolsey had reason for anxiety, for catherine and mendoza were writing to the emperor insisting that he should make the pope revoke wolsey's legatine powers. in spite of efforts to keep secret the intended divorce, it soon became known throughout england. the queen was personally popular. the nation generally detested france, and looked on the emperor as their hereditary friend. the reasons for the divorce might influence statesmen, but did not touch the body of the people. they naturally took the side of an injured wife, and if mendoza can be believed (and there is no reason why he should not be believed), the first impression was decidedly unfavourable to a project which was regarded as part of the new policy. mendoza made the most of the opposition. he told the emperor that if six or seven thousand men were landed in cornwall, forty thousand englishmen would rise and join them.[14] he saw wolsey--he reasoned with him, and when he found reason ineffectual, he named the bribe which the emperor was willing to give. knowing what francis was bidding, he baited his hook more liberally. he spoke of the papacy: "how the chair was now in the emperor's hands, and the emperor, if wolsey deserved it, would no doubt promote his elevation." the glittering temptation was unavailing. the papal chair had been wolsey's highest ambition, but he remained unmoved. he said that he had served the emperor in the past out of disinterested regard. he still trusted that the emperor would replace the pope and restore the church. mendoza's answer was not reassuring to an english statesman. he said that both the spiritual and temporal powers were now centred in his master, and he advised wolsey, if he desired an arrangement, to extend his journey from france, go on to spain, and see the emperor in person. it was precisely this _centering_ which those who had charge of english liberties had a right to resent. divorce or no divorce, they could not allow a power possessed of so much authority in the rest of christendom to be the servant of a single prince. the divorce was but an illustration of the situation, and such a papacy as mendoza contemplated would reduce england and all catholic europe into fiefs of the empire. chapter ii. mission of wolsey to paris--visits bishop fisher on the way--anxieties of the emperor--letter of the emperor to henry viii.--large offers to wolsey--address of the french cardinals to the pope--anne boleyn chosen by henry to succeed catherine--surprise and displeasure of wolsey--fresh attempts of the emperor to bribe him--wolsey forced to continue to advocate the divorce--mission of dr. knight to rome--the pope at orvieto-the king applies for a dispensation to make a second marriage--language of the dispensation demanded--inferences drawn from it--alleged intrigue between the king and mary boleyn. it was believed at the time--and it was the tradition afterwards--that wolsey, in his mission to paris, intended to replace catherine by a french princess, the more surely to commit francis to the support of henry in the divorce, and to strengthen the new alliance. nothing can be inherently more likely. the ostensible reason, however, was to do away with any difficulties which might have been suggested by the objection of the bishop of tarbes to the legitimacy of the princess mary. if illegitimate, she would be no fitting bride for the duke of orleans. but she had been born _bonâ fide parentum_. there was no intention of infringing her prospective rights or of altering her present position. her rank and title were to be secured to her in amplest measure. the cardinal went upon his journey with the splendour attaching to his office and befitting a churchman who was aspiring to be the spiritual president of the two kingdoms. on his way to the coast he visited two prelates whose support to his policy was important. archbishop warham had been cold about the divorce, if not openly hostile. wolsey found him "not much changed from his first fashion," but admitting that, although it might be unpleasant to the queen, truth and justice must prevail. bishop fisher was a more difficult subject. he had spoken in the legate's court in catherine's favour. it was from him, as the king supposed, that catherine herself had learnt what was impending over her. wolsey called at his palace as he passed through rochester. he asked the bishop plainly if he had been in communication with the queen. the bishop, after some hesitation, confessed that the queen had sought his advice, and said that he had declined to give an opinion without the king's command. before wolsey left london, at a last interview at york place, the king had directed him to explain "the whole matter" to the bishop. he went through the entire history, mentioned the words of the bishop of tarbes, and discussed the question which had risen upon it, on account of which he had been sent into france. finally, he described the extreme violence with which catherine had received the intelligence. the bishop greatly blamed the conduct of the queen, and said he thought that if he might speak to her he might bring her to submission. he agreed, or seemed to agree, that the marriage had been irregular, though he did not himself think that it could now be broken. others of the bishops, he thought, agreed with him; but he was satisfied that the king meant nothing against the laws of god, and would be fully justified in submitting his misgivings to the pope.[15] mendoza's and the queen's letters had meanwhile been despatched to spain, to add to the anxieties which were overwhelming the emperor. nothing could have been less welcome at such a juncture than a family quarrel with his uncle of england, whose friendship he was still hoping to retain. the bird that he had caged at rome was no convenient prisoner. the capture of rome had not been ordered by himself, though politically he was obliged to maintain it. the time did not suit for the ambitious church reforms of lope de soria. peace would have to be made with the pope on some moderate conditions. his own spain was hardly quieted after the revolt of the _comunidades_. half germany was in avowed apostasy from the church of rome. the turks were overrunning hungary, and sweeping the mediterranean with their pirate fleets, and the passionate and restless francis was watching his opportunity to revenge pavia and attack his captor in the low countries and in italy. the great emperor was moderate, cautious, prudent to a fault. in a calmer season he might have been tempted to take the church in hand; and none understood better the condition into which it had fallen. but he was wise enough to know that if a reform of the papacy was undertaken at all it must be undertaken with the joint consent of the other christian princes, and all his present efforts were directed to peace. he was catherine's natural guardian. her position in england had been hitherto a political security for henry's friendship. it was his duty and his interest to defend her, and he meant to do it; not, however, by sending roving expeditions to land in cornwall and raise a civil war; all means were to be tried before that; to attempt such a thing, he well knew, would throw europe into a blaze. the letters found him at valladolid. he replied, of course, that he was shocked at a proceeding so unlooked for and so scandalous, but he charged mendoza to be moderate and to confine himself to remonstrance.[16] he wrote himself to henry--confidentially, as from friend to friend, and ciphering his letter with his own hand. he was unable to believe, he said, that henry could contemplate seriously bringing his domestic discomforts before the world. even supposing the marriage illegitimate--even supposing that the pope had no power to dispense in such cases--"it would be better and more honourable to keep the matter secret, and to work out a remedy." he bade mendoza remind the king that to question the dispensing power affected the position of other princes besides his own; that to touch the legitimacy of his daughter would increase the difficulties with the succession, and not remove them. he implored the king "to keep the matter secret, as he would do himself." meanwhile, he told mendoza, for catherine's comfort, that he had written to demand a mild brief from the pope to stop the scandal. he had requested him, as catherine had suggested, to revoke wolsey's powers, or at least to command that neither he nor any english court should try the case. if heard at all it must be heard before his holiness and the sacred college.[17] but he could not part with the hope that he might still bring wolsey to his own and the queen's side. a council of cardinals was to meet at avignon to consider the pope's captivity. the cardinal of england was expected to attend. charles himself might go to perpignan. wolsey might meet him there, discuss the state of europe, and settle the king's secret affair at the same time. should this be impossible, he charged mendoza once more to leave no stone unturned to recover wolsey's friendship. "in our name," he said, "you will make him the following offers:-"1. the payment of all arrears on his several pensions, amounting to 9,000 ducats annually. "2. six thousand additional ducats annually until such a time as a bishoprick or other ecclesiastical endowment of the same revenue becomes vacant in our kingdom. "3. the duke, who is to have milan, to give him a marquisate in that duchy, with an annual rent of 12,000 ducats, or 15,000 if the smaller sum be not enough; the said marquisate to be held by the cardinal during his life, and to pass after him to any heir whom he shall appoint."[18] as if this was not sufficient, the emperor paid a yet further tribute to the supposed all-powerful cardinal. he wrote himself to him as to his "good friend." he said that if there was anything in his dominions which the cardinal wished to possess he had only to name it, as he considered wolsey the best friend that he had in the world.[19] for the ministers of great countries deliberately to sell themselves to foreign princes was the custom of the age. the measure of public virtue which such a custom indicates was not exalted; and among the changes introduced by the reformation the abolition or suspension of it was not the least beneficial. thomas cromwell, when he came to power, set the example of refusal, and corruption of public men on a scale so scandalously enormous was no more heard of. gold, however, had flowed in upon wolsey in such enormous streams and from so many sources that the emperor's munificence and attention failed to tempt him. on reaching paris he found francis bent upon war, and willing to promise anything for henry's assistance. the belief at the french court was that the emperor, hearing that the churches of england and france meant to decline from their obedience to the roman communion, would carry the pope to spain; that clement would probably be poisoned there, and the apostolic see would be established permanently in the peninsula.[20] wolsey himself wrote this, and believed it, or desired henry to believe it, proving the extreme uncertainty among the best-informed of contemporary politicians as to the probable issue of the capture of rome. the french cardinals drew and sent an address to the pope, intimating that as long as he was in confinement they could accept no act of his as lawful, and would not obey it. wolsey signed at the head of them. the cardinals salviati, bourbon, lorraine, and the chancellor cardinal of sens, signed after him.[21] the first stroke in the game had been won by wolsey. had the pope recalled his powers as legate, an immediate schism might have followed. but a more fatal blow had been prepared for him by his master in england. trusting to the cardinal's promises that the pope would make no difficulty about the divorce, henry had considered himself at liberty to choose a successor to catherine. he had suffered once in having allowed politics to select a wife for him. this time he intended to be guided by his own inclination. when elizabeth afterwards wished to marry leicester, lord sussex said she had better fix after her own liking; there would be the better chance of the heir that her realm was looking for. her father fixed also after his liking in selecting elizabeth's mother. anne boleyn was the second daughter of sir thomas boleyn, a norfolk knight of ancient blood, and himself a person of some distinction in the public service. lady boleyn was a howard, daughter of the duke of norfolk. anne was born in 1507, and by birth and connection was early introduced into the court. when a girl she was taken to paris to be educated. in 1522 she was brought back to england, became a lady-in-waiting, and, being a witty, brilliant young woman, attracted and encouraged the attentions of the fashionable cavaliers of the day. wyatt, the poet, was among her adorers, and the young percy, afterwards earl of northumberland. it was alleged afterwards that between her and percy there had been a secret marriage which had been actually consummated. that she had been involved in some dangerous intrigue or other she herself subsequently confessed. but she was attractive, she was witty; she drew henry's fancy, and the fancy became an ardent passion. now, for the first time, in wolsey's absence, the lady anne's name appears in connection with the divorce. on the 16th of august mendoza informed charles, as a matter of general belief, that if the suit for the divorce was successful the king would marry a daughter of master boleyn, whom the emperor would remember as once ambassador at the imperial court.[22] there is no direct evidence that before wolsey had left england the king had seriously thought of anne at all. catherine could have had no suspicion of it, or her jealous indignation would have made itself heard. the spanish ambassador spoke of it as a new feature in the case. the boleyns were wolsey's enemies, and belonged to the growing faction most hostile to the church. the news as it came upon him was utterly distasteful.[23] anne in turn hated wolsey, as he probably knew that she would, and she compelled him to stoop to the disgrace of suing for her favour. the inference is reasonable, therefore, that the king took the step which in the event was to produce such momentous consequences when the cardinal was not at hand to dissuade him. he was not encouraged even by her own family. her father, as will be seen hereafter, was from the first opposed to his daughter's advancement. he probably knew her character too well. but henry, when he had taken an idea into his head, was not to be moved from it. the lady was not beautiful: she was rather short than tall, her complexion was dark, her neck long, her mouth broad, her figure not particularly good. the fascinating features were her long flowing brown hair, a pair of effective dark eyes, and a boldness of character which might have put him on his guard, and did not. the immediate effect was to cool wolsey's ardour for the divorce. his mission in france, which opened so splendidly, eventuated in little. the french cardinals held no meeting at avignon. they had signed the address to clement, but they had not made the cardinal of york into their patriarch. rouen was not added to his other preferments. could he but have proposed a marriage for his sovereign with the princess of alençon, all might have been different, but it had fared with him as it fared with the earl of warwick, whom henry's grandfather had sent to france to woo a bride for him, and in his absence married elizabeth grey. he perhaps regretted the munificent offers of the emperor which he had hastily rejected, and he returned to england in the autumn to feel the consequences of the change in his situation. mr. brewer labours in vain to prove that wolsey was unfavourable to the divorce from the beginning. catherine believed that he was the instigator of it. mendoza was of the same opinion. unquestionably he promoted it with all his power, and made it a part of a great policy. to maintain that he was acting thus against his conscience and to please the king is more dishonouring to him than to suppose that he was either the originator or the willing instrument. all, however, was altered when anne boleyn came upon the stage, and she made haste to make him feel the change. "the legate has returned from france," wrote mendoza on the 26th of october. he went to visit the king at richmond, and sent to ask where he could see him. the king was in his chamber. it happened that the lady, who seemed to entertain no great affection for the cardinal, was in the room with the king, and before the latter could answer the message she said for him, "where else is the cardinal to come? tell him he may come here where the king is." the legate felt that such treatment boded no good to him, but concealed his resentment. "the cause," said mendoza, "is supposed to be that the said lady bears the legate a grudge, for other reasons, and because she has discovered that during his visit to france the legate proposed to have an alliance for the king found in that country."[24] wolsey persuaded mendoza that the french marriage had been a fiction, but at once he began to endeavour to undo his work, and prevent the dissolution of the marriage with catherine. he tried to procure an unfavourable opinion from the english bishops before legal proceedings were commenced. mendoza, however, doubted his stability if the king persisted in his purpose, and advised that a papal decision on the case should be procured and forwarded as soon as possible.[25] the pope's captivity, however, would destroy the value of any judgment which he might give while he continued in durance. the emperor, encouraged by the intimation that wolsey was wavering, reverted to his previous hope. in a special memorandum of measures to be taken, the most important, notwithstanding the refusal of the previous offers, was still thought to be to "bribe the cardinal." he must instantly be paid the arrears of his pensions out of the revenues of the sees of palencia and badajoz. if there was not money enough in the treasury, a further and larger pension of twelve or fourteen thousand crowns was to be given to him out of some rich bishopric in castile. the emperor admitted that he had promised the cortes to appoint no more foreigners to spanish sees, but such a promise could not be held binding, being in violation of the liberties of the church. every one would see that it was for the good of the kingdom. the renewed offer was doubtless conveyed to wolsey, but he probably found that he had gone too deep to retire. if he made such an effort as mendoza relates, he must have speedily discovered that it would be useless. he had encouraged the king in a belief that the divorce would be granted by the pope as a matter of course, and the king, having made up his own mind, was not to be moved from it. if wolsey now drew back, the certain inference would be that he had accepted an imperial bribe. there was no recourse, therefore, but to go on. while wolsey had been hesitating, the king had, unknown to him, sent his secretary, dr. knight, to rome with directions to obtain access if possible to the pope, and procure the dispensation which had been already applied for to enable him to marry a second time without the formalities of a judgment. such an expedient would be convenient in many ways. it would leave catherine's position unaffected and the legitimacy of the princess mary unimpugned. knight went. he found that without a passport he could not even enter the city, still less be allowed an interview. "with ten thousand crowns he could not bribe his way into st. angelo." he contrived, however, to have a letter introduced, which the pope answered by telling knight to wait in some quiet place. he (the pope) would "there send him all the king's requests in as ample a form as they were desired." knight trusted in a short time "to have in his custody as much, perfect, sped, and under lead, as his highness had long time desired."[26] knight was too sanguine. the emperor, finding the pope's detention as a prisoner embarrassing, allowed him, on the 9th of december, to escape to orvieto, where he was apparently at liberty; but he was only in a larger cage, all his territories being occupied by imperial troops, and he himself watched by the general of the observants, and warned at his peril to grant nothing to catherine's prejudice. henry's secretary followed him, saw him, and obtained something which on examination proved to be worthless. the negotiations were left again in wolsey's hands, and were pressed with all the eagerness of a desperate man. pope clement had ceased to be a free agent. he did not look to the rights of the case. he would gladly have pleased henry could he have pleased him without displeasing charles. the case itself was peculiar, and opinions differed on the rights and wrongs of it. the reader must be from time to time reminded that, as the law of england has stood ever since, a marriage with a brother's widow was not a marriage. as the law of the church then stood, it was not a marriage unless permitted by the pope; and according to the same law of england the pope neither has, nor ever had, any authority to dispense with the law. therefore henry, on the abstract contention, was in the right. he had married catherine under an error. the problem was to untie the knot with as little suffering to either as the nature of the case permitted. that the negotiations were full of inconsistencies, evasions, and contradictions, was natural and inevitable. to cut the knot without untying it was the only direct course, but that all means were exhausted before the application of so violent a remedy was rather a credit than a reproach. the first inconsistency was in the king. he did not regard his marriage as valid; therefore he thought himself at liberty to marry again; but he did not wish to illegitimatise his daughter or degrade catherine. he disputed the validity of the dispensation of julius ii.; yet he required a dispensation from clement which was equally questionable to enable him to take a second wife. the management of the case having reverted to wolsey, fresh instructions were sent to sir gregory casalis, the regular english agent at the papal court, to wait on clement. casalis was "bid consider how much the affair concerned the relief of the king's conscience, the safety of his soul, the preservation of his life, the continuation of his succession, the welfare and repose of all his subjects now and hereafter." the pope at orvieto was personally accessible. casalis was to represent to him the many difficulties which had arisen in connection with the marriage, and the certainty of civil war in england should the king die leaving the succession no better provided for. he was, therefore, to request the pope to grant a commission to wolsey to hear the case and to decide it, and (perhaps as an alternative) to sign a dispensation, a draft of which wolsey enclosed. the language of the dispensation was peculiar. wolsey explained it by saying that "the king, remembering by the example of past times what false claims [to the crown] had been put forward, to avoid all colour or pretext of the same, desired this of the pope as absolutely necessary." if these two requests were conceded, henry undertook on his part to require the emperor to set the pope at liberty, or to declare war against him if he refused. a dispensation, which was to evade the real point at issue, yet to convey to the king a power to take another wife, was a novelty in itself and likely to be carefully worded. it has given occasion among modern historians to important inferences disgraceful to everyone concerned. the sinister meaning supposed to be obvious to modern critics could not have been concealed from the pope himself. here, therefore, follow the words which have been fastened on as for ever fatal to the intelligence and character of henry and his ministers. the pope, after reviewing the later history of england, the distractions caused by rival claimants of the crown, after admitting the necessity of guarding against the designs of the ambitious, and empowering henry to marry again, was made to address the king in these words:[27]-"in order to take away all occasion from evil doers, we do in the plenitude of our power hereby suspend _hâc vice_ all canons forbidding marriage in the fourth degree, also all canons _de impedimento publicæ honestatis_ preventing marriage in consequence of clandestine espousals, further all canons relating to precontracts clandestinely made but not consummated, also all canons affecting impediments created by affinity rising _ex illicito coitu_, in any degree even in the first, so far as the marriage to be contracted by you, the petitioner, can be objected to or in any wise be impugned by the same. further, to avoid canonical objections on the side of the woman by reason of former contract clandestinely made, or impediment of public honesty or justice arising from such clandestine contract, or of any affinity contracted in any degree even the first, _ex illicito coitu_: and in the event that it has proceeded beyond the second or third degrees of consanguinity, whereby otherwise you, the petitioner, would not be allowed by the canons to contract marriage, we hereby license you to take such woman for wife, and suffer you and the woman to marry free from all ecclesiastical objections and censures." the explanation given by wolsey of the wording of this document is that it was intended to preclude any objections which might be raised to the prejudice of the offspring of a marriage in itself irregular. it was therefore made as comprehensive as possible. dr. lingard, followed by mr. brewer, and other writers see in it a transparent personal application to the situation in which henry intended to place himself in making a wife of anne boleyn. two years subsequent to the period when this dispensation was asked for, when the question of the divorce had developed into a battle between england and the papacy, and the passions of catholics and reformers were boiling over in recrimination and invective, the king's plea that he was parting from catherine out of conscience was met by stories set floating in society that the king himself had previously intrigued with the mother and sister of the lady whom he intended to marry; precisely the same obstacle existed, therefore, to his marriage with anne, being further aggravated by incest. no attempt was ever made to prove these charges; no particulars were given of time or place. no witnesses were produced, nor other evidence, though to prove them would have been of infinite importance. queen catherine, who if any one must have known it if the accusation was true, never alludes to mary boleyn in the fiercest of her denunciations. it was heard of only in the conversation of disaffected priests or secret visitors to the spanish ambassador, and was made public only in the manifesto of reginald pole, which accompanied paul iii.'s bull for henry's deposition. even this authority, which was not much in itself, is made less by the fact that in the first draft of "pole's book," sent to england to be examined in 1535, the story is not mentioned. evidently, therefore, pole had not then heard of it or did not believe it. the guilt with the mother is now abandoned as too monstrous. the guilt with the sister is peremptorily insisted on, and the words of the dispensation are appealed to as no longer leaving room for doubt. to what else, it is asked, can such extraordinary expressions refer unless to some disgraceful personal _liaison_? the uninstructed who draw inferences of fact from the verbiage of legal documents will discover often what are called "mare's nests." i will request the reader to consider what this supposition involves. the dispensation would have to be copied into the roman registers, subject to the inspection of the acutest canon lawyers in the world. if the meaning is so clear to us, it must have been clear to them. we are, therefore, to believe that henry, when demanding to be separated from catherine, as an escape from mortal sin, for the relief of his conscience and the surety of his succession, was gratuitously putting the pope in possession of a secret which had only to be published to extinguish him and his plea in an outburst of scorn and laughter. there was no need for such an acknowledgment, for the intrigue could not be proved. it could not be required for the legitimation of the children that were to be born; for a man of wolsey's ability must have known that no dispensation would be held valid that was granted after so preposterous a confidence. it was as if a man putting in a claim for some great property, before the case came on for trial privately informed both judge and jury that it was based on forgery. we are called on to explain further, why, when all europe was shaken by the controversy, no hint is to be found in any public document of a fact which, if true, would be decisive; and yet more extraordinary, why the pope and the curia, when driven to bay in all the exasperation of a furious controversy, left a weapon unused which would have assured them an easy victory. wolsey was not a fool. is it conceivable that he would have composed a document so fatal and have drawn the pope's pointed attention to it? my credulity does not extend so far. we cannot prove a negative; we cannot prove that henry had not intrigued with mary boleyn, or with all the ladies of his court. but the language of the dispensation cannot be adduced as an evidence of it, unless king, pope, and all the interested world had parted with their senses. as to the story itself, there is no ground for distinguishing between the mother and the daughter. when it was first set circulating both were named together. the mother only has been dropped, lest the improbability should seem too violent for belief. that mary boleyn had been the king's mistress before or after her own marriage is now asserted as an ascertained fact by respectable historians--a fact sufficient, can it be proved, to cover with infamy for ever the english separation from rome, king, ministers, parliaments, bishops, and every one concerned with it. the effectiveness of the weapon commends it to catholic controversialists. i have only to repeat that the evidence for the charge is nothing but the floating gossip of catholic society, never heard of, never whispered, till the second stage of the quarrel, when it had developed into a passionate contest; never even then alleged in a form in which it could be met and answered. it could not have been hid from queen catherine if it was known to reginald pole. we have many letters of catherine, eloquent on the story of her wrongs; letters to the emperor, letters to the pope; yet no word of mary boleyn. what reason can be given save that it was a legend which grew out of the temper of the time? nothing could be more plausible than to meet the king's plea of conscience with an allegation which made it ridiculous. but in the public pleadings of a cause which was discussed in every capital in europe by the keenest lawyers and diplomatists of the age, an accusation which, if maintained, would have been absolutely decisive, is never alluded to in any public document till the question had passed beyond the stage of discussion. the silence of all responsible persons is sufficient proof of its nature. it was a mere floating calumny, born of wind and malice. mr. brewer does indeed imagine that he has discovered what he describes as a tacit confession on henry's part. when the act of appeals was before the house of commons which ended the papal jurisdiction in england, a small knot of opposition members used to meet privately to deliberate how to oppose it. among these one of the most active was sir george throgmorton, a man who afterwards, with his brother michael, made himself useful to cromwell and played with both parties, but was then against the divorce and against all the measures which grew out of it. throgmorton, according to his own account, had been admitted to an interview with the king and cromwell. in 1537, after the pilgrimage of grace, while the ashes of the rebellion were still smouldering, after michael throgmorton had betrayed cromwell's confidence and gone over to reginald pole, sir george was reported to have used certain expressions to sir thomas dyngley and to two other gentlemen, which he was called on by the council to explain. the letter to the king in which he replied is still extant. he said that he had been sent for by the king after a speech on the act of appeals, "and that he saw his grace's conscience was troubled about having married his brother's wife." he professed to have said to dyngley that he had told the king that if he did marry queen anne his conscience would be more troubled at length, for it was thought he had meddled both with the mother and the sister; that his grace said: "never with the mother," and my lord privy seal (cromwell), standing by, said, "nor with the sister neither, so put that out of your mind." mr. brewer construes this into an admission of the king that mary boleyn had been his mistress, and omits, of course, by inadvertence, that throgmorton, being asked why he had told this story to dyngley, answered that "he spake it only out of vainglory, to show he was one that durst speak for the commonwealth." nothing is more common than for "vainglorious" men, when admitted to conversations with kings, to make the most of what they said themselves, and to report not very accurately what was said to them. had the conversation been authentic, throgmorton would naturally have appealed to cromwell's recollection. but mr. brewer accepts the version of a confessed boaster as if it was a complete and trustworthy account of what had actually passed. he does not ask himself whether if the king or cromwell had given their version it might not have borne another complexion. henry was not a safe person to take liberties with. is it likely that if one of his subjects, who was actively opposing him in parliament, had taxed him with an enormous crime, he would have made a confession which throgmorton had only to repeat in the house of commons to ruin him and his cause? mr. brewer should have added also that the authority which he gave for the story was no better than father peto, afterwards cardinal peto, as bitter an enemy of the reformation as pole himself. most serious of all, mr. brewer omits to mention that throgmorton was submitted afterwards to a severe cross-examination before a committee of council, the effect of which, if he had spoken truly, could only be to establish the authenticity of a disgraceful charge.[28] the last evidence alleged is the confession made by anne boleyn, after her condemnation, of some mystery which had invalidated her marriage with the king and had been made the ground of an act of parliament. the confession was not published, and catholic opinion concluded, and concludes still, that it must have been the mary boleyn intrigue. catholic opinion does not pause to inquire whether anne could have been said to confess an offence of the king and her sister. the cross-examination of throgmorton turns the conjecture into an absurdity. when asked, in 1537, whom he ever heard say such a thing, he would have had but to appeal to the proceedings in parliament in the year immediately preceding. is it likely finally that if throgmorton's examination proves what mr. brewer thinks it proves, a record of it would have been preserved among the official state papers? if all the stories current about henry viii. were to be discussed with as much detail as i have allowed to this, the world would not contain the books which should be written. an irish lawyer told me in my youth to believe nothing which i heard in that country which had not been sifted in a court of justice, and only half of that. legend is as the air invulnerable, and blows aimed at it, if not "malicious mockery" are waste of effort. charges of scandalous immorality are precious to controversialists, for if they are disproved ever so completely the stain adheres. chapter iii. anxiety of the pope to satisfy the king--fears of the emperor--proposed alternatives--france and england declare war in the pope's defence-campeggio to be sent to england--the king's account of the pope's conduct--the pope's distress and alarm--the secret decretal--instructions to campeggio. the story returns to orvieto. the dispensation was promised on condition that it should not be immediately acted on.[29] catherine having refused to acquiesce in a private arrangement, wolsey again pressed the pope for a commission to decide the cause in england, and to bind himself at the same time not to revoke it, but to confirm any judgment which he might himself give. "there were secret causes," he said, "which could not be committed to writing which made such a concession imperative: certain diseases in the queen defying all remedy, for which, as for other causes, the king would never again live with her as his wife." the pope, smarting from ill-treatment and grateful for the help of france and england, professed himself earnestly anxious to do what henry desired. but he was still virtually a prisoner. he had been obliged by the general of the observants, when in st. angelo, to promise to do nothing "whereby the king's divorce might be judged in his own dominions." he pleaded for time. he promised a commission of some kind, but he said he was undone if action was taken upon it while the germans and spaniards remained in italy. he saw evident ruin before him, he said, but he professed to be willing to run the hazard rather than that wolsey should suspect him of ingratitude. he implored the cardinal, _cum suspiriis et lacrymis_, not to precipitate him for ever, and precipitated he would be if, on receiving the commission, the cardinal at once began the process.[30] a fortnight later casalis described a long conversation with the pope and cardinals on the course to be pursued. henry had desired that a second legate should be sent from rome to act with wolsey. to consent to this would directly compromise the papal court. clement had no objection to the going forward with the cause, but he did not wish to be himself responsible. he signed an imperfect commission not inconsistent with his promise to the general of the observants. on this wolsey might act or, if he preferred it, might proceed on his own legatine authority. for himself, instead of engaging to confirm wolsey's sentence, he said that no doctor could better resolve the point at issue than the king himself. if he was resolved, said the pope, let him commit his cause to the legate, marry again, follow up the trial, and then let a public application be made for a legate to be sent from the consistory. if the queen was cited first, she would put in no answer, save to protest against the place and judges. the imperialists would demand a prohibition, and then the king could not marry, or, if he did, the offspring would be illegitimate. they would also demand a commission for the cause to be heard at rome, which the pope would be unable to refuse. but the king being actually married again, they could not ask for a prohibition. they could only ask that the cause should be re-examined at rome, when the pope would give sentence and a judgment could be passed which would satisfy the whole world.[31] this was the pope's own advice, but he did not wish it to be known that it had come from himself. casalis might select the legate to england after the first steps had been taken. campeggio he thought the fittest, being already an english bishop.[32] at any rate, the pope bade casalis say he would do his best to satisfy the king, though he knew that the emperor would never forgive him. it is not certain what would have followed had henry acted on the pope's suggestion. the judgment which clement promised might have been in his favour. clement evidently wished him to think that it would. but he might, after all, have found himself required to take catherine back. either alternative was possible. at any rate he did not mean, if he could help it, to have recourse to violent methods. charles himself, though he intended to prevent, if he could, a legal decision against his aunt, had hinted at the possibility and even desirableness of a private arrangement, if catherine would agree. catherine, unfortunately, would agree to nothing, but stood resolutely upon her rights, and charles was forced to stand by her. henry was equally obstinate, and the pope was between the rock and the whirlpool. the pope had promised, however, and had promised with apparent sincerity. the papal states remaining occupied by the imperial troops, henry carried out his own part of the engagement by joining france in a declaration of war against the emperor. toison d'or and clarencieulx appeared before charles at burgos on the 22nd of january, charles sitting on his throne to receive their defiance. toison d'or said that the emperor had opened christendom to the turks, had imprisoned the pope, had allowed his armies to sack rome and plunder churches and monasteries, had insulted the holy relics, slain or robbed princes of the church, cardinals, patriarchs, archbishops, outraged nunneries and convents, had encouraged lutheran heretics in committing these atrocities, &c. for these reasons france declared open war with the emperor. the english herald--he was accused afterwards of having exceeded his instructions--was almost as peremptory. henry, in earlier times, had lent charles large sums of money, which had not been repaid. clarencieulx said that, unless the pope was released and the debt settled, the king of england must make common cause with his brother of france. six weeks' interval was allowed for the emperor to consider his answer before hostilities on the side of england should commence. the emperor replied with calmness and dignity. war with france was inevitable. as to england, he felt like cicero, when doubting whether he should quarrel with cæsar, that it was inconvenient to be in debt to an enemy. if england attacked him he said he would defend himself, but he declined to accept the defiance. mendoza was not recalled from london. at the end of the six weeks the situation was prolonged by successive truces till the peace of cambray. but henry had kept his word to the pope. england appeared by the side of france in the lists as the armed champion of the papacy, and the pope was expected to fulfil his promises without disguise or subterfuge. clement's method of proceeding with the divorce was rejected. the dispensation and commission which had been amended with a view to it were rejected also as worthless. dr. fox and stephen gardiner were despatched to orvieto with fuller powers and with a message peremptory and even menacing. they were again to impress on the pope the danger of a disputed succession. they were to hint that, if relief was refused in deference to the emperor, england might decline from obedience to the holy see. the pope must, therefore, pass the commission and the dispensation in the form in which it had been sent from england. if he objected that it was unusual, they were to announce that the cause was of great moment. the king would not be defrauded of his expectation through fear of the emperor. if he could not obtain justice from the pope, he would be compelled to seek it elsewhere.[33] the language of these instructions shows that the king and wolsey understood the proteus that they were dealing with, and the necessity of binding his hands if he was not to slip from them. it was not now the fountain of justice, the august head of christendom, that they were addressing, but a shifty old man, clad by circumstances with the robe of authority, but whose will was the will of the power which happened to be strongest in italy. it was not tolerable that the emperor should dictate on a question which touched the vital interests of an independent kingdom. spanish diplomatists had afterwards to excuse and explain away clement's concessions on the ground that they were signed when he was angry at his imprisonment, had been extorted by threats, and were therefore of no validity. he struggled hard to avoid committing himself. the unwelcome documents were recast into various forms. the dispensation was not signed after all, but in the place of it other briefs were signed of even graver importance. the pope yielded to the demand to send a second legate to try the cause with wolsey in england, where it was assumed as a matter of course that judgment would be given for the king. the legate chosen was campeggio, who was himself, as was said, an english bishop. the pope also did express in writing his own opinion on the cause as favourable to the king's plea. what passed at orvieto was thus afterwards compendiously related by henry in a published statement of his case. "on his first scruple the king sent to the bishop of rome, as christ's vicar, who had the keys of knowledge, to dissolve his doubts. the said bishop refused to take any knowledge of it and desired the king to apply for a commission to be sent into the realm, authorised to determine the cause, thus pretending that it might no wise be entreated at rome, but only within the king's own realm. he delegated his whole powers to campeggio and wolsey, giving them also a special commission in form of a decretal, wherein he declared the king's marriage null and empowered him to marry again. in the open commission also he gave them full authority to give sentence for the king. secretly he gave them instructions to burn the commission decretal and not proceed upon it; (but) at the time of sending the commission he also sent the king a brief, written in his own hand, admitting the justice of his cause and promising _sanctissime sub verbo pontificis_ that he would never advocate it to rome."[34] engagements which he intended to keep or break according to the turns of the war between francis and charles did not press very heavily perhaps on clement's conscience, but they were not extorted from him without many agonies. "he has granted the commission," casalis wrote. "he is not unwilling to please the king and wolsey, but fears the spaniards more than ever he did. the friar-general has forbidden him in the emperor's name to grant the king's request. he fears for his life from the imperialists if the emperor knows of it. before he would grant the brief he said, weeping, that it would be his utter ruin. the venetians and florentines desired his destruction. his sole hope of life was from the emperor. he asked me to swear whether the king would desert him or not. satisfied on this point, he granted the brief, saying that he placed himself in the king's arms, as he would be drawn into perpetual war with the emperor. wolsey might dispose of him and the papacy as if he were pope himself."[35] the emperor had insisted, at catherine's desire, that the cause should not be heard in england. the pope had agreed that it should be heard in england. consent had been wrung from him, but his consent had been given, and campeggio was to go and make the best of it. his open commission was as ample as words could make it. he and wolsey were to hear the cause and decide it. the secret "decretal" which he had wept over while he signed it declared, before the cause was heard, the sentence which was to be given, and he had pledged his solemn word not to revoke the hearing to rome. all that clement could do was to instruct the legate before he started to waste time on his way, and, on his arrival in england, to use his skill to "accommodate matters," and to persuade the queen--if he found her persuadeable--to save him from his embarrassments by taking the veil. this was a course which charles himself in his private mind would have recommended, but was too honourable to advise it. the fatal decretal was to be seen only by a very few persons, and then, as henry said, campeggio was to burn it. he was instructed also to pass no sentence without first referring back to rome, and, if driven to extremity, was to find an excuse for postponing a decision; very natural conduct on the part of a weak, frightened mortal--conduct not unlike that of his predecessor, alexander iii., in the quarrel between becket and henry ii.--but in both cases purely human, not such as might have been looked for in a divinely guided vicar of christ. chapter iv. anne boleyn--letters to her from the king--the convent at wilton--the divorce--the pope's promises--arrival of campeggio in england--reception at the bridewell palace--proposal to catherine to take the veil--her refusal--uncertainty of the succession--a singular expedient--alarms of wolsey--the true issue--speech of the king in the city--threats of the emperor--defects in the bull of pope julius--alleged discovery of a brief supplying them--distress of clement. the marriage with anne boleyn was now a fixed idea in henry's mind. he had become passionately attached to her, though not perhaps she to him. the evidence of his feeling remains in a series of letters to her--how preserved for public inspection no one knows. some of them were said to have been stolen by campeggio. perhaps they were sold to him; at any rate, they survive. a critic in the "edinburgh review" described them as such as "might have been written by a pot-boy to his girl." the pot-boy must have been a singular specimen of his kind. one, at any rate, remains to show that, though henry was in love, he did not allow his love to blind him to his duty as a prince. the lady, though obliged to wait for the full gratification of her ambition, had been using her influence to advance her friends, while wolsey brought upon himself the rebuke of his master by insufficient care in the distribution of church patronage. the correspondence throws an unexpected light upon the king's character. the abbess of wilton had died. the situation was a pleasant one. among the sisters who aspired to the vacant office was a certain eleanor carey, a near connection of anne, and a favourite with her. the appointment rested virtually with the crown. the lady anne spoke to the king. the king deputed wolsey to inquire into the fitness of the various candidates, with a favourable recommendation of eleanor carey's claims. the inquiry was made, and the result gives us a glimpse into the habits of the devout recluses in these sacred institutions.[36] "as for the matter of wilton," wrote henry to anne, "my lord cardinal here had the nuns before him, and examined them in the presence of master bell, who assures me that she whom we would have had abbess has confessed herself to have had two children by two different priests, and has since been kept not long ago by a servant of lord broke that was. wherefore i would not for all the gold in the world clog your conscience nor mine, to make her ruler of a house which is of so ungodly demeanour, nor i trust you would not that, neither for brother nor sister,[37] i should so distain mine honour or conscience. and as touching the prioress [isabella jordan] or dame eleanor's elder sister, though there is not any evident cause proved against them, and the prioress is so old that of many years she could not be as she was named, yet notwithstanding, to do you pleasure i have done that neither of them shall have it, but that some other good and well-disposed woman shall have it, whereby the house shall be better reformed, whereof i assure you it hath much need, and god much the better served." this letter is followed by another to the cardinal. wolsey, in whose hands the king had left the matter, in a second letter which is lost, instead of looking out for the "good and well-disposed woman," though isabella jordan's reputation was doubtful, yet chose to appoint her, and the king's observations upon this action of his are worth attending to, as addressed by such a person as henry is supposed to have been to a cardinal archbishop and legate of the holy see. many of the letters signed by the king were the composition of his ministers and secretaries. this to wolsey was his own. "the great affection and love i bear you, causeth me, using the doctrine of my master, _quem diligo castigo_, thus plainly as now ensueth to break to you my mind, ensuring you that neither sinister report, affection to my own pleasure, interest, nor mediation of any other body beareth part in this case, wherefore whatsoever i do say, i pray you think it spoken of no displeasure, but of him that would you as much good both of body and soul as you would yourself. "methinks it is not the right train of a trusty loving friend and servant when the matter is put by the master's consent into his arbitre and judgement--especially in a matter wherein his master hath both royalty and interest, to elect and choose a person who was by him defended. and yet another thing which displeaseth me more. that is to cloke your offence made by ignorance of my pleasure, saying that you expressly knew not my determinate mind in that behalf. alas, my lord, what can be more evident or plainer than these words, specially to a wise man--'his grace careth not who, but referreth it all to you, so that none of those who either be or have been spotted with incontinence, like as by report the prioress hath been in her youth, have it;' and also in another place in the letter, 'and therefore his highness thinketh her not meet for that purpose;' thirdly, in another place in the same letter by these words, 'and though his grace speaketh not of it so openly, yet meseemeth his pleasure is that in no wise the prioress have it, nor yet dame eleanor's eldest sister, for many considerations the which your grace can and will best consider.' "ah, my lord, it is a double offence both to do ill and to colour it too; but with men that have wit it cannot be accepted so. wherefore, good my lord, use no more that way with me, for there is no man living that more hateth it. these things having been thus committed, either i must have reserved them _in pectore_, whereby more displeasure might happen to breed, or else thus soundly and plainly to declare them to you, because i do think that _cum amico et familiari sincere semper est agendum_, and especially the master to his best beloved servant and friend, for in so doing the one shall be more circumspect in his doing, the other shall declare and show the lothness that is in him to have any occasion to be displeased with him. "and as touching the redress of religion [convent discipline], if it be observed and continued, undoubtedly it is a gracious act. notwithstanding, if all reports be true, _ab imbecillis imbecilla expectantur_. how be it, mr. bell hath informed me that the prioress's age, personage and manner, _præ se fert gravitatem_. i pray god it be so indeed, seeing she is preferred to that room. i understand furthermore, which is greatly to my comfort, that you have ordered yourself to godward as religiously and virtuously as any prelate or father of christ's church can do, where in so doing and persevering there can be nothing more acceptable to god, more honour to yourself, nor more desired of your friends, among the which i reckon myself not the least.... "i pray you, my lord, think it not that it is upon any displeasure that i write this unto you. for surely it is for my discharge before god, being in the room that i am in, and secondly for the great zeal i bear unto you, not undeserved in your behalf. wherefore i pray you take it so; and i assure you, your fault acknowledged, there shall remain in me no spark of displeasure, trusting hereafter you shall recompense that with a thing much more acceptable to me. and thus fare you well; advertising you that, thanked be god, i and all my folk be, and have been since we came to ampthill, which was on saturday last, july 11, in marvellous good health and clearness of air. "written with the hand of him that is, and shall be your loving sovereign lord and friend,--henry r."[38] campeggio meanwhile was loitering on his way as he had been directed, pretending illness, pretending difficulties of the road. in sending him at all the pope had broken his promise to charles. he engaged, however, that no sentence should be given which had not been submitted first to charles's approval. the emperor, anxious to avoid a complete rupture with england, let the legate go forward, but he directed mendoza to inform wolsey that he must defend his aunt's honour; her cause was his and he would hold it as such.[39] wolsey, though afraid of the consequence of opposing the divorce to himself and the church, yet at heart had ceased to desire it. mendoza reported that english opinion was still unfavourable, and that he did not believe that the commission would have any result. the pope would interpose delays. wolsey would allow and recognise them. both legates would agree privately to keep the matter in suspense. the english cardinal appeared to be against the queen, but every one knew that secretly he was now on her side.[40] catherine only was seriously frightened. she had doubtless been informed of the secret decretal by which the pope appeared to have prejudged her cause. she supposed that the pope meant it, and did not understand how lightly such engagements sate upon him. the same clement, when benvenuto cellini reproached him for breaking his word, replied, smiling, that the pope had power to bind and to loose. catherine came before long to know him better and to understand the bearings of this singular privilege; but as yet she thought that words meant what they seemed to say. when she heard that campeggio was actually coming, she wrote passionately to the emperor, flinging herself upon him for protection. charles calmed her alarm. she was not, he said, to be condemned without a hearing. the pope had assured him that the legates should determine nothing to her detriment. the case should be decided at rome, as she had desired. campeggio's orders were to advise that it should be dropped. apart from his present infatuation, the king was a good christian and would act as one. if he persisted, she might rely on the pope's protection. she must consent to nothing which would imply the dissolution of her marriage. if the worst came, the king would be made conscious of his duties.[41] in the middle of october the legate arrived. he had been ill in earnest from gout and was still suffering. he had to rest two days in calais before he could face the channel. the passage was wild. a deputation of peers and bishops waited to receive him at dover. respectful demonstrations had been prepared at the towns through which he was to pass, and a state ceremonial was to accompany his entrance into london. but he was, or pretended to be, too sick to allow himself to be seen. he was eight days on the road from the coast, and on reaching his destination he was carried privately in a state barge to the house provided for his residence. wolsey called the next morning. the king was absent, but returned two days later to the bridewell palace. there campeggio waited on him, accompanied by wolsey. the weather continued to frown. "i wish," wrote gerardo molza to the marchioness of mantua, "that you could have seen the two cardinals abreast, one on his mule, the other carried in his chair, the rain falling fast so that we were all drenched." the king, simple man, believed that the documents which he held secured him. the pope in sending the legate had acted in the teeth of the emperor's prohibition, and no one guessed how the affair had been soothed down. the farce was well played, and the language used was what henry expected. messer floriano, one of campeggio's suit, made a grand oration, setting out the storming of rome, the perils of the church, and the misery of italy, with moving eloquence. the crowd was so dense in the hall of audience that some of the italians lost their shoes, and had to step back barefoot to their lodgings through the wet streets. the legate was exhausted by the exertion, but he was not allowed to rest, and the serious part of the business began at once behind the scenes. he had hoped, as the emperor said, that the case might be dropped. he found henry immoveable. "an angel from heaven," he wrote on the 17th of october,[42] "would not be able to persuade the king that his marriage was not invalid. the matter had come to such a pass that it could no longer be borne with. the cardinal of york and the whole kingdom insisted that the question must be settled in some way." one road out of the difficulty alone presented itself. the emperor had insisted that the marriage should not be dissolved by catherine's consent, objecting reasonably that a judgment invalidating it would shake other royal marriages besides hers. but no such judgment would be necessary if catherine could be induced to enter "lax religion," to take vows of chastity which, at her age and under her conditions of health, would be a mere form. the pope could then allow henry to take another wife without offence to any one. the legitimacy of the princess would not be touched, and the king undertook that the succession should be settled upon her if he had no male heir. the queen in consenting would lose nothing, for the king had for two years lived apart from her, and would never return to cohabitation. the emperor would be delivered from an obligation infinitely inconvenient to him, and his own honour and the honour of spain would be equally untouched. these arguments were laid before the queen by both the legates, and urged with all their eloquence. in the interests of the realm, in the interests of europe, in the interests of the church, in her own and her daughter's interest as well, it would have been wiser if she had complied. perhaps she would have complied had the king's plea been confined, as at first, to the political exigencies of the succession. but the open and premature choice of the lady who was to take her place was an indignity not to be borne. she had the pride of her race. her obstinacy was a match for her husband's. she was shaken for a moment by the impassioned entreaties of campeggio, and she did not at once absolutely refuse. the legate postponed the opening of his court. he referred to rome for further instructions, complaining of the responsibility which was thrown upon him. being on the spot he was able to measure the danger of disappointing the king after the secret commission, the secret decretal, and the pope's private letter telling henry that he was right. campeggio wrote to salviati, after his first interview with catherine, that he did not yet despair. something might be done if the emperor would advise her to comply. he asked fisher to help him, and fisher seemed not wholly unwilling; but, after a few days' reflection, catherine told him that before she would consent she would be torn limb from limb; she would have an authoritative sentence from the pope, and would accept nothing else; nothing should make her alter her opinion, and if after death she could return to life, she would die over again rather than change it.[43] wolsey was in equal anxiety. he had set the stone rolling, but he could not stop it. if clement failed the king now, after all that he had promised, he might not only bring ruin on wolsey himself, but might bring on the overthrow of the temporal power of the church of england. catherine was personally popular; but in the middle classes of the laity, among the peers and gentlemen of england, the exactions of the church courts, the pope's agents and collectors, the despotic tyranny of the bishops, had created a resentment the extent of which none knew better than he. the entire gigantic system of clerical dominion, of which wolsey was himself the pillar and representative, was tottering to its fall. if the king was driven to bay, the favour of a good-natured people for a suffering woman would be a poor shelter either for the church or for him. campeggio turned to wolsey for advice on catherine's final refusal. the pope, he said, had hoped that wolsey would advise the king to yield. wolsey had advised. he told cavendish that he had gone on his knees to the king, but he could only say to campeggio that "the king--fortified and justified by reasons, writings, and counsels of many learned men who feared god--would never yield." if he was to find that the pope had been playing with him, and the succession was to be left undetermined, "the church would be ruined and the realm would be in infinite peril." how great, how real, was the dread of a disputed succession, appears from an extraordinary expedient which had suggested itself to campeggio himself, and which he declares that some perplexed politicians had seriously contemplated. "they have thought," he wrote on the 28th of october, "of marrying the princess mary to the king's natural son [the duke of richmond] if it could be done by dispensation from his holiness." the legate said that at first he had himself thought of this as a means of establishing the succession; but he did not believe it would satisfy the king's desire.[44] if anything could be more astonishing than a proposal for the marriage of a brother and sister, it was the reception which the suggestion met with at rome. the pope's secretary replied that "with regard to the dispensation for marrying the son to the daughter of the king, if on the succession being so established the king would abandon the divorce, the pope would be much more inclined to grant it."[45] clement's estimate of the extent of the dispensing power was large. but the situation was desperate. he had entangled himself in the meshes. he had promised what he had no intention of performing. he was finding that he had been trifling with a lion, and that the lion was beginning to rouse himself. again and again wolsey urged the dangers upon him. he wrote on the 1st of november to casalis that "the king's honour was touched, having been so great a benefactor to the holy see. the pope would alienate all faith and devotion to the apostolic see. the sparks of opposition which had been extinguished with such care and vigilance would blaze out to the utmost anger of all, both in england and elsewhere."[46] clement and his cardinals heard, but imperfectly believed. "he tells us," wrote sanga, "that if the divorce is not granted the authority of the apostolic see in england will be annihilated; he is eager to save it because his own greatness is bound up with ours." the curia was incredulous, and thought that wolsey was only alarmed for himself. wolsey, however, was right. although opinions might have varied on the merits of the king's request, people were beginning to ask what value as a supreme judge a pope could have, who could not decide on a point of canon law. the excitement was growing. certain knowledge of what was going on was confined to the few who had access to the secret correspondence, and they knew only what was meant for their own eyes. all parties, english and imperial alike, distrusted the pope. he had impartially lied to both, and could be depended on by neither, except so far as they could influence his fears. catherine was still the favourite with the london citizens. she had been seen accidentally in a gallery of the palace, and had been enthusiastically cheered. the king found it necessary to explain himself. on the 8th of november he summoned the lord mayor and aldermen, the privy council, and a body of peers, and laid the situation before them from his own point of view. he spoke of his long friendship with the emperor, and of his hope that it would not be broken, and again of his alliance with france, and of his desire to be at peace with all the world. "he had wished," he said, "to attach france more closely to him by marrying his daughter to a french prince, and the french ambassador, in considering the proposal, had raised the question of her legitimacy. his own mind had long misgiven him on the lawfulness of his marriage. m. de tarbes' words had added to his uneasiness. the succession to the crown was uncertain; he had consulted his bishops and lawyers, and they had assured him that he had been living in mortal sin.... he meant only to do what was right, and he warned his subjects to be careful of forming hasty judgments on their prince's actions." apart from the present question the king was extremely popular, and reports arriving from spain touched the national pride. there was a talk of calling parliament. mendoza and catherine again urged charles to speak plainly. the pope must inhibit parliament from interfering. the nuncio in london would present the order, and parliament, they thought, would submit.[47] they were mistaking the national temper. mendoza's letters had persuaded the spanish council that the whole of england was in opposition to the king. the spanish chancellor had said publicly that if the cause was proceeded with there would be war, and "the king would be dethroned by his own subjects." the words were reported to wolsey, and were confirmed by an english agent, sylvester darius, who had been sent to valladolid on business connected with the truce.[48] darius had spoken to the chancellor on the probability of england taking active part with france. "why do you talk of the king of england?" the chancellor had answered; "if we wished, we could expel him from his kingdom in three months. what force had the king? his own subjects would expel him. he knew how matters were."[49] it was one thing for a free people to hold independent opinions on the arrangements of their own royal family. it was another to be threatened with civil war at the instigation of a foreign sovereign. wolsey quoted the dangerous language at a public meeting in london; and a voice answered, "the emperor has lost the hearts of a hundred thousand englishmen."[50] a fresh firebrand was thrown into the flames immediately after. the national pride was touched on a side where it was already sensitive from interest. there were 15,000 flemish artisans in london. english workmen had been jealous of their skill, and had long looked askance at them. the cry rose that they had an army of traitors in their midst who must be instantly expelled. the flemings' houses were searched for arms, and watched by a guard, and the working city population, traders, shopkeepers, mechanics, apprentices, came over to the king's side, and remained there. meantime the cause itself hung fire. a new feature had been introduced to enable campeggio to decline to proceed and the pope to withdraw decently from his promises. the original bull of pope julius permitting the marriage had been found to contain irregularities of form which were supposed fatal to it. the validity of the objection was not denied, but was met by the production of a brief alleged to have been found in spain, and bearing the same date with the bull, which exactly met that objection. no trace of such a brief could be found in the vatican register. it had informalities of its own, and its genuineness was justly suspected, but it answered the purpose of a new circumstance. a copy only was sent to england, which was shown by catherine in triumph to henry, but the original was detained. it would be sent to rome, but not to london; without it campeggio could pretend inability to move, and meanwhile he could refuse to proceed on his commission. subterfuges which answer for the moment revenge themselves in the end. having been once raised, it was absolutely necessary that a question immediately affecting the succession should be settled in some way, and many of the peers who had been hitherto cool began to back the king's demands. an address was drawn up, having among others the duke of norfolk's signature, telling the pope that the divorce must be conceded, and complaints were sent through casalis against campeggio's dilatoriness. the king, he was to say, would not submit to be deluded. casalis delivered his message, and describes the effect which it produced. "the pope," he wrote, "very angry, laid his hand on my arm and forbade me to proceed, saying there was but too good ground for complaint, and he was deluded by his own councillors. he had granted the decretal only to be shown to the king, and then burnt. wolsey now wished to divulge it. he saw what would follow, and would gladly recall what had been done, even with the loss of one of his fingers." casalis replied that wolsey wished only to show it to a few persons whose secrecy might be depended on. was it not demanded for that purpose? why had the pope changed his mind? the pope, only the more excited, said he saw the bull would be the ruin of him, and he would make no more concessions. casalis prayed him to consider. waving his arms violently, clement said, "i do consider. i consider the ruin which is hanging over me. i repent what i have done. if heresies arise, is it my fault? i will not violate my conscience. let them, if they like, send the legate back, because he will not proceed. they can do as they please, provided they do not make me responsible." did the pope mean, then, casalis asked, that the commission should not proceed? the pope could not say as much as that; he had told campeggio, he said, to dissuade the king and persuade the queen. "what harm could there be," casalis inquired, "in showing the decretal, under oath, to a few of the privy council?" the pope said the decretal ought to have been burnt, and refused to discuss the matter further.[51] chapter v. demands of the imperial agent at rome--the alleged brief--illness of the pope--aspirations of wolsey--the pope recovers--imperial menaces--clement between the anvil and the hammer--appeal of henry to francis--the trial of the cause to proceed--instructions to campeggio--opinion at rome--recall of mendoza--final interview between mendoza and the king. human pity is due to the unfortunate pope--vicar of christ, supreme judge in europe, whose decrees were the inspirations of the holy ghost--spinning like a whipped top under the alternate lashes of the king of england and the emperor. he had hoped that his decretal would not be known. it could not be concealed from mendoza, who discovered, putting the worst interpretation upon it, "that the pope and king had been endeavouring to intimidate the queen into retiring into a convent." finding that he, too, could put no faith in clement, the emperor's representative at rome now forced a new promise from him. the proceedings in england were not to be opened without a fresh direct order from the pope, and this the pope was to be forbidden to give. if the king was obstinate and the queen demanded it, campeggio was to leave england, and, notwithstanding his engagements to the contrary, clement was to advocate the cause to rome. the new brief was sufficient plea. without it the legates could come to no conclusion, "the whole right of the queen being based upon its contents." the emperor had it in his hands, and by refusing to allow it to be examined, except at rome, might prevent them from moving. there was little doubt that the brief had been forged for the occasion. the pope having sent a commission to england, the king considered that he had a right to the production of documents essential to the case. he required catherine to write to charles to ask for it. catherine did as he desired, and the messenger who carried her letter to the spanish court was sworn to carry no private or separate missive from her. mendoza dared not write by the same hand himself, lest his despatches should be examined. he made the messenger, therefore, learn a few words by heart, telling the emperor that the queen's letter was not to be attended to. "we thought," he said, "that the man's oath was thus saved."[52] thus time drifted on. the new year came, and no progress had been made, though campeggio had been three months in england. the pope, more helpless than dishonest, continued to assure the king that he would do all that by law could be required of him, and as much as he could do _ex plenitudine potestatis_. no peril should prevent him. "if the king thought his resigning the papacy would conduce to his purpose, he could be content, for the love he bore his highness, rather than fail to do the same." if the pope was so well disposed, the king could not see where the difficulty lay. the queen had refused his entreaty that she should enter religion. why should not the pope, then, allow the decretal to be put in execution? but cardinal salviati informed casalis that a sentence given in virtue of the decretal would have no effect, but would only cause the pope's deposition.[53] visibly and unpleasantly it became now apparent to henry to what issues the struggle was tending. he had not expected it. wolsey had told him that the pope would yield; and the pope had promised what was asked; but his promises were turning to vapour. wolsey had said that the emperor could not afford to quarrel with him. the king found that war with the emperor in earnest was likely enough unless he himself drew back, and draw back he would not. the poor pope was as anxious as henry. he had spoken of resigning. he was near being spared the trouble. harassed beyond his strength, he fell ill, and was expected to die; and before wolsey there was now apparently the strange alternative either of utter disgrace or of himself ascending the chair of st. peter as clement's successor. his election, perhaps, was really among the chances of the situation. the cardinals had not forgiven the sack of rome. a french or english candidate had a fair prospect of success, and wolsey could command the french interest. he had boundless money, and money in the sacred college was only not omnipotent. he undertook, if he was chosen, to resign his enormous english preferments and reside at rome, and the vacancy of his three bishoprics and his abbey would pour a cataract of gold into the cardinals' purses. the bulls for english bishoprics had to be paid for on a scale which startled wolsey himself. already archbishop of york, bishop of winchester, and abbot of st. albans, he had just been presented to durham. he had paid 8,000 ducats to "expedite" his bulls for winchester. the cardinals demanded 13,000 ducats for durham. the ducat was worth five shillings, and five shillings in 1528 were worth fifty shillings of modern money. at such a rate were english preferments bled to support the college of cardinals; and if all these great benefices were again vacated there would be a fine harvest to be gathered. for a week or two the splendid vision suspended even the agitation over the divorce; but the pope revived, and the legates and he had to resume their ungrateful burden. it was still really uncertain what clement would do. weak, impulsive men often leave their course to fate or chance to decide for them. casalis, when he was able to attend to business again, told him in wolsey's name that he must take warning from his late danger. "by the wilfully suffering a thing of such high importance to be unreformed to the doing whereof almighty god worked so openly he would incur god's displeasure and peril his soul." the imperialists were as anxious as wolsey, and equally distrustful. in the sacred college english gold was an influence not to be despised, and henry had more to give than charles. micer mai, the imperial agent at rome, found, as the spring came on, that the italian cardinals were growing cold. salviati insisted to him that catherine must go into a convent. casalis denounced the new brief as a forgery, and the sacred college seemed to be of the same opinion. the fiery mai complained in the pope's presence of the scant courtesy which the ministers of the emperor were meeting with, while the insolent and overbearing were regaled like the prodigal son.[54] the pope assured him that, come what might, he would never authorise the divorce; but mai only partially believed him. at trying moments mai was even inclining to take the same view of the papacy as lope de soria. "at other times," he said, "many things could be got out of the pope by sheer intimidation; but now that could not be tried, for he would fall into despair, and the imperialists would lose him altogether. they owed him something for what he had done for them before, otherwise he would be of opinion that it would be for god's service to reduce them to their spiritual powers."[55] occasionally mai's temper broke through, and he used language worth observing. one of the cardinals had spoken slightingly of the emperor. "i did not call on his holiness," he wrote to charles, "but sent him a message, adding that, if ever it came to my notice that the same cardinal, or any member of the college, had dared to speak in such an indecent manner of the emperor, i took my most solemn oath that i would have him beheaded or burnt alive within his own apartment. i had this time refrained out of respect for his holiness; but should the insult be repeated i would not hesitate. they might do as they would with their bulls and other rogueries--grant or refuse them as they liked; but they were not to speak evil of princes, or make themselves judges in the affairs of kingdoms."[56] this remarkable message was conveyed to the pope, who seemed rather pleased than otherwise. mai, however, observed that the revolt of the lutherans was not to be wondered at, and in what they said of rome he considered that they were entirely right, except on points of faith.[57] cardinals had been roughly handled in the sack of the holy city at but a year's distance. the possibility was extremely real. the imperial minister, it appeared, could still command the services of the spanish garrisons in the papal territories if severity was needed, and the members of the sacred college had good reason to be uneasy; but king henry might reasonably object to the trial of his cause in a country where the assessors of the supreme judge were liable to summary execution if they were insubordinate. that charles could allow his representative to write in such terms to him proves that he and mai, and henry himself, were in tolerable agreement on church questions. the pope knew it; one of his chief fears was that the emperor, france, england, and the german princes, might come to an understanding to his own disadvantage. perhaps it might have been so had not the divorce kept henry and charles apart. campeggio wrote to sanga on the 3rd of april that certain advances had been made by the lutherans to henry, in which they promised to relinquish all heresies on articles of faith, and to believe according to divine law if he and the king of france would reduce the ecclesiastical state to the condition of the primitive church, taking from it all its temporalities. he had told the king this was the devil dressed in angel's clothing, a mere design against the property of the church; and that it had been ruled by councils and theologians that it was right for the church to hold temporal property. the king said those rules had been made by churchmen themselves, and now the laity must interfere. he said also that churchmen were said to be leading wicked lives, especially about the court of rome.[58] growled at on both sides, in terror for himself, in terror for the church, the pope drifted on, hoping for some accident to save him which never came, and wishing perhaps that his illness had made an end of him. the emperor complained of campeggio as partial to the king because he held an english bishopric. "if the pope leaves the succession undetermined," insisted wolsey, on the other side, "no prince would tolerate such an injury." "nothing was done," wrote the pope's secretary to campeggio, "and nothing would be done. the pope was in great trouble between the english and imperial ambassadors. he wished to please the king, but the king and cardinal must not expect him to move till they had forced the venetians to restore the papal territories." stephen gardiner, who knew clement well and watched him from day to day, said: "he was a man who never resolved anything unless compelled by some violent affection. he was in great perplexity, and seemed willing to gratify the king if he could, but when it came to the point did nothing. he would be glad if the king's cause could be determined in england by the legates; and if the emperor made any suit against what should be done there, they would serve him as they now served the king, and put off the time." so matters would go on, "unless campeggio would frankly promise to give sentence in the king's favour; otherwise such delays would be found as the counterfeit brief had caused."[59] sir francis bryan, who was also at the papal court, wrote to the king that the pope would do nothing for him, and whoever had told the king that he would, had not done him the best service. "he was very sorry to write thus, but the king must not be fed with their flattering words."[60] to wait longer on the pope's action was now seen in england to be useless. the pope dared not offend the emperor further, and the emperor had interposed to prohibit future action. clement had himself several times suggested that the best way was to decide the case first in england in the legate's court, and leave catherine to appeal; he had promised charles that no judgment should be given in england by the legates; but he had worn so double a face that no one could say which truly belonged to him. gardiner and bryan were recalled. the king, finding the pope's ingratitude, "resolved to dissemble with him, and proceed on the commission granted to wolsey and campeggio."[61] the cardinal of york encouraged his brother legate by assuring him that if the marriage was now dissolved means would be found to satisfy the emperor. catherine would be left with her state undiminished, would have anything that she desired "except the person of the king." the emperor's natural daughter might be married to the duke of richmond, and all would be well.[62] so wolsey wrote, but his mind was less easy than he pretended. unless henry was supported actively by the french, he knew that the pope would fail him in the end; and francis had been disappointed in the hope that henry would stand actively by him in the war. without effectual help from that quarter, wolsey saw that he was himself undone. the french ambassador represented to his court that wolsey was sincerely attached to the french alliance, that the king had only been induced to enterprise the affair by the assurance which the cardinal had always given that he had nothing to fear from the emperor; wolsey had advanced the divorce as a "_means to break off for ever the alliance with the emperor_"; and francis, by now declaring himself, would confer a very great favour on the king, and would oblige wolsey as much as if he had made him pope.[63] his master was not only now concerned for the discharge of his conscience and his desire to have issue, but the very safety and independence of england was at stake. he could not have it said that he left the succession to the throne uncleared for the threats of his enemy.[64] the duke of suffolk was despatched to paris to bring francis to the point. francis professed the warmest good-will to his brother of england. he undertook to advise the pope. he assured suffolk that if the emperor attempted force henry would find him at his side; but further he would not pledge himself. the time was past for a wolsey patriarchate, and francis, curiously enough, expressed doubts whether wolsey was not after all betraying henry. "there are some," he said, "which the king my brother doth trust in that matter that would it should never take effect. campeggio told me he did not think the divorce would be brought about, but should be dissembled well enough. when the cardinal of england was with me, as far as i could perceive, he desired the divorce might take place, for he loved not the queen; but i advise my brother not to trust any man too much, and to look to his own matters. the cardinal has great intelligence with the pope, and campeggio and they are not inclined to it."[65] things could not go on thus for ever. there would have been an excuse for clement, if with a consciousness of his high office he had refused to anticipate a judgment till the case had been heard and considered. but from the first the right or wrong of the cause itself had been disregarded as of no moment. nothing had been thought of but the alternate dangers to be anticipated from the king or the emperor. had the french driven the imperialists out of italy, the divorce would have been granted without further question. the supreme tribunal in christendom was transparently influenced by no motive save interest or fear. clement, in fact, had anticipated judgment, though he dared not avow it. he had appointed a commission, and by the secret decretal had ruled what the decision was to be. the decretal could not be produced, but, with or without it, the king insisted that the court should sit. campeggio had been sent to try the cause, and try it he should. notice was given that the suit was to be heard at the end of june. wolsey perhaps had chosen a date not far from the close of term, that the vacation might suspend the process, and give time for further delay. since a trial of some kind could not be avoided, final instructions were sent from rome to campeggio. "if," wrote sanga to him, "the pope was not certain that he remembered the injunctions which he gave him by word of mouth, and which had been written to him many times, he would be very anxious. his holiness had always desired that the cause should be protracted in order to find some means by which he could satisfy the king without proceeding to sentence. the citation of the cause to rome, which he had so often insisted on, had been deferred, not because it was doubted whether the matter could be treated with less scandal at rome than there, but because his holiness had ever shrunk from a step which would offend the king. but, since campeggio had not been able to prevent the commencement of the proceedings, his holiness warned him that the process must be slow, and that no sentence must in any manner be pronounced. he would not lack a thousand means and pretexts, if on no other point, at least upon the brief which had been produced."[66] according to casalis the view taken of the general situation at rome was this. "the pope would not declare openly for the emperor till he saw how matters went. he thought the emperor would come to italy, and if there was a war would be victorious, so that it would be for his holiness's advantage to obtain his friendship beforehand. if peace was made the emperor would dictate terms, and more was to be hoped from his help than from the french king. the emperor was the enemy of the allies, and sought to recover the honour which he lost by the sack of rome by making himself protector of the pope."[67] wolsey's dream was over, and with it the dreams of lope de soria and micer mai. the fine project to unite france and england in defence of the papacy was proving baseless as the sand on which it was built. henry viii. was to lead the reform of the church in england. charles, instead of beheading cardinals, was to become the champion of the roman hierarchy. the air was clearing. the parties in the great game were drifting into their natural situations. the fate which lay before wolsey himself, the fate which lay before the church of england, of the worst corruptions of which he was himself the chief protector and example, his own conscience enabled him too surely to foresee. mendoza was recalled, and before leaving had an interview with the king. "the emperor," he said, "was obliged to defend his aunt. it was a private affair, which touched the honour of his family." the king answered that the emperor had no right to interfere. he did not meddle himself with the private affairs of other princes. mendoza was unable to guess what was likely to happen. the suit was to go on. if a prohibitory mandate arrived from the pope, it was uncertain whether wolsey would obey it, and it was doubtful also whether any such mandate would be sent. he suspected clement of possible deliberate treachery. he believed that orders had been sent to the legate to proceed, and give sentence in virtue of the first commission. in that case the sentence would certainly be against the queen, and not a moment must be lost in pressing an appeal to rome.[68] chapter vi. the court at blackfriars--the point at issue--the pope's competency as judge--catherine appeals to rome--imperial pressure upon clement--the emperor insists on the pope's admission of the appeal--henry demands sentence--interference of bishop fisher--the legates refuse to give judgment--the court broken up--peace of cambray. the great scene in the hall at the blackfriars when the cause of henry viii. and catherine of aragon was pleaded before wolsey and campeggio is too well known to require further description. to the legates it was a splendid farce. they knew that it was to end in nothing. the world outside, even the parties chiefly concerned, were uncertain what the pope intended, and waited for the event to determine their subsequent conduct. there was more at issue than the immediate question before the court. the point really at stake was, whether the interests of the english nation could be trusted any longer to a judge who was degrading his office by allowing himself to be influenced by personal fears and interests; who, when called on to permit sentence to be delivered, by delegates whom he had himself appointed, yet confessed himself unable, or unwilling, to decide whether it should be delivered or not. abstractly henry's demand was right. a marriage with a brother's wife was not lawful, and no papal dispensation could make it so; but long custom had sanctioned what in itself was forbidden. the pope could plead the undisputed usage of centuries, and if when the case was first submitted to him he had unequivocally answered that a marriage contracted _bonâ fide_ under his predecessor's sanction could not be broken, english opinion, it is likely, would have sustained him, even at the risk of a disputed succession, and the king himself would have dropped his suit. but the pope, as a weak mortal, had wished to please a powerful sovereign. he had entertained the king's petition; he had hesitated, had professed inability to come to a conclusion, finally had declared that justice was on the king's side, and had promised that it should be so declared. if he now drew back, broke his engagements, and raised new difficulties in the settlement of a doubt which the long discussion of it had made serious; if he allowed it to be seen that his change of purpose was due to the menaces of another secular prince, was such a judge to be any longer tolerated? was not the papacy itself degenerate, and unfit to exercise any longer the authority which it had been allowed to assume? this aspect of the matter was not a farce at all. the papal supremacy itself was on its trial. on the 16th of june the king and queen were cited to appear in court. catherine was unprepared. she had been assured by the emperor that her cause should not be tried in england. she called on campeggio to explain. campeggio answered that the pope, having deputed two legates for the process, could not revoke their commission without grave consideration. he exhorted her to pray god to enlighten her to take some good advice, considering the times. he was not without hope that, at the last extremity, she would yield and take the vows. but she did not in the least accede to his hints, and no one could tell what she meant to do.[69] she soon showed what she meant to do. on the 18th the court sate. henry appeared by a proctor, who said for him that he had scruples about the validity of his marriage, which he required to be resolved. catherine attended in person, rose, and delivered a brief protest against the place of trial and the competency of the judges. wolsey was an english subject, campeggio held an english bishopric. they were not impartial. she demanded to be heard at rome, delivered her protest in writing, and withdrew. it was at once answered for the king that he could not plead in a city where the emperor was master. the court adjourned for three days that the cardinals might consider. on the 21st they sate again. the scene became more august. henry came now himself, and took his place under a canopy at the legates' right hand. catherine attended again, and sate in equal state at their left. henry spoke. he said he believed that he had been in mortal sin. he could bear it no longer, and required judgment. wolsey replied that they would do what was just; and then catherine left her seat, crossed in front of them, and knelt at her husband's feet. she had been his lawful wife, she said, for twenty years, and had not deserved to be repudiated and put to shame. she begged him to remember their daughter, to remember her own relations, charles and ferdinand, who would be gravely offended. crowds of women, gathered about the palace gates, had cheered her as she came in, and bade her care for nothing. if women had to decide the case, said the french ambassador, the queen would win. their voices availed nothing. she was told that her protest could not be admitted. she then left the court, was thrice summoned to come back, and, as she refused, was pronounced contumacious. for the king to appear as a suitor at rome was justly regarded as impossible. casalis was directed to tell clement that, being in the emperor's hands, he could not be accepted as a judge in the case, and that sovereign princes were exempted by prerogative from pleading in courts outside their own dominions. if he admitted the queen's appeal, he would lose the devotion of the king and of england to the see apostolic, and would destroy wolsey for ever.[70] had the legates been in earnest there would have been no time to learn whether the appeal was allowed at rome or not; they would have gone on and given sentence under their commission. it appeared as if this was what they intended to do. the court continued sitting. catherine being contumacious, there was nothing left to delay the conclusion. she was in despair; she believed herself betrayed. mendoza, who might have comforted her, was gone. she wrote to him that she was lost unless the emperor or the pope interposed. even campeggio seemed to be ignorant how he was to avoid a decision. campeggio, the french ambassador wrote, was already half conquered. if francis would send a word to him, he might gather courage to pass sentence, and henry would be brought to his knees in gratitude. the very pope, perhaps, in his heart would not have been displeased if the legates had disobeyed the orders which he had given, and had proceeded to judgment, as he had often desired that they might. micer mai's accounts to charles of the shifts of the poor old man, as the accounts from england reached him, are almost pathetic. pope, cardinals, canon lawyers, mai regarded as equally feeble, if not as equally treacherous. one reads with wonder the spaniard's real estimate of the persons for whose sake and in whose name charles and philip were to paint europe red with blood. "salviati," said mai, "who, though a great rogue, has not wit enough to hide his tricks, showed me the minute of a letter they had written to campeggio: a more stupid or rascally composition could not have been concocted in hell."[71] campeggio was directed in this letter to reveal to no one that he had received orders not to give sentence. he was to go on making delays, which was what "those people desired," because, if he was to say that he would make no declaration in the affair, the archbishop of york would act by himself, the pope's mandate having been originally addressed to the two legates conjointly or to one individually. the letter had gone on to direct campeggio, if he could not manage this, to carry on the proceedings until the final sentence, but not deliver sentence without first consulting rome. if possible, he was to keep this part of his instructions secret, for fear of displeasing the king. "i lost all patience," mai continued. "andrea de burgo and i went to the pope, and told him we had seen the instructions sent to campeggio, which were of such a nature that if we were to inform your majesty of their contents you would undoubtedly resent the manner in which you were being treated. we would not do that, but we would speak our minds plainly. the letter to campeggio was a breach of faith so often pledged by his holiness to your majesty that the divorce suit should be advocated to rome. the violation of such a promise and the writing to campeggio to go on with the proceeding was a greater insult and offence to your majesty than the commission given to him in the first instance. it was a wonder to see how lightly his holiness held promises made in accordance with justice and reason. an offence of such a kind bore so much on the honour of your majesty and the princes of the imperial family, that your majesty would not put up with it. the king would have but to ask campeggio whether he would or would not give sentence, and, if he refused, the duty would then devolve on the other legate. his holiness should be careful how he added fuel to the fire now raging in christendom."[72] it was not enough for mai that the cause should be revoked to rome. the english agents said that if an independent sovereign was to be forced to plead at rome, the pope must at least hear the suit in person. he must not refer it to the rota. mai would not hear of this. to the rota it must go and nowhere else. the pope might mean well, but he might die and be succeeded by a pope of another sort, or the english might regain the influence they once had, and indeed had still, in the papal court. they were great favourites, bribing right and left and spending money freely.[73] what was a miserable pope to do? casalis, and dr. benet who had joined him from england, pointed out the inevitable consequences if he allowed himself to be governed by the emperor. the pope replied with lamentations that none saw that better than he, but he was so placed between the hammer and the anvil, that, though he wished to please the king, the whole storm would fall on him. the emperor would not endure an insult to his family, and had said that he regarded the cause more than all his kingdoms. those were only ornaments of fortune, while this touched his honour. he would postpone the advocation for a few days, but it could not be refused. he was in the emperor's power, and the emperor could do as he pleased with him. the few days' respite meant a hope that news of some decisive act might arrive meanwhile from england. the king must determine, casalis and benet thought, whether it would be better to suspend the process at his own request, or to proceed to sentence before the advocation.[74] the pope, the commissioners added, was well disposed to the king, and would not refuse to shed his blood for him; but in this cause and at this time he said it was impossible. while matters were going thus at rome, the suit in england went forward. the cardinals availed themselves of every excuse for delay; but in the presence of catherine's determined refusal to recognise the court, delay became daily more difficult. the king pressed for judgment; formal obstacles were exhausted, and the roman legate must either produce his last instructions, which he had been ordered not to reveal, or there was nothing left for him to urge as a reason for further hesitation. it was not supposed that in the face of a distinct promise the pope would revoke the commission. campeggio and wolsey were sitting with full powers to hear and determine. determine, it seemed, they must; when, at the fifth session, uncalled on and unlooked for, the bishop of rochester rose and addressed the court. the king, he said, had declared that his only intention was to have justice done, and to relieve himself of a scruple of conscience, and had invited the judges and everyone else to throw light upon a cause which distressed and perplexed him. he [the bishop], having given two years' diligent study to the question, felt himself bound in consequence to declare his opinion, and not risk the damnation of his soul by withholding it. he undertook, therefore, to declare and demonstrate that the marriage of the king and queen could be dissolved by no power, human or divine, and for that conclusion he was ready to lay down his life. the baptist had held it glorious to die in a cause of marriage, when marriage was not so holy as it had been made by the shedding of christ's blood. he was prepared to encounter any peril for the truth, and he ended by presenting his arguments in a written form.[75] the bishop's allusion to the baptist was neither respectful nor felicitous. it implied that henry, who as yet at least had punished no one for speaking freely, was no better than a herod. henry's case was that to marry a brother's wife was not lawful, and the baptist was of the same opinion. the legates answered quietly that the cause had not been committed to fisher, and that it was not for him to pronounce judicially upon it. wolsey complained that the bishop had given him no notice of his intended interference. they continued to examine witnesses as if nothing had happened. but fisher's action was not without effect. he was much respected. the public was divided on the merits of the general question. many still thought the meaning of it to be merely that the king was tired of an old wife and wanted a young one. courage is infectious, and comment grew loud and unfavourable. the popular voice might have been disregarded. but campeggio, who had perhaps really wavered, not knowing what clement wished him to do, gathered heart from fisher's demonstration. "we are hurried on," he wrote to salviati on the 13th of july, "always faster than a trot, so that some expect a sentence in ten days.... i will not fail in my duty or office, nor rashly or willingly give offence to any one. when giving sentence i will have only god before my eyes and the honour of the holy see."[76] a week later du bellay said that things were almost as the king wished, and the end was expected immediately, when campeggio acted on the pope's last verbal instructions at their parting at rome. he was told to go on to the last, but must pause at the final extremity. he obeyed. when nothing was left but to pronounce judgment, he refused to speak it, and said that he must refer back to the holy see. wolsey declined to act without him, and campeggio, when pressed, if we can believe his own account of what he said, answered: "very well, i vote in favour of the marriage and the queen. if my colleague agrees, well and good. if not, there can be no sentence, for we must both agree."[77] wolsey's feelings must be conjectured, for he never revealed them. to the commissioners at rome he wrote: "such discrepancies and contrariety of opinion has ensued here that the cause will be long delayed. in a week the process will have to cease, and two months of vacation ensue. other counsels, therefore, are necessary, and it is important to act as if the advocation was granted. campeggio unites with me to urge the pope, if it must be granted, to qualify the language; for if the king be cited to appear in person or by proxy, and his prerogative be interfered with, none of his subjects will tolerate it; or if he appears in italy it will be at the head of a formidable army.[78] a citation of the king to rome on threat of excommunication is no more tolerable than the whole loss of the king's dignity. if, therefore, the pope has granted any such advocation, it must be revoked. if it arrives here before such a revocation, no mention of it shall be made, not even to the king."[79] this was wolsey's last effort. before his despatch could reach rome the resolution was taken. had it arrived in time, it would have made no difference while micer mai was able to threaten to behead cardinals in their own apartments. the cause was advoked, as it was called--reserved to be heard in the rota. the legates' commission was cancelled. the court at blackfriars was dissolved, as campeggio said, in anger, shame, and disappointment. he had fulfilled his orders not without some alarm for himself as he thought of his bishopric of salisbury. catherine, springing from despondency into triumph, imagined that all was over. the suit, she thought, would be instantly recommenced at rome, and the pope would give judgment in her favour without further form. she was to learn a harsher lesson, and would have consulted better for her happiness if she had yielded to the pope's advice and retired into seclusion. while the legates were sitting in london, another conference was being held at cambray, to arrange conditions of european peace. france and the empire adjusted their quarrels for another interval. the pope and the italian princes were included--england was included also--and the divorce, the point of central discord between henry and the emperor, was passed over in silence as too dangerous to be touched. chapter vii. call of parliament--wolsey to be called to account--anxiety of the emperor to prevent a quarrel--mission of eustace chapuys--long interview with the king--alarm of catherine--growth of lutheranism--the english clergy--lord darcy's articles against wolsey--wolsey's fall--departure of campeggio-letter of henry to the pope--action of parliament--intended reform of the church--alienation of english feeling from the papacy. on the collapse of the commission it was at once announced that the king would summon a parliament. for many years wolsey had governed england as he pleased. the king was now to take the reins in his own hands. the long-suffering laity were to make their voices heard, and the great cardinal understood too well that he was to be called to account for his stewardship. the queen, who could think of nothing but her own wrongs, conceived that the object must be some fresh violence to herself. she had requested the pope to issue a minatory brief forbidding parliament to meddle with her. she had mistaken the purpose of its meeting, and she had mistaken the king's character. important as the divorce question might be, a great nation had other things to think of which had waited too long. it had originated in an ambitious scheme of wolsey to alter the balance of power in europe, and to form a new combination which the english generally disliked. had his policy been successful he would have been continued in office, with various consequences which might or might not have been of advantage to the country. but he had failed miserably. he had drawn the king into a quarrel with his hereditary ally. he had entangled him, by ungrounded assurances, in a network of embarrassments, which had been made worse by the premature and indecent advancement of the queen's intended successor. for this the cardinal was not responsible. it was the king's own doing, and he had bitterly to pay for it. but wolsey had misled his master into believing that there would be no difficulty. in the last critical moment he had not stood by him as the king had a right to expect; and, in the result, henry found himself summoned to appear as a party before the pope, the pope himself being openly and confessedly a creature in the hands of the emperor. no english sovereign had ever before been placed in a situation so degrading. parliament was to meet for other objects--objects which could not be attained while wolsey was in power and were themselves of incalculable consequence. but anne boleyn was an embarrassment, and henry did for the moment hesitate whether it might not be better to abandon her. he had no desire to break the unity of christendom or to disturb the peace of his own kingdom for the sake of a pretty woman. the duke of norfolk, though he was anne's uncle, if he did not oppose her intended elevation, did nothing to encourage it. her father, lord wiltshire, had been against it from the first. the peers and the people would be the sufferers from a disputed succession, but they seemed willing to encounter the risk, or at least they showed no eagerness for the king's marriage with this particular person. if reginald pole is to be believed, the king did once inform the council that he would go no further with it. the emperor, to make retreat easy to him, had allowed nothing to be said on the subject at cambray, and had instructed the pope to hold his hand and make no further movement. he sent a new ambassador to england, on a mission of _doulceur et amytié_. eustace chapuys, the minister whom he selected, was not perhaps the best selection which he could have made, and lord paget, who knew him well, has left an account of him not very favourable. "for chapuys," he said, "i never took him for a wise man, but for one that used to speak _cum summâ licentiâ_ whatsoever came _in buccam_, without respect of honesty or truth, so it might serve his turn, and of that fashion it is small mastery to be a wise man. he is a great practicer, with which honest term we cover tale-telling, lying, dissimuling, and flattering."[80] chapuys being the authority for many of the scandals about henry, this description of him by a competent observer may be borne in remembrance; but there can be no question that charles sent him to england on an embassy of peace, and one diplomatist is not always perhaps the fairest judge of another of the same trade. the king's hesitation, if he ever did hesitate, was not of long duration. he had been treated like a child, tricked, played with, trifled with, and he was a dangerous person to deal with in so light a fashion. chapuys reached london in the beginning of september. on landing he found the citation to rome had not been officially notified to the king, as a morsel too big for him to swallow.[81] the king received him politely, invited him to dine in the palace, and allowed him afterwards to be introduced to catherine, who was still residing at the court. three days after he had a long interview with henry. his commission, he said, was to smooth all differences between the king and his master. the king responded with equal graciousness, but turned the conversation upon those differences themselves. the emperor, he said, had not used him well. the advocation to rome was absurd. he had written himself to the pope with his own hand, telling him it was not only expedient but absolutely necessary that the cause should be tried in england. the roman territories were still in the occupation of the imperial troops. the pope had committed it to two of his cardinals, had solemnly promised that it should not be revoked, and that he would confirm any sentence which the legates should pronounce. these engagements the emperor had obliged the pope to break. he himself had not proceeded upon light grounds. he was a conscientious prince, he said, who preferred his own salvation to all worldly advantages, as appeared sufficiently from his conduct in the affair. had he been differently situated and not attentive to his conscience, he might have adopted other measures, which he had not taken and never would take.[82] chapuys attempted to defend clement. "enough of that pope," henry sharply interrupted. "this is not the first time that he has changed his mind. i have long known his versatile and fickle nature."[83] the pope, he went on, "would never dare pronounce sentence, unless it favoured the emperor." catherine was eagerly communicative. chapuys learned from her that the king had offered that the case should be heard at cambray--which she had, of course, refused. she was much alarmed about the parliament, "the king having played his cards so well that he would have a majority of votes in his favour." it was quite certain that he meant to persevere. she professed outwardly that she was personally attached to the king; yet she desired chapuys expressly to caution the emperor against believing that his conduct had anything to do with conscience. the idea of separation, she said, had originated entirely in his own iniquity and malice, and when the treaty of cambray was completed, he had announced it to her with the words: "my peace with the emperor is made: it will last as long as you choose."[84] chapuys had been charged to ascertain the feeling of the english people. he found them generally well affected to the queen. but the lutheran heresy was creeping in. the duke of suffolk had spoken bitterly of papal legates, and chapuys believed if they had nothing to fear but the pope's malediction, there were great numbers who would follow the duke's advice and make popes of the king and bishops, all to have the divorce case tried in england.[85] the queen was afraid of pressing her appeal, fearing that if the commons in parliament heard that the king had been summoned to rome, measures injurious to her might easily be proposed and carried.[86] even the duke of norfolk was not satisfactory. he professed to be devoted to the emperor; he said he would willingly have lost a hand so that the divorce question should never have been raised; but it was an affair of theology and canon law, and he had not meddled with it. if the emperor had remained neutral, instead of interfering, it would have been sooner settled.[87] but, for the instant, the interests of the people of england were fixed on a subject more immediately close to them. the sins of the clergy had at last found them out. they pretended to be a supernatural order, to hold the keys of heaven and hell, to be persons too sacred for ordinary authority to touch. their vices and their tyranny had made them and their fantastic assumptions no longer bearable, and all europe was in revolt against the scandals of the church and churchmen. the ecclesiastical courts, as the pretended guardians of morality, had the laity at their mercy; and every offence, real or imaginary, was converted into an occasion of extortion. the courts were themselves nests of corruption; while the lives and habits of the order which they represented made ridiculous their affectations of superiority to common men. clement's conduct of the divorce case was only a supreme instance of the methods in which the clerical tribunals administered what they called justice. an authority equally oblivious of the common principles of right and wrong was extended over the private lives and language of every family in catholic christendom. in england the cup was full and the day of reckoning had arrived. i have related in the first volume of my history of the period the meeting of the parliament of 1529, and i have printed there the petition of the commons to the crown, with the bishops' reply to it.[88] i need not repeat what has been written already. a few more words are needed, however, to explain the animosity which broke out against wolsey. the great cardinal was the living embodiment of the detested ecclesiastical domination, and a representation in his own person of the worst abuses complained of. he had been a vigorous minister, full of large schemes and high ambitions. he had been conscious of much that was wrong. he had checked the eagerness of the bench of bishops to interfere with opinion, had suppressed many of the most disorderly smaller monasteries, and had founded colleges out of their revenues. but he had left his own life unreformed, as an example of avarice and pride. as legate he had absorbed the control of the entire ecclesiastical organisation. he had trampled on the peers. on himself he had piled benefice upon benefice. he held three great bishoprics, and, in addition to them, the wealthiest of the abbeys. york or durham he had never entered; winchester he may have visited in intervals of business; and he resided occasionally at the manor of the more, which belonged to st. albans: but this was all his personal connection with offices to which duties were attached which he would have admitted to be sacred, if, perhaps, with a smile. as legate and lord chancellor he disposed of the whole patronage of the realm. every priest or abbot who needed a license had to pay wolsey for it. his officials were busy in every diocese. every will that was to be proved, every marriage within the forbidden degrees, had to pass under their eyes, and from their courts streams richer than pactolus flowed into wolsey's coffers. foreign princes, as we have seen, were eager to pile pensions upon him. his wealth was known to be enormous. how enormous was now to be revealed. even his own son--for a son he had--was charged upon the commonwealth. the worst iniquity of the times was the appointing children to the cure of souls. wolsey's boy was educated at paris, and held benefices worth 1,500 crowns a year, or 3,000 pounds of modern english money. a political mistake had now destroyed his credit. his enemies were encouraged to speak, and the storm burst upon him. a list of detailed complaints against him survives which is curious alike from its contents, the time at which it was drawn up, and the person by whom it was composed--the old lord darcy of templehurst, the leader afterwards in the pilgrimage of grace. darcy was an earnest catholic. he had fought in his youth under ferdinand at the conquest of granada. he was a dear friend of ferdinand's daughter, and an earnest supporter, against wolsey, of the imperial alliance. his paper is long and the charges are thrown together without order. the date is the 1st of july, when the legates' court had begun its sittings and was to end, as he might well suppose, in catherine's ruin. they express the bitterness of darcy's feelings. the briefest epitome is all that can be attempted of an indictment which extended over the whole of wolsey's public career. it commences thus:-"hereafter followeth, by protestation, articles against the cardinal of york, shewed by me, thomas darcy, only to discharge my oath and bounden duty to god and the king, and of no malice. "1. all articles that touches god and his church and his acts against the same. "2. all that touches the king's estate, honour and prerogative, and against his laws. "3. lack of justice, and using himself by his authority as chancellor faculties legatine and cardinal; what wrongs, exactions he hath used. "4. all his authorities, legatine and other, purchased of the pope, and offices and grants that he hath of the king's grace, special commissions and instructions sent into every shire; he, and the cardinal's servants, to be straitly examined of his unlawful acts." following vaguely this distribution, darcy proceeds with his catalogue of wrongs. half the list is of reforms commenced and unfinished, everything disturbed and nothing set right, to "the ruffling of the good order of the realm." of direct offences we find wolsey unexpectedly accused of having broken the præmunire statute by introducing faculties from rome and allowing the pope to levy money in the realm contrary to the king's prerogative royal, while for himself, by "colour of his powers as cardinal legate _a latere_ and faculties spiritual and temporal, he had assembled marvellous and mighty sums of money." of bishops, abbots, priors, deans, &c., he had received (other sums) for promotion spiritual since his entry. he had appropriated the plate and jewels of the suppressed abbeys. he had raised the "probate duty" all over the realm, the duty going into his own coffers. he had laid importable charges on the nobles of the realm. he had towered, fleeted, and put to the walls of calais a number of the noblemen of england, and many of them for light causes. he had promoted none but such as served about the king to bring to pass his purposes, or were of his council in such things as an honest man would not vouchsafe to be acquainted with. he had hanged, pressed, and banished more men since he was in authority than had suffered death by way of justice in all christendom besides. he had wasted the king's treasure, &c. he had levied mighty sums of other houses of religion, some for dread to be pulled down, and others by his feigned visitations under colour of virtuous reformation. as chancellor "he had taken up all the great matters depending in suit to determine after his discretion, and would suffer no way to take effect that had been devised by other men." in other times "the best prelate in the realm was contented with one bishoprick." darcy demanded that the duties of bishops should be looked into. they should hold no temporal offices, nor meddle with temporal affairs. they should seek no dispensation from the pope. the tenure of land in england should be looked into, to find what temporal lands were in spiritual men's hands, by what titles, for what purposes, and whether it was followed or no. the king's grace should proceed to determine all reformations, of spiritual and temporal, within his realm. never more legate nor cardinal should be in england: these legacies and faculties should be clearly annulled and made frustrate, and search and enquiry be made what had been levied thereby. he recommended that at once and without notice wolsey's papers and accounts should be seized. "then matters much unknown would come forth surely concerning his affairs with pope, emperor, the french king, other princes, and within the realm."[89] many of darcy's charges are really creditable to wolsey, many more are exaggerated; but of the oppressive character of his courts, and of the immense revenue which he drew from them, no denial was possible. the special interest of the composition, however, is that it expresses precisely the temper of the parliament of 1529. it enables us to understand how the chancellorship came to be accepted by sir thomas more. it contains the views of conservative catholic english statesmen who, while they had no sympathy with changes of doctrine, were weary of ecclesiastical domination, who desired to restrict the rights of the pope in england within the limits fixed by the laws of the plantagenets, to relieve the clergy of their temporal powers and employments, and reduce them to their spiritual functions. micer mai and de soria had said the same thing; charles v., likely enough, shared their opinion, though he could not see his way towards acting upon it. in england it could be acted upon, and it was. there is no occasion to repeat the well-known tale of the fall of wolsey. he resigned the seals on the 18th of october; his property was seized and examined into. the venetian ambassador reported that his ordinary income was found to have been 150,000 crowns, besides pensions, gifts from foreign princes, and irregular contributions from home. his personal effects were worth half a million more. he said that it had been all gathered for the king; if the king was pleased to take it before his end, the king was welcome to it. the king was thenceforward his own first minister; the duke of norfolk became president of the council; suffolk was vice-president, and sir thomas more lord chancellor. but the king intended to rule with parliament to advise and to help him. catherine told chapuys, in fear for herself, that the elections to the lower house had been influenced to her own injury. she was mistaken, for the elections had not turned on the divorce. the object of the meeting of the legislature was to reform the clergy, and upon this all parties among the laity were agreed. it may be (though the queen could not know it) that exertions were made to counteract or control the local influences of individual nobles or prelates. if the object was to secure a real representation of popular feeling, it was right and necessary to protect the electors against the power of particular persons. but it is at least clear that this parliament came up charged with the grievances of which darcy's indictment was the epitome. the houses met on the 3rd of november, and went at once to business. i can add nothing to what i have written elsewhere on the acts of the first session. wolsey was impeached; the peers would have attainted him or sent him to trial for high treason; the commons were more moderate, listening to cromwell, who faced unpopularity by defending gallantly his old patron. but the king himself did not wish the fallen cardinal to be pressed too hard; and it was said that, determined to protect him, he forbade the attainder. he had determined to pardon him, and an attainder would have made pardon more difficult. very interesting accounts of wolsey's own behaviour in his calamity are found in the letters of the foreign ambassadors. du bellay saw him on the 17th of october, the day before he surrendered the great seal, and found him entirely broken. he wept; he "hoped the french king and madam would have pity on him." his face had lost its fire; "he did not desire legateship, seal of office, or power; he was ready to give up everything, to his shirt, and live in a hermitage, if the king would not keep him in his displeasure." he wished francis to write to henry in his favour. he had been the chief instrument of the present amity with france; and such a service ought not to have given a bad impression of him. suspicions were abroad that he had received large presents from the french court; they were probably true, for he said "he hoped madam would not do him an injury if it were spoken of."[90] nothing could be more piteous. the poor old man was like a hunted animal; lately lord of the world, and now "none so poor to do him reverence." darcy had raised the question of the præmunire. the ancient statute of provisors had forbidden the introduction of bulls from rome, and the statute was awake again. he was made to confess that the penalties of præmunire--confiscation of goods and imprisonment--had been incurred by him when he published the bull which made him legate, and by the use of which he had unlawfully vexed the greater number of the prelates of the realm, and the king's other subjects. his brother legate, campeggio, had remained for some weeks in london after the dissolution of the court. but england was no place for him in the hurly-burly which had broken loose. he went, and had to submit to the indignity of having his luggage searched at dover. the cause alleged was a fear that he might be taking with him some of wolsey's jewels. tradition said that he had obtained possession of the letters of the king to anne boleyn, and that it was through him that they reached the vatican. at any rate, the locks were forced, the trunks inspected, and nothing of importance was found in them.[91] campeggio complained to the king of the violation of his privilege as ambassador. henry told him ironically that he had suffered no wrong: his legateship was gone when the cause was revoked; he had no other commission: he was an english bishop, and so far, therefore, an english subject. but a courteous apology was made for the unnecessary violence which had been used;[92] campeggio's ruffled plumes were smoothed, and he wrote to salviati from paris with the latest news of wolsey, telling him "that the king would not go to extremes, but would act considerately in the matter, as he was accustomed to do in all his actions."[93] although no mention was made in parliament of the divorce, the subject, of course, could not sleep. the question of the succession to the crown having been made so prominent, it would, and must, sooner or later, come before the legislature to be settled, and had already become a topic of general consideration and anxiety. mary's legitimacy had been impugned. falieri, writing from london and reporting what he heard in society, said that "by english law females were excluded from the throne." custom might say so, for no female had, in fact, ever sat on the throne; but enacted law or rule there was none: it was only one uncertainty the more. at any rate, falieri said that the king had determined to go on with the divorce, that he might have a legitimate male heir. henry's experience of clement had taught him that he need not fear any further immediate steps. the advocation of the cause implied of itself a desire for longer delay, and, with more patience than might have been looked for in such a disappointment, he had resolved to wait for what the pope would do. that an english sovereign should plead before the rota at rome was, of course, preposterous. the suggestion of it was an insult. but other means might be found. he had himself proposed cambray as a neutral spot for a first commission; he really believed that the pope was at heart on his side, and therefore did not wish to quarrel with him. when campeggio was leaving england the king wrote to clement more politely than might have been expected. he did not insist that the english commission should be renewed. "we could have wished," he said, "not less for your sake than our own, that all things had been so expedited as corresponded to our expectation, not rashly conceived, but according to your promises. as it is, we have to regard with grief and wonder the incredible confusion which has arisen. if a pope can relax divine laws at his pleasure, surely he has as much power over human laws. we have been so often deceived by your holiness's promises that no dependence can be placed on them. our dignity has not been consulted in the treatment which we have met with. if your holiness will keep the cause now advoked to rome in your own hands, until it can be decided by impartial judges, and in an indifferent place, in a manner satisfactory to our scruples, we will forget what is past, and repay kindness by kindness."[94] as the pope had professed to be ignorant of the extent of his dispensing power, the king proposed to submit this part of the question to the canon lawyers of europe. the nuncios, meanwhile, in paris and london advised that the pope and the emperor should write in a friendly way to the king. charles was believed in england to have said "that the king should stick to his wife in spite of his beard." he had not used such words, and ought to disclaim them, but he might endeavour to persuade the king to let the divorce drop. the parliament meanwhile had been fiercely busy in cutting down the church courts--abolishing or limiting the various forms of extortion by which the laity had been plundered. the clergy were required to reside upon their benefices. "pluralities" were restricted. the business of the session had been a series of clergy discipline acts. the bishop of rochester especially clamoured over the "want of faith" which such acts exhibited, but nothing had been done of which the pope could complain, nothing of which, perhaps, he did not secretly approve. catherine, through her agents at rome, demanded instant sentence in her cause. the pope's inclination seemed again on henry's side. he described an interview with the emperor, who had urged catherine's case. he professed to have replied that he must be cautious when the case was not clear. many things, he said, made for the king. all the divines were against the power of the pope to dispense. of the canon lawyers, some were against it; and those who were not against it considered that the dispensing powers could only be used for a very urgent cause, as, to prevent the ruin of a kingdom. the pope's function was to judge whether such a cause had arisen; but no such inquiry was made when the dispensation of julius was granted. the emperor must not be surprised if he could do no more for the queen.[95] the emperor himself thought of nothing less than taking his uncle "by the beard." he wished to be reconciled to him if he could find a way to it. for one thing, he was in sore need of help against the turks, and chapuys was directed to ascertain if henry would give him money. henry's reply was not encouraging, and sounded ominously, as if his mind was making perilous progress on the great questions of the day. he said it would be a foolish thing for him to remit money to the emperor and help him to maintain three armies in italy, which ought to be elsewhere. he had consulted his parliament, and had found he could not grant it. the said money might be turned to other use, and be employed to promote dissension among christian princes.[96] at a subsequent interview the conversation was renewed and took a more general turn. the king spoke of the court of rome--the ambitious magnificence of which, he said, "had been the cause of so many wars, discords, and heresies." had the pope and cardinals, he said, observed the precepts of the gospel and attended to the example of the fathers of the church [several of whom the king mentioned, to chapuys' surprise], they would have led a different life, and not have scandalised christendom by their acts and manners. so far, luther had told nothing but the truth; and had luther limited himself to inveighing against the vices, abuses, and errors of the clergy, instead of attacking the sacraments of the church, everyone would have gone with him; he would himself have written in his favour, and taken pen in hand in his defence. into the church in his own dominions he hoped, little by little, to introduce reforms and end the scandal.[97] these expressions were dangerous enough, but there was worse to follow. "henry maintained that the only power which churchmen had over laymen was absolution from sin"; chapuys found that he had told the queen that he was now waiting for the opinions of the foreign doctors; when he had obtained these he would forward them to rome; and should not the pope, in conformity with the opinions so expressed, declare the marriage null and void, he would denounce the pope as a heretic and marry whom he pleased.[98] "the lady anne," chapuys said, "was growing impatient, complaining that she was wasting her time and youth to no purpose." the house of commons had already "clipped the claws" of the clergy, and it was not impossible that, on the plea of the various and contradictory judgments on the matter, they and the people might consent to the divorce. the hope that the king might be held back by national disapproval was thus seen to be waning. the national pride had been touched by the citation of an english sovereign to plead before a foreign court. charles v. feared that the pope, alarmed at the prospect of losing england, would "commit some new folly" which might lead to war.[99] the english nuncio in fact informed chapuys, much to the latter's astonishment, that the pope had ordered him to find means to reconcile the king and the emperor. chapuys thought the story most unlikely. the emperor would never have trusted the pope with such a commission, nor was the pope a promising mediator, seeing that he was more hated in england than might have been supposed. there were evident signs now that the country meant to support the king. the duke of norfolk told the ambassador that unless the emperor would permit his master to divorce the queen and take another wife, there was no remedy left. the king's scruples of conscience, instead of abating, were on the increase, owing to the opinions of others who thought as he did, and no one in the world could turn him.[100] chapuys thought it more likely than not that the question would be introduced at once into parliament, where he had heard that a majority had been bribed or gained over to the king's side. with the consent of the commons he would consider himself secure all round. should the pope pronounce in favour of the queen, the english would say that the sentence was unjust, for, besides the suspicion and ill-will they had towards the pope and other ecclesiastical judges, they would allege that in confirming the bull of pope julius, the pope and cardinals would be only influenced by their own interest "to increase the authority of the pope, and procure him money by such dispensations."[101] at this moment chapuys feared some precipitate step on henry's part. norfolk, whom he saw frequently, told him that "there was nothing which the king would not grant the emperor to obtain his consent, even to becoming his slave for ever."[102] "the reform of the clergy was partly owing to the anger of the people at the advocation of the cause to rome." "nearly all the people hated the priests," chapuys said--an important testimony from an unwilling witness. peers and commons might be brought to agree that popes could grant no dispensations in marriages or anything else, and so save their money. if there was nothing to restrain them but respect for the pope, they would not care much for him, and the holy see would have no more obedience in england than in germany. the duke of norfolk talked as menacingly as the rest. he said publicly to the ambassador "that the pope himself had been the first to perceive the invalidity of the marriage, had written to say that it could not stand, and would so declare himself, or have it legally declared.... and now, being in the emperor's power, the same pope would have the case tried and determined only as the emperor wished."[103] under these circumstances chapuys could only advise that means should be taken to weaken or defer the action of parliament. the cambray proposal might be revived, or a suggestion made that the cause should be argued before the sorbonne at paris. the duke of norfolk could perhaps be gained over; but, unfortunately, he and queen catherine were not on good terms. the duke was afraid also--the words show how complicated were the threads which ruled the situation--that, should the king dismiss the lady anne, the cardinal would in all probability regain his influence, owing to his uncommon ability and the king's readiness to restore him to favour. everyone perceived the king bore the cardinal no real ill-will, and should the king's affection for the lady abate in the least, the cardinal would soon find means of settling the divorce in a manner which would cost the opposite party their lives.[104] in this letter of chapuys is the first allusion which i have found to the mary boleyn scandal, then beginning to be heard of in circles opposed to the divorce: "people say," he wrote, "that it is the king's evil destiny that impels him; for had he, as he asserts, only attended to the voice of conscience, there would have been still greater affinity to contend with in this intended marriage than in that of the queen his wife."[105] the story is referred to as a fresh feature of the case, which had not before been heard of. chapter viii. hope of wolsey to return to power--anger of anne boleyn and the duke of norfolk--charles v. at bologna--issue of a prohibitory brief--the pope secretly on henry's side--collection of opinions--norfolk warns chapuys-state of feeling in england--intrigues of wolsey--his illness and death. the momentous year of 1529 wore out. parliament rose before christmas; peers and commons dispersed to their homes; and the chief parties in the drama were still undetermined what next to do. the duke of norfolk was afraid of wolsey's return to power. it was less impossible than it seemed. a parliamentary impeachment, though let fall, ought to have been fatal; but none knew better than wolsey by how transitory a link the parties who had combined for his ruin were really held together. more and darcy had little sympathy with the advanced reformers whose eyes were fixed on germany. they agreed in cutting down the temporal encroachments of the clergy; they agreed in nothing besides. the king had treated wolsey with exceptional forbearance. he had left him the archbishopric of york, with an income equal in modern money to eight or ten thousand pounds a year, and had made him large presents besides of money, furniture, and jewels. finding himself so leniently dealt with, the cardinal recovered heart, and believed evidently that his day was not over. in a letter to gardiner, written in january, 1530, he complained as a hardship of having been made to surrender winchester and st. albans. he had not "deserved to lose them," he said, "and had not expected to lose them on his submission. his long services deserved at least a pension."[106] the king agreed, or seemed to agree; for a further grant of 3,000 crowns was allowed him, charged on the see of winchester. anne boleyn was furious. the duke of norfolk swore that "sooner than suffer wolsey's return to office he would eat him up alive."[107] though he had never seen his diocese, the cardinal was making no haste to go thither. he lingered on at esher, expecting to be sent for, and it is evident from the alarm of his rivals that there was real likelihood of it. the lady anne so hated him that she quarrelled with her uncle norfolk for not having pressed his attainder. catherine liked him equally ill, for she regarded him as the cause of her sufferings. he had been "disevangelised," as norfolk called it; but henry missed at every turn his dexterity and readiness of hand. he had monopolised the whole business of the realm; the subordinate officials everywhere were his creatures, and the threads of every branch of administration had centred in his cabinet; without him there was universal confusion. the french court was strongly in his favour. he had himself made the anglo-french alliance; and the anglo-french alliance was still a necessity to henry, if he meant to defy the emperor and retain an influence at rome. the king wished, if he could, to keep on terms with the pope, and wolsey, if any one, could keep the papal court within limits of moderation. the situation was thus more critical than ever. catherine knew not what to look for. those among the peers who, like norfolk, would naturally have been her friends, and would have preferred that the divorce should never have been spoken of, yet saw no reason why on a private ground the emperor should light up a european war again. they conceived that by protesting he had done enough for his honour, and that he ought to advise his aunt to give way. according to chapuys, attempts were privately made to obtain a declaration of opinion from the house of commons before parliament rose.[108] he says that the attempts were unsuccessful. it may have been so. but chapuys could not hope that the unwillingness would last. charles was determined to stand by catherine to all extremities. henry was threatening to marry his mistress whether the pope consented or not, professing to care not a straw, and almost calling the pope a heretic. the pope did not wish to be a party to a scandal, but also would be sorry to see the king lose all submission and reverence to the see of rome. for himself, the emperor said he could not see how the affair would end, "but he was certain that henry would persist, and war would probably come of it." he directed his brother ferdinand to avoid irritating the german lutherans, as france might probably take part with england.[109] fresh efforts were made to persuade catherine to take the veil. they were as unsuccessful as before.[110] the emperor was now in italy. he had gone to bologna for his coronation on the conclusion of the peace of cambray, and the pope was to be made to feel the weight of his imperial presence. henry used the occasion to send a deputation to bologna, composed of the earl of wiltshire, anne's father, who was personally known to charles, dr. cranmer, then coming into prominence, and stokesly, the bishop of london, who, having been first on catherine's side, had been converted. they were directed to lay before the emperor the motives for the king's action, to protest against his interference, and to explain the certain consequences if he persisted in supporting the queen. the emperor gave a cold answer, and declined to hear the earl's instructions, while the pope, the earl said, was led by the emperor, and dared not displease him. the second act of the drama was now to open, and clement was made to strike the first blow. in consequence of the reports from catherine and chapuys that henry was collecting the opinions of the canonists of europe, and intended to act on them if favourable, a brief was issued on the 7th of march ordering the king to restore catherine to her rights, and prohibiting him from making a second marriage while the suit was undetermined. the divines and lawyers of catholic europe were at the same time threatened with excommunication if they presumed to declare themselves favourable to the divorce. but though the voice was clement's, the hand was the emperor's. clement was being dragged along against his will, and was still "facing both ways" in honest or dishonest irresolution. while issuing the brief under compulsion, he said precisely the opposite in his communication with the french ambassador, the bishop of tarbes. the ambassador was able to assure his own master that the pope would never give sentence in catherine's favour. in direct contradiction of the brief, the bishop wrote "that the pope had told him more than three times in secret he would be glad if the marriage between henry and anne was already made, either by dispensation of the english legate or otherwise, provided it was not by his authority or in diminution of his powers of dispensation and limitation of divine law."[111] in england the pope had still his own nuncio--a nuncio who, as chapuys declared, was "heart and soul" with the king. he was the brother of sir gregory casalis, henry's agent at rome, and henry was said to have promised him a bishopric as soon as his cause should be won. the pope could not have been ignorant of the disposition of his own minister. chapuys reported a mysterious state secret which had reached him through catherine's physician. the smalcaldic league was about to be formed among the protestant princes of germany. francis was inviting the king to support them and to join with himself in encouraging them to dethrone the emperor; the king was said to have agreed on the ground that the pope and the emperor had behaved ill to him, and the probability was that both france and england in the end would become lutheran. had there been nothing else, the queen's sterility was held a sufficient ground for the divorce. if she had been barren from the first, the marriage would have been held invalid at once. now that the hope of succession was gone, the pope, it was said, ought to have ended it.[112] the king had been busy all the winter carrying out his project of collecting the opinions of the learned. the pope's prohibition not having been issued in england, his own bishops, the universities, and the canonists had declared themselves in favour of the divorce. the assent had not in all instances been given very willingly. oxford and cambridge had attempted a feeble resistance, and at oxford the commissioners had been pelted with stones. still, given it had been, and the conservative peers and gentry were coming to the same conclusion. the king was known to be wishing to recall wolsey. the return of wolsey to power might imply the acceptance of the french policy; perhaps the alliance with the lutherans--at any rate, war with the emperor. the duke of norfolk and his friends were english aristocrats, adherents of the old traditions, dreading and despising german revolutionists; but they believed that the king and the emperor could only be drawn together by charles's consent to the divorce. the king, norfolk said to chapuys, was so much bent on it that no one but god could turn him. he believed it imperative for the welfare of the realm that his master should marry again and have male succession; he would give all that he possessed for an hour's interview with the emperor; if his majesty would but consent to the marriage, the friendship between him and the king would then be indissoluble;[113] the divorce was nothing by the side of the larger interests at issue; "the king," it was rumoured, "had written, or was about to write, to the archbishop of canterbury, that if the pope persisted in refusing justice, his own and all church authority would be at an end in england;" the nobles and people, provoked and hurt at the advocation of the suit to rome, were daily more and more incensed against churchmen, and would become lutherans in the end.[114] the pope had confessed that the presence of the imperial army in italy left him no liberty. if revolution came, the emperor would be the cause of it. the duke spoke with the indignation of an englishman at a rumour that the emperor had "threatened to use all his power in the queen's support." such menaces, he said, were useless, and the nation would not endure them. foreign princes had no authority over english kings. chapuys did not mend matters by saying that the emperor was not thinking of employing force, for he did not believe that the king would give occasion for it. the emperor's interference, indeed, would be unnecessary, for the duke must be aware that if the divorce was proceeded with there would be a civil war in england.[115] chapuys was vain of his insight into things and characters. like so many of his successors, he mistook the opinion of a passionate clique of priests and priest-ridden malcontents for the general sentiment of the nation. they told him, as they told other spanish ambassadors after him, that all the world thought as they did. fanatics always think so; and the belief that they were right proved in the end the ruin of the spanish empire. in the present instance, however, chapuys may be pardoned for his error. norfolk imagined that wolsey was scheming for a return to power on the old anti-imperial lines. wolsey was following a more dangerous line of his own. impatient with the delay in his restoration, he imagined that by embroiling matters more fatally he could make his own help indispensable; and he was drifting into what can only be called treachery--treachery specially dishonourable to him. wolsey, the originator of the divorce and the french alliance, had now become the friend of catherine and the secret adviser of chapuys. he had welcomed, had perhaps advised, the issue of the prohibitory papal brief. copies of it were sent for from flanders to be shown in england. "the queen," wrote chapuys on the 10th of may,[116] "is now firmer than ever, and believes the king will not dare make the other marriage; if he does, which may god prevent, i suspect he will repent and be thankful to return to his first marriage, if by so doing he could be freed from his second. _this is the opinion of cardinal wolsey and of many others._ the cardinal would have given his archbishopric that this had been done two years ago. he would have been better revenged on the intrigue which has ruined him." these words, taken by themselves, prove that wolsey was now in the confidence of catherine's friends, but would not justify further inference. another letter which follows leaves no room for doubt. on the 15th of june chapuys writes again.[117] "i have a letter from the cardinal's physician, in which he tells me that his master, not knowing exactly the state of the queen's affairs, cannot give any special advice upon them; but with fuller information would counsel and direct as if he was to gain paradise by it, as on her depended his happiness, honour, and peace of mind. as things stood he thought that the pope should proceed to the weightier censures, and should call in the secular arm; there was want of nerve in the way in which things were handled."[118] the calling in the secular arm meant invasion and open war. to advise it was treasonable in any english subject. there may be circumstances under which treason of such a kind might be morally defended. no defence, moral or political, can be made for wolsey; and it was the more discreditable because at this time he was professing the utmost devotion to his king, and endeavouring to secure his confidence. three different petitions norfolk discovered him to have sent in, "desiring as much authority as ever he had." norfolk no doubt watched him, and may have learnt enough to suspect what he was doing. the whispers and the messages through the intriguing physician had not gone unobserved. the king persisted in his generous confidence, and could not be persuaded that his old friend could be really treacherous,[119] but he consented to send him down to his diocese. wolsey went, still affecting his old magnificence, with a train of six hundred knights and gentlemen; but he never reached his cathedral city. chapuys heard, to his alarm, that the physician was arrested and was in the tower. he congratulated himself that, were all revealed which had passed between him and wolsey, nothing could be discovered which would compromise his own safety. but it was true that wolsey's physician had betrayed his master, revealing secrets which he had bound himself never to tell. he had confessed, so chapuys learnt, that the cardinal had advised the pope to excommunicate the king, if he did not send away the "lady" from the court, hoping thus "to raise the country and obtain the management."[120] too evidently the cardinal had been intriguing, and not honourably, merely for his own purposes. he might have persuaded himself that the divorce would be injurious to the country; but after the part which he had played it was not for him to advise the pope to strike at his master, whom he had himself tempted to go so deep with it. the king was convinced at last. orders were sent down to arrest him and bring him back to london. he knew that all was now over with him, and that he would not be again forgiven. he refused to take food, and died on his way at leicester abbey on st. andrew's day. he was buried, it was observed, in the same church where the body lay of richard iii. one report said that he had starved himself; another that he had taken poison. chapuys says "that he died like a good christian, protesting that he had done nothing against the king." his designs had failed, whatever they might have been, and he ended his great career struggling ineffectually to conjure back into the vase the spirit which he had himself let loose. chapter ix. danger of challenging the papal dispensing power--the royal family of spain--address of the english peers to the pope--compromise proposed by the duke of norfolk--the english agents at rome--arrival of a new nuncio in england--his interview with the king--chapuys advises the king's excommunication--position of the english clergy--statute of provisors--the clergy in a præmunire--remonstrances of the nuncio--despair of catherine-her letter to the pope--henry prepares for war--the introduction of briefs from rome forbidden--warnings given to the spanish ambassador and the nuncio. the question whether the pope had power to license marriages within the forbidden degrees affected interests immeasurably wider than the domestic difficulties of henry viii. innumerable connections had been contracted, in reliance upon papal dispensations, the issue of which would be illegitimate if the authority was declared to be insufficient. the emperor himself was immediately and personally concerned. emmanuel of portugal had been three times married. his first wife was isabel, daughter of ferdinand and isabella, catherine's sister and charles's aunt. his second wife was her sister maria; his third, charles's sister eleanor. charles's own empress was the child of the second of these marriages, and they had all been contracted under dispensations from rome. a sudden change of the law or the recognition in a single instance that the pope's authority in such matters might be challenged would create universal disturbance; and it was not for catherine's sake alone that the emperor had so peremptorily resisted henry's demand. the difficulty would have been evaded had catherine agreed to take the vows; and henry himself, when catherine refused, had been so far conscious of the objection that he had hitherto based his demand on the irregularity of the original bull of pope julius. clement had said often that a way could be found if charles would consent; but charles had not consented. in england, the marriage having been once challenged, a decision of some kind was necessary to avoid a disputed succession, and larger issues had now to be raised. the emperor having dismissed the english embassy at bologna with scant courtesy, the pope, as we have seen, had fallen back secretly on his old wish that henry would take the matter into his own hands, disregard the inhibition, and marry as he pleased, without throwing the responsibility on himself. henry, however, after the assurances which the pope had given him, was determined that he should not escape in this way. he had gained or extorted a favourable opinion from his own learned corporations. francis had assisted him to a similar opinion from the university of paris. confident in these authorities, a great body of english peers, spiritual and temporal, now presented a formal demand to clement that the king's petition should be conceded, and intimated that if it was again refused they must seek a remedy for themselves. wolsey himself signed, for the petition was drawn in the summer before his death. archbishop warham signed, followed by bishops, abbots, dukes, earls, and barons. some, doubtless, had to strain their consciences, but the act as a whole must be taken as their own. the king, unless he was supported by the people, had no means of forcing them or of punishing them if they refused. norfolk still laboured desperately to work upon chapuys. he told him, before the address was despatched, that, as there seemed no other way of bringing the business to an end, he would sacrifice the greater part of what he owned in the world if god would be pleased to take to himself the queen and his niece also,[121] for the king would never enjoy peace of mind till he had made another marriage, for the relief of his conscience and the tranquillity of the realm, which could only be secured by male posterity to succeed to the crown. the king, norfolk said, could not plead at rome, which was garrisoned by a spanish army, and the pope would do the emperor's bidding if it was to dance in the streets in a clown's coat; the queen objected to a trial in england; but could not a neutral place be found with impartial judges? might not the cardinal of liège be trusted, and the bishop of tarbes? the blunt and honest norfolk was an indifferent successor to the dexterous cardinal. to wish that catherine and anne boleyn were both dead was a natural, but not a valuable, aspiration. a neutral place of trial was, no doubt, desirable, and the cardinal of liège might be admissible, but de tarbes would not do at all. "he had been one of the first," chapuys remarked, "to put the fancy in the king's head."[122] at rome the diplomatic fencing continued, the pope secretly longing to "commit some folly" and to come to terms with henry, while the imperial agents kept their claws fixed upon him. in october mai reported that henry's representatives were insisting that clement should dissolve the marriage without legal process, on the ground that the kingdom must have an heir, and because the king protested that he was living in mortal sin. if this could not be done, the pope should at least promise that if the king married he should not be proceeded against. the pope seemed too much inclined to listen;[123] but with mai at his shoulder, he could not afford to be valiant. he was made to answer that he had done his best; but he could not reject the queen's appeal; the king had not named a proctor to appear for him, and therefore delay had been unavoidable; the threat of the peers in their address that unless the divorce was granted they would seek a remedy elsewhere, was unworthy of them, and could not have been sanctioned by the king; he had always wished to comply with the king's requests when it could be done with justice.[124] true to his policy of doing nothing and trusting to time, clement hoped to tire henry out by smooth words and hopes indirectly conveyed; but he was slowly swept on by the tide, and, when forced to act at all, had to act at mai's dictation. the nuncio in england had been too openly on henry's side. a change was necessary. john casalis was recalled. the baron de burgo was sent to succeed him, who was expected to be of sterner material. chapuys had ascertained from two legal friends in the house of commons that, when the next session opened, the divorce would be brought before parliament, and that parliament would stand by the king; also that m. du bellay had come from paris with promises from francis to settle matters with the pope afterwards, if the king cut the knot and married.[125] unless the emperor gave way, of which there was no hope, or unless the pope dared the emperor's displeasure, to which clement was as disinclined as ever, a breach with the papacy seemed now unavoidable. his holiness still hoped, however, that there might be a third alternative. the new nuncio reached england in the middle of september. he reported briefly that at his first interview the king told him that, unless the cause was committed to the archbishop of canterbury and the english bishops, he would act for himself, since he knew that the pope had promised the emperor to declare for the queen. chapuys supplied the emperor with fuller particulars of the interview. the nuncio had declared to the king that, in view of the injury likely to ensue to the authority of the church, "his holiness would rather die or resign the papacy than that the cause should not be settled to the mutual satisfaction of those concerned in it." the king, instead of replying graciously, as the nuncio expected, had broken into violent abuse of the pope himself and the whole roman court. the church, henry had said, required a thorough reformation, and the church should have it. the pope alone was to blame for the difficulty in which he found himself. he had sent him a brief from orvieto, admitting the divorce to be a necessity, and now he had promised the emperor, as he knew from good authority, that judgment should be given for the queen. he would not endure such treatment. he would never consent that the cause should be decided at rome, or in any place where either pope or emperor had jurisdiction. it was an ancient privilege of england, "that no cause having its origin in that kingdom should be advoked to another." if the pope would not do him justice, he would appeal to his parliament, which was about to assemble, and if the emperor threatened him with war, he hoped to be able to defend himself. the nuncio had deprecated precipitate action. if the king would only do nothing, the pope, he said, would pause also, till an amicable settlement could be arrived at; but the king would promise nothing; "he would act as seemed best to himself." henry being thus peremptory, chapuys and the nuncio had to consider what was to be done. the pope, before the nuncio's despatch, had received private advices from wolsey, of which the baron de burgo had been informed. the evil, wolsey had admitted, was too far gone for gentle treatment: it needed cautery and incision; but they must proceed cautiously. if the pope used threats, the king would go at once to parliament; there would then be war, in which france would take a part. might not a personal interview be brought about between the king and the emperor? the nuncio could not see his way, but was willing to be guided by chapuys. chapuys was for instant action on the pope's part. moderation, he said, was useless. he believed (of course wolsey had told him so) that, if the pope would deliver sentence at rome immediately, the king would find no one in the realm, or out of it, to help him in a quarrel against the church. the responsibility ought not to be thrown upon the emperor. the pope must speak, and all good catholics would be at his side.[126] the nuncio agreed. the clergy in england were irritated and alarmed, and the opportunity was favourable. the nuncio and the ambassadors decided between them that the pope was to be advised to end the cause at once, threaten the king with excommunication, and let a copy of the brief be in england before parliament opened. chapuys, well as he thought that he understood england, had something to learn about it which was to be a disagreeable surprise. he had imagined that the pope's authority, when boldly asserted there, had never been successfully resisted. tradition remembered anselm and becket. it had forgotten the legislation of the edwards and of richard ii. according to chapuys, the pope was to issue a brief forbidding parliament to meddle in the divorce case. there were laws on the statute book which forbade the interference of the pope under any circumstances in the internal affairs of the english realm. should the pope, by bull or brief, by presentation to offices of the church or by delegation of his authority, attempt to exercise direct jurisdiction in england to the prejudice of the rights of the crown, all persons who introduced such bulls or briefs, who recognized the pope's pretensions or acted on his orders, fell under præmunire--a vague but terrible consequence, almost as fatal as a proved charge of treason. the statutes had been long obsolete. the sword was in its scabbard. wolsey had forgotten their existence when he sought and accepted the position of legate of the holy see. henry had forgotten them when he applied for a legatine commission to try his cause in london. the clergy who had claimed to be independent of the state, to be an _imperium in imperio_ with the pope at their head, the officials who had made the name of a church court execrated in every county in england--all had forgotten them. but the acts themselves were unrepealed, and survived as a monument of the spirit of a past generation. doubtless it was known that the pope was being urged to violence. doubtless it was known that large numbers of the clergy were prepared to stand by him, in terror at the threatened reformation. the blow was to be parried by an appeal to the historical precedents of the realm. these impatient persons were to learn that, instead of joining in attack upon the king, they would have enough to do to purchase their pardons for their own offences. the well-tempered steel sprang to light again bright as ever, and while the nuncio was dreaming of excommunication and interdict, he learnt to his astonishment that the subject coming before parliament was not the divorce of the queen, but the position of the whole spiritualty of the realm. by recognising wolsey as legate from the holy see the entire clergy were found to be under præmunire. on the divorce, perhaps, or on excommunication arising out of it, there might still have been a difference of opinion in parliament; but the papal authority was now to be argued there on the lines of the past development of english liberty. notice of what was coming was given at the beginning of october by a proclamation warning all persons of the illegality of introducing briefs from rome. the nuncio rushed to the council chamber; he saw the dukes of norfolk and suffolk; he asked passionately what was meant? what was the pope accused of? what english privileges had he violated? why had he not been warned beforehand? the two dukes answered "that they cared nothing for pope or popes in england--not even if st. peter himself came to life again. the king was emperor and pope in his own dominions. the pope was alienating the english people, and, if he wished to recover their affection, he must deserve it by attending to their petitions."[127] the nuncio assumed a bold face and told them they would find themselves mistaken if they thought they could intimidate the holy see. he applied to the king. henry told him that nothing had been published to the pope's injury. he was merely using his prerogative to guard against opposition to the ordinances which he had made, or was about to make, for the reformation of the clergy. he had gone promptly to work, lest the pope should issue an inhibition. the nuncio knew not what to make of it. queen catherine was greatly disturbed; she feared the edict was a proof that the king was not afraid of the pope after all. on the whole, the nuncio considered that an attempt was being made to frighten him, and he sent off fresh letters advising the pope to proceed at once to pass sentence.[128] henry was, in fact, checkmating them all. with the help of the revived statute of provisors he was able to raise the whole question of the pope's authority in england without fresh legislation on present points of difference. parliament, which was to have met in october, was prorogued till january, to mature the intended measures. the king went to hampton court. he sent for the nuncio to come to him. he told him that by the citation to rome the pope had violated the privileges of sovereign princes, and had broken the promise which he had given him in writing at orvieto. if the pope showed no more consideration for him, he would have to show that the pope's pretension to authority was a usurpation, and very serious consequences would then follow. the king, the nuncio said, spoke with much show of regret and with tears in his eyes. he added that the present parliament had been called at the request of the nation for the restraint of the clergy. they were so hated throughout the realm, both by nobles and people, that, but for his protection, they would be utterly destroyed. he should wait to take action till february, to see whether the pope would meanwhile change his conduct towards him.[129] norfolk, to whom the nuncio went next, gave him no comfort; he said that, "though queen catherine was a good woman, her coming to england had been the curse of the country;" god had shown his displeasure at the marriage by denying the king a male heir; if the king should die without a son, old feuds would be reopened and the realm would be plunged into misery. it was not tolerable that the vital interests of england should be sacrificed to the emperor. he advised the nuncio to use his influence with the pope. "the king's severity might then perhaps be modified." one more direct appeal was made by henry himself to clement. "finding his just demands neglected, the requests of the king of france unattended to, and the address of his nobles despised and derided," he perceived, he said, that the pope was wholly devoted to the emperor's will, and ordained, prorogued and altered to serve the times. he required the pope, therefore, to set down in writing his grounds for rejecting his suit. he demanded once more that the cause should be heard in england before indifferent judges. "the laws of the realm would not suffer the contrary; he abhorred contention, but would not brook denial."[130] queen catherine was in despair. the hearing of the cause had again been postponed at rome. a party in her favour had been formed in the house of commons, but were at a loss what course to follow. if the pope would give a decision they would know what to do, but the delay of sentence seemed to imply that he was himself uncertain where the right really lay. they questioned chapuys whether any directions had arrived from rome on which to rest their opposition, hoping perhaps that an inhibitory brief had been issued. opposition, they feared, would be useless without further action at the papal court. "the pope," chapuys said, "had been so dilatory and so dissembling that he was not in favour with either side."[131] a change was passing over public feeling. every day gave strength to the king's cause. archbishop warham, who had been hitherto for the queen, was beginning to waver, and even to think that he might try the suit in his own court.[132] the queen, the nuncio, the bishop of rochester, and the friends who remained staunch to her agreed unanimously that the boldest course would be the wisest. immediate sentence at rome in the queen's favour was the only remedy. gentleness was thrown away. let the king see that the pope was really in earnest, and he would not venture to go further. catherine herself wrote to clement with the passion of a suffering woman. "delay," she said, "would be the cause of a new hell upon earth, the remedy for which would be worse than the worst that had ever yet been tried."[133] she did not blame the king. the fault was with the wicked counsellors who misled him. once delivered out of their hands, he would be as dutiful a son of the church as he had ever been.[134] it is noticeable throughout that each of the two parties assumed that the pope's judgment when he gave it must be on its own side. the king demanded a sentence in favour of the divorce; the queen and the emperor a sentence that the marriage was good. the pope was to try the cause; but neither admitted that the right or the wrong was doubtful, or that the pope must hear the arguments before he could decide. doubtless they were justified in so regarding the pope's tribunal. the trial would be undertaken, if a trial there was to be, with a foregone conclusion; but what kind of a court of justice could the rota be if it could be so spoken of, and its master so be addressed? most idolatries pass through the same stage. the idol is whipped before he is finally discarded. the holy ghost is still invited to assist the cathedral chapters in the choice of a bishop, but must choose the person already named by the prime minister under pain of præmunire. men should choose their idols better. reasonable beings are not fit objects of such treatment. much is to be said in favour of stuffed straw or the graven image, which the scourge itself cannot force to speak. anne boleyn was jubilant. "she is braver than a lion," wrote chapuys. she said to one of the queen's ladies that she wished all the spaniards in the world were in the sea. the lady told her such language was disrespectful to her mistress. she said she cared nothing for the queen, and would rather see her hanged than acknowledge her as her mistress.[135] clement, goaded by micer mai, issued at last a second brief, repeating the terms of the first, again forbidding the second marriage, and threatening parliaments, bishops, and divines in england if they dared to interfere. but between a brief and the execution of it was a long interval. sentence on the original cause he would not pass; and in leaving his final decision doubtful he left opinion free to the rest of the world. the brief was to be presented by the nuncio. the pope accompanied it with a deprecatory, and not undignified, letter to henry from himself.[136] chapuys feared that "by his loose talk" clement was secretly encouraging the king. the brief might bring on a crisis. he did not relish the prospect of remaining in england "in the boiling vortex likely to be opened." but as the queen insisted that he should stay, he pressed unceasingly for "excommunication and interdict." "the emperor might then make effectual war with the english. they would lose their trade with spain and flanders, and the disaffection to the king and council would be greatly increased."[137] on the spot and surrounded by an atmosphere of passion, chapuys was in favour of war. the emperor, still unwilling to part with the hereditary friendship of england, was almost as reluctant as clement. he had supposed that henry was influenced by a passing infatuation, that by supporting catherine he would please the greater part of the nation, and ultimately, perhaps, secure the gratitude of henry himself. he had not allowed for the changes which were passing over the mind of the english people. he had not foreseen the gathering indignation of a proud race jealous of their liberties when they saw him dictating to the spiritual judge of europe on a question which touched their own security. but he had gone too far to draw back. he found himself sustained, not only by spanish opinion, but by the part of his subjects about whom he had felt most uneasy. the italian universities had for the most part gone with paris and declared against the dispensing power. in germany henry had been disappointed. the king of england had been an old antagonist of luther. sir thomas more, as chancellor, had been enforcing the heresy laws against luther's english proselytes with increased severity. the lutherans in turn declared decidedly against henry's divorce. the emperor was their feudal sovereign. they saw no reason for entering into a new quarrel with him on a cause which, so far as they understood, was none of their own. henry was evidently alarmed. chapuys reported that he was busy building ships, casting cannon, repairing fortresses, and replenishing the tower arsenal, as if conscious that he might have serious work before him. the emperor still clung to the belief that he would be afraid to persevere, and chapuys himself began to think that the emperor might be more right than himself, and that the storm might pass off. no sign, however, appeared of yielding. the new brief was known to have been issued, and to have been forwarded to the nuncio. not contented with the warning already given by proclamation, norfolk on the 13th of january sent for chapuys to draw his attention once more to the law. the introduction of briefs from rome touching the honour and authority of the crown was forbidden by act of parliament. it was understood that "certain decretals" had been procured by the queen's friends, and were about to be published. the duke desired the ambassador to know that if the pope came in person to present such briefs he would be torn in pieces by the people. it was not a new question. popes had tried in past times to usurp authority in england. the king's predecessors had always resisted, and the present king would resist also. kings were before popes. the king was master in his own dominions. if any such decretal came into the ambassador's hands, the duke warned him not to issue it.[138] imperialist officials were more accustomed to dictate to others than to submit to commands. chapuys was brave, and, when occasion required, could be haughty to insolence. he thanked the duke for giving him the notice. "he would not argue," he said, "on the authority possessed by popes over disobedient kings and kingdoms. it was a notorious fact in full practice at that very time. his curiosity had not extended so far as the study of the english statute book, and on such points he must refer the council to the nuncio. for himself he could only say he thought they would have done better if they had not given occasion for such 'briefs' from the pope. the emperor would not consent to an unreasonable sentence against the king, for he regarded him as his ally and friend, but he could assure the duke that if his master was to direct him to assist the publication of any papal brief in england he would unquestionably execute his majesty's commands. as to the nation at large, he did not think they would resist the pope's decretals. he thought, on the contrary, they would help their execution with all their power. truth and justice must reign everywhere, even among thieves and in hell. the church of christ was never so unprovided with defenders as to be unable to carry the world with her, and the english would have no right to complain if the emperor, having exhausted all means of conciliation, caused justice to take her course."[139] such language could bear but one meaning. chapuys perhaps intended to frighten norfolk. the duke was suspected to be less staunch in support of the king than he professed to be in council. the duchess was a fiery partisan of catherine, and a close intimate of the ambassador himself. he thought that he had produced an impression; but norfolk answered at last that, "if the king could take another wife he certainly would;" the pope had no business to interfere, except in cases of heresy.[140] to the nuncio the duke gave the same warning which he had given to the ambassador, drawing special attention to the pains and penalties to which disobedience would make him liable. the nuncio answered, like chapuys, that at whatever cost he would obey the pope's orders, and "would die if necessary for his lord and master." chapter x. state of feeling in england--clergy and laity--the clergy in a præmunire-the royal supremacy--hesitation at rome--submission of the clergy--the meaning of the new title--more and fisher--alarm of the emperor--appeal of catherine to him--unpopularity of anne boleyn--threats of excommunication--determination of henry--deputation of peers to catherine--catherine's reply--intolerable pretensions of the emperor-removal of catherine from the court. a struggle was now inevitable between the king and the pope, and the result of it would depend on the sentiments of the english nation. chapuys and the nuncio believed the majority of the people to be loyally attached to the see of rome. to the pope as pope the king and council were willing to submit; but a pope who was the vassal and mouthpiece of another secular sovereign, they believed the country would support them in refusing to acknowledge. was chapuys right or was the king? the parliament about to open would decide. in the clergy of england the pope had a ready-made army completely at his devotion. in asserting their independence of civil control the clerical order had been conscious that they could not stand alone, and had attached themselves with special devotion to their spiritual sovereign at rome. they might complain of annates and first-fruits and other tributes which they were made to pay; but the pope's support they knew to be essential to the maintenance of their professional privileges; and in any contest which might arise they were certain to be found on the side of the holy see. the hero of the imagination of every english priest was becket of canterbury. in theory he regarded the secular prince as ruling only by delegation from the supreme pontiff, and as liable in case of contumacy to be deposed. in case of quarrel between the clergy and the state the enormous influence of the church was pledged to the order and to its chief at rome. the spiritualty were already exasperated by the clipping of their claws in the last session. from the bishop of rochester, who represented clerical opinion in its most accentuated form, from great ladies, and from a party of the nobles with whom, as catherine's friends, he mainly associated, chapuys had heard unanimous censures of the king's conduct. these persons told him that the whole nation agreed with them, and certainly the opposition of a body so powerful as the clergy was by itself formidable. before it came to war, therefore, with the pontiff, the king had prepared his measures to disarm the pontiff's legionaries. to clip their claws was not enough. their mouths had to be held with bit and bridle. parliament, after repeated prorogations, was opened at last in january. convocation, which was called simultaneously, was put formally in possession of a fact which had appeared on the first rumour of it incredible--that the whole body of the clergy lay under præmunire for having recognised cardinal wolsey's legation and the papal bull by which it was instituted. it was an intimation that the old english laws were awake again. the clergy were subjects of the crown, not of the pope, and to impress the fact upon their minds they learnt that legally their property was forfeited, that they would obtain their pardon only on paying a fine of a hundred thousand pounds, and on distinctly acknowledging the king as the supreme head of the church of england. chapuys's correspondence explained the motives of the government in extorting the confession; and justified the arbitrary use which was made of the præmunire. the pope was being urged to excommunicate the king and declare him deposed. the clergy, through whom the pope would act, were to be forced to admit that they were subjects of the crown and were bound to obey the laws of their country. it was in no idle vanity, no ambitious caprice that henry viii. demanded the title which has been so much debated. it was as a practical assertion of the unity and independence of the realm. england was to have but one sovereign supreme within her own limits, with whom no foreign prince, secular or spiritual, had a right to interfere; and an acknowledgement of their obligation was demanded in ample form from the order which looked elsewhere for its superior. the black regiments were to be compelled to swear allegiance to the proper sovereign. clement's mind had always misgiven him that, if he pushed henry too far, mischief would befall him. he had refused the last brief till it was extorted from him.[141] as if mai had not been pressing and vehement enough, catherine had now at rome a special representative of her own, dr. ortiz, a bitter catholic theologian with the qualities which belong to that profession. mai and ortiz together, listening to no excuse, drove the pope on from day to day, demanding sentence with its inevitable consequence. the cardinals were alarmed. one of them told mai that, in his opinion, the original dispensation really was void, that julius had no faculty to dispense in such a case. the pope suggested that the affair might be suspended for two years. it might then, perhaps, drop and be forgotten. he enquired whether, if the king consented to plead by proxy before him, the emperor would agree to _any accommodation_. should the case go on, it might last fifteen or twenty years. all the cardinals, said mai, nay, the pope himself, would like to put off the affair entirely, to avoid trouble.[142] the court of rome had, in fact, discovered at last that matters were really serious, that henry would not be played with, and that the quarrel must be peaceably settled. mai and ortiz were furious. they insisted on immediate action. delay, they said, would be injurious to the queen. their orders were to urge the pope to proceed and pass sentence, whether the parties appeared or not. they hinted that very soon there would be no more trouble from england; they had been told, and they believed, that, with the clergy on catherine's side, a papal decree would end the whole business. their confidence was shaken and their activity rudely arrested by the news of the præmunire and the demand for the submission of the english clergy. too well the meaning of it was understood. on chapuys and the nuncio it fell like a thunderbolt. they held an anxious consultation, and they agreed on the least wise measure which they could possibly have adopted. the nuncio, as representing the majesty of the holy see, determined to go himself to convocation, and exhort the bishops to uphold the church and resist the king and the house of commons. he actually went, and was much astonished at the reception which he met with. the right reverend body was so "scandalised" at his intrusion that they entreated him to withdraw, without giving him time to declare his errand. they told him that, if he had anything to say, "he must address himself to the archbishop of canterbury, who was not then present." the nuncio had to withdraw precipitately. in his vexation he had not even the prudence to depart quietly, but insisted on thrusting on the bishop of london the words which he had meant to speak.[143] the bishops and clergy themselves were compelled to submit to the inevitable. the law under which they suffered had marked an epoch of successful resistance to papal usurpation. the revival of it was to mark another and a greater. they struggled long enough and violently enough to deprive their resistance of dignity, and then, "swearing they would never consent," consented. they agreed to pay the hundred thousand pounds as the price of their pardon. they agreed, in accepting it, to acknowledge the king as supreme head of the english church, and, to ease their conscience, they were allowed to introduce as a qualifying phrase, _quantum per legem christi licet_. but the law of christ would avail them little for their special privileges. it would have to be interpreted by the rejection of another form which they had desired to substitute and were not allowed. for "_legem christi_" they had desired to read "_legem ecclesiæ_." the supposed claims of the church were precisely what they were to be compelled to disavow. it was done. the enchantment was gone from them. they had become as other men, shorn samsons and no longer dangerous. the pope might say what he pleased. the clergy were now the king's servants, and not the pope's, and must either support the crown or become confessed traitors. thus when the brief arrived, the nuncio was allowed to present it. the king took it with a smile and passed it on to the privy council, talked to him good-humouredly of indifferent matters, and had never been more polite. in a light way he told the nuncio that he knew of his attempt to persuade the bishops to agree to nothing to the pope's prejudice; but his anxiety was unnecessary; no injury would be done to the pope, unless the pope brought it upon himself. the king's graciousness was but too intelligible. to catherine and chapuys and all their friends the meaning of it was that henry had made himself "pope" in england. the queen foresaw her own fate as too sure to follow. she feared "that, since the king was not ashamed of doing such monstrous things, and there being no one who could or dared contradict him, he might, one of these days, undertake some further outrage against her own person."[144] the blame of the defeat was thrown on the unfortunate clement. the pope's timidity and dissimulation, wrote chapuys, had produced the effect which he had all along foretold. it had prejudiced the queen's interests and his own authority. her cause was making no progress. the pope had promised mai that if the king disobeyed his first brief and allowed anne boleyn to remain at court he would excommunicate him, and now all that he had done had been to issue another conditional brief less strong than the first, and the lady was left defiant and with as much authority as ever. the queen had begun to think that the pope had no desire to settle the matter, and, as norfolk observed to chapuys, was glad that the princes should be at discord, for fear they might combine to reform the clergy. if the pope had directly ordered the king to separate from the lady anne, the king would never have claimed the supremacy[145] which had caused such universal consternation. the chancellor [sir thomas more] was so horrified at it, chapuys said, that he would quit office as soon as possible. the bishop of rochester was sick with grief. he opposed as much as he could; but they threatened to fling him and his friends into the river, so he had to yield at last, and had taken to his bed in despair. the bishops, it was thought, would now do anything against the queen which they were ordered, especially seeing how cold and indifferent the pope seemed about her fate. the nuncio had questioned the king about the nature of his new papacy. the king told him that if the pope showed him proper respect he might retain his lawful authority, "otherwise he knew what he would himself do."[146] the last words were explained in another letter in which chapuys said that the lady anne was supporting the lutherans. they had been treated to prison and stake while more had held the seals. on more's retirement they were now to have an easier time of it. between them and the king there was the link of a common enemy in the pope, and the king was showing a disposition to protect them. the revival of the præmunire created embarrassments of many kinds. the pope had officials of his own in england and ireland, whom he appointed himself, and could not realise the extent of the change which he had brought on. it is amusing to find him in the midst of the storm peacefully soliciting henry for help against the turks, and the nuncio paying friendly visits to the palace. henry told him that he had made a final appeal to rome and was waiting to see the result. the pope might excommunicate him if he pleased; he cared nothing for his excommunication; the emperor might, no doubt, hurt him; but he was not sure that the emperor desired to hurt him, or, if it came to that, he could defend himself and the realm. norfolk was equally decided. they knew, he said, that the queen and the emperor were pressing the pope for sentence, but it was time lost. if the pope issued ten thousand excommunications, no notice would be taken of them. the archbishop and not the pope was the lawful judge in english causes. chapuys expressed a hope that a day would come when the king would listen to his true friends again, etc. "you will see before long," replied the duke, "that the emperor will repent of not having consented to the divorce."[147] in fact, the emperor had begun to repent already, or, if not to repent, yet to be perplexed with the addition which his action had brought upon him to his many burdens. the præmunire and the successful establishment of the authority of the crown over the clergy had startled all europe. the king and parliament, it had been universally supposed, would yield before a threat of excommunication. when it appeared that they were as careless of the pope's curses as luther and the elector of saxony, the affair wore another aspect. even the imperialist cardinals in the consistory came round to the pope's own view and wished to let the cause rest for two or three years. mai feared that such a course might lead to _novedades_ or revolution, but admitted that much might be said for it, especially considering the difficulties in germany. he ceased to press the pope for immediate sentence, and dr. ortiz, catherine's passionate agent, complained that he found the emperor's ambassador growing cold and less eager to support his own arguments.[148] catherine, seeing her clerical friends prostrated, could but renew her entreaties to her own relations. her position was growing daily weaker. the nation, seeing the pope confining himself to weak threats and unable or unwilling to declare her marriage valid, was rapidly concluding that on the main question the king was right, and that to throw the realm into a convulsion for an uncertainty was not tolerable. no appeal had as yet been made to parliament, but "the king of france," catherine wrote to charles, "has asked the pope to delay sentence. if this be allowed, the means now employed by these people to gain the consent of the nation to his second marriage are such that they will obtain what they desire and accomplish my ruin at the next session. if the delay be not already granted, i entreat your highness not to consent to it. insist that the pope shall give judgment before next october, when parliament will meet again. forgive my importunity. i cannot rest till justice is done to me. for the love of heaven let it be done before the time i name. i myself, if it must be so, shall go to parliament and declare before its members the justice of my case."[149] the harassed pope was obstinately cautious, and occasionally even turned upon his persecutors. mai now urged him to call a general council and settle all questions. the word "council" rang painfully in papal ears. why did not the emperor make war upon the lutherans? he pettishly asked. mai told him the lutherans were rich and stubborn and strong, and it would be an endless work. why not then, said clement, begin with the swiss, who were not so strong? mai answered that it could not be. the heretics everywhere made common cause, and the emperor could not fight them all single-handed. the pope sighed, and said he feared there would be little help from france and england.[150] in england events moved steadily on, without hesitation, yet without precipitation. the bishops were not yet agreed on the divorce. at the close of the session (march, 1531) sir thomas more read in the upper house the opinions which had been collected from the universities at home and abroad, and a debate ensued upon them.... london and lincoln were on the king's side. st. asaph and bath were of opinion that parliament had no right to interfere. norfolk cut the argument short by saying that the documents had been introduced merely to be read. there was no proposal before the house. more said briefly that the king knew what his opinion was, and that he need not repeat it. the judgments were sent down to the house of commons, where chapuys persuaded himself that they were heard with more displeasure than approval. the session ended, and parliament was prorogued till the following autumn. the emperor himself wrote to more. the letter was forwarded through chapuys, who wished to deliver it in person. more declined his visit and declined the letter. if it was placed in his hand, he said, he must communicate it to the king. parliament having risen, there was again a breathing time.[151] so far as the persons of the two ladies were concerned who were the central figures in the quarrel, there was little difference of opinion in england. the duke of norfolk, who represented the feelings of the great body of the nation, thought that the interests of the succession made the divorce a necessity. the realm could not be left exposed to the risk of another civil war. he was jealous of the honour and liberties of the country, and ill liked to see a question which touched them so nearly left to the pleasure of the emperor. but norfolk as much admired catherine as he disliked his niece, and there were probably few english statesmen who did not regret that a public cause should have been tainted by a love-affair. all the leading men regretted that the king had fastened his choice upon a person neither liked nor respected. anne's antecedents were unfavourable. her elevation had turned her brain; she had made herself detested for her insolence and dreaded for her intrigues. catherine, on the other hand, was a princess of royal birth and stainless honour. the duke observed to the marquis of exeter that it was a wonder to see her courage--nothing seemed to frighten her; "the devil and no other," he said, "must have originated so wretched a business." the same view of the matter was growing at rome in the pope and among the cardinals. the bishop of tarbes, who represented francis at the papal court, warned clement that the loss of england might be the loss of france also. if the king of england, he said, was driven to desperation, the miserable divorce suit would be the ruin of the world; francis would and must stand by him if the pope proceeded to excommunication. his impatience with his marriage might be unreasonable, but was no adequate ground for the convulsion of catholic christendom. clement was at heart of the same opinion. the course which he wished to follow was to delay indefinitely. a formal suspension would not be needed. they had only to go on slowly. the king would then most likely marry, and the cause would drop. andrea de burgo, ferdinand's ambassador, said that the emperor was strong enough to settle the matter by himself. "not so strong as you think," clement observed. "between the turks and the lutherans the emperor may have trouble enough of his own."[152] the pope's unwillingness was well understood in england. he made another faint effort to save catherine; he ordered the nuncio to announce to henry that the brief must be obeyed, or "justice would have its course." believing that the message would be resented, the nuncio hesitated to deliver it, but, encouraged by chapuys, at last demanded audience and informed henry in the pope's name what he was to expect if he persisted. henry shortly answered that the pope was losing his time. he already knew what the nuncio had come to tell him, but, once for all, he would never accept the pope as his judge in an affair concerning himself and the english nation. "the pope may excommunicate me," he said. "i care not a fig for his excommunication. let him do as he wills at rome. i will do here as i will.... i take the pope to be a worthy man on the whole, but ever since the last war he has been so afraid of the emperor that he dares not act against his wishes."[153] the most obvious resource was to adopt the suggestion already made that the case should be transferred to cambray, or to some other spot not open to objection, where it could be heard with impartiality. clement himself was weary of the struggle, and eager to escape from it by any reasonable means. if catherine would agree, charles was unlikely to hesitate; but, though weary and worn out with disappointments, she was a resolute woman, and as long as she persisted the emperor was determined not to desert her. with small hope of success, but as an experiment which it was thought desirable to try, a deputation of peers and bishops were commissioned to see catherine, to ask her to withdraw her demand for an immediate sentence, and consent that the cause should be tried in a neutral place; while the pope, through his legate in spain, made a similar proposition to charles. the queen heard that they were coming, and prepared for them by causing several "masses of the holy ghost" to be said, that she might be enlightened how to answer. the delegates arrived shortly after the masses were completed, the two dukes, lord exeter, earls, barons, bishops, and canon lawyers, thirty of them in all. norfolk spoke for the rest. he said that the king had been treated with contempt and vituperation by the pope on her account; he had been cited to appear personally at rome--a measure never before enforced by any pope against an english king. he could not go; he could not leave his kingdom--nor could the dispute be settled by the pope's insistence on it. a fitter place and fitter judges must be chosen by the mutual consent of the parties, or she would be the cause of trouble and scandal to them and their posterity. the duke entreated her to consider the consequences of refusal--to remember the many good services which the king had rendered to her father and to the emperor, and to allow the constitution of some other court before which the king could plead. in itself the demand was reasonable. it was impossible for a king of england to plead before the pope, in the power, as he was, of the emperor, who was himself a party interested in the dispute. a neutral place might have been easily found. neutral judges might be less easily procurable; but none could be less fit than his holiness. the queen, however, replied stoutly as ever that her cause should be judged by the pope and by no one else; not that she expected any favour at his hands; so far the pope had shown himself so partial to the king that more could not be asked of him; she, and not the king, had cause to complain of his holiness; but the pope held the place and had the power of god upon earth, and was the image of eternal truth. to him, and only to him, she remitted her case. if trouble came, it would be the work of others, not of her. she allowed that in past times the king had assisted her relations. the emperor had not denied it, and was the king's true friend. with a scornful allusion to the supremum caput, she said, the king might be lord and master in temporal matters, but the pope was the true sovereign and vicar of god in matters spiritual, of which matrimony was one.[154] the spanish legate had succeeded no better with charles, who returned a peremptory refusal; but so little confidence had the emperor in the true sovereign and vicar of god that he insisted not merely that the pope _should try the case but should try it in his own presence, lest the queen's interests should suffer injury_. the request itself indicated a disposition on the pope's part to evade his duty. charles gave him to understand, in language sufficiently peremptory, that he intended that duty to be done.[155] in this direction there was no hope. catherine had been even more emphatic with the deputation. after her reply to norfolk, the bishops and lawyers took up the word. she always denied that she had been prince arthur's actual wife. she herself on all occasions courted the subject, and was not afraid of indelicacy. the church doctors responded. they said she had slept with prince arthur, and the presumptions were against her. she bade them go plead their presumptions at rome, where they would have others than a woman to answer them. she was astonished, she said, to see so many great people gathered against a lone lady without friends or counsel. among the great persons before her she had still some staunch friends. anne boleyn was detested by them all; and those who, like norfolk, wished her, for her own sake, to be less uncompromising could not refuse to admire the gallant spirit of isabella's daughter. but, alas! the refusal to allow the cause to be heard in a free city, before an impartial tribunal, was equivalent to a consciousness that, unless by a court under the emperor's control, an unfavourable judgment was to be looked for. they could not, any one of them, allow their sovereign to plead where an imperial minister could threaten the lives of uncompliant cardinals. but, unless every knightly feeling had been dead in them, they could not have refused their sympathy. had the pope spoken plainly from the first, most of the peers would perhaps have stood by the lady before them with voice and sword. but the pope had allowed that the king was in the right. he had drawn back only under compulsion, and even at that moment was only prevented by fear from deciding on the king's side. glad as they might have been had the question never been raised, they could not submit their prince to the indignity of a condemnation by a coerced tribunal--a tribunal which was to be trusted to proceed only, as it now appeared, in the emperor's own presence. they carried the answer back to their master. "i feared it would be so," he said, "knowing as i do the heart and temper of the queen. we must now provide in some other way." norfolk, who wished well to the queen, regretted that she had taken a course so little likely to profit her. "the emperor's action," he said, "in causing the king to be cited to rome was outrageous and unprecedented. the cause ought to be tried in england, and the queen had been unwise in rejecting the advice of the peers."[156] the emperor on reflection reconsidered his own first refusal to allow the cause to be transferred; to insist on the trial being conducted before himself was really intolerable, and he drew a more moderate reply; but he still persisted that the pope alone should hear the case, and decide it in the queen's favour. "the affair," he said, "was of such a nature as to admit of no solution save the declaring that a marriage contracted with the authority and license of the holy see was valid and indissoluble. as the patron and defender of the apostolic see he was more in duty bound than any other prince to remove and defend all small offences and disputes." in fact he still advanced a claim of sovereign jurisdiction which it was impossible for england to allow.[157] catherine was well aware that the pope had been a party to the request for the removal of her cause, and bitterly she railed at him. charles sent her a copy of his own answer. it reassured her, if she had doubted; she saw that, let clement struggle how he would, she could be confident that her nephew would compel him to decide for her. the pope, she announced, was responsible for all that had happened by refusing to do her justice. this last move showed that he was as little disposed to apply the remedy[158] as he had been. if the cause was removed from rome, the judges, whoever they might be, would declare that black was white.[159] up to this time catherine had continued at the court with her own apartments, and with the princess mary as her companion. she had refused the only available means of a peaceful arrangement, and was standing out, avowedly resting on the emperor's protection. she was not reticent. she spoke out freely of her wrongs and her expectations. to separate mother and daughter would have been a needless aggravation had the suit been between private individuals. but mary was a public person with her own rights on the succession. it was found necessary to remove catherine from london and to place the princess out of reach of her influence. moor park, which had been a country-house of wolsey's, was assigned for the queen's residence, while mary was sent to the palace at richmond. catherine was too proud to resist when resistance would be useless, but she said she would prefer the tower.[160] the nuncio remonstrated. he advised the king "to recall her to the court and shut a hundred thousand tongues." the king replied, "nearly in tears," that he had sent her away because she used such high words and was always threatening him with the emperor.[161] of mary, henry was personally fond. he met her one day in richmond park, spoke affectionately to her, and regretted that he saw her so seldom. she cannot be where the lady is, said chapuys, "because the lady has declared that she will not have it, nor hear of her." she would not even allow the king to speak to mary without being watched on the occasion just mentioned. she sent two of her people to report what passed between them.[162] chapter xi. proposals for the reunion of christendom--warning addressed to the pope-address of the english nobles to queen catherine--advances of clement to henry--embarrassments of the pope and the emperor--unwillingness of the pope to decide against the king--business in parliament--reform of the english church--death of archbishop warham--bishop fisher and chapuys-question of annates--papal briefs--the pope urged to excommunicate henry-the pope refuses--anger of queen catherine's agent. the unity of christendom was not to be broken in pieces without an effort to preserve it. charles v. was attempting impossibilities in his own dominions, labouring for terms on which the lutheran states might return to the church. he had brought the pope to consent to the "communion in both kinds," and to the "marriage of priests"--a vast concession, which had been extorted by micer mai in the intervals of the discussions on the divorce. efforts which fail are forgotten, but they represent endeavours at least honourable. catherine was absorbed in her own grievances. charles gave them as much attention as he could spare, but had other things to think of. as long as he could prevent clement from taking any fatal step, he supposed that he had done enough. he had at least done all that he could, and he had evidently allowed chapuys to persuade him that henry's course would be arrested at the last extremity by his own subjects. he left mai to watch the pope, and ortiz to urge for sentence; but when the pressure of his own hand relaxed his agents could effect but little. the english parliament was to open again in january. the king's commissioners at rome informed the consistory that if it was decided finally to try the cause at rome they were to take their leave, and the king would thenceforward regard the pope as his public enemy.[163] the threat "produced a great impression." the pope had no wish to be henry's enemy in order to please the emperor. mai and ortiz told him that the english menaces were but words; he had but to speak and england would submit. the pope did not believe it, and became again "lax and procrastinating."[164] the english nobles made a last effort to move catherine. lord sussex, sir william fitzwilliam, and lee, archbishop of york, who had been her warm supporter, waited on her at moor park to urge her, if she would not allow the case to be tried at cambray, to permit it to be settled by a commission of bishops and lawyers. the pope confessedly was not free to give his own opinion, and english causes could not be ruled by the emperor. if catherine had consented, it is by no means certain that anne boleyn would have been any more heard of. a love which had waited for five years could not have been unconquerable; and it was possible and even probable in the existing state of opinion that some other arrangement might have been made for the succession. the difficulty rose from catherine's determination to force the king before a tribunal where the national pride would not permit him to plead. the independence of england was threatened, and those who might have been her friends were disarmed of their power to help her. unfortunately for herself, perhaps fortunately for the english race which was yet to be born, she remained still inflexible. "the king's plea of conscience," she said, "was not honest. he was acting on passion, pure and simple; and english judges would say black was white." sussex and fitzwilliam knelt to entreat her to reconsider her answer. she too knelt and prayed them for god's honour and glory to persuade the king to return to her, as she was his lawful wife. all present were in tears, but there was no remedy. chapuys said that the coldness and indifference with which the affair was treated at rome was paralysing her defenders. the question could not stand in debate for ever, and, unless the pope acted promptly and resolutely, he feared that some strong act was not far distant.[165] she was destroying her own chance. she persisted in relying on a defence which was itself fatal to her. "god knows what i suffer from these people," she wrote to the emperor, "enough to kill ten men, much more a shattered woman who has done no harm. i can do nothing but appeal to god and your majesty, on whom alone my remedy depends. for the love of god procure a final sentence from his holiness as soon as possible. the utmost diligence is required. may god forgive him for the many delays which he has granted and which alone are the cause of my extremity. i am the king's lawful wife, and while i live i will say no other. the pope's tardiness makes many on my side waver, and those who would say the truth dare not. speak out yourself, that my friends may not think i am abandoned by all the world."[166] well might catherine despair of clement. while she was expecting him to excommunicate her husband, he was instructing his nuncio to treat that husband as his most trusted friend. he invited henry to assist in the turkish war; he consulted him about the protection of savoy from the swiss protestants; he apologised to him for the language which he was obliged to use on the great matter. henry, contemptuous and cool, "not showing the passion which he had shown at other times," replied that the pope must be jesting in inviting him, far off as he was, to go to war with the turk. if christendom was in danger he would bear his part with the other princes. as to savoy, the duke had disregarded the wishes of france and must take the consequences. for the rest, the message which he had sent through his ambassador at rome was no more than the truth. "if," said he to the nuncio, "i ask a thing which i think right, the answer is 'the law forbids.' if the emperor ask a thing, law and rules are changed to please him. the pope has greatly wronged me. i have no particular animosity against him. after all, he does not bear me much ill will. the fear of the emperor makes him do things which he would not otherwise do. proceedings may be taken against me at rome. i care not. if sentence is given against me, i know what to do."[167] the pope never meant to give sentence if he could help it. every day brought parliament nearer and he drove mai distracted with his evasions. "i have said all that i could to his holiness and the cardinals without offending them," he reported to charles. "your majesty may believe me when i say that these devils are to a man against us. some take side openly, being of the french or english faction; others will be easily corrupted, for every day i hear the english ambassador receives bills for thousands of ducats, which are said to go in bribery."[168] promises were given in plenty, but no action followed, and ortiz had the same story to tell catherine. "your ambassador at rome," she wrote to her nephew, "thinks the pope as cold and indifferent as when the suit began. i am amazed at his holiness. how can he allow a suit so scandalous to remain so long undecided? his conduct cuts me to the soul. you know who has caused all this mischief. were the king once free from the snare in which he has been caught he would confess that god had restored his reason. his misleaders goad him on like a bull in the arena. pity that a man so good and virtuous should be thus deceived. god enlighten his mind!"[169] to the emperor himself, perhaps, the problem was growing more difficult than he expected. he himself at last pressed for sentence, but sentence was nothing unless followed by excommunication if it was disobeyed, and the pope did not choose to use his thunder if there was to be no thunderbolt to accompany it. the cardinal legate in spain assured him that the emperor would employ all his force in the execution of the censures. the pope said that he prized that promise as "a word from heaven." but though charles might think the english king was doing what was wrong and unjust, was it so wrong and so unjust that fire and sword were to be let loose through christendom? chapuys and catherine were convinced that there would be no need of such fierce remedies. they might be right, but how if they were not right? how if england supported the king? the emperor could not be certain that even his own subjects would approve of a war for such an object. three years later, when the moment for action had arrived, if action was to be taken at all, it will be seen that the spanish council of state took precisely this view of the matter, and saw no reason for breaking the peace of europe for what, after all, was but "a family quarrel." the pope was cautious. he knew better than his passionate advisers how matters really stood. "the pope may promise," mai said, "but as long as the world remains in its troubled state, these people will be glad of any excuse to prolong the settlement." january came, when the english parliament was to meet, and the note was still the same. "the pope says," wrote mai, "that we must not press the english too hard. i have exhausted all that i could say without a rupture. i told him he was discrediting the queen's case and your majesty's authority. i made him understand that i should be obliged to apply elsewhere for the justice that was denied me at rome. he owns that i am right, but consistory follows consistory and more delays are allowed. we can but press on as we have always done, and urge your majesty's displeasure."[170] if a sentence could not be had, ortiz insisted on the issue of another minatory brief. anne boleyn must be sent from the court. the king must be made to confess his errors. the pope assented; said loudly that he would do justice; though england and france should revolt from the holy see in consequence, a brief should go, and, if it was disobeyed, he would proceed to excommunicate: "the kings of england and france were so bound together that if he lost one he lost both, but he would venture notwithstanding." but like the cardinals who condemned giordano bruno, clement was more afraid of passing judgment than henry of hearing it passed. the brief was written and was sent, but it contained nothing but mild expostulation.[171] all the distractions of the world were laid at the door of the well-meaning, uncertain, wavering clement. la pommeraye, the french ambassador in london, said (chapuys vouches for the words) that "nothing could have been so easy as to bring all christian princes to agree had not that devil of a pope embroiled and sown dissension through christendom."[172] in england alone was to be found clear purpose and steadiness of action. the divorce in england was an important feature in the quarrel with the papacy, but it was but a single element in the great stream of reformation, and the main anxiety of king and people was not fixed on catherine, but on the mighty changes which were rushing forward. when a parliament was first summoned, on the fall of wolsey, the queen had assumed that it was called for nothing else but to empower the king to separate from her. so she thought at the beginning, so she continued to think. yet session had followed session, and the legislature had found other work to deal with. they had manacled the wrists of her friends, the clergy; but that was all, and she was to have yet another year of respite. the "blind passion" which is supposed to have governed henry's conduct was singularly deliberate. seven years had passed since he had ceased cohabitation with catherine, and five since he had fallen under the fascination of the impatient anne; yet he went on as composedly with public business as if anne had never smiled on him, and he was still content to wait for this particular satisfaction. as long as hope remained of saving the unity of christendom without degrading england into a vassal state of the empire, henry did not mean to break it. he had occupied himself, in concert with the parliament, with reforming the internal disorders and checking the audacious usurpations of the national church. he had, so far, been enthusiastically supported by the immense majority of the laity, and was about to make a further advance in the same direction. the third session opened on 13th of january, peers, prelates, and commons being present in full number. by this time a small but active opposition had been formed in the lower house to resist measures too violently anti-clerical. they met occasionally to concert operations at the queen's head by temple bar. the bishops, who had been stunned by the præmunire, were recovering heart and intending to show fight. tunstal of durham, who had been reflecting on the royal supremacy during the recess, repented of his consent, and had written his misgivings to the king. the king used the opportunity to make a remarkable reply. "people conceive," he said, "that we are minded to separate our church of england from the church of rome, and you think the consequences ought to be considered. my lord, as touching schism, we are informed by virtuous and learned men that, considering what the church of rome is, it is no schism to separate from her, and adhere to the word of god. the lives of christ and the pope are very opposite, and therefore to follow the pope is to forsake christ. it is to be trusted the papacy will shortly vanish away, if it be not reformed; but, god willing, we shall never separate from the universal body of christian men."[173] archbishop warham also had failed to realise the meaning of his consent to the royal supremacy. he had consecrated the bishop of st. asaph on the receipt of a nomination from rome before the bulls had been presented to the king. he learnt that he was again under a præmunire. the aged primate, fallen on evil times, drew the heads of a defence which he intended to make, but never did make, in the house of lords. archbishops, he said, were not bound to enquire whether bishops had exhibited their bulls or not. it had not been the custom. if the archbishop could not give the spiritualities to one who was pronounced a bishop at rome till the king had granted him his temporalities, the spiritual powers of the archbishops would depend on the temporal power of the prince, and would be of little or no effect, which was against god's law. in consecrating the bishop of st. asaph he had acted as the pope's commissary. the act itself was the pope's act. the point for which the king contended was one of the articles which henry ii. sought to extort at clarendon, and which he was afterwards compelled to abandon. the liberties of the church were guaranteed by magna charta, and the sovereigns who had violated them, henry ii., edward iii., richard ii., had come to an ill end. the lay peers had threatened that they would defend the matter with their swords. the lay peers should remember what befell the knights who slew st. thomas. the archbishop said he would rather be hewn in pieces than confess this article, for which st. thomas died, to be a præmunire.[174] warham was to learn that the spirit of henry ii. was alive again in the present henry, and that the constitutions of clarendon, then premature, were to become the law of the land. fisher of rochester had received no summons to attend the present parliament; but he sent word to the imperial ambassador that he would be in his place, whether called up or not, that he might defend catherine should any measure be introduced which affected her. he begged chapuys not to mention his name in his despatches, except in cipher. if they met in public chapuys must not speak to him or appear to know him. he on his part would pass chapuys without notice till the present tyranny was overpast. bishop fisher was entering upon dangerous courses, which were to lead him into traitorous efforts to introduce an invading army into england and to bring his own head to the block. history has only pity for these unfortunate old men, and does not care to remember that, if they could have had their way, a bloodier persecution than the marian would have made a swift end of the reformation. i need not repeat what i have written elsewhere on the acts of this session.[175] a few details only deserve further notice. the privilege of the clergy to commit felony without punishment was at last abolished. felonious clerks were thenceforward to suffer like secular criminals. an accident provided an illustrative example. a priest was executed in london for chipping the coin, having been first drawn through the streets in the usual way. thirty women sued in vain for his pardon. he was hanged in his habit, without being degraded, against the protest of the bishop--"a thing never done before since the island was christian."[176] the constitutions of clarendon were to be enforced at last. the arches court and the bishops' courts were reformed on similar lines, their methods and their charges being brought within reasonable limits. priests were no longer allowed to evade the mortmain acts by working on death-bed terrors. the exactions for mortuaries, legacy duties, and probate duties, long a pleasant source of revenue, were abolished or cut down. the clergy in their synods had passed what laws they pleased and enforced them with spiritual terrors. the clergy were informed that they would no longer be allowed to meet in synod without royal licence, and that their laws would be revised by laymen. chapuys wittily observed that the clergy were thus being made of less account than cordwainers, who could at least enact their own statutes. a purpose of larger moment was announced by henry for future execution. more's chancellorship had been distinguished by heresy-prosecutions. the stake in those three years had been more often lighted than under all the administration of wolsey. it was as if the bishops had vented on those poor victims their irritation at the rude treatment of their privileges. the king said that the clergy's province was with souls, not with bodies. they were not in future to arrest men on suspicion, imprison, examine, and punish at their mere pleasure. there was an outcry, in which the chancellor joined. the king suspended his resolution for the moment, but did not abandon it. he was specially displeased with more, from whom he had expected better things. he intended to persist. "may god," exclaimed the orthodox and shocked chapuys, "send such a remedy as the intensity of the evil requires."[177] none of henry's misdeeds shocked chapuys so deeply as the tolerating heresy. the royal supremacy had been accepted by convocation. it was not yet confirmed by parliament. norfolk felt the pulses of the peers. he called a meeting at norfolk house. he described the pope's conduct. he insisted on the usual topics--that matrimonial causes were of temporal jurisdiction, not spiritual; that the king was sovereign in his own dominions, etc., etc., and he invited the peers' opinions. the peers were cold. lord darcy had spoken freely against the pope in his indictment of wolsey. it seemed his ardour was abating. he said the king and council must manage matters without letting loose a cat among the legs of the rest of them.[178] the meeting generally agreed with darcy, and was not pressed further. papal privilege came before parliament in a more welcome form when a bill was introduced to withdraw annates or first fruits of benefices which had been claimed and paid as a tribute to the holy see. the imposition was a grievance. there were no annates in spain. the papal collectors were detested. the house of commons made no difficulty. the nuncio complained to the king. the king told him that it was not he who brought forward these measures. they were moved by the people, who hated the pope marvellously.[179] in the upper house the bishops stood by their spiritual chief this time unanimously. among the mitred abbots there was division of opinion. the abbeys had been the chief sufferers from annates, and had complained of the exaction for centuries. all the lay peers, except lord arundel, supported the government. the bill was passed, but passed conditionally, leaving power to the crown to arrange a compromise if the pope would agree to treat. for the next year the annates were paid in full, as usual, to give time for his holiness to consider himself.[180] thus steadily the parliament moved on. archbishop warham, who was dying broken-hearted, dictated a feeble protest from his bed against all which had been done by it in derogation of the pope or in limitation of the privileges of the church. more had fought through the session, but, finding resistance useless, resigned the chancellorship. he saw what was coming. he could not prevent it. if he retained his office he found that he must either go against his conscience or increase the displeasure of the king.[181] he preferred to retire. in this way, at least in england, the situation was clearing, and parties and individuals were drifting into definite positions. montfalconet,[182] writing to charles in may, said that he had been in england and had seen queen catherine, who was still clamouring for the pope's sentence. "every one," he continued, speaking for the catholic party, whom alone he had seen, "was angry with the pope, and angry with the emperor for not pressing him further. peers, clergy, laity, all loved the queen. she was patient. she thought that if she could but see the king all might yet be well. were the sentence once delivered she was satisfied that he would submit."[183] the french ambassador in london, on the other hand, recommended francis to force the pope to hold his hand. he told chapuys that "france must and would take henry's part if a rupture came. the emperor had no right to throw europe into confusion for the sake of a woman. if the king of england wished to marry again, he should do as louis xii. had done under the same circumstances--take the woman that he liked and waste no more time and money."[184] at rome the pope had been fingering his briefs with hesitating heart. the first, which he had issued under charles's eye at bologna, had been comparatively firm. he had there ordered henry to take catherine back under penalty of excommunication. the last, though so hardly extracted from him, was meagre and insignificant. the king, when it was presented, merely laughed at it. "the pope," he said, "complains that i have sent the queen away. if his holiness considers her as my wife, the right of punishing her for the rudeness of her behaviour belongs to me and not to him."[185] ortiz, finding it hopeless to expect a decision on the marriage itself from the pope, demanded excommunication on the plea of disobedience to the bologna brief. he had succeeded, or thought he had succeeded, in bringing the pope to the point. the excommunication was drawn up, "but when it was to be engrossed and sealed the enemy of mankind prevented its completion in a manner only known to god." ortiz continued to urge. the document could be sent secretly to the emperor, to be used at his discretion. "if the emperor thought fit to issue it, bearing, as it did, god's authority, god in such cases would infallibly send his terrors upon earth and provide that no ill should come of it."[186] the pope was less certain that god would act as ortiz undertook for him, and continued to offend the lord by delay. in vain catherine's representative railed at him, in vain told him that he would commit a great sin and offence against god if he did not excommunicate a king who was, in mortal sin, keeping a mistress at his court. the pope rationally answered that there was no evidence of mortal sin. "it was the custom in england for princes to converse intimately with ladies. he could not prove that, in the present case, there was anything worse, and the king might allege his conscience as a reason for not treating the queen as a husband."[187] ortiz insisted that the devil had got hold of the king in the shape of that woman, and unless the pope obliged him to put her away, the pope would be damned. but it was an absurdity to excommunicate the king and declare him to have forfeited his crown when the original cause of the quarrel was still undecided. the king might prove after all to be right, as modern law and custom has in fact declared him to have been. charles himself felt that such a position could not be maintained. henry was evidently not frightened. there was no sign that the english people were turning against him. if a bull of excommunication was issued, charles himself would be called on to execute it, and it was necessary to be sure of his ground. ortiz raged on. "i told his holiness," he wrote, "that if he did not excommunicate the king i would stand up at the day of judgment and accuse him before god."[188] charles was obliged to tell ortiz that he must be more moderate. a further difficulty had risen in rome itself. if the cause was tried at rome, was it to be tried before the cardinals in consistory or before the court of the rota? the cardinals were men of the world. micer mai's opinion was that from the rota only a judgment could be with certainty expected in the queen's favour.[189] "the winds are against us," he wrote to secretary covos; "what is done one day is undone the next. the cardinals will not stir, but quietly pocket the ducats which come from the emperor, and the larger sums which come from the english, who are lavish in spending. the pope will not break with france. he says he has so many ties with the kings of france and england that he must pretend goodwill to the latter for fear they both break off from the church, as they have threatened to do."[190] chapter xii. henry advised to marry without waiting for sentence--meeting of henry and francis--anne boleyn present at the interview--value of anne to the french court--pressure on the pope by the agents of the emperor--complaints of catherine--engagements of francis--action of clement--the king conditionally excommunicated--demand for final sentence--cranmer appointed archbishop of canterbury--marriage of henry and anne boleyn--supposed connivance of the pope--the nuncio attends parliament--the act of appeals--the emperor entreated to intervene--chapuys and the king. the pope had promised ortiz that nothing should be said of the intended excommunication till the brief was complete. he betrayed the secret to the english agents, by whom it was conveyed to henry. the french ambassador had advised the king to hesitate no longer, but to marry and end the controversy. the pope himself had several times in private expressed the same wish. but henry, in love though he is supposed to have been, determined to see francis in person before he took a step which could not be recalled. he desired to know distinctly how far france was prepared to go along with him in defying the papal censures. an interview between the two kings at such a crisis would also show the world that their alliance was a practical fact, and that if the emperor declared war in execution of the censures he would have france for an enemy as well as england. the intended meeting was announced at the end of august, and, strange to say, there was still a belief prevailing that a marriage would come of it between the king and a french princess, and that anne would be disappointed after all. "if it be so," wrote chapuys, "the lady anne is under a singular delusion, for she writes to her friends that at this interview all that she has been so long wishing for will be accomplished." one thing was clear, both to the imperial ambassador and the nuncio, that the pope by his long trifling had brought himself into a situation where he must either have to consent to a judgment against catherine or encounter as best he could the combination of two of the most powerful princes in christendom. the least that he could do was to issue an inhibition against the king's marriage either with anne or with the frenchwoman. the pope's danger was real enough, but anne boleyn had nothing to fear for herself. she was to form part of the cortége. she was to go, and to be received at the french court as henry's bride-elect, and she was created marchioness of pembroke for the occasion. queen catherine believed that the marriage would be completed at the interview with a publicity which would make francis an accomplice. the emperor was incredulous. reluctantly he had been driven to the conclusion that henry was really in earnest, and he still thought it impossible that such an outrage as a marriage could be seriously contemplated while the divorce was still undecided.[191] yet contemplated it evidently was. politically the effect would have been important, and it is not certain that francis would not have encouraged a step which would be taken as an open insult by charles. the objection, so chapuys heard, came from the lady herself, who desired to be married in state with the usual formalities in london.[192] invited to the interview, however, she certainly was by francis. the french queen sent her a present of jewels. the sieur de langey came with special compliments from the king to request her attendance. she had been a useful instrument in dividing henry from the emperor, and his master, de langey said, desired to thank her for the inestimable services which she had rendered, and was daily rendering him. he wished to keep her devoted to his interests. wolsey himself had not been more valuable to him. he had not to pay her a pension of 25,000 crowns, as he had done to the cardinal. therefore he meant to pay her in flattery and in forwarding the divorce at rome.[193] in vain catherine poured out to clement her wailing cries for sentence--sentence without a moment's delay. less than ever could the pope be brought to move. he must wait and see what came of the meeting of the kings; and whether the emperor got the better of the turks. it was the harder to bear because she had persuaded herself, and had persuaded ortiz, that, if the king was once excommunicated, the whole of england would rise against him for his contumacious disobedience.[194] the interview which took place in october between the kings of france and england was a momentous incident in the struggle, for it did, in fact, decide henry to take the final step. the scene itself, the festivities, the regal reception of anne, the nun of kent and the discovery of the singular influence which a hysterical impostor had been able to exercise in the higher circles of english life, have already been described by me, and i can add nothing to what i have already written. a more particular account, however, must be given of a french commission which was immediately after despatched to rome. francis had not completely satisfied henry. he had repeated the advice of his ambassadors. he had encouraged the king to marry at once. he had reiterated his promises of support if the emperor declared war. even an engagement which henry had desired to obtain from him, to unite france with england in a separate communion, should the pope proceed to violence, francis had seemed to give, and had wished his good brother to believe it. but his language had been less explicit on this point than on the other. the bishop of tarbes, now cardinal grammont, was sent to rome, with cardinal tournon, direct from the interview, with open instructions to demand a general council, to inform the pope that if he refused the two kings would call a council themselves and invite the lutheran princes to join them, and that, if the pope excommunicated henry, he would go to rome for absolution so well accompanied that the pope would be glad to grant it.[195] if catherine's friends in rome were rightly informed, the cardinals had brought also a secret commission, which went the full extent of henry's expectation. the pope was to be required to fulfil at once the promise which he had given at orvieto, and to give judgment for the divorce; "otherwise the kings of france and england would abrogate the papal authority in their several realms." the pope, confident that the alternative before him was the loss of the two kingdoms, was preparing to yield.[196] henry certainly returned to england with an understanding that francis and himself were perfectly united, and would adopt the same course, whatever that might be. a report went abroad that, relying on these assurances, he had brought his hesitation to an end, and immediately after landing made anne secretly his wife. the rumour was premature, but the resolution was taken. the pope, the king said, was making himself the tool of the emperor. the emperor was judge, and not the pope; and neither he nor his people would endure it. he would maintain the liberties of his country, and the pope, if he tried violence, would find his mistake.[197] it is not easy to believe that on a point of such vast consequence henry could have misunderstood what francis said, and he considered afterwards that he had been deliberately deceived; but under any aspect the meeting was a demonstration against the papacy. micer mai, who watched the pope from day to day, declared that his behaviour was enough to drive him out of his senses. mai and ortiz had at last forced another brief out of him--not a direct excommunication, but an excommunication which was to follow on further disobedience. they had compelled him to put it in writing that he might have committed himself before the french cardinals' arrival. but when it was written he would not let it out of his hands. he was to meet the emperor again at bologna, and till he had learnt from charles's own lips what he was prepared to do, it was unfair and unreasonable, he said, to require an act which might fatally commit him. he was not, however, to be allowed to escape. catherine, when she heard of the despatch of the cardinals, again flung herself on her nephew's protection. she insisted that the pope should speak out. the french must not be listened to. there was nothing to be afraid of. "the english themselves carried no lightning except to strike her."[198] letters from ortiz brought her news of the pope's continued indecision--an indecision fatal, as she considered it, to the church and to herself. rumours reached her that the king had actually married, and she poured out her miseries to chapuys. "the letters from rome," she said, "reopen all my wounds. they show there is no justice for me or my daughter. it is withheld from us for political considerations. i do not ask his holiness to declare war--a war i would rather die than provoke; but i have been appealing to the vicar of god for justice for six years, and i cannot have it. i refused the proposals made to me two years ago by the king and council. must i accept them now? since then i have received fresh injuries. i am separated from my lord, and he has married another woman without obtaining a divorce; and this last act has been done while the suit is still pending, and in defiance of him who has the power of god upon earth. i cover these lines with my tears as i write. i confide in you as my friend. help me to bear the cross of my tribulation. write to the emperor. bid him insist that judgment be pronounced. the next parliament, i am told, will decide if i and my daughter are to suffer martyrdom. i hope god will accept it as an act of merit by us, as we shall suffer for the sake of the truth."[199] catherine might say, and might mean, that she did not wish to be the cause of a war. but unless war was to be the alternative of her husband's submission, the papal thunders would be as ineffectual as she supposed the english to be. the emperor had not decided what he would do. he may still have clung to the hope that a decision would not be necessary, but he forced or persuaded the pope to disregard the danger. the brief was issued, bearing the date at which it was drawn, and was transmitted to flanders as the nearest point to england for publication. in removing the queen from his company without waiting for the decision of his cause, and cohabiting with a certain anne, clement told the king that he was insulting divine justice and the papal authority. he had already warned him, but his monition had not been respected. again, therefore, he exhorted him on pain of excommunication to take catherine back as his queen, and put anne away within a month of the presentation of the present letter. if the king still disobeyed, the pope declared both him and anne to be, _ipso facto_, excommunicated at the expiration of the term fixed, and forbade him to divorce himself by his own authority.[200] it might seem that the end had now come, and that in a month the king, and the subjects who continued loyal to him, would incur all the consequences of the papal censures. but the proceedings of the court of rome were enveloped in formalities. conditional excommunications affected the spiritual status of the persons denounced, but went no further. a second bull of excommunication was still requisite, declaring the king deposed and his subjects absolved from their allegiance, before the secular arm could be called in; and this last desperate remedy could not decently be resorted to, with the approval even of the catholic opinion of europe, until it had been decided whether catherine was really legal queen. the enthusiastic ortiz, however, believed that judgment on "the principal cause" would now be immediately given, and that the victory was won. he enclosed to the empress a letter from catherine to him, "to be preserved as a relic, since she would one day be canonised." "may god inspire the king of england," he said, "to acknowledge the error into which the enemy of mankind has led him, and amend his past conduct; otherwise it must follow that his disobedience to the pope's injunction and his infidelity to god once proved, he will be deprived of his kingdom and the execution of the sentence committed to his imperial majesty. this done, all those in england who fear god will rise in arms, and the king will be punished as he deserves, the present brief operating as a formal sentence against him. on the main cause, there being no one in rome to answer for the opposite party, sentence cannot long be delayed."[201] ortiz was too sanguine, and the vision soon faded. the brief sounded formidable, but it said no more than had been contained or implied in another which clement had issued three years before. he had allowed the first to be disregarded. he might equally allow the last. each step which he had taken had been forced upon him, and his reluctance was not diminished. chapuys thought that he had given a brief instead of passing sentence because he could recall one and could not recall the other; that "he was playing both with the king and the emperor;" and in england, as well as elsewhere, it was thought "that there was some secret intelligence between him and the king." the pope and the emperor had met at bologna and charles's language had been as emphatic as catherine desired; yet even at bologna itself and during the conference clement had assured the english agents that there was still a prospect of compromise. it was even rumoured that the emperor would allow the cause to be referred back to england, if securities could be found to protect the rights of the princess mary; nay, that he had gone so far as to say, "that, if the king made a suitable marriage, and not a love-marriage, he would bring the pope and catherine to allow the first marriage to be annulled."[202] in london the talk continued of the removal of the suit from rome to cambray. the nuncio and the king were observed to be much together and on improved terms, the nuncio openly saying that his holiness wished to be relieved of the business. it was even considered still possible that the pope might concede the dispensation to the king which had been originally asked for, to marry again without legal process. "if," wrote chapuys, who thoroughly distrusted clement, "the king once gains the point of not being obliged to appear at rome, the pope will have the less shame in granting the dispensation by absolute power, as it is made out that the king's right is so evident; and if his holiness refuses it, the king will be more his enemy than ever. a sentence is the only sovereign remedy, and the queen says the king would not resist, if only from fear of his subjects, who are not only well disposed to her and to your majesty, but for the most part are good catholics and would not endure excommunication and interdict. if a tumult arose i know not if the lady, who is hated by all the world, would escape with life and jewels. but, unless the pope takes care, he will lose his authority here, and his censures will not be regarded."[203] it was true that anne was ill liked in england, and the king, in choosing her, was testing the question of his marriage in the least popular form which it could have assumed. the venetian ambassador mentions that one evening "seven or eight thousand women went out of london to seize boleyn's daughter," who was supping at a villa on the river, the king not being with her. many men were among them in women's clothes. henry, however, showed no sign of change of purpose. he had presented her to the french court as his intended queen. and on such a matter he was not to be moved by the personal objections of his subjects. the month allowed in the brief went by. she was still at the court, and the continued negotiations with the nuncio convinced catherine's friends that there was mischief at work behind the scenes. their uneasiness was increased by the selection which was now made of a successor to archbishop warham. thomas cranmer had been lord wiltshire's private chaplain, and had at one time been his daughter's tutor. he had attended her father on his embassy to the emperor, had been active in collecting opinions on the continent favourable to the divorce, and had been resident ambassador at the imperial court. he had been much in germany. he was personally acquainted with luther. he had even married, and, though he could not produce his wife openly, the connection was well known. protestant priests in taking wives were asserting only their natural liberty. luther had married, and had married a nun. an example laudable at wittenberg could not be censurable in london by those who held luther excused. the german clergy had released themselves from their vows, as an improvement on the concubinage which had long and generally prevailed. wolsey had a son and was not ashamed of him, even charging his education on english benefices. clerical marriages were forbidden only by the church law, which parliament had never been invited to sanction, and though cranmer could not introduce a wife into society he was at least as fit for archi-episcopal rank as the great cardinal. he was a man of high natural gifts, and ardent to replace superstition and corruption by purer teaching. the english liturgy survives to tell us what cranmer was. his nomination to the primacy took the world by surprise, for as yet he had held no higher preferment than an archdeaconry; but the reorganisation of the church was to begin; parliament was to meet again in february, and the king needed all the help that he could find in the house of lords. the bishops were still but half conquered. a man of intellect and learning was required at the head of them. "king henry loved a man," it was said. he knew cranmer and valued him. the appointment was made known in the first month of the new year. before the new primate could be installed a bull of confirmation was still legally necessary from rome. the king was in haste. the annates due on the vacancy of the see of canterbury were despatched at once, the king himself advancing the money and taking no advantage of the late act. such unusual precipitancy raised suspicions that something more was contemplated in which cranmer's help would be needed. the knot had, in fact, been cut which henry had been so long struggling to untie. the lady anne had aspired to being the central figure of a grand ceremony. her nuptials were to be attended with the pomp and splendour of a royal marriage. public feeling was in too critical a condition to permit what might have been resented; and, lest the prize should escape her after all, she had brought down her pride to agree to a private service. when it was performed, and by whom, was never known. the date usually received was "on or before the 25th of january." chapuys says that cranmer himself officiated in the presence of the lady's father, mother and brother, two other friends of the lady, and a canterbury priest.[204] but chapuys was relating only the story current at the time in society. nothing authentic has been ascertained.... the fact that the marriage had taken place was concealed till the divorce could be pronounced by a court protected by act of parliament, and perhaps with the hope that the announcement could be softened by the news that the nation might hope for an heir. dispatch was thus necessary with cranmer's bulls. he himself spoke without reserve on the right of the king to remarry, "being ready to maintain it with his life." chapuys and the nuncio both wrote to request the pope not to be in a hurry with the confirmation of so dangerous a person.[205] the pope seemed determined to justify the suspicions entertained of him by his eagerness to meet henry's wishes. it is certain that the warning had reached him.[206] he sent the bulls with all the speed he could. he knew, perhaps, what they were needed for. henry meanwhile was preparing to meet the parliament, when the secret would have to be communicated to the world. the modern reader will conceive that no other subject could have occupied his mind. the relative importance of things varies with the distance from which we view them. he was king of england first. his domestic anxieties held still the second place. before the opening, as the matter of greatest consequence, a draft act was prepared to carry out the object which in the last year he had failed in securing--"an act to restrain bishops from citing or arresting any of the king's subjects to appear before them, unless the bishop or his commissary was free from private grudge against the accused, unless there were three, or at least two, credible witnesses, and a copy of the libel had in all cases been delivered to the accused, with the names of the accusers." such an act was needed. it was not to shield what was still regarded as impiety, for frith was burned a few months later for a denial of the real presence, which luther himself called heresy. it was to check the arbitrary and indiscriminate tyranny of a sour, exasperated party, who were pursuing everyone with fire and sword who presumed to oppose them. more, writing to erasmus, said he had purposely stated in his epitaph that he had been hard upon the heretics. he so hated that folk that, unless they repented, he preferred their enmity, so mischievous were they to the world.[207] the spirit of more was alive and dangerous. to catholic minds there could be no surer evidence that the king was given over to the evil one than leniency to heretics. they were the more disturbed to see how close the intimacy had grown between him and the pope's representative. the nuncio was constantly closeted with henry or the council. when chapuys remonstrated, he said "he was a poor gentleman, living on his salary, and could not do otherwise." "the pope had advised him to neglect no opportunity of promoting the welfare of religion." "practices," chapuys ascertained, were still going forward, and the nuncio was at the bottom of them. the nuncio assured him that he had exhorted the king to take catherine back. the king had replied that he would not, and that reconciliation was impossible. yet the secret communications did not cease, and the astonishment and alarm increased when the nuncio consented to accompany the king to the opening of parliament. he was conducted in state in the royal barge from greenwich. henry sate on the throne, the nuncio had a chair on his right, and the french ambassador on his left. the object was to show the nation how little was really meant by the threat of excommunication, to intimidate the bishops, and to make the clergy understand the extent of favour which they could expect from the nuncio's master. the nuncio's appearance was not limited to a single occasion. during the progress of the session he attended the debates in the house of commons. norfolk gave him notice of the days on which the pope would not be directly mentioned, that he might be present without scandal. the duke admitted a wish for the world to see that the king and the court of rome understood each other. "by this presumption," said chapuys, "they expect to make their profit as regards the people and the prelates who have hitherto supported the holy see, who now, for the above reason, dare not speak, fearing to go against the pope."[208] the world wondered and was satisfied. the opposition was paralysed. the bishop of rochester complained to the nuncio, and received nothing but regrets and promises which were not observed. again, a council was held of peers, bishops, and lawyers to consider the divorce, when it was agreed at last that the cause might be tried in the archbishop of canterbury's court, and that the arrival of the bulls would be accepted as a sign of the pope's tacit connivance. chapuys had failed to stop them. "the queen," he said, "was thunderstruck, and complained bitterly of his holiness. he had left her to languish for three and a half years since her appeal, and, instead of giving sentence, had now devised a scheme to prolong her misery and bastardise her daughter. she knew the king's character. if sentence was once given there would be no scandal. the king would obey, or, if he did not, which she thought impossible, she would die happy, knowing that the pope had declared for her. her own mind would be at rest, and the princess would not lose her right. the pope was entirely mistaken if he thought that he would induce the king to modify his action against the church. the lady and her father, who were staunch lutherans, were urging him on. the sentence alone would make him pause. he dared not disobey, and if the people rose the lady would find a rough handling." this, chapuys said, was the queen's opinion, which she had commanded him to communicate to the emperor. for himself, he could only repeat his request that the bulls for canterbury should be delayed till the sentence was ready for delivery. if the pope knew cranmer's reputation as a heretic, he would be in no haste to confirm him.[209] clement knew well enough what cranmer was, and the bulls had been despatched promptly before the emperor could interfere. the king meanwhile had committed himself, and now went straight forward. he allowed his marriage to be known. lord wiltshire had withdrawn his opposition to it.[210] lord rochfort, anne's brother, was sent at the beginning of march to paris, to say that the king had acted on the advice given him by his good brother at their last interview. he had taken a wife for the establishment of his realm in the hope of having male issue. he trusted, therefore, that francis would remember his promise. in citing him to rome the pope had violated the rights of sovereign princes. it touched them all, and, if allowed, would give the pope universal authority. the time was passed when such pretensions could be tolerated.[211] at home he prepared for the worst. the fleet was further increased, new ships were put on the stocks; the yeomanry were armed, drilled, and equipped, and england rang with sounds of preparation for war; while in parliament the famous act was introduced which was to form the constitutional basis of national independence, and to end for ever the papal jurisdiction in england. from the time that convocation had acknowledged the king to be the head of the church the question of appeals to rome had been virtually before the country. it was now to be settled, and english lawsuits were henceforth to be heard and decided within the limits of the empire. the sibyl's pages were being rent out one by one. the præmunire had been revived, and the pope's claim of independent right to interfere by bull or brief in english affairs had been struck rudely down. tribute in the shape of annates went next; the appellate jurisdiction was now to follow. little would then be left save spiritual precedence, and this might not be of long continuance. there had been words enough. the time had come to act. on the introduction of the act of appeals the king spoke out to chapuys as if the spirit of the plantagenets was awake in him. "he said a thousand things in disparagement of the pope, complaining of the authority and power he unduly assumed over the kingdoms of christendom. he professed to have seen a book from the papal library, in which it was maintained that all christian princes were only feudatories of the pope. he himself, he said, intended to put a remedy to such inordinate ambition, and repair the errors of henry ii. and john, who had been tricked into making england tributary to the holy see." "the emperor," he said, "not only demanded justice, but would have justice done in his own way, and according to his own caprice. for himself, he thought of resuming to the crown the lands of the clergy, which his predecessors had alienated without right." chapuys advised him to wait for a general council before he tried such high measures. "but the king could not be persuaded" that a council was needed for such a purpose.[212] the act of appeals touched too many interests to be passed without opposition. private persons as well as princes had appealed to the roman law-courts, and suits pending or determined there might be reopened at home and produce confusion unless provided for. however complacent the pope might appear, it could not be supposed that he would bear patiently the open renunciation of his authority. excommunication was half perceived to be a spectre; but spectres had not wholly lost their terrors. with an excommunication pronounced in earnest might come interdict and stoppage of trade, perhaps war and rebellion at home; and one of the members for london said that if the king would refer the question between himself and the queen to a general council, the city of london would give him two hundred thousand pounds. the arrival of cranmer's bulls, while the act was still under discussion, moderated the alarm. the pope evidently was in no warlike humour. at the bottom of his heart he had throughout been in henry's favour; he hoped probably that a time might come when he could say so, and that all this hostile legislation would then be repealed. when the excitement was at its hottest, and it was known at rome, not only that the last brief had been defied, but that the king was about to marry the lady, the pope had borne the news with singular calmness. after all, he said to the count de cifuentes, if the marriage is completed, we have only to think of a remedy. the remedy, cifuentes said, was for the pope to do justice; the king had been encouraged in his rash course by the toleration with which he had been treated and the constant delays. clement answered that he would certainly do justice; but if the marriage was "a fact accomplished," he wished to know what the emperor meant to do. cifuentes told him that his holiness must do his part first, and then the emperor would "act as became a powerful and wise prince."[213] the pope had heard this language before. the emperor was afraid of going to war with england, and the pope knew it. the alternative, therefore, was either to make some concession to henry or to let him go on as he pleased, bringing the holy see into contempt by exposing its weakness: and either course would be equally dispiriting to the queen and his own friends in england. "everybody," wrote chapuys, "cries murder on the pope for his delays, and for not detaining the archbishop's bulls, till the definitive sentence had been given. he was warned of the danger of granting them. there is not a lord in the court of either side who does not say publicly his holiness will betray the emperor. the dukes of norfolk and suffolk speak of it with more assurance, saying they know it well and could give good evidence of it."[214] the act of appeals, though strongly resisted in the house of commons for fear of the consequences, was evidently to pass; and it was now understood that, as soon as it became law, cranmer was to try the divorce suit and to give final judgment. the pope's extraordinary conduct had paralysed opposition. the clergy, like some wild animal hardly broken in, were made to parade their docility and to approve beforehand the archbishop's intended action. it was to be done in haste, for anne was _enceinte_. the members of the synod were allowed scant time, even to eat their dinners; they were so harassed that no one opened his mouth to contradict, except the bishop of rochester, and rochester had no weight, being alone against all the rest. so docile was the assembly and so imperious the king that the queen and all her supporters now regarded her cause as lost.[215] ortiz wrote from rome to charles that, "though he was bound to believe the contrary, he feared the pope had sent, or might send, absolution to the king." something might be done underhand to revoke the last brief, although the pope knew what an evil thing it would be, and how ignominious to the holy see.[216] the reforming party in england laughed at the expected interdict. the pope, they said, would not dare to try it, or, if he did, christian princes would not trouble themselves about him. the king said, significantly, to the nuncio that he was only defending himself: "if the pope gave him occasion to reconsider the matter, he might undo what was being aimed at his authority."[217] the bill passed more rapidly through its later stages. the papal jurisdiction was ended. anyone who introduced briefs of excommunication or interdict into the realm was declared guilty of high treason. the bishop of rochester, becoming violent, was committed to friendly custody under charge of gardiner, now bishop of winchester. appeals to the pope on any matter, secular or spiritual, were forbidden thenceforward, and the act was made retrospective, applying to suits already in progress. all was thus over. the archbishop's sentence was known beforehand, and anne boleyn was to be crowned at whitsuntide. force was now the only remedy, and the constitutional opposition converted itself into conspiracy, to continue in that form till the end of the century. the king was convinced that the strength and energy of the country was with him. when told that there would be an invasion, he said that the english could never be conquered as long as they held together. chapuys was convinced equally that they would not hold together. the clergy, and a section of the peers with whom he chiefly associated, spoke all in one tone, and he supposed that the language which they used to him represented a universal opinion. thenceforward he and his english friends began to urge on the emperor the necessity of armed intervention, and assured him that he had only to declare himself to find the whole nation at his back. "englishmen, high and low," chapuys wrote, "desire your majesty to send an army to destroy the venomous influence of the lady and her adherents, and reform the realm. forgive my boldness, but your majesty ought not to hesitate. when this accursed anne has her foot in the stirrup she will do the queen and the princess all the hurt she can. she boasts that she will have the princess in her own train; one day, perhaps, she will poison her, or will marry her to some varlet, while the realm itself will be made over to heresy. a conquest would be perfectly easy. the king has no trained army. all of the higher ranks and all the nobles are for your majesty, except the duke of norfolk and two or three besides. let the pope call in the secular arm, stop the trade, encourage the scots, send to sea a few ships, and the thing will be over. no injustice will be done, and, without this, england will be estranged from the holy faith and will become lutheran. the king points the way and lends them wings, and the archbishop of canterbury does worse. there is no danger of french interference. france will wait to see the issue, and will give you no more trouble if this king receives his due. again forgive me, but pity for the queen and princess obliges me to speak plainly."[218] the king could hardly be ignorant of the communications between the disaffected nobles and the imperial ambassador, but no outward sign appeared that he was aware of them. lord mountjoy, however, was sent with a guard to watch catherine's residence, and, the decisive act being passed through parliament, the dukes of norfolk and suffolk, with lord exeter and the earl of oxford, repaired to her once more to invite her, since she must see that further resistance was useless, to withdraw her appeal, and to tell her that, on her compliance, every arrangement should be made for her state and comfort, with an establishment suited to her rank. chapuys demanded an audience of the king to remonstrate, and a remarkable conversation ensued. the ambassador said he had heard of the proceedings in convocation and in parliament. it was his duty to speak. if the king had no regard for men whom he despised, he hoped that he would have respect to god. "god and his conscience," henry answered calmly, "were on perfectly good terms." chapuys expressed a doubt, and the king assured him that he was entirely sincere. chapuys said he could not believe that at a time when europe was distracted with heresies the king of england would set so evil an example. the king rejoined that, if the world found his new marriage strange, he himself found it more strange that pope julius should have granted a dispensation for his marriage with his brother's wife. he must have an heir to succeed him in his realm. the emperor had no right to prevent him. the ambassador spoke of the princess. to provide a husband for the princess would be the fittest means to secure the succession. henry said he would have children of his own, and chapuys ventured on more dangerous ground than he was aware of by hinting that he could not be sure of that. "am i not a man," the king said sharply, "am i not a man like others? am i not a man?" thrice repeating the words. "but," he added, "i will not let you into my secrets." the ambassador enquired whether he intended to remain on friendly terms with the emperor. the king asked him with a frown what he meant by that. on his replying that the emperor's friendship depended on the treatment of the queen, the king said coldly that the emperor had no right to interfere with the laws and constitution of england. chapuys persisted. the emperor, he said, did not wish to meddle with his laws, unless they personally affected the queen. the king wanted to force her to abandon her appeal, and it was not to be expected that she would submit to statutes which had been carried by compulsion. the king grew impatient. the statutes, he said, had been passed in parliament, and the queen as a subject must obey them. the ambassador retorted that new laws could not be retrospective; and, as to the queen being a subject, if she was his wife she was his subject; if she was not his wife, she was not his subject. this was true, and henry was to be made to feel the dilemma. he contented himself, however, with saying that she must have patience, and obey the laws of the realm. the emperor had injured him by hindering his marriage and preventing him from having male succession. the queen was no more his wife than she was chapuys's. he would do as he pleased, and if the emperor made war on him he would fight. chapuys inquired whether, if an interdict was issued, and the spaniards and flemings resident in england obeyed it, his statutes would apply to them. the king did not answer; but, turning to someone present, he said: "you have heard the ambassador hint at excommunication. it is not i that am excommunicated, but the emperor, who has kept me so long in mortal sin. that is an excommunication which the pope cannot take off."[219] to the lords who carried the message to catherine she replied as she had always done--that queen she was, and she would never call herself by any other name. as to her establishment, she wanted nothing but a confessor, a doctor, and a couple of maids. if that was too much, she would go about the world and beg alms for the love of god. "the king," chapuys said, "was naturally kind and generous," but the "lady anne had so perverted him that he did not seem the same man." unless the emperor acted in earnest, she would make an end of catherine, as she had done of wolsey, whom she did not hate with half as much intensity. "all seems like a dream," he said. "her own party do not know whether to laugh or cry at it. every day people ask me when i am going away. as long as i remain here it will be always thought your majesty has consented to the marriage." chapter xiii. the king's claim--the obstinacy of catherine--the court at dunstable-judgment given by cranmer--debate in the spanish council of state-objections to armed interference--the english opposition--warning given to chapuys--chapuys and the privy council--conversation with cromwell-coronation of anne boleyn--discussions at rome--bull _supra attentatis_-confusion of the catholic powers--libels against henry--personal history of cromwell--birth of elizabeth--the king's disappointment--bishop fisher desires the introduction of a spanish army into england--growth of lutheranism. if circumstances can be imagined to justify the use of the dispensing power claimed and exercised by the papacy, henry viii. had been entitled to demand assistance from clement vii. in the situation in which he had found himself with catherine of aragon. he had been committed when little more than a boy, for political reasons, to a marriage of dubious legality. in the prime of his life he found himself fastened to a woman eight years older than himself; the children whom she had borne to him all dead, except one daughter; his wife past the age when she could hope to be again a mother; the kingdom with the certainty of civil war before it should the king die without a male heir. in hereditary monarchies, where the sovereign is the centre of the state, the interests of the nation have to be considered in the arrangements of his family. henry had been married irregularly to catherine to strengthen the alliance between england and spain. when, as a result, a disputed succession and a renewal of the civil wars was seen to be inevitable, the king had a distinct right to ask to be relieved of the connection by the same irregular methods. the _causa urgentissima_, for which the dispensing power was allowed, was present in the highest degree, and that power ought to have been made use of. that it was not made use of was due to a control exerted upon the pope by the emperor, whose pride had been offended; and that such an influence could be employed for such a purpose vitiated the tribunal which had been trusted with a peculiar and exceptional authority. the pope had not concealed his conviction that the demand was legitimate in itself, or that, in refusing, he was yielding to intimidation, and the inevitable consequences had followed. royal persons who receive from birth and station remarkable favours of fortune occasionally have to submit to inconveniences attaching to their rank; and, when the occasion rises, they generally meet with little ceremony. at the outset the utmost efforts had been made to spare catherine's feelings. both the king and the pope desired to avoid a judgment on the validity of her marriage. an heir to the crown was needed, and from her there was no hope of further issue. if at the beginning she had been found incapable of bearing a child, the marriage would have been dissolved of itself. essentially the condition was the same. technical difficulties could be disposed of by a papal dispensation. she would have remained queen, her honour unaffected, the legitimacy of mary unimpugned, the relations between the holy see and the crown and church of england undisturbed. the obstinacy of catherine herself, the emperor's determination to support her, and the pope's cowardice, prevented a reasonable arrangement; and thus the right of the pope himself to the spiritual sovereignty of europe came necessarily under question, when it implied the subjugation of independent princes to another power by which the court of rome was dominated. such a question once raised could have but one answer from the english nation. every resource had been tried to the extreme limit of forbearance, and all had failed before the indomitable will of a single woman. a request admitted to be just had been met by excommunication and threats of force. with entire fitness, the king and parliament had replied by withdrawing their recognition of a corrupt tribunal, and determining thenceforward to try and to judge their own suits in their own courts. thus, on the 10th of may, cranmer, with three bishops as assessors, sate at dunstable under the royal licence to hear the cause which had so long been the talk of europe, and catherine, who was at ampthill, was cited to appear. she consulted chapuys on the answer which she was to make. chapuys advised her not to notice the summons. "nothing done by such a court could prejudice her," he said, "unless she renounced her appeal to rome." as she made no plea, judgment was promptly given.[220] the divorce was complete so far as english law could decide it, and it was doubtful to the last whether the pope was not at heart a consenting party. the sentence had been, of course, anticipated. on the 27th of april chapuys informed the emperor how matters then stood. "had his holiness done as he was advised, and inserted a clause in the archbishop's bulls forbidding the archbishop to meddle in the case, he would have prevented much mischief. he chose to take his own way, and thus the english repeat what they have said all along: that in the end the pope would deceive your majesty.... the thing now to be done is to force from the pope a quick and sudden decision of the case, so as to silence those who affirm that he is only procrastinating till he can decide in favour of the king, or who think that your majesty will then acquiesce and that there will be no danger of war.... i have often tried to ascertain from the queen what alternative she is looking to, seeing that gentleness produces no effect. i have found her hitherto so scrupulous in her profession of respect and affection for the king that she thinks she will be damned eternally if she takes a step which may lead to war. latterly, however, she has let me know that she would like to see some other remedy tried, though she refers everything to me."[221] the proceedings at dunstable may have added to catherine's growing willingness for the "other remedy." she was no longer an english subject in the eye of the law, and might hold herself free to act as she pleased. simultaneously, however, a consultation was going forward about her and her affairs in the spanish cabinet which was not promising for chapuys's views. the spanish ambassador in london, it was said, was urging for war with england. the history of the divorce case was briefly stated. the delay of judgment had been caused by the king's protest that he could not appear at rome. that point had been decided against the king. the pope had promised the emperor that he would proceed at once to sentence, but had not done it. brief on brief had been presented to the king, ordering him to separate from anne boleyn _pendente lite_, but the king had paid no attention to them--had married the lady and divorced the queen. the emperor was the queen's nearest relation. what was he to do? there were three expedients before him: legal process, force, and law and force combined. the first was the best; but the king and the realm would refuse the tribunal, and _the pope always had been, and still was, very cold and indifferent in the matter, and most tolerant to the english king_. open force, in the existing state of christendom, was dangerous. to begin an aggression was always a questionable step. although the king had married "anne de bulans," he had used no violence against the queen, or done anything to justify an armed attack upon him. the question was "a private one," and the emperor must consider what he owed to the public welfare. should the third course be adopted, the pope would have to pronounce judgment and call in the secular arm. all christian princes would then be bound to help him, and the emperor, as the first among them, would have to place himself at the head of the enterprise. "but would it not be better and more convenient to avoid, for the present, harsh measures, which might bring on war and injure trade, and insist only on further censures and a sentence of deposition against the king? should the pope require to know beforehand what the emperor would do to enforce the execution, it would be enough to tell the pope that he must do his part first; any further engagement would imply that the sentence on the principal cause had been decided beforehand. finally, it would have to be determined whether the queen was to remain in england or to leave it." these were the questions before the cabinet. a privy councillor, perhaps granvelle (the name is not mentioned), gave his own opinion, which was seemingly adopted. _all_ these ways were to be tried. the pope must proceed with the suit. force must be suspended for the present, _the cause being a personal one, and having already begun when peace was made at cambray_. the pope must conclude the principal matter, or at least insist on the revocation of what had been done since the suit commenced, and then, perhaps, force would not be required at all. the advice of the consulta on the answer to be given to the pope, should he require to know the emperor's intentions, was exactly right. nothing more need be said than that the emperor would not forget the obligations which devolved on him, as an obedient son of the church. the queen, meanwhile, must remain in england. if she came away, a rupture would be inevitable. the speaker advised further that a special embassy should be sent to england to remonstrate with the king. this, however, if unsuccessful, it was felt would lead to war; and opposite to the words the emperor himself wrote on the margin an emphatic _no_.[222] the mention of the peace of cambray is important. the divorce had reached an acute stage before the peace was concluded. it had not been spoken of there, and the emperor was diplomatically precluded from producing it as a fresh injury. both he and the council were evidently unwilling to act. the pope knew their reluctance, and did not mean, if he could help it, to flourish his spiritual weapons without a sword to support them. the king wrote to inform charles of his marriage. "in the face of the scotch pretensions to the succession," he said, "other heirs of his body were required for the security of the crown. the thing was done, and the pope must make the best of it." this was precisely what the pope was inclined to do. cifuentes thought that, though he seemed troubled, "he was really pleased."[223] "he said positively that, if he was to declare the king of england deprived of his crown, the emperor must bind himself to see the sentence executed."[224] charles had no intention of binding himself, nor would his cabinet advise him to bind himself. the time was passed when most catholic princes could put armies in motion to execute the decrees of the bishop of rome. the theory might linger, but the facts were changed. philip ii. tried the experiment half a century later, but it did not answer to him. a fresh order of things had risen in europe, and passionate catholics could not understand it. dr. ortiz shrieked that "the king, by his marriage, was guilty of heresy and schism;" the emperor ought to use the opportunity, without waiting for further declarations from the pope, and unsheath the sword which god had placed in his hands.[225] english peers and prelates, impatient of the rising strength of the commons and of the growth of lutheranism, besieged chapuys with entreaties for an imperial force to be landed. they told him that richard iii. was not so hated by the people as henry; but that, without help from abroad, they dared not declare themselves.[226] why could they not dare? the king had no janissaries about his throne. why could they not stand up in the house of lords and refuse to sanction the measures which they disapproved? why, except that they were _not_ the people. numbers might still be on their side, but the daring, the intellect, the fighting-strength of england was against them, and the fresh air of dawning freedom chilled their blood. the modern creed is that majorities have a right to rule. if, out of every hundred men, four-fifths will vote on one side, but will not fight without help from the sword of the stranger; and the remaining fifth will both vote and fight--fight domestic cowards and foreign foes combined--which has the right to rule? the theory may be imperfect; but it is easy to foresee which will rule in fact. the marriage with anne was formally communicated in the house of lords. there were some murmurs. the king rose from the throne and said it had been necessary for the welfare of the realm. peers and commons acquiesced, and no more was said. the coronation of the new queen was fixed for the 19th of may. if the great men who had been so eager with chapuys were poltroons, chapuys himself was none. rumours were flying that the emperor was coming to waste england, destroy the royal family, and place a foreign prince on the throne. the ambassador addressed a letter to henry, saying that he held powers to take action for the preservation of the queen's rights; and he gave him notice that he intended to enter immediately on the duties of his office.[227] henry showed no displeasure at so bold a communication, but sent thomas cromwell to him, who was now fast rising into consequence, to remind him that, large as was the latitude allowed to ambassadors, he must not violate the rights of the crown, and to warn him to be careful. he was then summoned before the privy council. norfolk had previously cautioned him against introducing briefs or letters from the pope, telling him that if he did he would be torn in pieces by the people. the council demanded to see the powers which he said that he possessed. he produced directions which he had received to watch over the queen's rights, and he then remarked on the several briefs by which the king was virtually excommunicated. lord wiltshire told him that if any subject had so acted he would have found himself in the tower. the king wished him well; but if he wore two faces, and meddled with what did not concern him, he might fall into trouble. chapuys replied that the council were like the eels of melun, which cried out before they were skinned. he had done nothing, so far. he had not presented any "apostolic letters." as to two faces, the earl meant, he supposed, that he was about to act as the queen's proctor as well as ambassador; he was not a lawyer; he had no such ambition. then, speaking in latin, because part of the council did not understand french, he dwelt on the old friendship between the emperor and the king. he said that the part which the emperor had taken about the divorce was as much for the sake of the king and the realm as for the sake of the queen, although the queen and princess were as a mother and a sister to him. he went through the case; he said their statutes were void in themselves, and, even if valid, could not be retrospective. the archbishop had been just sworn to the pope. he had broken his oath, and was under excommunication,[228] and was, therefore, disqualified to act. he reminded the council of the wars of the roses, and told them they were sharpening the thorns for fresh struggles. doctor foxe (the king's almoner, afterwards bishop) replied that the king could not live with his brother's wife without sin, and therefore left her. it was a fact accomplished, and no longer to be argued. to challenge the action of the archbishop was to challenge the law of the land, and was not to be allowed. the pope had no authority in england, spiritual or temporal. the introduction of bulls or briefs from rome was unlawful, and could not be sheltered behind immunities of ambassadors. chapuys was the representative of the emperor, not of the pope, and foxe cautioned him against creating disturbances in the realm. to this chapuys quietly answered that he would do his duty, let the consequences be what they might. being again warned, he said he would wait for two or three days, within which he looked for a satisfactory reply from the king. in leaving the council-room, he said, in imperious fashion, as if he was addressing a set of criminals, that reports were current about the emperor which he desired to notice. some declared that he had consented to the marriage with the lady anne. others that he meant to make war. both allegations alike were false and malicious. so far from wishing to injure england, the emperor wished to help and support it, and could not believe that he would ever be obliged to act otherwise; and as to consenting to the divorce, if the pope declared for it he would submit to the pope's judgment; otherwise the world would not turn him from the path which he meant to follow. he was acting as the king's best friend, as the king would acknowledge if he could forget his passion for the lady and consider seriously his relations with the emperor. he begged the council, therefore, to prevent such rumours from being circulated if they did not wish chapuys to contradict them himself. the ambassador was keeping within the truth when he said that charles was not meditating war. chapuys's instructions when first sent to england had been not to make matters worse than they were, not to threaten war, nor to imply in any way that there was danger of war.[229] he had himself, however, insisted that there was no alternative. he had encouraged catherine's friends with hope of eventual help, and continued to convey to the emperor their passionate wish that "his majesty's hand would soon reach england," before "the accursed woman" made an end of the queen and of them--to tell him that, were his forces once on land, they might raise as many men as they pleased, and the london citizens would stand by, "keep the enlistment money," and wait to see which party won. as long, however, as his master was undecided he would not, he said, take measures which would do no good, and only lead to inconvenience. he had merely given the council "a piece of his mind," and had said what no one else would say, for fear of lady anne. the answer to his letter which he expected from the king did not arrive, but instead of it an invitation to dinner from the duke of norfolk, which he refused lest his consent should be misconstrued. ultimately, however, cromwell came to him with the king's permission. cromwell, strange to say, had been a strong advocate for the imperial alliance, in opposition to the french, and with cromwell the ambassador's relations were more easy than with the duke. their conversations were intimate and confidential. chapuys professed a hope that the king's affection for the lady would pass off, and promised, for himself, to pour no more oil on the fire till he received fresh orders. if they wished for peace, however, he said they must be careful of their behaviour to the queen, and he complained of the removal of her arms from her barge in the river. such petty acts of persecution ought to be avoided. the removal of the arms was the work of some too zealous friend of anne. cromwell had not heard of it, and said that the king would be greatly displeased. meanwhile he trusted that spanish notions of honour would not interfere with a friendship so useful to both countries. if it came to war, england would not be found an easy conquest. he defended the king's action. the pope would not do him justice, so he had slapped the pope in the face. no doubt he had been influenced by love for the lady. neither the king himself, nor all the preachers in the world, would convince him that love had nothing to do with it. but the king was well read in the canon law, and if his conscience was satisfied it was enough. as cromwell was so frank, chapuys asked him when and where the marriage with anne had been concluded. cromwell either would not or could not tell him, saying merely that norfolk had not been present at the ceremony, but others of the council had, and there was no doubt that it had really taken place. so matters stood in england, every one waiting to learn how the emperor would act. anne boleyn was duly crowned at whitsuntide--a splendid official pageant compensating for the secrecy of her marriage. the streets were thronged with curious spectators, but there was no enthusiasm. the procession was like a funeral. the pope was about to meet the king of france at nice. norfolk was commissioned to attend the interview, and, as henry still hoped that the duke would bring back an acquiescence in his wishes from clement, chapuys saw him before his departure. the duke said the peace of the world now depended on the emperor. he repeated that his niece's marriage had been no work of his. her father and he had always been against it, and, but for them, it would have happened a year before. she had been furious with both of them. she was now _enceinte_, and had told her father and himself and suffolk that she was in better plight than they wished her to be. to attempt to persuade the king to take catherine back either by threat or argument would be labour thrown away, such "were his scruples of conscience and his despair of having male succession by her." at cromwell's intercession, the bishop of rochester was now released from confinement, and politics were quiet, till the effect was seen of the nice conference. anxious consultations were held at rome before the pope set out. the cardinals met in consistory. henry's belief had been that francis was prepared to stand by him to the uttermost, and would carry clement with him. he was now to find, either that he had been misled or had wilfully deceived himself. cardinal tournon, who was supposed to have carried an ultimatum from the meeting at calais, had required the pope to suspend the process against henry:[230] if the pope replied that the offence was too great, and that he must deprive him, francis did not say that he would risk excommunication himself by taking an open part, but had directed the cardinal to urge the removal of the suit to a neutral place, as had been often proposed. the pope told the count de cifuentes that this suggestion had been already discussed with the emperor, and that the emperor had not entirely disapproved;[231] but the cunning and treacherous clement had formed a plan of his own by which he thought he could save england and punish henry. francis being less firm than he had feared, he thought that, by working on french ambition, he could detach francis completely from his english ally. the french were known to be eager to recover calais. what if calais could be offered them as a bait? they might turn their coats as they had so often done before.[232] cunning and weakness generally go together. it was an ingenious proposal, and throws a new light on clement's character. nothing came of it, for the emperor, with a view to the safety of flanders and the eventual recovery of the english alliance, declined to sanction a change of ownership on his own frontier. finding no encouragement, clement relapsed into his usual attitude. the imperialists continued to press for the delivery of sentence before the pope should leave rome. the pope continued to insist on knowing the emperor's intentions. a spanish lawyer, rodrigo davalos, had been sent to rome to dissuade the pope from the nice interview, and to quicken the action of the rota. "queen catherine's suit," he said, "had been carried on as if it were that of the poorest woman in the world. since cifuentes and he had been there the process had been pushed on, but the advocates and proctors had not received a real. their hands required anointing to make them stick to their business. the cardinals were at sixes and sevens, and refused to pull together, do what davalos would."[233] davalos, being a skilful manipulator and going the right way to work, pressed the process forward in the rota without telling the pope what he was doing, since clement would have stopped it had he not been kept in ignorance. but, "god helping, no excuse was left." the forms were all concluded, and nothing remained but to pass the long-talked-of sentence. the pope was so "importuned" by the french and english ambassadors to suspend it till after the meeting at nice that davalos could not say whether he would get it, after all; but he told the pope that further hesitation would be regarded by the emperor as an outrage, and would raise suspicion through the whole world. the pope promised, but where goodwill was wanting trifles were obstacles. davalos confessed that he had no faith in his promise. he feared the pope must have issued some secret brief, which stood in his way.[234] clement, however, was driven on in spite of himself. judgment on the principal cause could not be wrung from him. cardinal salviati was of opinion that they would never give it till the emperor would promise that it should be executed.[235] but a brief _super attentatis_, which was said to be an equivalent, clement was required to sign, and did sign--a bull on which charles could act if occasion served, the pope himself swearing great oaths that henry had used him ill, and that he would bribe francis to forsake him by the promise of calais.[236] one more touch must be added to complete the comedy of distraction. a proposal of the spanish council to send a special embassy to london to remonstrate with the king had been definitely rejected by the emperor. it was revived by chapuys, with whom it had probably originated. he imagined that the most distinguished representatives of the spanish nation might appear at the english court and protest against the ill-usage of the daughter of ferdinand and isabella. if the king refused them satisfaction, they might demand to be heard in parliament. the king would then be placed in the wrong before his own people. the nobles of aragon and castile would offer their persons and their property to maintain the queen's right; and chapuys said, "_not a spaniard would hesitate if they were privately assured first that they would not be taken at their word_."[237] leaving the catholic powers in confusion and uncertainty, we return to england. catherine had rejected every proposal which had been made to her. there could not be two queens in the same country, and, after anne's coronation, a deputation waited upon her to intimate that her style must be changed. she must now consent to be termed princess dowager, when an establishment would be provided for her as the widow of the king's brother. her magnificent refusal is well known to history. cromwell spoke with unbounded admiration of it. yet it was inconvenient, and increased the difficulty of providing for her, since she declined to accept any grants which might be made to her under the new title, or to be attended by any person who did not treat her and address her as queen. it would have been better if she had required to be allowed to return to castile; but both the spanish council and the emperor had decided that she must remain in england. the princess had been allowed to rejoin her. the mother and daughter had made short expeditions together, and had been received with so much enthusiasm that it was found necessary again to part them. stories were current of insulting messages which catherine had received from the lady anne, false probably, and meant only to create exasperation. the popular feeling was warmly in her favour. she was personally liked as much as anne was hated; and the king himself was not spared. as a specimen of the licence of language, "a mrs. amadas, witch and prophetess, was indicted for having said that 'the lady anne should be burned, for she was a harlot. master norris (sir henry norris, equerry to henry) was bawd between her and the king. the king had kept both the mother and the daughter, and lord wiltshire was bawd to his wife and to his two daughters.'"[238] in july the news arrived from rome of the brief _de attentatis_, and with it the unpleasant intelligence that francis could not be depended on, and that the hopes expected from the meeting at nice would not be realised. the disappointment was concealed from anne, for fear of endangering the expected child. norfolk, who had waited in paris to proceed in the french king's train, was ordered to return to england. henry was not afraid, but he was discovering that he had nothing to rely upon but himself and the nation. the terms on which france and the empire stood towards each other were so critical that he did not expect the emperor to quarrel with england if he could help it. chapuys seemed studiously to seek cromwell. of cromwell's fidelity to himself henry was too well assured to feel uneasy about their intimacy, and therefore they met often and as freely exchanged their thoughts. chapuys found cromwell "a man of sense, well versed in affairs of state, and able to judge soundly," with not too good an opinion of the lady anne, who returned his dislike. anne was french; cromwell was imperialist beyond all the rest of the council. "i told him," wrote the ambassador to charles, after one of these conversations, "i often regretted your majesty had not known him in wolsey's time. he would have been a greater man than the cardinal, and the king's affairs would have gone much better. he seemed pleased, so i continued. now was the time for him to do his master better service than ever man did before. sentence had been given in rome against the king, and there was no further hope that your majesty and the pope would agree to the divorce. i presumed that the king being so reasonable, virtuous, and humane a prince, would not persist longer and blemish the many gifts which god had bestowed on him. i prayed him to move the king. he could do more with him than any other man. he was not in the council when the accursed business was first mooted. the queen trusted him, and, when reinstated, would not forget his service. cromwell took what i said in good part. he assured me that all the council desired your majesty's friendship. he would do his best, and hoped that things would turn out well. if i can believe what he says there is still a hope that the king may change. i will set the net again and try if i can catch him; but one cannot be too cautious. the king is disturbed by what has passed at rome. he fears the pope will seduce the french king from him."[239] "who was this cromwell that had grown to such importance?" granvelle had asked. "he is the son," replied chapuys, "of a farrier in chelsea, who is buried in the parish church there. his uncle, father of richard cromwell, was cook to the archbishop of canterbury. this thomas cromwell was wild in his youth, and had to leave the country. he went to flanders and to rome. returning thence he married the daughter of a wool merchant, and worked at his father-in-law's business. after that he became a solicitor. wolsey, finding him diligent and a man of ability for good or ill, took him into service and employed him in the suppression of religious houses. when wolsey fell he behaved extremely well. the king took him into his secret council. now he is above everyone, except the lady, and is supposed to have more credit than ever the cardinal had. he is hospitable and liberal, speaks english well, and latin, french, and italian tolerably."[240] the intimacy increased. cromwell, though imperial in politics and no admirer of anne boleyn, was notoriously henry's chief adviser in the reform of the clergy; but to this aspect of him chapuys had no objection. neither the ambassador nor charles, nor any secular statesman in europe, was blind to the enormities of churchmen or disposed to lift a finger for them, if reform did not take the shape of lutheranism. charles himself had said that, if henry had no objects beyond the correction of the spiritualty, he would rather aid than obstruct him. between chapuys and cromwell there was thus common ground; and cromwell's hint that the king might perhaps reconsider his position may not have been wholly groundless. the action of the rota, pressed through by davalos, had taken henry by surprise. he had not expected that the pope would give a distinct judgment against him. he had been equally disappointed in the support which he expected from francis. that he should now hesitate for an instant was natural and inevitable; but the irresolution, if real, did not last. norfolk wrote to the king from paris "to care nothing for the pope:" there were men "enough at his side in england to defend his right with the sword."[241] henry appealed to a general council, when a council could be held which should be more than a papal delegacy. the revenues of the english sees which were occupied by campeggio and ghinucci he sequestrated, as a sign of the abandonment of a detestable system. his own mind, meanwhile, was fastened on the approaching confinement of anne. with the birth of a male heir to the crown he knew that his difficulties would vanish. nurses and doctors had assured him of a son, and the event was expected both by him and by others with passionate expectation. a prince of wales would quiet the national uncertainty. it would be the answer of heaven to pope and emperor, and a divine sanction of his revolt. there is danger in interpreting providence before the event. if the anticipation is disappointed the weight of the sentence may be thrown into the opposing scale. to the bitter "mortification of the king and the lady, to the reproach of physicians, astrologers, sorcerers, and sorceresses who affirmed that the child would be a male,"[242] to the delight of chapuys and the perplexity of a large section of the english people who were waiting for providence to speak, on the 7th of september the girl who was afterwards to be queen elizabeth was brought into the world. this was the worst blow which henry had received. he was less given to superstition than most of his subjects, but there had been too much of appeals to heaven through the whole of the controversy. the need of a male heir had been paraded before christendom as the ground of his action. he had already discovered that anne was not what his blindness to her faults had allowed him to believe; he was fond of the princess mary, and anne had threatened to make a waiting-maid of her. the new queen had made herself detested in the court by her insolence; there had been "lover's quarrels,"[243] from which catherine's friends had gathered hopes, and much must have passed behind the scenes of which no record survives. a lady of the bed-chamber had heard henry say he would "rather beg from door to door than forsake her;"[244] on the other hand, anne acknowledged afterwards that his love had not been returned, and she could hardly have failed to let him see it. could she be the mother of a prince she was safe, but on this she might well think her security depended. all henry's male children, except the duke of richmond, had died at the birth or in infancy; and words which she let fall to her sister-in-law, lady rochford, implied a suspicion that the fault was in the king.[245] it is not without significance that in the subsequent indictment of sir henry norris it was alleged that on the 6th of october, 1533, less than a month after anne's confinement, she solicited norris to have criminal intercourse with her, and that on the 12th the act was committed. but to this subject i shall return hereafter. anyway, the king made the best of his misfortune. if the first adventure had failed, a second might be more successful. the unwelcome daughter was christened amidst general indifference, without either bonfires or rejoicings. she was proclaimed princess, and the title was taken away from her sister mary. chapuys, after what cromwell had said to him, trusted naturally that the king's mind would be affected by his disappointment. they met again. chapuys urged that it would be easier to set things straight than at an earlier stage. the king, being of a proud temper, would have felt humiliated if he had been baffled. he might now listen to reason. it was said of englishmen that when they had made a mistake they were more ready to confess it than other people; and, so far from losing in public esteem, he would only gain, if he now admitted that he had been wrong. the emperor would send an embassy requesting him affectionately to take catherine back; his compliance would thus lose all appearance of compulsion. the expectation was reasonable. cromwell, however, had to tell him in earnest language that it could not be; and the catholic party in england, who had hoped as chapuys hoped, and found themselves only further embittered by the exclusion of mary from the succession, became desperate in turn. from this period their incipient treason developed into definite conspiracy, the leader among the disaffected and the most influential from his reputed piety and learning being fisher, bishop of rochester, whose subsequent punishment has been the text for so many eloquent invectives. writing on the 27th of september to the emperor, chapuys says: "the good bishop of rochester has sent to me to notify that the arms of the pope against these obstinate men are softer than lead, and that your majesty must set your hand to it, in which you will do a work as agreeable to god as a war against the turk."[246] this was not all. the bishop had gone on to advise a measure which would lead immediately and intentionally to a revival of the wars of the roses. "if matters come to a rupture, the bishop said it would be well for your majesty to attach to yourself the son of the princess mary's governess [the countess of salisbury, mother of reginald pole], daughter of the duke of clarence, to whom, according to the opinion of many, the kingdom would belong. he is now studying at padua. on account of the pretensions which he and his brother would have to the crown, the queen would like to bestow the princess on him in marriage, and the princess would not refuse. he and his brothers have many kinsmen and allies, of whose services your majesty might make use and gain the greater part of the realm."[247] the bishop of rochester might plead a higher allegiance as an excuse for conspiring to dethrone his sovereign. but those who play such desperate games stake their lives upon the issue, and if they fail must pay the forfeit. the bishop was not the only person who thus advised chapuys. rebellion and invasion became the settled thought of the king's opponents, and catherine was expected to lend her countenance. the regent's council at brussels, bolder than the spanish, were for immediate war. a german force might be thrown across the channel. the flemish nobles might hesitate, but would allow ships to carry an army to scotland. the army might then march south; catherine would join it, and appear in the field.[248] catherine herself bade chapuys charge the pope in her name to proceed to the execution of the sentence[249] "in the most rigorous terms of justice possible;" the king, she said, would then be brought to reason when he felt the bit. she did not advocate violence in words, though what she did advocate implied violence and made it inevitable. fisher was prepared for any extremity. "the good and holy bishop of rochester," chapuys repeated, "would like your majesty to take active measures immediately, as i wrote in my last, which advice he has sent to me again lately to repeat.[250] without this they fear disorder. the smallest force would suffice." knowing charles's unwillingness, the ambassador added a further incitement. among the preachers, he said, there was one who spread worse errors than luther. the prelates all desired to have him punished, but the archbishop of canterbury held him up, the king would not listen to them; and, were it not that he feared the people, would long since have professed lutheranism himself.[251] chapter xiv. interview between the pope and francis at marseilles--proposed compromise--the divorce case to be heard at cambray--the emperor consents--catherine refuses--the story of the nun of kent--bishop fisher in the tower--imminent breach with the papacy--catherine and the princess mary--separation of the princess from her mother--catherine at kimbolton-appeals to the emperor--encouragement of lutheranism--last efforts of rome--final sentence delivered by the pope--the pope's authority abolished in england. the pope's last brief had been sufficiently definite to enable the emperor to act upon it if henry still disobeyed. english scruples, however, required a judgment on the divorce itself before force was openly tried. clement went, as he had intended, to france in october, and met the french king at marseilles. norfolk, as has been said, was not allowed to be present; but gardiner and bonner attended as inferior agents to watch the proceedings. cifuentes followed the papal court for charles, and the english nuncio, who had been at last recalled, was present also. the main result of the interview was the marriage of the duke of orleans to the pope's niece, catherine de' medici, a guarantee that francis was not to follow england into schism but was to remain catholic. the engagements with which he had tempted henry into committing himself were thus abandoned, and the honour which had been saved at pavia was touched, if it was not lost. it had strength enough, however, to lead him still to exert himself to bring clement to reason. the bribe of calais was not tried upon him, having been emphatically negatived by the emperor. the chancellor of france presented in henry's name a formal complaint of the pope's conduct. it was insisted that when he commissioned campeggio to go to england, he had formally promised not to revoke the cause to rome, and this promise he had violated. the pope's answer was curious. he admitted the promise, but he said it was conditional on queen catherine's consent, _though this clause was not inserted in the commission lest it might suggest to her to complain_.[252] the answer was allowed to pass. other objections were similarly set aside, and then the cardinal de tarbes, professing to speak in henry's name, proposed that the pope should appoint another commission to hear the cause at cambray, himself nominating the judges. if the pope would comply he was authorised to say that the king would obey, and, pending the trial, would separate from anne and recall catherine to the court. cifuentes had again urged the pope to declare henry deprived. the pope had refused on the ground that, unless the emperor would bind himself to execute the sentence in arms, the holy see would lose reputation.[253] he had, therefore, a fair excuse for listening to the french suggestion. the cardinals deliberated, and thought it ought to be accepted. if the king would really part with anne the cause might be even heard in england itself, and no better course could be thought of. the proposal was referred, through the papal nuncio, to the emperor, and the emperor wrote on the margin of the nuncio's despatch to him that he could give no answer till he had communicated with catherine, but that he would write and recommend her to follow the course pointed out by his holiness.[254] the spanish party suspected a trick. they thought that there might be an appearance of compliance with the pope's brief. catherine might be allowed a room in the palace till the cause was removed from rome. it was all but gained in the rota; if referred back in the manner proposed, it would be delayed by appeals and other expedients till it became interminable. their alternative was instant excommunication. but the pope had the same answer. how could he do that? he did not know that the emperor would take up arms. were he to issue the censures, and were no effect to follow, the apostolic see would be discredited. de tarbes was asked to produce his commission from henry to make suggestions in his name. it was found when examined to be insufficient. henry himself, when he learnt what had been done, "changed colour, crushed the letter in his hands, and exclaimed that the king of france had betrayed him."[255] but he had certainly made some concession or other. the time allowed in the last brief had run out. the french cardinals did not relinquish their efforts. they demanded a suspension of six months, till henry and francis could meet again and arrange something which the pope could accept. the pope, false himself, suspected every one to be as false as he was. he suspected that a private arrangement was being made between henry and the emperor, and cifuentes himself could not or would not relieve his misgivings. in the midst of the uncertainty a courier came in from england with an appeal _ad futurum concilium_--when a council could be held that was above suspicion. the word "council" always drove clement distracted. he complained to francis, and francis, provoked at finding his efforts paralysed, said angrily that, were it not for his present need of the king of england's friendship lest others should forestall him there, he would play him a trick that he should remember. the suspension of the censures for an indefinite time was granted, however, after a debate in the consistory. the english council, when the proposal for the hearing of the cause at cambray was submitted to them, hesitated over their answer. they told chapuys that such a compromise as the pope offered might once have been entertained, but nothing now would induce the king to sacrifice the interests of his new-born daughter; "all the ambassadors in the world would not move him, nor even the pope himself, if he came to visit him."[256] nevertheless, so anxious were all parties now at the last moment to find some conditions or other to prevent the division of christendom that the cardinal de tarbes's proposition, or something like it, might have been accepted. the emperor, however, had made his consent contingent on catherine's acquiescence, and catherine herself refused--refused resolutely, absolutely, and finally. charles had written to her as he had promised. chapuys sent her down the letter with a draft of the terms proposed, and he himself strongly exhorted her to agree. he asked for a distinct "yes" or "no," and catherine answered "no." her cause should be heard in rome, she said, and nowhere but in rome; the removal to cambray meant only delay, and from delay she had suffered long enough; should anne boleyn have a son meanwhile, the king would be more obstinate than ever. the pope must be required to end the cause himself and to end it quickly. the emperor knew her determination and might have spared his application.[257] she wrote to chapuys "that, sentence once pronounced, the king, for all his bravado and obstinacy, would listen to reason, and war would be unnecessary." "on that point," the ambassador said, "she would not find a single person to agree with her."[258] catherine had pictured to herself a final triumph, and she could not part with the single hope which had cheered her through her long trial. if any chance of accommodation remained after her peremptory answer, it was dispelled by the discovery of the treason connected with the nun of kent. the story of elizabeth barton has been told by me elsewhere. here it is enough to say that from the beginning of the divorce suit a hysterical woman, professing to have received divine revelations, had denounced the king's conduct in private and public, and had influenced the judgment of peers, bishops, statesmen, and privy councillors. she had been treated at first as a foolish enthusiast, but her prophecies had been circulated by an organisation of itinerant friars, and had been made use of to feed the disaffection which had shown itself in the overtures to chapuys. the effect which she had produced had been recently discovered. she had been arrested, had made a large confession, and had implicated several of the greatest names in the realm. she had written more than once to the pope. she had influenced warham. she had affected the failing intellect of wolsey. the bishop of rochester, the marquis and marchioness of exeter, had admitted her to intimate confidence. even sir thomas more had at one time half believed that she was inspired. catherine, providentially, as chapuys thought, had declined to see her, but was acquainted with all that passed between her and the exeters. when brought before the council she was treated _comme une grosse dame_--as a person of consideration. the occasion was of peculiar solemnity, and great persons were in attendance from all parts of the realm. the chancellor, in the nun's presence, gave a history of her proceedings. he spoke of the loyalty and fidelity which had been generally shown by the nation during the trying controversy. the king had married a second wife to secure the succession and provide for the tranquillity of the realm. the woman before them had instigated the pope to censure him, and had endeavoured to bring about a rebellion to deprive him of his throne. the audience, who had listened quietly so far, at the word "rebellion" broke out into cries of "to the stake! to the stake!" the nun showed no alarm, but admitted quietly that what the chancellor said was true. she had acknowledged much, but more lay behind, and chapuys confessed himself alarmed at what she might still reveal. cromwell observed to him that "god must have directed the sense and wit of the queen to keep clear of the woman." but catherine's confessor had been among the most intimate of her confederates; and to be aware of treason and not reveal it was an act of treason in itself. sir thomas more cleared himself. fisher, the guiltiest of all, was sent to the tower for misprision. the pope's final sentence was now a certainty. francis had cleared his conscience by advocating the compromise. nothing more could be done, he said, unless cranmer's judgment was revoked. he chose to forget that the compromise had been rejected by catherine herself. he complained that as fast as he studied to gain the pope the english studied to lose him. he had devised a plan, and the english spoilt it. he regretted that he had ever meddled in the matter. the pope could not help himself; but must now excommunicate the king and call on christendom to support him.[259] henry could no longer doubt that he was in serious danger. to the risk of invasion from abroad, disaffection at home had to be added. how far it extended he did not yet know. all along, however, he had been preparing for what the future might bring. the fleet was in high order; the fortifications at dover and calais had been repaired; if the worst came he meant to be ready for it; the stoppage of trade might be serious; it was to this that catherine looked as her most effective weapon; but english commerce was as important to spain and flanders as the flemish woollens to the london citizens, and the leading merchants on both sides came to an understanding that an interdict would be disregarded. the lutherans had the courage of their opinions and could be depended on to fight. the laws against heretics were allowed to sleep. their numbers increased, and the french ambassador observed to chapuys that they would not easily be eradicated. many who were orthodox in the faith were bitter against rome and romanism. the duke of norfolk was the loudest of them all. flanders could not live, he said, to a deputation of alarmed citizens, without the english trade; and as to the pope, the pope was a wretch and a bastard, a liar and a bad man; he would stake wife and children and his own person to be revenged on him.[260] an order of council came out that the pope henceforward was to be styled only bishop of rome. chapuys could not understand it. the duke, he thought, was strangely changed; he had once professed to be a staunch catholic. norfolk had not changed. the peculiar anglican theory was beginning to show itself that a church might still be catholic though it ceased to be papal. irritated though he was at his last failure, francis did not wholly abandon his efforts. a successful invasion of england by the emperor would be dangerous or even fatal to france. he wrote to anne. he sent his letter by the hands of her old friend, du bellay, and she was so pleased that she kissed him when he presented it. du bellay sought out chapuys. "could nothing be done," he asked, "to prevent england from breaking with the papacy? better england, france, and the empire had spent a hundred thousand crowns than allow a rupture. the emperor had done his duty in supporting his aunt; might he not now yield a little to avoid worse?" chapuys could give him no hope. the treatment of catherine alone would force the emperor to take further measures. that catherine, so far, had no personal ill-usage to complain of had been admitted by the spanish council, and alleged as an argument against interference by force in her favour. chapuys conceived, and probably hoped, that this objection was being removed. what to do with her was not the least of the perplexities in which henry had involved himself. by the public law of christendom, a marriage with a brother's widow was illegal. by the law as it has stood ever since in england, the pope of rome neither has, nor ever had, a right to dispense in such cases. she was not, therefore, henry's queen. she deserved the most indulgent consideration; her anger and her resistance were legitimate and natural; but the fact remained. she had refused all compromise. she had insisted on a decision, and an english court had given judgment against her. if she was queen, elizabeth was a bastard, and her insistance upon her title was an invitation to civil war. she was not standing alone. the princess mary, on her father's marriage with anne, had written him a letter, which he had praised as greatly to her credit; but either anne's insolence or her mother's persuasion had taken her back to catherine's side. her conduct may and does deserve the highest moral admiration; but the fidelity of the child to her mother was the assertion of a right to be next in succession to the crown. there was no longer a doubt that a dangerous movement was on foot for an insurrection, supported from abroad. if catherine escaped with mary to the continent, war would instantly follow. if there was a rebellion at home, their friends intended to release them, and to use their names in the field. it was found necessary again to part them. the danger would be diminished if they were separated; together they confirmed each other's resolution. catherine was sent to kimbolton with a reduced household--her confessor, her doctor, her own personal servants and attendants--who had orders to call her princess, but obeyed as little as they pleased. mary was attached to the establishment of her baby sister elizabeth under charge of anne boleyn's aunt, mrs. shelton. history with a universal voice condemns the king's conduct as cruel and unnatural. it was not cruel in the sense of being wanton; it was not unnatural in the sense that he had no feeling. he was in a dilemma, through his own actions, from which he could not otherwise extricate himself. catherine was not his wife, and he knew it; he had been misled by wolsey into the expectation that the pope would relieve him; he had been trifled with and played upon; he was now threatened with excommunication and deposition. half his subjects, and those the boldest and most determined, had rallied to his side; his cause had become the occasion of a great and beneficent revolution, and incidental difficulties had to be dealt with as they rose. catherine he had long ceased to love, if love had ever existed between them, but he respected her character and admired her indomitable courage. for his daughter he had a real affection, as appeared in a slight incident which occurred shortly after her removal. elizabeth was at hatfield, and mary, whose pride anne had threatened to humble, was with her. mrs. shelton's orders were to box mary's ears if she presumed to call herself princess. the king knew nothing of these instructions. he had found his daughter always dutiful except when under her mother's influence, and one day he rode down to hatfield to see her. the lady anne, finding that he had gone without her knowledge, "considering the king's easiness and lightness, if anyone dared to call it so," and afraid of the effect which a meeting with his daughter might have upon him, sent some one in pursuit to prevent him from seeing or speaking with her. the king submitted to his imperious mistress, saw anne's child, but did not see mary. she had heard of his arrival, and as he was mounting his horse to ride back she showed herself on the leads, kneeling as if to ask his blessing. the king saw her, bowed, lifted his bonnet, and silently went his way.[261] the french ambassador met him afterwards in london. the king said he had not spoken to his daughter on account of her spanish obstinacy. the ambassador saying something in her favour, "tears rushed into the king's eyes, and he praised her many virtues and accomplishments." "the lady," said chapuys, "is aware of the king's affection for his daughter, and therefore never ceases to plot against her." the earl of northumberland, once anne's lover, told him that she meant to poison the princess. chapuys had thought it might be better if she avoided irritating her father; he advised her to protect herself by a secret protest, and to let her title drop on condition that she might live with her mother. lady anne, however, it was thought, would only be more malicious, and a show of yielding would discourage her friends. another plan was to carry her off abroad; but war would then be inevitable, and chapuys could not venture to recommend such an attempt without the emperor's express consent.[262] catherine also was, or professed to be, in fear of foul play. kimbolton was a small but not inconvenient residence. it was represented as a prison. the king was supposed to be eager for her death; and in the animosity of the time he, or at least his mistress, was thought capable of any atrocity. the queen was out of health in reality, having shown signs of dropsy, and the physicians thought her life uncertain. she would eat nothing which her new servants provided; the little food she took was prepared by her chamberwoman, and her own room was used as a kitchen.[263] charles had intimated that, if she was ill-used, he might be driven to interfere; and every evil rumour that was current was treasured up to exasperate him into action. no words, chapuys said in a letter to the emperor, could describe the grief which the king's conduct to the queen and princess was creating in the english people. they complained bitterly of the emperor's inaction. they waited only for the arrival of a single ship of war to rise _en masse_; and, if they had but a leader to take command, they said, they would do the work themselves. they reminded him of warwick, who dethroned the king's grandfather, and henry vii., who dethroned richard. some even said the emperor's right to the throne was better than the present king's; for edward's children were illegitimate, and the emperor was descended from the house of lancaster. if the emperor would not move, at least he might stop the flanders trade, and rebellion would then be certain. there was not the least hope that the king would submit. the accursed anne had so bewitched him that he dared not oppose her. the longer the emperor delayed, the worse things would grow from the rapid spread of lutheranism.[264] wise sovereigns, under the strongest provocation, are slow to encourage mutiny in neighbouring kingdoms. charles had to check the overzeal of his ambassador, and to tell him that "the present was no time for vigorous action or movement of any kind." chapuys promised for the future "to persuade the queen to patience, and to do nothing which might lead to the inconvenience" which the emperor pointed out.[265] his impatient english friends whom he called "the people" were still obliged to submit in patience, while the king went on upon his way in the great business of the realm, amidst the "impress of shipwrights," the "daily cast of cannon," and foreign mart of implements for war. an embassy was sent to germany to treat for an alliance with the smalcaldic league. a book was issued, with the authority of the privy council, on the authority of kings and priests, showing that bishops and priests were equal, and that princes must rule them both. the scotch ambassador told chapuys that if such a book had been published in his country the author of it would have been burnt.[266] parliament met to pass the bill, of which henry had introduced a draft in the previous session, to restrict the bishops' powers of punishing heretics. dr. nixe, the old bishop of norwich, had lately burnt thomas bilney on his own authority, without waiting for the king's writ. henry had the bishop arrested, tried him before a lay judge, confiscated his property, and imprisoned him in the tower. parliament made such exploits as that of dr. nixe impossible for the future. act followed act on the same lines. the pope's bulls were dispensed with on appointments to vacant sees. the king's nomination was to suffice. the tributes to rome, which had been levied hitherto in infinite variety of form, were to be swept finally away, and with them an act was introduced of final separation from the papacy. were it only in defiance of the pope, chapuys said, such measures impending would matter little, for the motive was understood; but the preachers were teaching lutheranism in the pulpits, drawing crowds to hear them, and, unless the root could be torn out, the realm would be lost. before the closing stroke was dealt in england the last scene of the tragi-comedy had to be played out in rome itself. on the pope's return from marseilles the thunderbolt was expected to fall. the faithful du bellay rushed off to arrest the uplifted arm. he found clement wrangling as before with cifuentes, and cifuentes, in despair, considering that, if justice would not move the pope, other means would have to be found. the english acts of parliament were not frightening clement. to them he had become used. but he knew by this time for certain that, if he deprived henry, the emperor would do nothing. why, said he, in quiet irony, to the emperor's minister, does not your master proceed on the brief _de attentatis_? it would be as useful to him as the sentence which he asks for. by that the king has forfeited his throne. cifuentes had to tell him, what he himself was equally aware of, that it was not so held in england. until the main cause had been decided it was uncertain whether the marriage with anne boleyn might not be lawful after all.[267] in one of his varying moods the pope had said at marseilles that, if henry had sent a proctor to plead for him at rome, sentence would have been given in his favour.[268] it was doubtful whether even the emperor was really determined, so ambiguous had been his answers when he was asked if he would execute the bull. du bellay arrived in the midst of the suspense. he had brought an earnest message from francis, praying that judgment might be stayed. as this was the last effort to prevent the separation of england the particulars have a certain interest. in an interview with the pope du bellay said that when he left london he believed that the rupture was inevitable. his own sovereign, however, had sent him to represent to the holy see that the king of england was on the eve of forming a treaty with the lutheran princes. the king of france did not pretend to an opinion on the right or wrong of his brother of england's case; but he wished to warn his holiness that means ought to be found to prevent such an injury to the church. the pope answered that he had thought long and painfully on what he ought to do, and had delayed sentence as long as he was able. the queen was angry and accused him of having been the cause of all that had happened. if the king of france had any further proposal to offer he was ready to hear it. if not, the sentence must be pronounced. cifuentes, finding clement again hesitating, pointed out to him the violent acts which were being done in england, the encouragement of heresy, the cruel treatment of the queen and princess, and the risk to the queen's life if nothing was done to help her. clement sent for du bellay again and inquired more particularly if he had brought no practical suggestion with him. du bellay could only say that he had himself brought none; but he trusted that the pope might devise something, as, without it, not england only but other countries would be irretrievably lost to the holy see. the pope said he could think of nothing; and in his account of what had passed to cifuentes he declared that he had told du bellay that he meant to proceed. cifuentes was not satisfied. he saw that the pope was still reluctant. he knew that there were intrigues among the cardinals. he said that henry was only making use of france to intimidate him. he asserted, with the deluding confidence which blinded the whole catholic party, that the revolt of england was the act of the king and not of the people. he was certain, he said, that, although the bishop pretended that he had no expedient to propose, he had one which he dared not disclose. he could not bring the pope to a resolution. a further delay of six weeks was granted. messengers were despatched to england, and english commissioners were sent in answer. they had no concessions to offer, nor were any concessions expected of them. they lingered on the way. the six weeks expired and they had not arrived. the spanish party in the consistory were peremptory. they satisfied the pope's last scruples by assuring him, vaguely, that he might rely upon the emperor, and on march 23, with an outburst of general enthusiasm, the bull was issued which declared valid the marriage of henry and catherine, the king to be excommunicated if he disobeyed, and to have forfeited the allegiance of his subjects. the secular arm was not yet called in, and, before charles could be required to move, one more step would still be needed. but essentially, and on the main cause of the trouble, the pope had at last spoken, and spoken finally.[269] the passionate and devout ortiz poured out on the occasion the emotions of grateful catholicity. "the emperor," he wrote, "had won the greatest of his victories--a victory over hell. there had been difficulties even to the last. campeggio had opposed, but at last had yielded to the truth. the pope repented of his delay, but now feared he had committed a great sin in hesitating so long. the holy martyr, the queen of england, had been saved. the cardinals in past years had been bribed by the french king; by the influence of the holy spirit they had all decided in the queen's favour. their conscience told them they could not vote against her."[270] in england the news of the decision had not been waited for. two days after the issue of the bull, the act abolishing the pope's authority was read the last time in the house of lords, to the regret, said chapuys, of a minority of good men, who could not carry the house along with them. chapter xv. the papal curse--determined attitude of the princess mary--chapuys desires to be heard in parliament--interview with the king--permission refused-the act of succession--catherine loses the title of queen--more and fisher refuse to swear to the statute--prospects of rebellion in ireland--the emperor unwilling to interfere--perplexity of the catholic party--chapuys before the privy council--insists on catherine's rights--singular defence of the pope's action--chapuys's intrigues--defiant attitude of catherine-fears for her life--condition of europe--prospect of war between france and the empire--unwillingness of the emperor to interfere in england-disappointment of catherine--visit of chapuys to kimbolton. pretenders to supernatural powers usually confine the display of their skill to the presence of friends and believers. the exercise of such powers to silence opponents or to convince incredulity may be alleged to have existed in the past, or may be foretold as to happen in the future; in the actual present prudent men are cautious of experiments which, if they fail, bring them only into ridicule. excommunication had real terrors when a frightened world was willing to execute its penalties--when the object of the censure was cut off from the services of religion and was regarded as a pariah and an outlaw. the princes of europe had real cause to fear the curse of the pope when their own subjects might withdraw their obedience and the christian powers were ready to take arms to coerce them. but clement knew that his own thunders would find no such support, and he lacked the confidence of dr. ortiz that heaven, if men failed, would avenge its own wrongs. he had not been permitted even to invite the emperor formally to enforce the sentence which he had been compelled to pronounce. protestant germany had been left unpunished in its heresy. the curse had passed harmless over luther and luther's supporters. in england he was assured that his authority was still believed in, and that the king would be brought to judgment by his subjects. but there were no outward signs of it. his bulls could no longer be introduced there. his clergy might at heart be loyal to him; but they had submitted to the crown and the parliament. his name was struck out of the service-books, and the business of life went on as if he had never spoken; the business of life, and also the business of the government: for, the pope being disposed of, the vital question of the succession to the crown had still to be formally arranged. since the emperor would not act chapuys had been feeling his way with the scotch. if james chose to assert himself, the ambassador had promised him the emperor's support. "he might marry the princess mary, and the emperor would welcome the union of the crowns of scotland and england."[271] had mary submitted to her father, her claim to a place in the line of inheritance would not have been taken from her, for she had been born _bonâ fide parentum_ and in no reasonable sense could be held illegitimate. but she had remained immoveable. in small things as well as great she had been unnecessarily irritating. her wardrobe had required replenishing, and she had refused to receive anything which was not given to her as princess. anne boleyn accused her aunt of being too lenient, mrs. shelton having refused to make herself the instrument of anne's violence. chapuys feared the "accursed lady" might be tempted into a more detestable course. but, any way, the nation had broken with the pope, and mary could not be left with the prospect of succeeding to the crown while she denied the competency of the english parliament and the english courts of justice. a bill, therefore, was introduced to make the necessary provisions, establishing the succession in the child, and future children, of anne. catherine could not yet believe that parliament would assent. parliament, she thought, had never yet heard the truth. she directed chapuys to apply for permission to appear at the bar of the house of lords and speak for her and the princess. after the failure of the nuncio with convocation chapuys had little hope that he would be listened to; but catherine insisted on his making the attempt, since a refusal, she thought, would be construed into an admission of her right. the ambassador wrote to the council. they desired to know what he proposed to say, and he was allowed a private interview with the duke of norfolk. he told the duke that he wished merely to give a history of the divorce case and would say nothing to irritate. the duke said he would speak to the king; but the emperor, considering all that the king had done for him, had not treated him well; they would sooner he had gone to war at once than crossed and thwarted them at so many turns. chapuys protested that war had never been thought of, and it was arranged that he should see the king and himself present his request. before he entered the presence norfolk warned him to be careful of his words, as he was to speak on matters so odious and unpleasing that all the sugars and sauces in the world could not make them palatable. the king, however, was gracious. chapuys boldly entered on the treatment of the queen and princess. he had heard, he said, that the subject was to be laid before parliament, and he desired to present his remonstrances to the lords and commons themselves. the king replied civilly that, as chapuys must be aware, his first marriage had been judicially declared null; the lady catherine, therefore, could not any longer be called queen, nor the lady mary his legitimate daughter. as to chapuys's request, it was not the custom in england for strangers to speak in parliament. chapuys urged that the archbishop's sentence was worth no more than the bishop of bath's sentence illegitimatising the children of edward iv. parliament would, no doubt, vote as the king pleased; but, as to custom, no such occasion had ever arisen before, and parliament was not competent to decide questions which belonged only to spiritual judges. the princess was indisputably legitimate, as at the time of her birth no doubt existed on the lawfulness of her mother's marriage. this was a sound argument, and henry seemed to admit the force of it. but he said that neither pope nor princes had a right to interfere with the laws and institutions of england. secular judges were perfectly well able to deal with matrimonial causes. the princess elizabeth was next in succession till a son was born to him. that son he soon hoped to have. in short, he declined to allow chapuys to make a speech in the house of lords; so chapuys dropped the subject, and interceded for permission to the princess mary to reside with her mother. he said frankly that, if harm came to her while in the charge of her present governess, the world would not be satisfied. of course he knew that for all the gold in the world the king would not injure his daughter; but, even if she died of an ordinary illness, suspicions would be entertained of foul play. with real courage chapuys reminded henry that the knights who killed becket had been encouraged by the knowledge that the king was displeased with him. the enemies of the princess, perceiving that she was out of favour, and aware of the hatred[272] felt for her by the lady anne, might be similarly tempted to make away with her while she was in mrs. shelton's charge. if chapuys really used this language (and the account of it is his own), henry viii. was more forbearing than history has represented him. he turned the subject, and complained, as norfolk had done, of the emperor's ingratitude. chapuys said he had nothing to fear from the emperor, unless he gave occasion for it. he smiled sardonically, and replied that, if he had been vindictive, there had been occasions when he could have revenged himself. it was enough, however, if the world knew how injured he had been. he then closed the conversation, dismissed his visitor, and told him he must be satisfied with the patience with which he had been heard.[273] the bill for the settlement of the crown was thus discussed without chapuys's assistance. the terms of it and the reasons for it are familiar to all readers of english history. the king's efforts to obtain an heir male had, so far, only complicated an already dangerous problem. though the marriage with catherine had been set aside in an english court, the right of such a court to pronounce upon it was not yet familiar to the nation generally. the pope had given an opposite sentence: many of the peers and commons, the duke of norfolk among them, though reconciled to the divorce, had not yet made up their minds to schism;[274] and mary had still many friends who were otherwise loyal to her father. but, after the experience of the last century, englishmen of all persuasions were frightened at the prospect of a disputed succession, which only a peremptory act of parliament could effectively dispose of. the bill, therefore, passed at last with little opposition. cranmer's judgment was confirmed as against the pope's. the marriage with catherine was declared null, the marriage with anne valid, and anne's children the lawful heirs of the crown. the act alone was not enough. the disclosures brought to light in the affair of the nun of kent, the disaffection then revealed, and the rank of the persons implicated in it, necessitated further precautions. any doubt which might have existed on the extent and character of the conspiracy is removed for ever by the spanish ambassador's letters. the pope was threatening to absolve english subjects from their allegiance; how far he might be able to influence their minds had as yet to be seen; a commission, therefore, was appointed to require and receive the oaths of all persons whom there was reason to suspect, that they would maintain the succession as determined in the act. the sentence from rome had not arrived when the bill became law, and no action was taken upon it till the terms in which clement had spoken were specifically known. catherine, however, seemed to think that the further she could provoke henry to harsh measures, the nearer would be her own deliverance. she had always persuaded herself that judgment once given at rome for her, the king would yield. the act of succession was thus specially galling, and with the same violent unwisdom which she had shown from the first, and against the direct advice of chapuys, she had decided that the time was come for mary "to show her teeth to the king."[275] it was not for her to expose her daughter to perils which she professed to believe were threatening the lives of both of them. but mary obeyed her but too well. while the succession bill was before the two houses, anne, probably at henry's instance, went to hatfield to invite her to receive her as queen, promising, if she complied, that she should be treated better than she had ever been. mary's answer was that she knew no queen but her mother; if the king's mistress, so she designated anne, would intercede with her father for her she would be grateful. the lady, chapuys heard, had said in a rage that she would put down that proud spanish blood and do her worst with her. nor was this all. the determined girl refused to be included in elizabeth's household, or pay her the respect attaching to her birth. elizabeth soon after being removed from hatfield to the more, mary declined to go with her, and obliged the gentlemen in attendance to place her by force in mrs. shelton's litter. the ambassador felt the folly of such ineffectual resistance. never, he said, would he have advised her to run such a risk of exasperating the king, while the lady anne was never ceasing day or night to injure her. his own advice had been that when violence was threatened she should yield; but he had been overruled by catherine.[276] chapuys's intercourse with the court was now restricted. he was received when he applied for a formal interview; but for his information on what was passing there, he was left to secret friends or to his diplomatic colleagues. he asked the french ambassador how the king took the pope's sentence. the ambassador said the king did not care in the least, which chapuys was unable to believe. the action of the parliament alarmed and shocked him. among the hardest blows was the taking from the bishops the powers of punishing heretics--a violation, as it appeared to him, of common right and the constitution of the realm. the sharp treatment of bishop nixe he regarded as an outrage and a crime. the easter preachers were ordered to denounce the pope in their sermons. chapuys shuddered at their language. "they surpassed themselves in the abominations which they uttered." worse than sermons followed. on the arrival of the "sentence," the commission began its work in requiring the oath to the succession act. those whose names had been compromised in the revelation of the nun were naturally the first to be put to the test. fisher, who had been found guilty of misprision of treason, had so far been left unpunished. it is uncertain whether the government was aware of his communications with chapuys, but enough was known to justify suspicion. the oath was offered him. he refused to take it, and he was committed to the tower in earnest. he had been sentenced to imprisonment before, but had been so far left at liberty. sir thomas more might have been let alone, for there was no fear that he would lend himself to active treason. he, too, however, was required to swear, and declined, and followed fisher to the same place. the pope had declared war against the king, and his adherents had become the king's enemies. chapuys himself was suspected. his encouragement of disaffection could not have been wholly concealed. he believed that his despatches had been opened in calais, and that cromwell had read them. there had been a scotch war. as the emperor was disinclined to stir, chapuys had looked on james as a possibly useful instrument in disturbing henry's peace. a scottish commission was in london to arrange a treaty, "as they had found england too strong for them alone." the ambassador, more eager than ever, tried his best to dissuade the chief commissioner from agreeing to terms, pointing out the condition of the kingdom and the advantage to scotland in joining in an attack on the king. the scotchman listened, and promised to be secret. chapuys assured him of the emperor's gratitude,[277] and, though the treaty was concluded, he consoled the ambassador by saying "that the peace would not prevent his master from waging war on the english. pleas in plenty could easily be found."[278] ireland was a yet more promising field of operations. on the first rumour of the divorce the earl of desmond had offered his services to the emperor. chapuys discovered a more promising champion of the church in lord thomas fitzgerald, whom he described as "a youth of high promise." if the pope would send the censures to dublin, he undertook that lord thomas would publish them, and would be found a useful friend. again, in spite of refusal, he urged the emperor to take action himself. harm, he said, would befall the queen and princess, if there was longer delay; mrs. shelton had told mary that she would lose her head if she persisted in disobedience; the people loved them well, but were afraid to move without support. the lutherans were increasing, and would soon be dangerously strong. the present was the time to act. the king thought he could hold the recusants down by obliging them to swear to his statute; but if the chance was allowed, they would show their real minds.[279] one difficulty remained in the way of action. the pope, though he had given judgment, had not yet called in the secular arm which was supposed to be necessary as a preliminary, and all parties, save catherine and her passionate advisers, were unwilling that a step should be taken from which there would be no returning. the emperor did not wish it. francis, irritated at the refusal to listen to du bellay, told the pope that he was throwing england away. "the pope," wrote the cardinal of jaen to secretary covos, "is restive. if we push him too hard he may go over to the enemy."[280] charles ordered cifuentes to keep strictly to his instructions. the evident hesitation amused and encouraged the english cabinet. "which pope do you mean?" said the duke of norfolk to the scotch ambassador, who had spoken of clement as an arbiter on some point in dispute, "the pope of rome or the pope of lambeth?" henry, finding francis had not wholly deserted him, "praised god" at a public dinner for having given him so good a brother in the king of france. under these circumstances, the catholic party in england were alarmed and perplexed. catherine had been undeceived at last in her expectation that the king would submit when the pope had spoken. she informed chapuys that she now _saw it was necessary to use stronger remedies_. what these remedies should be chapuys said she dared not write, lest her letters should be intercepted. she was aware, too, that the emperor knew best what should be done. something must be tried, however, and speedily; for the king was acting vigorously, and to wait would be to be lost. a startling difference of opinion also was beginning to show itself even among the queen's friends. some might turn round, chapuys said, as they feared the emperor, in _helping her, would set up again the pope's authority, which they called tyrannical_. it was the alarm at this which enabled the king to hold his subjects together.[281] though mary had "shown her teeth" at her mother's bidding, she had not provoked her father to further severities. he asked mrs. shelton if her pride was subdued. mrs. shelton saying there were no signs of it, he ordered that she should be more kindly treated; and he sent her a message that, if she was obedient, he would find some royal marriage for her. she answered that god had not so blinded her that she should confess that her father and mother had lived in adultery. the words, perhaps, lost nothing in the repeating; but the king said, and said rightly, that it was her mother's influence. catherine had persuaded her that his kindness was treachery, and that there was a purpose to poison her.[282] a serious question, however, had risen about the statute of succession. the oath had been universally taken by everyone to whom it had been offered save more and fisher. the reason for demanding it was the notorious intention of the catholic party to take arms in catherine's and mary's interests. were others to be sworn, and were the two ladies chiefly concerned to be exempted? catherine, in ceasing to be queen, might be held to have recovered her rights as a foreigner. but she had remained in england by her own wish, and at the desire of the emperor, to assist in fighting out the battle. mary was undoubtedly a subject, and catherine and she had both intimated that if the oath was demanded of them they would not take it. the peers and bishops were called together to consider the matter, and, as catherine was a spanish princess, chapuys was invited to attend. the council-room was thronged. the ambassador was introduced, and a copy of the statute was placed before him. he was informed that english subjects generally had voluntarily sworn to obey it. two ladies only, madam catherine and madam mary, had declined, and the pains and penalties were pointed out to him which they might incur if they persisted. chapuys had been refused an opportunity of speaking his opinion in parliament. it was now spontaneously offered him. he might, if he had pleased, have denounced the hardship of compelling the queen and her daughter to assent personally to a statute which took their rights from them. the preamble declared the king's marriage with catherine to have been invalid, and in swearing to the act of succession she would be abandoning her entire plea. there was no intention, however, of forcing the oath upon the mother. mary was the person aimed at; and mary might have been spared also, if she had not "shewn her teeth" so plainly. chapuys, however, spoke out boldly on the whole question. the king, he said, could not deprive the princess of her place as heir to the crown, nor was the english parliament competent to decide as to the validity of a marriage. the preamble of the statute was a lie. he would have proved it had he been permitted to speak there. people had sworn because they were afraid, and did not wish to be martyrs; and the oath being imposed by force, they knew that it could be no more binding than the oaths which he had lately taken to the pope had bound the archbishop of canterbury. for a general answer, he produced the pope's sentence. the obstinacy which they complained of, he said, was in them, and not in the ladies. he could not persuade the ladies to swear; if he could, he would not, unless under orders from the emperor; and he warned the council that if they tried further violence they must be prepared to find the emperor and ferdinand their open enemies; the emperor regarded the queen as his mother, and the princess as his sister; and, though he allowed that he was speaking without instructions, he intimated distinctly that the emperor would not fail to protect them, and protect the cause of the church, which had been intertwined with theirs. chapuys was bold, bolder perhaps than the council had expected. the bishop of durham rose after a short pause. he had been catherine's advocate, and, as chapuys said, was one of the most learned and honest prelates in the realm. but he, too, had come to see that the cause now at issue was the independence of england. he said that the statute had been well considered. it had been passed for the quiet of the realm, and must be obeyed. on chapuys rejoining that the quiet of the realm required the king's return to his wife, tunstall mentioned the promises which had been made at the beginning of the suit, and produced the decretal which the pope had given at orvieto, declaring the marriage with catherine invalid. chapuys, in his answer, admitted, unconsciously, the justice of the english plea. he said the decretal had been issued when the pope had just escaped from st. angelo, and was angry and exasperated against the emperor. as to other promises, he might or might not have made them. if he said he would give judgment in the king's favour, he might have meant merely such a judgment as would be good for the king; or perhaps he was doing as criminal judges often did--holding out hopes to prisoners to tempt confessions from them. such practices were legitimate and laudable. the english argument was that a judge such as chapuys described was not to be trusted with english suits. henry himself could not have put the case more effectively. the bishop of london spoke, and the archbishop of york, and then sampson (the dean of the chapel royal), who affirmed bluntly that the pope had no inherent rights over england. man had given him his authority, and man might take it from him. chapuys replied that the king had found it established when he came to the throne, and had himself recognised it in referring his cause to the pope. cranmer was present, but took no direct part. he brought out, however, the true issue, by suggesting, through tunstall, that the pope had incapacitated himself by submitting to be controlled by the emperor. this was the point of the matter. to allow an english suit to be decided by charles v. was to make england a vassal state of the empire. to this chapuys had no valid answer, for none could be given; and he discreetly turned the argument by reflecting on the unfitness of cranmer also. so far the laymen on the council had left the discussion to the bishops, and the ambassador thought that he had the best of it. the duke of norfolk, he imagined, thought so too; for the duke rose after the taunts at the archbishop. the king's second marriage, he said, was a _fait accompli_, and to argue further over it was loss of time. they had passed their statute, and he, for one, would maintain it to the last drop of his blood. to refuse obedience was high treason; and, the fact being so, the ladies must submit to the law. the king himself could not disobey an act which concerned the tranquillity of the realm. chapuys would not yield. he said their laws were like the laws of mahomet--laws of the sword--being so far worse, that mahomet did not make his subjects swear to them. not with entire honesty--for he knew now that catherine had consented to the use of force--he added, that they could have small confidence in their own strength if they were afraid of two poor weak women, who had neither means nor will to trouble them. the council said that they would report to the king, and so the conversation ended. chapuys spoke afterwards privately to cromwell. he renewed his warning that, if violence was used, there would be real danger. cromwell said he would do his best. but there was a general fear that something harsh would be tried at the instigation of the "accursed concubine." probably the question would be submitted to parliament, or as some thought the queen and princess would be sent to the tower.[283] conceiving extremities to be close, chapuys asked the scotch ambassador whether, if a mandate came from the pope against england, the scots would obey it. certainly they would obey it, was the answer, though they might pretend to regret the necessity. violence such as chapuys anticipated was not in contemplation. the opinion of europe would have been outraged, if there had been no more genuine reason for moderation. an appeal was tried on catherine herself. the archbishop of york and the bishop of durham, both of whom had been her friends, went down to her to explain the nature of the statute and persuade her to obedience. two accounts remain of the interview--that of the bishops, and another supplied to chapuys by the queen's friends. the bishops said that she was in great choler and agony, interrupted them with violent speeches, declared that she was the king's lawful wife, that between her and prince arthur there had been never more than a formal connection. the pope had declared for her. the archbishop of canterbury was a shadow. the acts of parliament did not concern her.[284] chapuys's story is not very different, though two elderly prelates, once her staunch supporters, could hardly have been as brutal as he describes. after various rough speeches, he said that the bishops not only referred to the penalties of the statute (they themselves admitted this) but told her that if she persisted she might be put to death. she had answered that if any of them had a warrant to execute her they might do it at once. she begged only that the ceremony should be public, in the face of the people, and that she might not be murdered in her room.[285] the mission had been rather to advise than to exact, and special demands were rather made on catherine's side than the king's. not only she would not swear herself to the statute, but she insisted that her household should be exempted also. she required a confessor, chaplains, physician, men-servants, as many women as the king would allow, and they were to take no oath save to the king and to her. henry made less difficulty than might have been looked for--less than he would have been entitled to make had he known to what purpose these attendants would be used. the oath was for his native subjects; it was not exacted from herself, or by implication from her confessor, who was a spaniard, or from her foreign servants.[286] if she would be reasonable he said that some of her requests might be granted. she might order her household as she pleased, if they would swear fidelity to him, and to herself as princess dowager. but he could not allow them to be sworn to her as queen. chapuys's business was to make the worst of the story to the emperor. the court was at richmond. chapuys went thither, presented a complaint to the council, and demanded an interview with the king. henry would not see him, but sent him a message that he would inquire into what had passed, and would send him an answer. chapuys, who had been for two years urging war in vain, exaggerated the new injuries. others, and perhaps he himself, really believed the queen's life to be in danger. "every one," he wrote, after describing what had taken place, "fears that mischief will now befall her; the concubine has said she will never rest till she is put out of the way. it is monstrous and almost incredible, yet such is the king's obstinacy, and the wickedness of this accursed woman, that everything may be apprehended."[287] anne, it is likely, was really dangerous. the king, so far as can be outwardly traced, was making the best of an unpleasant situation. the council promised chapuys that his remonstrances should be attended to. the queen was left to herself, with no more petty persecutions, to manage her household in her own way. they might swear or not swear as pleased themselves and her; and with passionate loyalty they remained devoted to her service, assisting her in the conduct of a correspondence which every day became more dangerous. the european sky meanwhile was blackening with coming storms. francis had not forgotten pavia, and as little could allow england to be conquered by charles as charles could allow france to be bribed by the promise of calais. his agents continued busy at rome keeping a hand on the pope; a fresh interview was proposed between the french king and henry, who was to meet him at calais again in the summer; and an aggressive anglo-french alliance was a possibility which the emperor had still to fear. he had small confidence in the representations of chapuys, and had brought himself to hope that by smooth measures henry might still be recovered. a joint embassy might be sent to england from himself and the pope to remonstrate on the schism. if nothing else came of it, their own position would be set right before the world and in the eyes of english opinion. clement, however, now made difficulties, and had no desire to help charles out of his embarrassments. charles had forced a judgment out of him without promising to execute it. charles might now realise the inconvenience of having driven him on against his own inclination. cifuentes had again received instructions to delay the issue of the brief of execution, or the calling in the secular arm. the pope felt that he had been made use of and had been cheated, and was naturally resentful. cifuentes made his proposal. clement, "with the placid manner which he generally showed when a subject was disagreeable to him,... said that the embassy might go if the emperor wished.... it would not be of the slightest use ... but it might do no harm. he must, of course, however, first consult the king of france." cifuentes not liking the mention of france, the pope went on maliciously to say that, if he had not gone to marseilles, france would certainly have broken with the church, as england had done, and would have set up a patriarchate of its own. indeed he was afraid it might yet come to that. the king of france had told him how he had been pressed to consent, and had made a merit of refusing. cifuentes could but remark on the singular character of the king of france's religious convictions.[288] the embassy was not sent to england, and the pope kept back his invocation of the secular arm till a prince could be found who would act. no one would be the first to move, and the meeting of the two kings at calais was indefinitely postponed. francis complained of henry's arbitrary manner, "speaking to me at times as if i were his subject." the explanation given to the world of the abandonment of the interview was that henry found it inconvenient to leave the realm. a letter of chapuys explains where the special inconvenience lay. the lady anne would be regent in his absence, and could not be trusted in her present humour. "i have received word from a trustworthy source," he wrote on the 23d of june to the emperor, "that the concubine has said more than once, and with great assurance, that the moment the king crosses the channel to the interview, and she is left regent, she will put the princess to death by sword or otherwise. her brother, lord rochford, telling her she would offend the king, she answered she cared not if she did. she would do it if she was burnt or flayed alive afterwards. the princess knows her danger, but it gives her no concern. she puts her trust in god." imperfect credit must be given to stories set current by malicious credulity. but the existence of such stories shows the reputation which anne had earned for herself, and which in part she deserves. chapuys reiterated his warnings. "pardon my importunity," he continued, "but, unless your majesty looks promptly to it, things will be past remedy. lutheranism spreads fast, and the king calculates that it will make the people stand by him and will gain the germans. so long as danger is not feared from without, parliament will agree to all that he wishes. were your majesty even to overlook all that he has done, he would persist in the same way. good catholics are of opinion that the readiest way to bridle france and germany is to begin in england. it can be done with ease. the people only wait for your majesty to give the signal."[289] the inaction of the emperor was incomprehensible to catherine's friends. to herself it was distracting. she had fed upon the hope that when the pope had given judgment her trial would be at an end; that the voice of catholic europe would compel the king to submit. the roman lightning had flashed, but the thunderbolt had not fallen. the english laity, long waiting in suspense, had begun to think, as chapuys feared they would, that the pope was the shadow, and cranmer the substance. cut off from the world, she thought she was forsaken, or that the emperor's care for her would not carry him to the point of interference. if no voice was raised in her favour in her own spain, the spanish ambassador might at least show that her countrymen had not forgotten her. she sent pressing messages to chapuys, begging him to visit her; and chapuys, impatient himself of his master's hesitating policy, resolved to go. he applied for permission to the council. it was refused. but the council could not forbid his making a summer pilgrimage to our lady of walsingham, and the road lay near kimbolton. he wrote to cromwell that, leave or no leave, he was going into norfolk, and meant to call there. the porters might refuse him entrance if they pleased. he gave him fair notice. it should not be said that he had acted underhand. it was the middle of july. making as much display as possible, with a retinue of sixty horse, and accompanied by a party of spaniards resident in london, the ambassador rode ostentatiously through the city, and started on the great north road. spending a night on the way, he arrived on the second evening within a few miles of catherine's residence. at this point he was overtaken by two gentlemen of the household, with an intimation that he would not be admitted. he demanded to see their orders, and, the orders not being produced, he said that, being so near the end of his journey, he did not mean to turn back. he would have persisted, but a message came to him from the queen herself, or from one of her people, to say that she could not receive him; he could proceed to walsingham if he pleased, but he must not approach within bowshot of the castle. some peremptory command must have reached her. a second secret message followed, that, although she had not dared to say so, she was grateful for his visit; and, though he must not come on himself, a party of his suite might show themselves before the gates. thus the next morning, under the bright july sky, a picturesque spanish cavalcade was seen parading under the windows of kimbolton, "to the great consolation of the ladies of the household, who spoke to them from the battlements; and with astonishment and joy among the peasantry, as if the messiah had actually come." the walsingham pilgrimage was abandoned, lest it should be thought to have been the real object of the journey; and chapuys, with polite irony, sent the king word that he had relinquished it in deference to his majesty's wishes. he returned to london by another road, to make a wider impression upon the people. "the emperor," he said, in relating his expedition, "would now see how matters stood. the queen might be almost called the king's prisoner. the house," he said, "was well kept and well found, though there were complaints of shortness of provisions. she had five or six servants, and as many ladies-in-waiting, besides the men whom she looked on as her guards."[290] chapter xvi. prosecution of lord dacre--failure of the crown--rebellion in ireland-lord thomas fitzgerald--delight of the catholic party--preparations for a rising in england--the princess mary--lord hussey and lord darcy--schemes for insurrection submitted to chapuys--general disaffection among the english peers--death of clement vii.--election of paul iii.--expectation at rome that henry would now submit--the expectation disappointed--the act of supremacy--the italian conjuror--reginald pole--violence and insolence of anne boleyn--spread of lutheranism--intended escape of the princess mary out of england. the english peers are supposed to have been the servile instruments of henry viii.'s tyrannies and caprices, to have been ready to divorce or murder a wife, or to execute a bishop, as it might please the king to command. they were about to show that there were limits to their obedience, and that when they saw occasion they could assert their independence. lord dacre of naworth was one of the most powerful of the northern nobles. he had distinguished himself as a supporter of queen catherine, and was particularly detested by the lady anne. his name appears prominently in the lists supplied to chapuys of those who could be counted upon in the event of a rising. the government had good reason, therefore, to watch him with anxiety. as warden of the marches he had been in constant contact with the scots, and a scotch invasion in execution of the papal censures had been part of chapuys's scheme. dacre was suspected of underhand dealings with the scots. he had been indicted at carlisle for treason in june, and had been sent to london for trial. he was brought to the bar before the peers, assisted by the twelve judges. an escape of a prisoner was rare when the crown prosecuted; the privy council prepared the evidence, drew up their case, and in bringing a man to the bar made themselves responsible for the charge; failure, therefore, was equivalent to a vote of censure. the prosecution of dacre had been set on foot by cromwell, who had perhaps been informed of particulars of his conduct which it was undesirable to bring forward. the peers looked on cromwell as another wolsey--as another intruding commoner who was taking liberties with the ancient blood. the lady anne was supposed to have borne malice against dacre. the lady anne was to be made to know that there were limits to her power. dacre spoke for seven hours to a sympathetic court; he was unanimously acquitted, and the city of london celebrated his escape with bonfires and illuminations. the court had received a sharp rebuff. norfolk, who sate as high steward, had to accept a verdict of which he alone disapproved.[291] at rome the acquittal was regarded as perhaps the beginning of some commotion with which god was preparing to punish the king of england.[292] more serious news arrived from ireland. while the english catholics were muttering discontent and waiting for foreign help, lord thomas fitzgerald, "the youth of promise" whom chapuys had recommended to charles's notice, had broken into open rebellion, and had forsworn his allegiance to henry as an excommunicated sovereign. fitzgerald was a ferocious savage, but his crimes were committed in the name of religion. in my history of this rebellion i connected it with the sacred cause of more and fisher, and was severely rebuked for my alleged unfairness. the fresh particulars here to be mentioned prove that i was entirely right, that the rising in ireland was encouraged by the same means, was part of the same conspiracy, that it was regarded at rome and by the papal party everywhere as the first blow struck in a holy war. it commenced with the murder of the archbishop of dublin, a feeble old man, who was dragged out of his bed and slaughtered by fitzgerald's own hand. it spread rapidly through the english pale, and chapuys recorded its progress with delight. the english had been caught unprepared. skeffington, the deputy, was a fool. ireland, in chapuys's opinion, was practically recovered to the holy see, and with the smallest assistance from the emperor and the pope the heretics and all their works would be made an end of there.[293] a fortnight later he wrote still more enthusiastically. kildare's son was absolute master of the island. he had driven the king to ask for terms; he had refused to listen, and was then everywhere expelling the english or else killing them. the pleasure felt by all worthy people, chapuys said, was incredible. such a turn of events was a good beginning for a settlement in england, and the catholic party desired his majesty most passionately not to lose the opportunity. on all sides the ambassador was besieged with entreaties. "an excellent nobleman had met him by appointment in the country, and had assured him solemnly that the least move on the emperor's part would end the matter." the irish example had "fired all their hearts. they were longing to follow it." as this intelligence might fail to rouse charles, the ambassador again added as a further reason for haste that the queen and princess were in danger of losing their lives. cromwell had been heard to say that their deaths would end all quarrels. lord wiltshire had said the same, and the fear was that when parliament reassembled the ladies might be brought to trial under the statute.[294] if cromwell and lord wiltshire used the words ascribed to them, no evil purpose need have been implied or intended. catherine was a confirmed invalid; the princess mary had just been attacked with an alarming illness. chapuys had dissuaded mary at last from making fresh quarrels with her governess; she had submitted to the indignities of her situation with reluctant patience, and had followed unresistingly in the various removals of elizabeth's establishment. the irritation, however, had told on her health, and at the time of chapuys's conversation with the "excellent nobleman" her life was supposed to be in danger from ordinary causes. that anne wished her dead was natural enough; anne had recently been again disappointed, and had disappointed the king in the central wish of his heart. she had said she was _enceinte_, but the signs had passed off. it was rumoured that henry's feelings were cooling towards her. he had answered, so court scandal said, to some imperious message of hers that she ought to be satisfied with what he had done for her; were things to begin again he would not do as much. report said also that there were _nouvelles amours_; but, as the alleged object of the king's attention was a lady devoted to queen catherine, the _amour_ was probably innocent. the ambassador built little upon this; anne's will to injure the princess he knew to be boundless, and he believed her power over henry still to be great. mary herself had sent him word that she had discovered practices for her destruction. any peril to which she might be exposed would approach her, as chapuys was obliged to confess, from one side only. he ascertained that "when certain members of the council had advised harsh measures to please the lady anne," the king had told them that he would never consent, and no one at the court--neither the lady nor any other person--dared speak against the princess. "the king loved her," so cromwell said, "a hundred times more than his latest born." the notion that the statute was to be enforced against her life was a chimera of malice. in her illness he showed the deepest anxiety; he sent his own physician to attend on her, and he sent for her mother's physician from kimbolton. chapuys admitted that he was naturally kind--"d'aymable et cordiale nature"--that his daughter's death would be a serious blow to himself, however welcome to anne and to politicians, and that, beyond his natural feeling, he was conscious that, occurring under the present circumstances, it would be a stain on his reputation. more than once henry had interfered for mary's protection. he had perhaps heard of what anne had threatened to do to her on his proposed journey to calais. she had been the occasion, at any rate, of sharp differences between them. he had resented, when he discovered it, the manner in which she had been dragged to the more, and had allowed her, when staying there, to be publicly visited by the ladies and gentlemen of the court, to the lady's great annoyance. nay, mary had been permitted to refuse to leave her room when anne had sent for her, and the strictest orders had been given through cromwell that anyone who treated her disrespectfully should be severely punished.[295] true as all this might be, however, chapuys's feelings towards the king were not altered, his fears diminished, or his desire less eager to bring about a rebellion and a revolution. lord thomas fitzgerald's performances in ireland were spurring into energy the disaffected in england. the nobleman to whom chapuys had referred was lord hussey of lincolnshire, who had been chamberlain to the princess mary when she had an establishment of her own as next in succession to the crown. lord hussey was a dear friend of her mother's. having opened the ground he again visited the ambassador "in utmost secrecy." he told him that he and all the honest men in the realm were much discouraged by the emperor's delay to set things straight, as it was a thing which could so easily be done. the lives of the queen and princess were undoubtedly threatened; their cause was god's cause, which the emperor was bound to uphold, and the english people looked to him as their natural sovereign. chapuys replied that if the emperor was to do as lord hussey desired, he feared that an invasion of england would cause much hurt and suffering to many innocent people. lord hussey was reputed a wise man. chapuys asked him what would he do himself if he were in the emperor's place. lord hussey answered that the state of england was as well known to chapuys as to himself. almost everyone was looking for help to the emperor. there was no fear of his injuring the people; their indignation was so great that there would be no resistance. the war would be over as soon as it was begun. the details, he said, lord darcy would explain better than he could do. the emperor should first issue a declaration. the people would then take arms, and would be joined by the nobles and the clergy. fisher had used the same language. fisher was in the tower, and no longer accessible. lord darcy of templehurst has been already seen in drawing the indictment against wolsey. he was an old crusader; he had served under ferdinand and isabella, was a spaniard in sympathy, and was able, as he represented, to bring eight thousand men into the field from the northern counties. on lord hussey's recommendation chapuys sent a confidential servant to darcy, who professed himself as zealous as his friend. darcy said that he was as loyal as any man, but things were going on so outrageously, especially in matters of religion, that he, for one, could not bear it longer. in the north there were six hundred lords and gentlemen who thought as he did. measures were about to be taken in parliament to favour the lutherans. he was going himself into yorkshire, where he intended to commence an opposition. if the emperor would help him he would take the field behind the crucifix, and would raise the banner of castile. measures might be concerted with the scots; a scotch army might cross the border as soon as he had himself taken arms; an imperial squadron should appear simultaneously at the mouth of the thames, and a battalion of soldiers from flanders should be landed at hull, with arms and money for the poorer gentlemen. he and the northern lords would supply their own forces. many of the other peers, he said, entirely agreed with him. he named especially lord derby and lord dacre.[296] this letter is of extreme importance, as explaining the laws which it was found necessary to pass in the ensuing parliament. a deeply rooted and most dangerous conspiracy was actively forming--how dangerous the pilgrimage of grace afterwards proved--in which darcy and hussey were the principal leaders. the government was well served. the king and cromwell knew more than it was prudent to publish. the rebellion meditated was the more formidable because it was sanctified by the name of religion, with the avowed purpose of executing the papal brief. fitzgerald's rising in ireland was but the first dropping of a storm designed to be universal. half the peers who surrounded henry's person, and voted in parliament for the reforming statutes, were at heart leagued with his enemies. he had a right to impose a test of loyalty on them, and force them to declare whether they were his subjects or the pope's. for a moment it seemed as if the peril might pass over. it became known in england in october that clement vii. had ended his pontificate, and that cardinal farnese reigned in his stead as paul iii. on clement's death the king, according to chapuys, had counted on a schism in the church, and was disappointed at the facility with which the election had been carried through; but farnese had been on henry's side in the divorce case, and the impression in the english council was that the quarrel with rome would now be composed. the duke of norfolk, who had been the loudest in his denunciations of clement, was of the opinion that the king, as a catholic prince, would submit to his successor. even cromwell laid the blame of the rupture on clement personally, and when he heard that he was gone, exclaimed that "the great devil was dead." henry knew better than his minister that "the great devil" was not this or that pontiff, but the papacy itself. he had liberated his kingdom; he did not mean to lead it back into bondage. "let no man," he said to norfolk, "try to persuade me to such a step. i shall account no more of the pope than of any priest in my realm."[297] farnese undoubtedly expected that henry would make advances to him, and was prepared to meet them; he told casalis that he had taken a legal opinion as to whether his predecessor's judgment in the divorce case could be reopened, and a decision given in the king's favour; the lawyers had assured him that there would be no difficulty, and the pope evidently wished the king to believe that he might now have his way if he would place himself in the pope's hands. henry, however, was too wary to be caught. he must have deeds, not words, he said. if the pope was sincere he would revoke his predecessor's sentence of his own accord. francis, by whose influence farnese had been elected, tried to bring henry to submission, but to no purpose. the king was no longer to be moved by vague phrases like those to which he had once trusted to his cost. surrounded by treachery though he knew himself to be, he looked no longer for palliatives and compromises, and went straight on upon his way. the house of commons was with him, growing in heartiness at each succeeding session. the peers and clergy might conspire in secret. in public, as estates of the realm, they were too cowardly to oppose. parliament met in november. the other acts which were passed by it this year are relatively unimportant, and may be read elsewhere. the great business of the session, which has left its mark on history, was to pass the act of supremacy, detailing and explaining the meaning of the title which convocation two years previously had conferred upon the king. unentangled any longer with saving clauses, the sovereign authority under the law in all causes, ecclesiastical and civil, was declared to rest thenceforward in the crown, and the last vestiges of roman jurisdiction in england were swept off and disappeared. no laws, no injunctions, no fancied rights over the consciences of english subjects were to be pleaded further as a rule to their conduct which had not been sanctioned by crown and parliament. no clergy, english or foreign, were to exercise thenceforward any power not delegated to them and limited under the law of the land, except what could not be taken from them--their special privilege of administering the sacraments. double loyalty to the crown and to the papacy was thenceforward impossible. the pope had attempted to depose the king. the act of supremacy was england's answer. but to enact a law was not enough. with ireland in insurrection, with half the nobles and more than half the clergy, regular and secular, in england inviting a spanish invasion, the king and commons, who were in earnest in carrying through the reforms which they had begun, were obliged to take larger measures to distinguish their friends from their enemies. if the catholics had the immense majority to which they pretended, the constitution gave them the power of legitimate opposition. if they were professing with their lips and sustaining with their votes a course of policy which they were plotting secretly to overthrow, it was fair and right to compel them to show their true colours. therefore the parliament further enacted that to deny the royal supremacy--in other words, to maintain the right of the pope to declare the king deprived--should be high treason, and the act was so interpreted that persons who were open to suspicion might be interrogated, and that a refusal to answer should be accepted as an acknowledgment of guilt. in quiet times such a measure would be unnecessary, and therefore tyrannical. _facta arguantur dicta impune sint._ in the face of chapuys's correspondence it will hardly be maintained that the reforming government of henry viii. was in no danger. the statute of supremacy must be judged by the reality of the peril which it was designed to meet. if the reformation was a crime, the laws by which it defended itself were criminal along with it. if the reformation was the dawning of a new and brilliant era for imperial england, if it was the opening of a fountain from which the english genius has flowed out over the wide surface of the entire globe, the men who watched over its early trials and enabled the movement to advance, undishonoured and undisfigured by civil war, deserve rather to be respected for their resolution than reviled as arbitrary despots. to try the actions of statesmen in a time of high national peril by the canons of an age of tranquillity is the highest form of historical injustice. the naked truth--and nakedness is not always indecent--was something of this kind. a marriage with a brother's wife was forbidden by the universal law of christendom. kings, dukes, and other great men who disposed as they pleased of the hands of their sons and daughters, found it often desirable, for political or domestic reasons, to form connections which the law prohibited, and therefore they maintained an italian conjuror who professed to be able for a consideration to turn wrong into right. to marriages so arranged it was absurd to attach the same obligations as belonged to unions legitimately contracted. if, as often happened, such marriages turned out ill, the same conjuror who could make could unmake. this function, also, he was repeatedly called on to exercise, and, for a consideration also, he was usually compliant. the king of england had been married as a boy to catherine of aragon, carrying out an arrangement between their respective fathers. the marriage had failed in the most important object for which royal marriages are formed: there was no male heir to the crown, nor any prospect of one. henry, therefore, as any other prince in europe would have done, applied to the italian for assistance. the conjuror was willing, confessing that the case was one where his abilities might properly be employed. but another of his supporters interfered, and forced him to refuse. the king of england had always paid his share for the conjuror's maintenance. he was violently deprived of a concession which it was admitted that he had a right to claim. but for the conjuror's pretensions to make the unlawful lawful he would not have been in the situation in which he found himself. what could be more natural than that, finding himself thus treated, he should begin to doubt whether the conjuror, after all, had the power of making wrong into right? whether the marriage had not been wrong from the beginning? and, when the magical artist began to curse, as his habit was when doubts were thrown on his being the vicar of the almighty, what could be more natural also than to throw him and his tackle out of window? the passing of the act increased the anxiety about the position of the princess mary. in the opinion of most reasonable persons her claim to the succession was superior to that of elizabeth, and, if she had submitted to her father, it would probably have been allowed and established. in the eyes of the disaffected, however, she was already, by clement's sentence, the legitimate possessor of the throne. reginald pole, lady salisbury's son and grandson of the duke of clarence, was still abroad. henry had endeavoured to gain him over, but had not succeeded. he was of the blood of the white rose, and, with his brother, had gone by instinct into opposition. his birth, in those days of loyalty to race, gave him influence in england, and catherine, as has been seen, had fixed upon him as mary's husband. he had been brought already under charles's notice as likely to be of use in the intended rebellion. the queen, wrote chapuys to the emperor, knew no one to whom she would better like her daughter to be married; many right-minded people held that the light to the crown lay in the family of the duke of clarence, edward's children having been illegitimate; if the emperor would send an army across with lord reginald attached to it everyone would declare for him; his younger brother geoffrey was a constant visitor to himself; once more he insisted that nothing could be more easy than the conquest of the whole kingdom.[298] the object with chapuys was now to carry mary abroad, partly that she might be married to pole, partly for her own security. notwithstanding the king's evident care for her health and good treatment he could not look into the details of her daily life, and anne was growing daily more dangerous. both catherine and the princess had still many friends among the ladies of the court. to one of these, young and beautiful--and, therefore, certainly not the plain jane seymour--the king was supposed to have paid attentions. like another lady who had been mentioned previously, she was devoted to catherine's interests, and obviously not, therefore, a pretender to henry's personal affections. anne had affected to be jealous, and under other aspects had reason for uneasiness. she had demanded this lady's dismissal from the court, and had been so violent that "the king had left her in displeasure, complaining of her importunacy and vexatiousness." the restoration of mary to favour was a constant alarm to anne, and she had a party of her own which had been raised by her patronage, depended on her influence, and was ready to execute her pleasure. thus the petty annoyances of which both catherine and her daughter complained were not discontinued. the household at kimbolton was reduced; a confidential maid who had been useful in the queen's correspondence was discovered and dismissed. mary was left under the control of mrs. shelton, who dared not openly displease anne. it was anne that chapuys blamed. anne hated the princess. the king had a real love for her. in her illness he had been studiously kind. when told it had been caused by mental trouble he said, with a sigh, "that it was pity her obstinacy should prevent him from treating her as he wished and as she deserved. the case was the harder, as he knew that her conduct had been dictated by her mother, and he was therefore obliged to keep them separate."[299] the privy councillors appear to have remonstrated with anne on her behaviour to mary. passionate scenes, at any rate, had occurred between her and henry's principal ministers. she spoke to her uncle, the duke of norfolk, in terms "which would not be used to a dog." norfolk left the room in indignation, muttering that she was a "_grande putaine_." the malcontents increased daily and became bolder in word and action. lord northumberland, anne's early lover, of whom darcy had been doubtful, professed now to be so disgusted with the malice and arrogance of the lady that he, too, looked to the emperor's coming as the only remedy. lord sandys, henry's chamberlain, withdrew to his house, pretending sickness, and sent chapuys a message that the emperor had the hearts of the english people, and, at the least motion which the emperor might make, the realm would be in confusion.[300] the news from fitzgerald was less satisfactory. his resources were failing, and he wanted help, but he was still standing out. england, however, was more and more sure; the northern counties were unanimous, in the south and west the marquis of exeter and the poles were superior to any force which could be brought against them; the spread of lutheranism was creating more exasperation than even the divorce. moderate men had hoped for an arrangement with the new pope. instead of it, the heretical preachers were more violent than ever, and the king was believed to have encouraged them. dr. brown, an augustinian friar, and general of the mendicant order, who, as some believed, had married the king and anne, had dared to maintain in a sermon "that the bishops and all others who did not burn the bulls which they had received from the pope, and obtain others from the king, deserved to be punished. their authority was derived from the king alone. their sacred chrism would avail them nothing while they obeyed the idol of rome, who was a limb of the devil." "language so abominable," said chapuys, in reporting it, "must have been prompted by the king, or else by cromwell, who made the said monk his right hand in all things unlawful;" cromwell and cranmer being of luther's opinion that there was no difference between priests and bishops, save what the letters patent of the crown might constitute. "cromwell," chapuys said, "had been feeling his way with some of the bench on the subject." at a meeting of council he had asked gardiner and others whether the king could not make and unmake bishops at his pleasure. they were obliged to answer that he could, to save their benefices.[301] outrages so flagrant had shocked beyond longer endurance the conservative mind of england. darcy, at the beginning of the new year (a year which, as he hoped, was to witness an end to them), sent chapuys a present of a sword, as an indication that the time was come for sword-play.[302] let the emperor send but a little money; let a proclamation be drawn in his name that the nation was in arms for the cause of god and the queen, the comfort of the people, and the restoration of order and justice, and a hundred thousand men would rush to the field. the present was the propitious moment. if action was longer delayed it might be too late.[303] to the enthusiastic and the eager the cause which touches themselves the nearest seems always the most important in the world. charles v. had struggled long to escape the duty which the pope and destiny appeared to be combining to thrust upon him. with germany unsettled, with the turks in hungary, with barbarossa's corsair-fleet commanding the mediterranean and harassing the spanish coast, with another french war visibly ahead, and a renewed invasion of italy, charles was in no condition to add henry to the number of his enemies. chapuys and darcy, fisher and reginald pole allowed passion to persuade them that the english king was antichrist in person, the centre of all the disorder which disturbed the world. all else could wait, but the emperor must first strike down antichrist and then the rest would be easy. charles was wiser than they, and could better estimate the danger of what he was called on to undertake; but he could not shut his ears entirely to entreaties so reiterated. before anything could be done, however, means would have to be taken to secure the persons of the queen and princess--of the princess especially, as she would be in most danger. so far he had discouraged her escape when it had been proposed to him, since, were she once in his hands, he had thought that war could no longer be avoided. he now allowed chapuys to try what he could do to get her out of the country, and meanwhile to report more particularly on the landing of an invading force. the escape itself presented no great difficulty. the princess was generally at the palace at greenwich. her friends would let her out at night; an armed barge could be waiting off the walls, and a flemish man-of-war might be ready at the nore, of size sufficient to beat off boats that might be sent in pursuit. should she be removed elsewhere the enterprise would not be so easy. in the event of an insurrection while she was still in the realm, chapuys said the first step of the lords would be to get possession of her mother and mary. if they failed, the king would send them to the tower: but in the tower they would be out of danger, as the constable, sir william kingston, was their friend. in any case he did not believe that hurt would be done them, the king feeling that, if war did break out, they would be useful as mediators, like the wife and mother of coriolanus. chapter xvii. prospects of civil war--england and spain--illness of the princess mary-plans for her escape--spirit of queen catherine--the emperor unwilling to interfere--negotiations for a new treaty between henry and charles--debate in the spanish council of state--the rival alliances--disappointment of the confederate peers--advance of lutheranism in england--cromwell and chapuys--catherine and mary the obstacles to peace--supposed designs on mary's life. england, to all appearance, was now on the eve of a bloody and desperate war. the conspirators were confident of success; but conspirators associate exclusively with persons of their own opinions, and therefore seldom judge accurately of the strength of their opponents. chapuys and his friends had been equally confident about ireland. fitzgerald was now a fugitive, and the insurrection was burning down; yet the struggle before henry would have been at least as severe as had been encountered by his grandfather edward, and the country itself would have been torn to pieces; one notable difference only there was in the situation--that the factions of the roses had begun the battle of themselves, without waiting for help from abroad; the reactionaries under henry viii., confessedly, were afraid to stir without the avowed support of the emperor; and charles, when the question came seriously before him, could not have failed to ask himself why, if they were as strong as they pretended, and the king's party as weak as they said it was, they endured what they could easily prevent. these reflections naturally presented themselves both to the emperor and to the spanish council when they had to decide on the part which they would take. if what chapuys represented as a mere demonstration should turn into serious war, england and france would then unite in earnest; they would combine with germany; and europe would be shaken with a convulsion of which it was impossible to foresee the end. the decision was momentous, and charles paused before coming to a resolution. weeks passed, and chapuys could have no positive answer, save that he was to give general encouragement to the queen's friends, and let them know that the emperor valued their fidelity. weary of his hesitation, and hoping to quicken his resolution, catherine sent chapuys word that the princess was to be forced to swear to the act of supremacy, and that, on her refusal, she was to be executed or imprisoned for life. catherine wrote what she, perhaps, believed, but could not know. but the suspense was trying, and the worst was naturally looked for. news came that english sailors had been burnt by the inquisition at seville as heretics. cromwell observed to chapuys that "he had heard the emperor was going to make a conquest of the realm." the ambassador had the coolness to assure him that he was dreaming; and that such an enterprise had never been thought of. cromwell knew better. he had learnt, for one thing, of the plans for mary's escape. he knew what that would mean, and he had, perhaps, prevented it. the project had been abandoned for the moment. instead of escaping, she had shown symptoms of the same dangerous illness by which she had been attacked before. there was the utmost alarm, and, as a pregnant evidence of the condition of men's minds, the physicians refused to prescribe for her, lest, if she died, they should be suspected of having poisoned her. the king's physician declined. queen catherine's physician declined--unless others were called in to assist--and the unfortunate girl was left without medical help, in imminent likelihood of death, because every one felt that her dying at such a time would be set down to foul play. the king sent for chapuys and begged that he would select a doctor, or two doctors, of eminence to act with his own. chapuys, with polite irony, replied that it was not for him to make a selection; the king must be better acquainted than he could be with the reputation of the london physicians; and the emperor would be displeased if he showed distrust of his majesty's care for his child. cromwell, who was present, desired that if the princess grew worse chapuys would allow one of his own people to be with her. henry continued to express his grief at her sufferings. some members of the council "had not been ashamed to say" that as men could find no means of reconciling the king with the emperor, god might open a door by taking the princess to himself. it was a very natural thought. clement had said the same about catherine. but the aspiration would have been better left unexpressed.[304] chapuys's suspicions were not removed. he perceived the king's anxiety to be unfeigned; but he detested him too sincerely to believe that in anything he could mean well. the princess recovered. catherine took advantage of the attack to entreat again that her daughter might be under her own charge. it was cruel to be obliged to refuse. chapuys presented the queen's request. the king, he said, heard him patiently and graciously, and, instead of the usual answer that he knew best how to provide for his daughter, replied, gently, that he would do his utmost for the health of the princess, and, since her mother's physician would not assist, he would find others. but to let chapuys understand that he was not ignorant of his secret dealings, he said he could not forget what was due to his own honour. the princess might be carried out of the kingdom, or might herself escape. she could easily do it if she was left in her mother's charge. he had perceived some indications, he added significantly, that the emperor wished to have her in his hands. ambassadors have a privilege of lying. chapuys boldly declared that there was no probability of the emperor attempting to carry off the princess. the controversy had lasted five years, and there had been no indication of any such purpose. the king said that it was catherine who had made the princess so obstinate. daughters owed some obedience to their mothers, but their first duty was to the father. this chapuys did not dispute, but proposed as an alternative that she should reside with her old governess, lady salisbury. the king said the countess was a foolish woman, and of no experience.[305] the difficulty was very great. to refuse so natural a request was to appear hard and unfeeling; yet to allow catherine and mary to be together was to furnish a head to the disaffection, of the extent of which the king was perfectly aware. he knew catherine, and his words about her are a key to much of their relations to one another. "she was of such high courage," he said, "that, with her daughter at her side, she might raise an army and take the field against him with as much spirit as her mother isabella."[306] catherine of aragon had qualities with which history has not credited her. she was no patient, suffering saint, but a bold and daring woman, capable, if the opportunity was offered her, of making henry repent of what he had done. but would the opportunity ever come? charles was still silent. chapuys continued to feed the fire with promises. granvelle, charles's minister, might be more persuasive than himself. to granvelle the ambassador wrote "that the concubine had bribed some one to pretend a revelation from god that she was not to conceive children while the queen and the princess were alive. the concubine had sent the man with the message to the king, and never ceased [wolsey had called anne 'the night crow'] to exclaim that the ladies were rebels and traitresses, and deserved to die."[307] norfolk, irritated at anne's insolence to him, withdrew from court in ill-humour. he complained to reginald pole's brother, lord montague, that his advice was not attended to, and that his niece was intolerable. the marquis of exeter regretted to chapuys that the chance had not been allowed him so far to shed his blood for the queen and princess. "let the movement begin, and he would not be the last to join." mary, notwithstanding the precautions taken to keep her safe, had not parted with her hope of escape. if she could not be with her mother she thought the emperor might, perhaps, intercede with the king to remove her from under mrs. shelton's charge. the king might be brought to consent; and then, chapuys said, with a pinnace and two ships in the river, she might still be carried off when again at greenwich, as he could find means to get her out of the house at any hour of the night.[308] at length the suspense was at an end, and the long-waited-for decision of the emperor arrived. he had considered, he said, the communications of lord darcy and lord sandys; he admitted that the disorders of england required a remedy; but an armed interference was at the present time impossible.[309] it was a poor consolation to the english peers and clergy; and there was worse behind. not only the emperor did not mean to declare war against henry, but, spite of catherine, spite of excommunication, spite of heresy, he intended, if possible, to renew the old alliance between england and the house of burgundy. politics are the religion of princes, and if they are wise the peace of the world weighs more with them than orthodoxy and family contentions. honour, pride, catholic obligations recommended a desperate stroke. prudence and a higher duty commanded charles to abstain. sir john wallop, the english representative at paris, was a sincere friend of queen catherine, but was unwilling, for her sake, to see her plunge into an insurrectionary whirlpool. viscount hannart, a flemish nobleman with english connections, was charles's minister at the same court. together they discussed the situation of their respective countries. both agreed that a war between henry and the emperor would be a calamity to mankind; while in alliance they might hold in check the impatient ambition of france. wallop suggested that they might agree by mutual consent to suspend their differences on the divorce; might let the divorce pass in silence for future settlement, and be again friends. the proposal was submitted to the spanish council of state. the objections to it were the wrongs done, and still being done, to the queen and princess in the face of the pope's sentence, and the obligations of the emperor to see that sentence enforced. an arrangement between the emperor and the king of england on the terms suggested would be ill received in christendom, would dispirit the two ladies, and their friends in england who had hitherto supported the claims of the princess mary to the succession; while it might, further, encourage other princes to divorce their wives on similar grounds. in favour of a treaty, on the other hand, were the notorious designs of the french king. france was relying on the support of england. if nothing was done to compose the existing differences the king of england might be driven to desperate courses. the faith of the church would suffer. the general council, so anxiously looked for, would be unable to meet. the french king would be encouraged to go to war. both he and the king of england would support the german schism, and the lives of the princess and her mother would probably be sacrificed. a provisional agreement might modify the king of england's action, the church might be saved, the ladies' lives be secured, and doubt and distrust be introduced between england and france. the emperor could then deal with the turks, and other difficulties could be tided over till a council could meet and settle everything.[310] chapuys had written so confidently on the strength of the insurrectionary party that it was doubted whether choice between the alternative courses might not better be left for him to decide. charles, who could better estimate the value of the promises of disaffected subjects, determined otherwise. the ambassador, therefore, was informed that war would be inconvenient. lord darcy's sword must remain in the scabbard, and an attempt be made for reconciliation on the lines suggested by sir john wallop. meanwhile, directions were given to the inquisitors at seville to be less precipitate in their dealings with english seamen. from the first it had been cromwell's hope and conviction that an open quarrel would be escaped. the french party in the english council--anne boleyn, her family, and friends--had been urging the alliance with france, and a general attack on charles's scattered dominions. cromwell, though a protestant in religion, distrusted an associate who, when england was once committed, might make his own terms and leave henry to his fate. in politics cromwell had been consistently imperialist. he had already persuaded the king to allow the princess to move nearer to kimbolton, where her mother's physician could have charge of her. he sent thanks to charles in the king's name for his interference with the holy office. he left nothing undone to soften the friction and prepare for a reconciliation. catherine and mary he perceived to be the only obstacle to a return to active friendship. if the broken health of one, and the acute illness of the other, should have a fatal termination, as a politician he could not but feel that it would be an obstacle happily removed. chapuys's intrigue with the confederate peers had been continued to the latest moment. all arrangements had been made for their security when the rising should break out. darcy himself was daily looking for the signal, and begged only for timely notice of the issue of the emperor's manifesto to escape to his castle in the north.[311] the ambassador had now to trim his sails on the other tack. the emperor was ready to allow the execution of clement's sentence to stand over till the general council, without prejudice to the rights of parties, provided an engagement was made for the respectful treatment of the queen and princess, and a promise given that their friends should be unmolested. to catherine the disappointment was hard to bear. the talk of a treaty was the death-knell of the hopes on which she had been feeding. a close and confidential intercourse was established between chapuys and cromwell to discuss the preliminary conditions, chapuys, ill liking his work, desiring to fail, and on the watch for any point on which to raise a suspicion. the princess was the first difficulty. cromwell had promised that she should be moved to her mother's neighbourhood. she had been sent no nearer than ampthill. cromwell said that he would do what he could, but the subject was disagreeable to the king, and he could say no more. he entered at once, however, on the king's desire to be again on good terms with the emperor. the king had instructed him to discuss the whole situation with chapuys, and it would be unfortunate, he said, if the interests of two women were allowed to interfere with weighty matters of state. the queen had been more than once seriously ill, and her life was not likely to be prolonged. the princess was not likely to live either; and it did not appear that either in spain or france there was much anxiety for material alteration in their present position. meanwhile, the french were passionately importuning the king to join in a war against the emperor. cromwell said that he had been himself opposed to it, and the present moment, when the emperor was engaged with the turks, was the last which the king would choose for such a purpose. the object to be arrived at was the pacification of christendom and the general union of all the leading powers. the king desired it as much as he, and had, so far, prevented war from being declared by france. it was true that the peace of the world was of more importance than the complaints of catherine and mary. catherine had rejected a compromise when the emperor himself recommended it, and mary had defied her father and had defied parliament at her mother's bidding. there were limits to the sacrifices which they were entitled to demand. chapuys protested against cromwell's impression that the european powers were indifferent. the strongest interest was felt in their fate, he said, and many inconveniences would follow should harm befall them. the world would certainly believe that they had met with foul play. the emperor would be charged with having caused it by neglecting to execute the pope's sentence, and it would be said also that, but for the expectations which the emperor had held out to them of defending their cause, they would themselves have conformed to the king's wishes; they would then have been treated with due regard and have escaped their present miseries. cromwell undertook that the utmost care and vigilance should be observed that hurt should not befall them. the princess, he said, he loved as much as chapuys himself could love her, and nothing that he could do for them should be neglected; but the ambassador and the emperor's other agents were like hawks who soared high to stoop more swiftly on their prey. their object was to have the princess declared next in succession to the crown, and that was impossible owing to the late statutes. chapuys reported what had passed to his master, but scarcely concealed his contempt for the business in which he was engaged. "i cannot tell," he wrote, "what sort of a treaty could be made with this king as long as he refuses to restore the queen and princess, or repair the hurts of the church and the faith, which grow worse every day. no later than sunday last a preacher raised a question whether the body of christ was contained, or not, in the consecrated wafer. your majesty may consider whither such propositions are tending."[312] a still more important conversation followed a few days later. it can hardly be doubted, in the face of chapuys's repeated declaration that both catherine and her daughter were in personal danger, that anne boleyn felt her position always precarious as long as they were alive, and refused to acknowledge her marriage. she perhaps felt that it would go hard with herself in the event of a successful insurrection. she had urged, as far as she dared, that they should be tried under the statute; but henry would not allow such a proposal to be so much as named to him. other means, however, might be found to make away with them, and sir arthur darcy, lord darcy's son, thought they would be safer in the king's hands in the tower than in their present residence. "the devil of a concubine would never rest till she had gained her object." the air was thick with these rumours when chapuys and cromwell again met. the overtures had been commenced by the emperor. cromwell said the king had given him a statement in writing that he was willing to renew his old friendship with the emperor and make a new treaty with him, if proper safeguards could be provided for his honour and reputation; but it was to be understood distinctly that he would not permit the divorce question to be reopened; he would rather forfeit his crown and his life than consent to it, or place himself in subjection to any foreign authority; this was his firm resolution, which he desired chapuys to make known to the emperor. the spanish ministry had been willing that the pope's sentence should be revised by a general council. why, chapuys asked, might not the king consent also to refer the case to the council? the king knew that he was right. he had once been willing--why should he now refuse? a council, it had been said, would be called by the pope, and would be composed of clergy who were not his friends; but chapuys would undertake that there should be no unfair dealing. were the pope and clergy to intend harm, all the princes of christendom would interfere. the emperor would recommend nothing to which the king would not be willing to subscribe. the favourable verdict of a council would restore peace in england, and would acquit the emperor's conscience. the emperor, as matters stood, was bound to execute the sentence which had been delivered, and could not hold back longer without a hope of the king's submission. cromwell admitted the reasonableness of chapuys's suggestion. the emperor was showing by the advances which he had commenced that he desired a reconciliation. a council controlled by the princes of europe might perhaps be a useful instrument. cromwell promised an answer in two days. then, after a pause, he returned to the subject of which he had spoken before:--in a matter of so much consequence to the world as the good intelligence of himself and the king of england, he said that the emperor ought not to hesitate on account of the queen and the princess. they were but mortal. if the princess was to die, her death would be no great misfortune, when the result of it would be the union and friendship of the two princes.[313] he begged chapuys to think it over when alone and at leisure. he then went on to inquire (for chapuys had not informed him that the emperor had already made up his mind to an arrangement) whether the ladies' business might not be passed over silently in the new treaty, and be left in suspense for the king's life. a general council might meet to consider the other disorders of christendom, or a congress might be held, previously appointed jointly by the king and the emperor, when the ladies' rights might be arranged without mystery. then once more, and, as chapuys thought, with marked emphasis, he asked again what harm need be feared if the princess were to die. the world might mutter, but why should it be resented by the emperor?[314] chapuys says that he replied that he would not dwell on the trouble which might arise if the princess suddenly died in a manner so suspicious. god forbid that such a thing should be! how could the emperor submit to the reproach of having consented to the death of his cousin, and sold her for the sake of a peace? chapuys professed to believe, and evidently wished the emperor to believe, that cromwell was seriously proposing that the princess mary should be made away with. a single version of a secret conversation is an insufficient evidence of an intended monstrous crime. we do not know in what language it was carried on. cromwell spoke no language but english with exactness, and chapuys understood english imperfectly. the recent and alarming illness of the princess, occasioned by restraint, fear, and irritation, had made her condition a constant subject of chapuys's complaints, and cromwell may have been thinking and speaking only of her dying under the natural consequences of prolonged confinement. chapuys's unvarying object was to impress on the emperor that her life was in danger. but cromwell he admitted had been uniformly friendly to mary, and, had foul play been really contemplated, the emperor's ambassador was the last person to whom the intention would have been communicated. the conversation did not end with chapuys's answer. cromwell went on, he said (still dwelling on points most likely to wound charles), to rage against popes and cardinals, saying that he hoped the race would soon be extinct, and that the world would be rid of their abomination and tyranny. then he spoke again of france, and of the pressure laid on henry to join with the french in a war. always, he said, he had dissuaded his master from expeditions on the continent. he had himself refused a large pension which the french government had offered him, and he intended at the next parliament to introduce a bill prohibiting english ministers from taking pensions from foreign princes on pain of death. men who have been proposing to commit murders do not lightly turn to topics of less perilous interest. some days passed before chapuys saw cromwell again; but he continued to learn from him the various intrigues which were going on. until the king was sure of his ground with charles, the french faction at the court continued their correspondence with francis. the price of an anglo-french alliance was to be a promise from the french king to support henry in his quarrel with rome at the expected council, and chapuys advised his master not to show too much eagerness for the treaty, as he would make the king more intractable. the emperor's way of remedying the affairs of england could not be better conceived, he said, provided the english government met him with an honest response, provided they would forward the meeting of the council, and treat the queen and princess better, who were in great personal danger. this, however, he believed they would never do. the queen had instructed him to complain to the emperor that her daughter was still left in the hands of her enemies, and that if she was to die it would be attributed to the manner in which she had been dealt with; the queen, however, was satisfied that the danger would disappear if the king and the emperor came to an understanding; and, if she could be assured that matters would be conducted as the emperor proposed, he would be able to persuade her to approve of the whole plan. chapuys never repeated his suspicion that danger threatened mary from cromwell, and, if he had really believed it, he would hardly have failed to make further mention of so dark a suggestion. he was not scrupulous about truth: diplomatists with strong personal convictions seldom are. he had assured the king that a thought had never been entertained of an armed interference in england, while his letters for many months had been full of schemes for insurrection and invasion. he was eager for the work to begin. he was incredulous of any other remedy, and, if he dared, would have forced the emperor's hand. he depended for his information of what passed at the court upon anne boleyn's bitterest enemies, and he put the worst interpretation upon every story which was brought to him. cromwell, he said, had spoken like caiaphas. it is hardly credible that cromwell would have ventured to insult the emperor with a supposition that he would make himself an accomplice in a crime. but though i think it more likely that chapuys misunderstood or misrepresented cromwell than that he accurately recorded his words, yet it is certain that there were members of henry's council who did seriously desire to try and to execute both mary and her mother. both of them were actively dangerous. their friends were engaged in a conspiracy for open rebellion in their names, and, under the tudor princes, nearness of blood or station to the crown was rather a danger than a protection. royal pretenders were not gently dealt with, even when no immediate peril was feared from them. henry vii. had nothing to fear from the earl of warwick, yet warwick lay in a bloody grave. mary herself executed her cousin jane grey, and was hardly prevented from executing her sister elizabeth. elizabeth, in turn, imprisoned catherine grey, and let her die as chapuys feared that mary was now about to die. the dread of another war of succession lay like a nightmare on the generations which carried with them an ever-present memory of the wars of the roses. chapter xviii. negotiations for a treaty--appeal of catherine to the emperor--fresh plans for the escape of mary--forbidden by the emperor--the king and his daughter--suggestion of dr. butts--the clergy and the reformation--the charterhouse monks--more and fisher in the tower--the emperor in africa-the treaty--rebellion in ireland--absolution of lord thomas fitzgerald for the murder of the archbishop of dublin--treason of lord hussey--fresh debates in the spanish council--fisher created cardinal--trial and execution of fisher and more--effect in europe. more than a year had now passed since clement had delivered judgment on the divorce case. so far the discharge had been ineffective, and the brief of execution, the direct command to the catholic powers to dethrone henry and to his subjects to renounce their allegiance, was still withheld. the advances which the new pope had made to england having met with no response, paul iii. was ready to strike the final blow, but his hand had been held by charles, who was now hoping by a treaty to recover the english alliance. catherine had consented, but consented reluctantly, to an experiment from which she expected nothing. chapuys himself did not wish it to succeed, and was unwilling to part with the expectations which he had built on darcy's promises. the spanish council, in recommending the course which the emperor had taken, had foreseen the dispiritment which it might produce among the queen's friends, and the injury to the holy see by the disregard of a sentence which charles had himself insisted on. the treaty made no progress. the sacrifice appeared to be fruitless, and catherine appealed to charles once more in her old tone. she would be wanting in her duty to herself, she said, and she would offend god, if she did not seek the help of those who alone could give her effectual assistance. she must again press upon his majesty the increasing perils to the catholic faith and the injury to the english realm which his neglect to act was producing. the sentence of clement had been powerless. she entreated him with all her energy as a christian woman to hesitate no longer. her daughter had been ill, and had not yet recovered. had her health been strong, the treatment which she received would destroy it, and, if she died, there would be a double sin. the emperor need not care for herself. she was accustomed to suffering and could bear anything. but she must let him know that she was as poor as job, and was expecting a time when she would have to beg alms for the love of god.[315] mary was scarcely in so bad a case as her mother represented. her spirit had got the better of her illness, and she was again alert and active. the king had supplied her with money and had sent her various kind messages, but she was still eager to escape out of the realm, and charles had again given a qualified consent to the attempt being made if it was sure of success. with mary in his hands, he could deal with henry to better advantage. a favourable opportunity presented itself. three spanish ships were lying in the lower pool; mary was still at greenwich, and their crews were at her disposition. chapuys asked if she was ready. she was not only ready but eager. she could leave the palace at night with the help of confederates, be carried on board, and disappear down the river. accident, or perhaps a whispered warning, deranged her plans. by a sudden order she was removed from greenwich to eltham. the alteration of residence was not accompanied with signs of suspicion. she was treated with marked respect. a state litter of some splendour was provided for her. the governess, mrs. shelton, however, was continued at her side, and the odious presence redoubled her wish to fly. before she left greenwich she sent a message to chapuys imploring his advice and his assistance. she begged him for the love of god to contrive fresh means for removing her from the country. the enterprise, he thought, would be now dangerous, but not impossible, and success would be a glorious triumph. the princess had told him that in her present lodging she could not be taken away at night, but she might walk in the day in fine weather, and might be surprised and carried off as if against her consent. the river would not be many miles distant, and, if she could be fallen in with when alone, there might be less difficulty than even at greenwich, because she could be put on board below gravesend.[316] as a ship would be required from flanders, chapuys communicated directly with granvelle. he was conscious that, if he was himself in england when the enterprise was attempted, his own share in it would be suspected and it might go hard with him. he proposed, therefore, under some excuse of business in the low countries, to cross over previously. it would be a splendid _coup_, he said, and, considering how much the princess wished it and her remarkable prudence and courage, the thing could, no doubt, be managed. could she be once seized and on horseback, and if there was a galley at hand and a large ship or two, there would be no real difficulty. the country-people would help her, and the parties sent in pursuit would be in no hurry.[317] either the difficulties proved greater than were expected, or charles was still hoping for the treaty, and would not risk an experiment which would spoil the chances of an accommodation. once more he altered his mind and forbade the venture, and chapuys had to take up again a negotiation from which he had no expectation of good. he met cromwell from time to time, his master's pleasure being to preserve peace on tolerable terms; and the ambassador continued to propose the reference of the divorce case to the general council, on which cromwell had seemed not unwilling to listen to him. if henry could be tempted by vague promises to submit his conduct to a council called by the pope, he would be again in the meshes out of which he had cut his way. the cunning ambassador urged on cromwell the honour which the king would gain if a council confirmed what he had done; and when cromwell answered that a council under the emperor's influence might rather give an adverse sentence, he said that, if it was so, the king would have shown by a voluntary submission that his motives had been pure, and might have perfect confidence in the emperor's fairness. cromwell said he would consult the king; but the real difficulty lay in the pretensions of the princess. cromwell was well served; he probably knew, as well as chapuys, of the intended rape at eltham, and all that it would involve. "would to god"--he broke out impatiently, and did not finish the sentence; but chapuys thought he saw what the finish would have been.[318] henry may be credited with some forbearance towards his troublesome daughter. she defied his laws. her supporters were trying to take his crown from him, and she herself was attempting to escape abroad and levy war upon him. few of his predecessors would have hesitated to take ruder methods with so unmalleable a piece of metal. she herself believed that escape was her only chance of life. she was in the power of persons who, she had been told, meant to poison her, while no means were neglected to exasperate the king's mind against her. he, on his side, was told that she was incurably obstinate, while everything was concealed that might make him more favourably disposed towards her. in the midst of public business with which he was overwhelmed, he could not know what was passing inside the walls at eltham. he discovered occasionally that he had been deceived. he complained to cromwell "that he had found much good in his daughter of which he had not been properly informed." but if there was a conspiracy against mary, there was also a conspiracy against himself, in a quarter where it could have been least expected. dr. butts, the king's physician, whose portrait by holbein is so familiar to us, was one of the most devoted friends of queen catherine. during mary's illness, dr. butts had affected to be afraid of the responsibility of attending upon her. he had consented afterwards, though with apparent reluctance, and had met in consultation catherine's doctor, who had also allowed himself to be persuaded. henry sent butts down to eltham with his own horses. the royal physician found his patient better than he expected, and, instead of talking over her disorders, he talked of the condition of the realm with his brother practitioner. "the doctor is a very clever man," wrote chapuys, reporting the account of the conversation which he received from the queen's physician, "and is intimate with the nobles and the council. he says that there are but two ways of assisting the queen and princess and of setting right the affairs of the realm: one would be if it pleased god to visit the king with some little malady."[319] "the second method was force, of which, he said, the king and his ministers were in marvellous fear. if it came to a war, he thought the king would be specially careful of the queen and princess, meaning to use them, should things turn to the worst, as mediators for peace. but if neither of these means were made use of, he really believed they were in danger of their lives. he considered it was lucky for the king that the emperor did not know how easy the enterprise of england would be; and the present, he said, was the right time for it." his private physician, it is to be remembered, was necessarily, of all henry's servants, the most trusted by him; and the doctor was not contented with indirect suggestions, for he himself sent a secret message to chapuys that twenty great peers and a hundred knights were ready, they and their vassals, to venture fortune and life, with the smallest assistance from the emperor, to rise and make a revolution.[320] dr. butts with his _petite maladie_ was a "giant traitor," though, happily for himself, he was left undiscovered. human sympathies run so inevitably on the side of the sufferers in history, that we forget that something also is due to those whom they forced into dealing hardly with them. catherine and the faithful catholics who conspired and lost their lives for her cause and the pope's, are in no danger of losing the favourable judgment of the world; the tyranny and cruelty of henry viii. will probably remain for ever a subject of eloquent denunciation; but there is an _altera pars_--another view of the story, which we may be permitted without offence to recognise. henry was, on the whole, right; the general cause for which he was contending was a good cause. his victory opened the fountains of english national life, won for england spiritual freedom, and behind spiritual freedom her political liberties. his defeat would have kindled the martyr-fires in every english town, and would have burnt out of the country thousands of poor men and women as noble as catherine herself. he had stained the purity of his action by intermingling with it a weak passion for a foolish and bad woman, and bitterly he had to suffer for his mistake; but the revolt against, and the overthrow of, ecclesiastical despotism were precious services, which ought to be remembered to his honour; and, when the good doctor to whom he trusted his life, out of compassion for an unfortunate lady was, perhaps, willing to administer a doubtful potion to him, or to aid in inviting a catholic army into england to extinguish the light that was dawning there, only those who are catholics first and englishmen afterwards will say that it was well done on the doctor's part. the temper of the nation was growing dangerous, and the forces on both sides were ranging themselves for the battle. bishop fisher has been seen sounding on the same string. he, with more, had now been for many months in the tower, and his communications with chapuys having been cut off, he had been unable to continue his solicitations; but the ambassador had undertaken for the whole of the clergy on the instant that the emperor should declare himself. the growth of lutheranism had touched their hearts with pious indignation; their hatred of heresy was almost the sole distinction which they had preserved belonging to their sacred calling. the regular orders were the most worthless; the smaller monasteries were nests of depravity; the purpose of their existence was to sing souls out of purgatory, and the efficacy of their musical petitionings being no longer believed in, the king had concluded that monks and nuns could be better employed, and that the wealth which maintained them could be turned to better purpose--to the purpose especially of the defence of the realm against them and their machinations. the monks everywhere were the active missionaries of treason. they writhed under the act of supremacy. their hope of continuance depended on the restoration of the papal authority. when they were discovered to be at once useless and treacherous, it was not unjust to take their lands from them and apply the money for which those lands could be sold, to the fleet and the fortresses on the coast. in this, the greatest of his reforms, cromwell had been the king's chief adviser. he had been employed under wolsey in the first suppression of the most corrupt of the smaller houses. in the course of his work he had gained an insight into the scandalous habits of their occupants, which convinced him of the impolicy and uselessness of attempting to prolong their existence. institutions however ancient, organizations however profoundly sacred, cannot outlive the recognition that the evil which they produce is constant and the advantage visionary. that the monastic system was doomed had become generally felt; that the victims of the intended overthrow should be impatient of their fate was no more than natural. the magnitude of the design, the interests which were threatened, the imagined sanctity attaching to property devoted to the church, gave an opportunity for outcry against sacrilege. the entire body of monks became in their various orders an army of insurrectionary preachers, well supplied with money, terrifying the weak, encouraging the strong, and appealing to the superstitions so powerful with a people like the english, who were tenacious of their habits and associations. the abbots and priors had sworn to the supremacy, but had sworn reluctantly, with secret reservations to save their consciences. with the prospect of an imperial deliverer to appear among them, they were recovering courage to defy their excommunicated enemy. those who retained the most of the original spirit of their religion were the first to recover heart for resistance. the monks of the london charterhouse, who were exceptions to the general corruption, and were men of piety and character, came forward to repudiate their oaths and to dare the law to punish them. their tragical story is familiar to all readers of english history. chapuys adds a few particulars. their prior, haughton, had consented to the act of supremacy; but his conscience told him that in doing so he had committed perjury. he went voluntarily, with three of the brotherhood, to cromwell, and retracted his oath, declaring that the king in calling himself head of the church was usurping the pope's authority. they had not been sent for; their house was in no immediate danger; and there was no intention of meddling with them. their act was a gratuitous defiance; and under the circumstances of the country was an act of war. the effect, if not the purpose, was, and must have been, to encourage a spirit which would explode in rebellion. cromwell warned them of their danger, and advised them to keep their scruples to themselves. they said they would rather encounter a hundred thousand deaths. they were called before a council of peers. the knights of the garter were holding their annual chapter, and the attendance was large. the duke of norfolk presided, having returned to the court, and the proceedings were unusually solemn. the monks were required to withdraw their declaration; they were told that the statute was not to be disputed. they persisted. they were allowed a night to reflect, and they spent it on their knees in prayer. in the morning they were recalled; their courage held, and they were sentenced to die, with another friar who had spoken and written to similar purpose. they had thrown down a challenge to the government; the challenge was accepted, and the execution marked the importance of the occasion. they were not a handful of insignificant priests, they were the advanced guard of insurrection; and to allow them to triumph was to admit defeat. they were conducted through the streets by an armed force. the duke of norfolk, the duke of richmond, henry's illegitimate son, lord wiltshire, and lord rochford attended at the scaffold. sir henry norris was also there, masked, with forty of the royal guard on horseback. at the scaffold they were again offered a chance of life; again they refused, and died gallantly. the struggle had begun for the crown of england. in claiming the supremacy for the pope, these men had abjured their allegiance to the king whom the pope had excommunicated. conscience was nothing--motive was nothing. conscience was not allowed as a plea when a lutheran was threatened with the stake. in all civil conflicts high motives are to be found on both sides, and in earnest times words are not used without meaning. the statute of supremacy was henry's defence against an attempt to deprive him of his crown and deprive the kingdom of its independence. to disobey the law was treason; and the penalty of treason was death.[321] chapuys in telling the story urged it as a proof to charles that there was no hope of the king's repentance. it was now expected that more and fisher, and perhaps the queen and princess, would be called on also to acknowledge the supremacy, and, if they refused, would suffer the same fate. the king's ministers, chapuys said, were known to have often reproached the king, and to have told him it was a shame for him and the kingdom not to punish them as traitors. anne boleyn was fiercer and haughtier than ever she was.[322] sir thomas more was under the same impression that anne had been instigator of the severities. she would take his head from him, he said, and then added, prophetically, that her own would follow. the presence of her father and brother and her favourite norris at the execution of the carthusians confirmed the impression. the action of the government had grounds more sufficient than a woman's urgency. more and fisher received notice that they would be examined on the statute, and were allowed six weeks to prepare their answer. chapuys did not believe that any danger threatened catherine, or threatened her household. she herself, however, anticipated the worst, and only hoped that her own fate might rouse the emperor at last. the emperor was not to be roused. he was preparing for his great expedition to tunis to root out the corsairs, and had other work on hand. in vain chapuys had tried to make him believe that cromwell meditated the destruction of the princess mary; in vain chapuys had told him that words were useless, and that "cautery was the only remedy"--that the english peers were panting for encouragement to take arms. he had no confidence in insurgent subjects who could not use the constitutional methods which they possessed to do anything for themselves. he saw henry crushing down resistance with the relentless severity of the law. he replied to chapuys's entreaties that, although he could not in conscience abandon his aunt and cousin, yet the ambassador must temporise. he had changed his mind about mary's escape: he said it was dangerous, unadvisable, and not to be thought of.[323] the present was not the proper moment. he wrote a cautious letter to the king, which he forwarded for chapuys to deliver. in spite of charterhouse monks and lutheran preachers, the ambassador was to take up again the negotiations for the treaty. thus cromwell and he recommenced their secret meetings. a country-house was selected for the purpose, where their interviews would be unobserved. chapuys had recommended that henry should assist in calling a general council. cromwell undertook that henry would consent, provided the council was not held in italy, or in the pope's or the emperor's dominions, and provided that the divorce should not be among the questions submitted to it. the emperor, he said, had done enough for his honour, and might now leave the matter to the king's conscience. with respect to the queen and princess, the king had already written to sir john wallop, who was to lay his letters before the spanish ambassador in paris. the king had said that, although the emperor, in forsaking a loyal friend for the sake of a woman, had not acted well with him, yet he was willing to forget and forgive. if the emperor would advise the ladies to submit to the judgment of the universities of europe, which had been sanctioned by the english estates of the realm, and was as good as a decree of a council, they would have nothing to complain of.[324] chapuys observed that such a letter ought to have been shown to himself before it was sent; but that was of no moment. the king of france, cromwell went on, would bring the turk, and the devil, too, into christendom to recover milan; the king and the emperor ought to draw together to hold france in check; and yet, to give chapuys a hint that he knew what he had been doing, he said he had heard, though he did not believe it, that the emperor and the king of the romans had thought of invading england, in a belief that they would make an easy conquest of it. they would find the enterprise more costly than they expected, and, even if they did conquer england, they could not keep it. chapuys, wishing to learn how much had been discovered, asked what cromwell meant. cromwell told him the exact truth. the scheme had been to stop the trade between england and flanders. a rebellion was expected to follow, which, cromwell admitted, was not unlikely; and then, in great detail and with a quiet air of certainty, he referred to the solicitations continually made to the emperor to send across an army. leaving chapuys to wonder at his sources of information, so accurate, cromwell spoke of an approaching conference at calais, which was to be held at the request of the french king. he did not think anything would come of it. he had himself declined to be present, but one of the proposals to be made would be an offer of the duke of angoulême for the young princess elizabeth. the council, he said, had meantime been reviewing the old treaty for the marriage of the emperor to the princess mary, and the king had spoken in the warmest terms of the emperor. perhaps as a substitute for the french connection, and provided the divorce was not called in question again, he thought that the princess elizabeth might be betrothed to philip, and a marriage could be found out of the realm for the princess mary with the emperor's consent and approbation. the king, in this case, would give her the greatest and richest dower that was ever given to any queen or empress.[325] chapuys observed that the divorce must be disposed of before fresh marriages could be thought of. cromwell wished him to speak himself to the king. chapuys politely declined to take so delicate a negotiation out of cromwell's hands. for himself, he had not yet abandoned hope of a different issue. lord darcy was still eager as ever, and wished to communicate directly with the emperor. from ireland, too, the news were less discouraging. the insurrection had burnt down, but was still unsubdued. lord thomas found one of his difficulties to lie in the incompleteness of the papal censures. the formal bull of deposition was still unpublished. the young chief had written to the pope to say that, but for this deficiency, he would have driven the english out of the island, and to beg that it might be immediately supplied. he had himself, too, perhaps, been in fault. the murder of an archbishop who had not been directly excommunicated was an irregularity and possibly a crime. he prayed that the pope would send him absolution. paul as he read the letter showed much pleasure. he excused his hesitation as having risen from a hope that the king of england would repent. for the future he said he would do his duty; and at once sent lord thomas the required pardon for an act which had been really meritorious.[326] the absolution may have benefited lord thomas's soul. it did not save him from the gallows. again cromwell and chapuys met. again the discussion returned to the insoluble problem. the spanish council of state had half recommended that the divorce should be passed over, as it had been at cambray. chapuys laboured to entangle henry in an engagement that it should be submitted to the intended general council. the argument took the usual form. cromwell said that the king could not revoke what he had done, without disgrace. chapuys answered that it was the only way to avoid disgrace, and the most honourable course which he could adopt. the king ought not to be satisfied in such a matter with the laws and constitutions of his own country. if he would yield on this single point, the taking away the property of the clergy might in some degree be confirmed. the ground alleged for it being the defence of the realm, there would be less occasion for such measures in future; the emperor would allow the king to make his submission in any form that he might choose, and everything should be made as smooth as henry could desire. cromwell, according to chapuys, admitted the soundness of the argument, but he said that it was neither in his power, nor in any man's power, to persuade the king, who would hazard all rather than yield. even the present pope, he said, had, when cardinal, written an autograph letter to the king, telling him that he had a right to ask for a divorce, and that clement had done him great wrong. the less reason then, chapuys neatly observed, for refusing to lay the matter before a general council. the ambassador went through his work dutifully, though expecting nothing from it, and his reports of what passed with the english ministers ended generally with a recommendation of what he thought the wiser course. lord hussey, he said, had sent to him to say that he could remain no longer in a country where all ranks and classes were being driven into heresy; and would, therefore, cross the channel to see the emperor in person, to urge his own opinion and learn the emperor's decision from his own lips. if the answer was unfavourable he would tell his friends, that they might not be deceived in their expectations. they would then act for themselves.[327] it is likely that chapuys had been instructed to reserve the concessions which charles was prepared to make till it was certain that, without them, the treaty would fail. france meanwhile was outbidding the emperor, and the king was using, without disguise, the offers of each power to alarm the other. cromwell at the next meeting told chapuys that francis was ready to support the divorce unreservedly if henry would assist him in taking milan. the french, he said, should have a sharp answer, could confidence be felt in the emperor's overtures. a sharp struggle was going on in the council between the french and imperial factions. himself sincerely anxious for the success of the negotiation in which he was engaged, cromwell said he had fallen into worse disgrace with anne boleyn than he had ever been. anne had never liked him. she had told him recently "she would like to see his head off his shoulders."[328] she was equally angry with the duke of norfolk, who had been too frank in the terms in which he had spoken of her. if she discovered his interviews with chapuys she would do them both some ill turn. the king himself agreed with cromwell in preferring the emperor to francis, but he would not part company with france till he was assured that charles no longer meant his harm. charles, it will be remembered, had himself written to henry, and the letter had by this time arrived. chapuys feared that, if he presented it at a public audience, the court would conclude that the emperor was reconciled, and had abandoned the queen and princess, so he applied for a private reception. the king granted it, read the letter, spoke graciously of the expedition against the turks, and then significantly of his own armaments and the new fortifications at dover and calais. he believed (as chapuys had heard from the princess mary) that, if he could tide over the present summer, the winter would then protect him, and that in another year he would be strong enough to fear no one. seeing that he said nothing of the treaty, chapuys began upon it, and said that the emperor was anxious to come to terms with him, so far as honour and conscience would allow. henry showed not the least eagerness. he replied with entire frankness that france was going to war for milan. large offers had been made to him, which, so far, he had not accepted; but he might be induced to listen, unless he could be better assured of the emperor's intention.[329] it was evident that henry could neither be cajoled nor frightened. should charles then give up the point for which he was contending? once more the imperial privy council sat to consider what was to be done. it had become clear that no treaty could be made with henry unless the emperor would distinctly consent that the divorce should not be spoken of. the old objections were again weighed--the injuries to the queen and to the holy see, the emperor's obligations, the bad effect on christendom and on england which a composition on such terms would produce, the encouragement to other princes to act as henry had done--stubborn facts of the case which could not be evaded. on the other hand were the dangerous attitude of francis, the obstinacy of henry, the possibility that france and england might unite, and the inability of the emperor to encounter their coalition. both francis and henry were powerful princes, and a quarrel would not benefit the queen and her daughter if the emperor was powerless to help them. the divorce was the difficulty. should the emperor insist on a promise that it should be submitted to a general council? it might be advisable, under certain circumstances, to create disturbances in england and ireland, so as to force the king into an alliance on the emperor's terms. but if henry could be induced to suspend or modify his attacks on the faith and the church, to break his connection with france and withdraw from his negotiations with the germans, if securities could be taken that the queen and princess should not be compelled to sign or promise anything without the emperor's consent, the evident sense of the spanish council of state was that the proceedings against the king should be suspended, perhaps for his life, and that no stipulations should be insisted on, either for the king's return to the church or for his consent to the meeting of the general council. god might perhaps work on the king's conscience without threat of force or violence; and the emperor, before starting on his expedition to tunis, might tell the english ambassador that he wished to be the king's friend, and would not go to war with any christian prince unless he was compelled. the queen's consent would, of course, be necessary; she and the princess would be more miserable than ever if they were made to believe that there was no help for them.[330] but their consent, if there was no alternative, might be assumed when a refusal would be useless. if the willingness to make concessions was the measure of the respective anxieties for an agreement between the two countries, spain was more eager than england, for the emperor was willing to yield the point on which he had broken the unity of christendom and content himself with words, while henry would yield nothing, except the french alliance, for which he had cared little from the time that france had refused to follow him into schism. an alliance of the emperor with an excommunicated sovereign in the face of a sentence which he had himself insisted on, and with a bull of deposition ready for launching, would be an insult to the holy see more dangerous to it than the revolt of a single kingdom. the treaty might, however, have been completed on the terms which wallop and the imperial ambassador had agreed on at paris, and which the imperial council had not rejected. the pope saw the peril, struck in, and made it impossible. in the trial and execution of the carthusians henry had shown to europe that he was himself in earnest. the blood of martyrs was the seed of the church, and paul calculated rightly that he could not injure the king of england more effectually than by driving him to fresh severities and thus provoking an insurrection. no other explanation can be given for his having chosen this particular moment for an act which must and would produce the desired consequence. bishop fisher and sir thomas more had been allowed six weeks to consider whether they would acknowledge the statute of supremacy. more was respected by every one, except the lutherans, whom he confessed that he hated; fisher was regarded as a saint by the catholic part of england; and the king, who was dependent after all on the support of his subjects and could not wish to shock or alienate them, would probably have pressed them no further, unless challenged by some fresh provocation. fisher had waded deep into treason, but, if the king knew it, there was no evidence which could be produced. before the six weeks were expired the court and the world were astonished to hear that paul had created the bishop of rochester a cardinal, and that the hat was already on the way. casalis, who foresaw the consequences, had protested against the appointment, both to the pope and the consistory. paul pretended to be frightened. he begged casalis to excuse him to the king. he professed, what it was impossible to believe, that he had intended to pay england a compliment. a general council was to meet. he wished england to be represented there by a prelate whom he understood to be distinguished for learning and sanctity. the roman pontiffs have had a chequered reputation, but the weakest of them has never been suspected of a want of worldly acuteness. the condition of england was as well understood at rome as it was understood by chapuys, and, with dr. ortiz at his ear, paul must have been acquainted with the disposition of every peer and prelate in the realm. fisher's name had been familiar through the seven years' controversy as of the one english bishop who had been constant in resistance to every step of henry's policy. paul, who had just absolved silken thomas for the archbishop of dublin's murder, had little to learn about the conspiracy, or about fisher's share in it. the excuse was an insolence more affronting than the act itself. it was impossible for the king to acknowledge himself defied and defeated. he said briefly that he would send fisher's head to rome, for the hat to be fitted on it. sir thomas more, as fisher's dearest friend, connected with him in opposition to the reformation and sharing his imprisonment for the same actions, was involved along with him in the fatal effects of the pope's cunning or the pope's idiotcy. the six weeks ran out. the bishop and the ex-chancellor were called again before the council, refused to acknowledge the supremacy, and were committed for trial. the french and english commissioners had met and parted at calais. nothing had been concluded there, as cromwell said with pleasure to chapuys, prejudicial to the emperor; but as to submitting the king's conduct to a council, cromwell reiterated that it was not to be thought of. were there no other reason, the hatred borne to him by all the english _prestraylle_ for having pulled down the tyranny of the church and tried to reform them, would be cause sufficient. the council would be composed of clergy. more than this, and under the provocation of the fresh insult, cromwell said that neither the king nor his subjects would recognise any council convoked by the pope. a council convoked by the emperor they would acknowledge, but a papal council never. they intended to make the church of england a true and singular mirror to all christendom.[331] paul can hardly have deliberately contemplated the results of what he had done. he probably calculated, either that henry would not dare to go to extremities with a person of so holy a reputation as bishop fisher, or that the threat of it would force fisher's and the queen's friends into the field in time to save him. they had boasted that the whole country was with them, and the pope had taken them at their word. yet his own mind misgave him. the nuncio at paris was directed to beg francis to intercede. francis said he would do his best, but feared the "hat" would prove the bishop's death. henry, francis said, was not always easy to deal with. he almost treated him as a subject. he was the strangest man in the world. he feared he could do no good with him.[332] there was not the least likelihood that the king would allow the interposition either of francis or of any one. the crime created by the act of supremacy was the denial by word or act of the king's sovereignty, ecclesiastical or civil, and the object was to check and punish seditious speaking or preaching. as the act was first drafted, to speak at all against the supremacy brought an offender under the penalties. the house of commons was unwilling to make mere language into high treason, and a strong attempt was made to introduce the word "maliciously." men might deny that the king was head of the church in ignorance or inadvertence; and an innocent opinion was not a proper subject for severity. but persons who had exposed themselves to suspicion might be questioned, and their answers interpreted by collateral evidence, to prove disloyal intention. chapuys's letters leave no doubt of fisher's real disloyalty. but his desire to bring in an imperial army was shared by half the peers, and, if proof of it could be produced, their guilty consciences might drive them into open rebellion. it was ascertained that fisher and more had communicated with each other in the tower on the answers which they were to give. but other points had risen for which fisher was not prepared. among the papers found in his study were letters in an unknown hand addressed to queen catherine, which apparently the bishop was to have forwarded to her, but had been prevented by his arrest. they formed part of a correspondence between the queen and some foreign prince, carried on through a reverend father spoken of as e. r. ... alluding to things which "no mortal man was to know besides those whom it behoved," and to another letter which e. r. had received of the bishop himself. fisher was asked who wrote these letters: "who was e. r.? who was the prince?" what those things were which no mortal was to know? if trifles, why the secrecy, and from whom were they to be concealed? what were the letters which had been received from the bishop himself to be sent oversea? the letters found contained also a request to know whether catherine wished the writer to proceed to other princes in germany and solicit them; and again a promise that the writer would maintain her cause among good men there, and would let her know what he could succeed in bringing to pass with the princes. the bishop was asked whether, saving his faith and allegiance, he ought to have assisted a man who was engaged in such enterprises, and why he concealed a matter which he knew to be intended against the king; how the letter came into his hands, who sent it, who brought it. if the bishop refused to answer or equivocated, he was to understand that the king knew the truth, for he had proof in his hands. the writer was crafty and subtle and had promised to spend his labour with the princes that they should take in hand to defend the lady catherine's cause. the king held the key to the whole mystery. the mine had been undermined. the intended rebellion was no secret to henry or to cromwell. catherine, a divorced wife, and a spanish princess, owed no allegiance in england. but fisher was an english subject, and conscience is no excuse for treason, until the treason succeeds. fisher answered warily, but certainly untruly, that he could not recollect the name either of the prince who wrote the letter which had been discovered or of the messenger who brought it. it was probably some german prince, but, as god might help him, he could not say which, unless it was ferdinand, king of hungary. e. r. was not himself, nor did he ever consent that the writer should attempt anything with the german princes against the king. he had been careful. he had desired chapuys from the beginning that his name should not be mentioned, except in cipher. he had perhaps abstained from directly advising an application to ferdinand, who could not act without the emperor's sanction. his messages to charles through his ambassador even fisher could scarcely have had the hardiness to deny; but these messages, if known, were not alleged. the anglo-imperial alliance was on the anvil, and the question was not put to him.[333] of fisher's malice, however, as the law construed it, there was no doubt. he persisted in his refusal to acknowledge the supremacy of the crown. five days after his examination he was tried at westminster hall, and in the week following he was executed on tower hill. he died bravely in a cause which he believed to be right. to the last he might have saved himself by submission, but he never wavered. he knew that he could do better service to the queen and the catholic church by his death than by his life. cromwell told chapuys that "the bishop of rome was the cause of his punishment, for having made a cardinal of the king's worst enemy." he was "greatly pitied of the people." the pity would have been less had his real conduct been revealed. a nobler victim followed. in the lists of those who were prepared to take arms against the king there is no mention of the name of sir thomas more; but he had been fisher's intimate friend and companion, and he could hardly have been ignorant of a conspiracy with which fisher had been so closely concerned; while malice might be inferred without injustice from an acquaintance with dangerous purposes which he had not revealed. he paid the penalty of the society to which he had attached himself. he, even more than the bishop of rochester, was the chief of the party most opposed to the reformation. he had distinguished himself as chancellor by his zeal against the lutherans, and, if that party had won the day, they would have gone to work as they did afterwards when mary became queen. no one knew better than more the need in which the church stood of the surgeon's hand; no one saw clearer the fox's face under the monk's cowl: but, like other moderate reformers, he detested impatient enthusiasts who spoilt their cause by extravagance. he felt towards the protestantism which was spreading in england as burke felt towards the convention and the jacobin club, and while more lived and defied the statute the vast middle party in the nation which was yet undecided found encouragement in opposition from his example. his execution has been uniformly condemned by historians as an act of wanton tyranny. it was not wanton, and it was not an act of tyranny. it was an inevitable and painful incident of an infinitely blessed revolution. the received accounts of his trial are confirmed with slight additions by a paper of news from england which was sent to the imperial court. more was charged with having deprived the king of the title of "supreme head of the church," which had been granted to him by the last parliament. he replied that, when questioned by the king's secretary what he thought of the statute, he had answered that, being a dead man to the world, he cared nothing for such things, and he could not be condemned for silence. the king's attorney said that all good subjects were bound to answer without dissimulation or reserve, and silence was the same as speech. silence, more objected, was generally taken to mean consent. whatever his thoughts might be, he had never uttered them. he was charged with having exchanged letters with the bishop of rochester in the tower on the replies which they were to give on their examination. each had said that the statute was a sword with two edges, one of which slew the body, the other the soul. as they had used the same words it was clear that they were confederated. more replied that he had answered as his conscience dictated, and had advised the bishop to do the same. he did not believe that he had ever said or done anything maliciously against the statute. the jury consulted only for a quarter of an hour and returned a verdict of "guilty." sentence passed as a matter of course, and then more spoke out. as he was condemned, he said he would now declare his opinion. he had studied the question for seven years, and was satisfied that no temporal lord could be head of the spiritualty. for each bishop on the side of the royal supremacy he could produce a hundred saints. for their parliament he had the councils of a thousand years. for one kingdom he had all the other christian powers. the bishops had broken their vows; the parliament had no authority to make laws against the unity of christendom, and had capitally sinned in making them. his crime had been his opposition to the second marriage of the king. he had faith, however, that, as st. paul persecuted st. stephen, yet both were now in paradise, so he and his judges, although at variance in this world, would meet in charity hereafter.[334] the end came quickly. the trial was on the 1st of july; on the 6th the head fell of one of the most interesting men that england ever produced. had the supremacy been a question of opinion, had there been no conspiracy to restore by arms the papal tyranny, no clergy and nobles entreating the landing of an army like that which wasted flanders at the command of the duke of alva, no irish nobles murdering archbishops and receiving papal absolution for it, to have sent sir thomas more to the scaffold for believing the pope to be master of england would have been a barbarous murder, deserving the execration which has been poured upon it. an age which has no such perils to alarm its slumbers forgets the enemies which threatened to waste the country with fire and sword, and admires only the virtues which remain fresh for all time; we, too, if exposed to similar possibilities might be no more merciful than our forefathers. the execution of fisher and more was the king's answer to papal thunders and domestic conspirators, and the effect was electric. darcy again appealed to chapuys, praying that the final sentence should be instantly issued. he did not wish to wait any longer for imperial aid. the pope having spoken, the country would now rise of itself. the clergy would furnish all the money needed for a beginning, and a way might be found to seize the gold in the treasury. time pressed. they must get to work at once. if they loitered longer the modern preachers and prelates would corrupt the people, and all would be lost.[335] cifuentes wrote from rome to the emperor that the bishop of paris was on his way there with proposals from francis for an arrangement with england which would be fatal to the queen, the church, and the morals of christendom. he begged to be allowed to press the pope to hold in readiness a brief deposing henry; a brief which, if once issued, could not be recalled.[336] chapter xix. campaign of the emperor in africa--uncertainties at rome--policy of francis--english preparations for war--fresh appeals to the emperor--delay in the issue of the censures--the princess mary--letter of catherine to the pope--disaffection of the english catholics--libels against henry, cromwell, and chapuys--lord thomas fitzgerald--dangerous position of henry--death of the duke of milan--effect on european policy--intended bull of paul iii.--indecision of charles--prospect of war with france-advice of charles to catherine--distrust of the emperor at the papal court--warlike resolution of the pope restrained by the cardinals. cifuentes had been misinformed when he feared that francis was again about to interpose in henry's behalf at rome. the conference at calais had broken up without definite results. the policy of france was to draw henry off from his treaty with the emperor; henry preferred to play the two great catholic powers one against the other, and commit himself to neither; and francis, knowing the indignation which fisher's execution would produce at rome, was turning his thoughts on other means of accomplishing his purpose. the emperor's african campaign was splendidly successful--too successful to be satisfactory at the vatican. the pope, as the head of christendom, was bound to express pleasure at the defeat of the infidels, but he feared that charles, victorious by land and sea, might give him trouble in his own dominions.[337] a settled purpose, however, remained to punish the english king, and henry had need to be careful. the french faction in the council wished him to proceed at once to extremities with the princess, which would effectually end the hopes of an imperial alliance. anne boleyn was continually telling the king that the queen and princess were his greatest danger. "they deserved death more than those who had been lately executed, since they were the cause of all the mischief."[338] chapuys found himself no longer able to communicate with mary, from the increased precaution in guarding her. it was alleged that there was a fear of her being carried off by the french. the imperial party at rome, not knowing what to do or to advise, drew a curious memorandum for charles's consideration. the emperor, they said, had been informed when the divorce case was being tried at rome, _that england was a fief of the church of rome_, and as the king had defied the apostolic see, he deserved to be deprived of his crown. the emperor had not approved of a step so severe. but the king had now beheaded the bishop of rochester, whom the pope had made a cardinal. on the news of the execution the pope and cardinals had moved that he should be deprived at once and without more delay for this and for his other crimes. against taking such action was the danger to the queen of which they were greatly afraid, and also the sense that if, after sentence, the crown of england devolved on the holy see, injury might be done to the prospects of the princess. it might be contrived that the pope in depriving the king might assign the crown to his daughter, or the pope in consistory might declare secretly that they were acting in favour of the princess and without prejudice to her claim. to this, however, there was the objection that the king might hear of it through some of the cardinals. something at any rate had to be done. all courses were dangerous. the emperor was requested to decide.[339] a new ingredient was now to be thrown into the political cauldron. so far from wishing to reconcile england with the papacy, the pope informed cifuentes that francis was now ready and willing to help the apostolic see in the execution of the sentence against the king of england. francis thought that the emperor ought to begin, since the affair was his personal concern; but when the first step was taken francis himself would be at the pope's disposition. the meaning of this, in the opinion of cifuentes, was merely to entangle the emperor in a war with england, and so to leave him. the pope himself thought so too. francis had been heard to say that when the emperor had opened the campaign he would come next and do what was most for his own interest. the pope, however, said, as clement had said before him, that, if charles and francis would only act together against england, the "execution" could be managed satisfactorily. cifuentes replied that he had no commission to enter into that question. he reported what had passed to his master, and said that he would be in no haste to urge the pope to further measures.[340] henry had expected nothing better from france. he had dared the pope to do his worst. he stood alone, with no protection save in the jealousy of the rival powers, and had nothing to trust to save his own ability to defend his country and his crown. his chief anxiety was for the security of the sea. a successful stoppage of trade would, as cromwell admitted, lead to confusion and insurrection. ship after ship was built and launched in the thames. the busy note of preparation rang over the realm. the clergy, lord darcy had said, were to furnish money for the rising. the king was taking precautions to shorten their resources, and turn their revenues to the protection of the realm. cromwell's visitors were out over england examining into the condition of the religious houses, exposing their abuses and sequestrating their estates. these dishonoured institutions had been found to be "very stews of unnatural crime" through the length and breadth of england. their means of mischief were taken away from such worthless and treacherous communities. crown officials were left in charge, and their final fate was reserved for parliament. henry, meanwhile, confident in his subjects, and taking lightly the dangers which threatened him, went on progress along the welsh borders, hunting, visiting, showing himself everywhere, and received with apparent enthusiasm. the behaviour of the people perplexed chapuys. "i am told," he wrote, "that in the districts where he has been, a good part of the peasantry, after hearing the court preachers, are abused into the belief that he was inspired by god to separate himself from his brother's wife. they are but idiots. they will return soon enough to the truth when there are any signs of change." they would not return, nor were they the fools he thought them. the clergy, chapuys himself confessed it, had made themselves detested by the english commons for their loose lives and the tyranny of the ecclesiastical courts. the monasteries, too many of them, were nests of infamy and fraud, and the king whom the catholic world called antichrist appeared as a deliverer from an odious despotism. at rome there was still uncertainty. the imperial memorandum explains the cause of the hesitation. the emperor was engaged in africa, and could decide nothing till his return. the great powers were divided on the partition of the bear's skin, while the bear was still unstricken. why, asked the impatient english catholics, did not the pope strike and make an end of him when even francis, who had so long stayed his hand, was now urging him to proceed? francis was probably as insincere as cifuentes believed him to be. but the mere hope of help from such a quarter gave fresh life to the wearied catherine and her agents. "the pope," wrote dr. ortiz to the emperor, "has committed the deprivation of the king of england and the adjudication of the realm to the apostolic see as a fief of the church to cardinals campeggio, simoneta, and cesis. the delay in granting the executorials in the principal cause is wonderful. although the deposition of the king was spoken of so hotly in the consistory, and they wrote about it to all the princes, they will only proceed with delay and with a monition to the king to be intimated in neighbouring countries. this is needless. his heresy, schism, and other crimes are notorious. he may be deprived without the delay of a monition. if it is pressed, it is to be feared it will be on the side of france. it is a wonderful revenge which the king of france has taken on the king of england, to favour him until he has fallen into schism and heresy, and then to forsake him in it, to delude him as far as the gallows, and to leave him to hang. the blood of the saints whom that king has martyred calls to god for justice."[341] catherine, sick with hope deferred and tired of the emperor's hesitation, was catching at the new straw which was floating by her. ortiz must have kept her informed of the french overtures at the vatican. she prayed the regent mary to use her influence with the french queen. now was the time for francis to show himself a true friend of his brother of england, and assist in delivering him from a state of sin.[342] strange rumours were current in france and in england to explain the delay of the censures. the pope had confessed himself alarmed at the completeness of charles's success at tunis. it was thought that the emperor, fresh from his victories, might act on the advice of men like lope de soria, take his holiness himself in hand and abolish the temporal power; that the pope knew it, and therefore feared to make matters worse by provoking england further.[343] pope and princes might watch each other in distrust at a safe distance; but to the english conspirators the long pause was life or death. delays are usually fatal with intended rebellion. the only safety is in immediate action. enthusiasm cools, and secrets are betrayed. fisher's fate was a fresh spur to them to move, but it also proved that the government knew too much and did not mean to flinch. chapuys tried granvelle again. "every man of position here," he said, "is in despair at the pope's inaction. if something is not done promptly there will be no hope for the ladies, or for religion either, which is going daily to destruction. things are come to such a pass that at some places men even preach against the sacrament. the emperor is bound to interfere. what he has done in africa he can do in england with far more ease and with incomparably more political advantage."[344] granvelle could but answer that henry was a monster, and that god would undoubtedly punish him; but that for himself he was so busy that he could scarcely breathe, and that the emperor continued to hope for some peaceful arrangement. cifuentes meanwhile kept his hand on paul. his task was difficult, for his orders were to prevent the issue of the executorials for fear france should act upon them, while catholic christendom would be shaken to its base if it became known that it was the emperor who was preventing the holy see from avenging itself. even with the pope cifuentes could not be candid, and ortiz, working on paul's jealousy and unable to comprehend the obstacle, had persuaded his holiness to draw up "the brief of execution" and furnish a copy to himself.[345] "in the matter of the executory letters," cifuentes wrote to charles, "i have strictly followed your majesty's instructions. they have been kept back for a year and a half without the least appearance that the delay proceeded from us, but, on the contrary, as if we were disappointed that they were not drawn when asked for. besides his holiness's wish to wait for the result of the offers of france, another circumstance has served your majesty's purpose. there were certain clauses to which i could not consent, in the draft shown to me, as detrimental to the right of the queen and princess and to your majesty's preëminence. "now that all hope has vanished of the return of the king of england to obedience, dr. ortiz, not knowing that you wished the execution to be delayed, has taken out the executory letters and almost despatched them while i was absent at perugia. the letters are ready, nothing being wanted but the pope's seal. i have detained them for a few days, pretending that i must examine the wording. they will remain in my possession till you inform me of your pleasure."[346] the issue of the pope's censures either in the form of a letter of execution or of a bull of deposition was to be the signal of the english rising, with or without the emperor. darcy and his friends were ready and resolved to begin. but without the pope's direct sanction the movement would lose its inspiration. the irish rebellion had collapsed for the want of it. lord thomas fitzgerald had surrendered and was a prisoner in the tower. it was not the part of a child, however great her imagined wrongs, deliberately to promote an insurrection against her father. henry ii.'s sons had done it, but times were changed. the princess mary was determined to justify such of henry's council as had recommended the harshest measures against her. she wrote a letter to chapuys which, if intercepted, might have made it difficult for the king to save her. "the condition of things," she said, "is worse than wretched. the realm will fall to ruin unless his majesty, for the service of god, the welfare of christendom, the honour of the king my father, and compassion for the afflicted souls in this country, will take pity on us and apply the remedy. this i hope and feel assured that he will do if he is rightly informed of what is taking place. in the midst of his occupations in africa he will have been unable to realise our condition. the whole truth cannot be conveyed in letters. i would, therefore, have you despatch one of your own people to inform him of everything, and to supplicate him on the part of the queen my mother, and myself for the honour of god and for other respects to attend to and provide for us. in so acting he will accomplish a service most agreeable to almighty god. nor will he win less fame and glory to himself than he has achieved in the conquest of tunis or in all his african expedition."[347] catherine simultaneously addressed herself to the pope in a letter equally characteristic. the "brief of execution" was the natural close of her process, which, after judgment in her favour, she was entitled to demand. the pope wished her to apply for it, that it might appear to be granted at her instance and not on his own impulse. "most holy and blessed father," she wrote, "i kiss your holiness's hands. my letters have been filled with complaints and importunities, and have been more calculated to give you pain than pleasure. i have therefore for some time ceased from writing to your holiness, although my conscience has reproached me for my silence. one only satisfaction i have in thinking of the present state of things: i thank unceasingly our lord jesus christ for having appointed a vicar like your holiness, of whom so much good is spoken at a time when christendom is in so great a strait. god in his mercy has preserved you for this hour. once more, therefore, as an obedient child of the holy see, i do entreat you to bear this realm in special mind, to remember the king, my lord and husband, and my daughter. your holiness knows, and all christendom knows, what things are done here, what great offence is given to god, what scandal to the world, what reproach is thrown upon your holiness. if a remedy be not applied shortly there will be no end to ruined souls and martyred saints. the good will be firm and will suffer. the lukewarm will fail if they find none to help them, and the rest will stray out of the way like sheep that have lost their shepherd. i place these facts before your holiness because i know not any one on whose conscience the deaths of these holy and good men and the perdition of so many souls ought to weigh more heavily than on yours, inasmuch as your holiness neglects to encounter these evils which the devil, as we see, has sown among us. "i write frankly to your holiness, for the discharge of my own soul, as to one who, i hope, can feel with me and my daughter for the martyrdoms of these admirable persons. i have a mournful pleasure in expecting that we shall follow them in the manner of their torments. and so i end, waiting for the remedy from god and from your holiness. may it come speedily. if not, the time will be past. our lord preserve your holiness's person."[348] on the same day and by the same messenger she wrote to charles, congratulating him on his african victory, and imploring him, now that he was at liberty, to urge the pope into activity. in other words, she was desiring him to carry fire and sword through england, when if she herself six years before would have allowed the pope's predecessor to guide her and had retired into "religion," there would have been no divorce, no schism, no martyrs, no dangers of a european convulsion on her account. catherine, as other persons have done, had allowed herself to be governed by her own wounded pride, and called it conscience. chapuys conveyed the queen's arguments both to charles and to granvelle. he again assured them that the princess and her mother were in real danger of death. if the emperor continued to hesitate, he said, after his splendid victories in africa, there would be general despair. the opportunity would be gone, and an enterprise now easy would then be difficult, if not impossible. now was the time. the execution of more and fisher, the suppression of the monasteries, the spoliation of the church, had filled clerical and aristocratic england with fear and fury. the harvest had failed; and the failure was interpreted as a judgment from heaven on the king's conduct. so sure chapuys felt that the emperor would now move that he sent positive assurances to catherine that his master would not return to spain till he had restored her to her rights. even the bishop of tarbes, who was again in london, believed that henry was lost at last. the whole nation, he said, peers and commons, and even the king's own servants, were devoted to the princess and her mother, and would join any prince who would take up their cause. the discontent was universal, partly because the princess was regarded as the right heir to the crown, partly for fear of war and the ruin of trade. the autumn had been wet: half the corn was still in the fields. queen anne was universally execrated, and even the king was losing his love for her. if war was declared, the entire country would rise.[349] the pope, it has been seen, had thought of declaring mary to be queen in her father's place. such a step, if ventured, would inevitably be fatal to her. her friends in england wished to see her married to some foreign prince--if possible, to the dauphin--that she might be safe and out of the way. the princess herself, and even the emperor, were supposed to desire the match with the dauphin, because in such an alliance the disputes with france might be forgotten, and charles and the french king might unite to coerce henry into obedience. the wildest charges against henry were now printed and circulated in germany and the low countries. cromwell complained to chapuys. "worse," he said, "could not be said against jew or devil." chapuys replied ironically that he was sorry such things should be published. the emperor would do his best to stop them, but in the general disorder tongues could not be controlled. so critical the situation had become in these autumn months that cromwell, of course with the king's consent, was obliged to take the unusual step of interfering with the election of the lord mayor of london, alleging that, with the state in so much peril, it was of the utmost consequence to have a well-disposed man of influence and experience at the head of the city. "cromwell came to me this morning," chapuys wrote to his master on the 13th of october; "he said the king was informed that the emperor intended to attack him in the pope's name (he called his holiness, 'bishop of rome,' but begged my pardon while he did so,) and that a legate or bishop was coming to flanders to stir the fire. the king could not believe that the emperor had any such real intention after the friendship which he had shown him, especially when there was no cause. in breaking with the pope he had done nothing contrary to the law of god, and religion was nowhere better regulated and reformed than it was now in england. the king would send a special embassy to the emperor, if i thought it would be favourably received. i said i could not advise so great a prince. i believed that, if the object of such an embassy was one which your majesty could grant in honour and conscience, it would not only be well received but would be successful. otherwise, i could neither recommend nor dissuade."[350] by the same hand which carried this despatch chapuys forwarded the letters of catherine and mary, adding another of his own to granvelle, in which he said that "if the emperor wished to give peace and union to christendom, he must begin in england. it would be easy, for everyone was irritated. the king's treasure would pay for all, and would help, besides, for the enterprise against the turk. it was time to punish him for his folly and impiety."[351] charles seemed to have arrived at the same conclusion. he had already written from messina, on his return from tunis, both to chapuys and to his ambassador in paris, that, as long as henry retained his concubine, persisted in his divorce, and refused to recognise the princess as his heir, he could not honourably treat with him.[352] the pope, when catherine's letter reached him, was fuming with fresh anger at the fate of the irish rebellion. lord thomas, spite of papal absolution and blessing, was a prisoner in the tower. he had surrendered to his uncle, lord leonard grey, under some promise of pardon. he had been carried before the king. for a few days he was left at liberty, and might have been forgiven, if he would have made a satisfactory submission; but he calculated that "a new world" was not far off, and that he might hold out in safety. such a wild cat required stricter keeping. the tower gates closed on him, and soon after he paid for the archbishop's life with his own. ortiz, when he heard that fitzgerald was imprisoned, said that the choice lay before him to die a martyr or else to be perverted. god, he hoped, would permit the first. the spirit of one of the murdered carthusians had appeared to the brotherhood and informed them of the glorious crown which had been bestowed on fisher.[353] in this exalted humour catherine's letter found paul and the roman clergy. the pope had already informed cifuentes that he meant to proceed to "deprivation." the letters of execution had been so drawn or re-drawn as to involve the forfeiture of henry's throne,[354] and ortiz considered that providence had so ordered it that the pope was now acting _motu proprio_ and not at the queen's solicitation. cifuentes was of opinion, however, that paul meant to wait for the queen's demand, that the responsibility might be hers. chapuys's courier was ordered to deliver catherine's letter into the pope's own hands. cifuentes took the liberty of detaining it till the emperor's pleasure was known. but no one any longer doubted that the time was come. france and england were no longer united, and the word for action was to be spoken at last. at no period of his reign had henry been in greater danger. at home the public mind was unsettled. a large and powerful faction of peers and clergy were prepared for revolt, and abroad he had no longer an ally. england seemed on the eve of a conflict the issue of which no one could foresee. at this moment providence, or the good luck which had so long befriended him, interposed to save the king and save the reformation. sforza, duke of milan and husband of christina of denmark, died childless on the 24th of october. milan was the special subject of difference between france and the empire. the dispute had been suspended while the duke was alive. his death reopened the question, and the war long looked for for the milan succession became inevitable and immediately imminent. the entire face of things was now changed. francis had, perhaps, never seriously meant to join in executing the papal sentence against england; but he had intended to encourage the emperor to try, that he might fish himself afterwards in the troubled waters, and probably snatch at calais. he now required henry for a friend again, and the old difficulties and the old jealousies were revived in the usual form. both the great catholic powers desired the suspension of the censures. the emperor was again unwilling to act as the pope's champion while he was uncertain of the french king. francis wished to recover his position as henry's defender. the pope was an italian prince as well as sovereign of the church, and his secular interest was thought to be more french than imperial. no sooner was sforza gone than the cardinal du bellay and the bishop of mâcon were despatched from paris to see and talk with paul. they found him still too absorbed in the english question to attend to anything besides. he was in the high exalted mood of gregory vii., imagining that he was about to reassert the ancient papal prerogative, and again dispose of kingdoms. the pope, wrote the french commissioners, having heard that there was famine and plague in england, had made up his mind to act, and was incredibly excited. the sentence was prepared and was to issue unexpectedly like a bolt out of the blue sky. they enclosed a copy of it, and waited for instructions from francis as to the line which they were to take. to set things straight again would, they said, be almost impossible; but they would do their best to prevent extremities, and to show the king of england that they had endeavoured to serve him. nothing like the sentence which paul had constructed had been ever seen before. some articles had been inserted to force francis to choose between the pope and the king. they were malicious, unjust, and _terriblement enormes_.[355] the new hildebrand, applying to himself the words of jeremiah, "behold, i have set thee over nations and kingdoms, that thou mayest root out and destroy," had proceeded to root out henry. he had cursed him; he cursed his abettors. his body when he died was to lie unburied and his soul lie in hell for ever. his subjects were ordered to renounce their allegiance, and were to fall under interdict if they continued to obey him. no true son of the church was to hold intercourse or alliance with him or his adherents, under pain of sharing his damnation; and the princes of europe and the peers and commons of england were required, on their allegiance to the holy see, to expel him from the throne.[356] this was the "remedy" for which catherine had been so long entreating, out of affection for her misguided lord, whose soul she wished to save. the love which she professed was a love which her lord could have dispensed with. the papal nuncio reported from paris the attitude which france intended to assume. he had been speaking with the admiral philip de chabot about england. the admiral had admitted that the king had doubtless done violent things, and that the pope had a right to notice them. france did not wish to defend him against the pope, but, if he was attacked by the emperor, would certainly take his part. the nuncio said that he had pointed out that the king of england had god for an enemy; that he was, therefore, going to total ruin; and that the pope had hoped to find in francis a champion of the church. the admiral said that, of course, england ought to return to the faith: the pope could deal with him hereafter; but france must take care of her own interests.[357] charles, too, was uneasy and undecided. until the milan question had been reopened the french had spoken as if they would no longer stand between henry and retribution, but he was now assured that they would return to their old attitude. they had stood by henry through the long controversy of the divorce. even when fisher was sent to the scaffold they had not broken their connection with him. the king, he knew, was frightened, and would yield, if france was firm; but, unless the pope had a promise from the french king under his own hand to assist in executing the censures, the pope would find himself disappointed; and the fear was that francis would draw the emperor into a war with england and then leave him to make his own bargain.[358] kings whose thrones and lives are threatened cannot afford to be lenient. surrounded by traitors, uncertain of france, with the danger in which he stood immeasurably increased by the attitude of catherine and her daughter, the king, so the marchioness of exeter reported to chapuys, had been heard to say that they must bend or break. the anxiety which they were causing was not to be endured any longer. parliament was about to meet, and their situation would have then to be considered.[359] the marchioness entreated him to let the emperor know of this, and tell him that, if he waited longer, he would be too late to save them. chapuys took care that these alarming news should lose nothing in the relating. again, after a fortnight, lady exeter came to him, disguised, to renew the warning. the "she-devil of a concubine," she said, was thinking of nothing save of how to get the ladies despatched. the concubine ruled the council, and the king was afraid to contradict her. the fear was, as chapuys said, that he would make the parliament a joint party with him in his cruelties, and that, losing hope of pardon from the emperor, they would be more determined to defend themselves.[360] the danger, if danger there was, to catherine and mary, was chapuys's own creation. it was he who had encouraged them in defying the king, that they might form a visible rallying-point to the rebellion. charles was more rational than the ambassador, and less credulous of henry's wickedness. "i cannot believe what you tell me," he replied to his ambassador's frightful story. "the king cannot be so unnatural as to put to death his own wife and daughter. the threats you speak of can only be designed to terrify them. they must not give way, if it can be avoided; but, if they are really in danger, and there is no alternative, you may tell them from me that they must yield. a submission so made cannot prejudice their rights. they can protest that they are acting under compulsion, in fear for their lives. i will take care that their protestation is duly ratified by their proctors at rome."[361] chapuys was a politician, and obeyed his orders. but that either catherine or her daughter should give way was the last wish either of him or of ortiz, or any of the fanatical enthusiasts. martyrs were the seed of the church. if mary abandoned her claim to the succession, her name could no longer be used as a battle-cry. the object was a revolution which would shake henry from his throne. on the scaffold, as a victim to her fidelity to her mother and to the holy see, she would give an impulse to the insurrection which nothing could resist. the croaks of the raven were each day louder. lady exeter declared that the king had said that the princess should be an example that no one should disobey the law. there was a prophecy of him that at the beginning of his reign he would be gentle as a lamb, and at the end worse than a lion. that prophecy he meant to fulfil.[362] ortiz, who had his information from catherine herself, said that she was preparing to die as the bishop of rochester and the others had died. she regretted only that her life had not been as holy as theirs. the "kitchen-wench"--as ortiz named anne--had often said of the princess that either mary would be her death or she would be mary's, and that she would take care that mary did not laugh at her after she was gone.[363] stories flying at such a time were half of them the creation of rage and panic, imperfectly believed by those who related them, and reported to feed a fire which it was so hard to kindle; but they show the spirit of which the air was full. at rome there was still distrust. francis had shown the copy of the intended sentence to the different ambassadors at paris. he had said that the pope was claiming a position for the apostolic see which could not be allowed, and must be careful what he did.[364] paul agreed with the emperor that, before the sentence was delivered, pledges to assist must be exacted from francis, but had thought that he might calculate with sufficient certainty on the hereditary enmity between france and england. cifuentes told him that he must judge of the future by the past. the french were hankering after italy, and other things were nothing in comparison. the pope hinted that the emperor was said to be treating privately with henry. cifuentes could give a flat denial to this, for the treaty had been dropped. if the emperor, however, resolved to undertake the execution francis was not to be allowed to hear of it, as he would use the knowledge to set henry on his guard.[365] chapuys was a master of the art of conveying false impressions while speaking literal truth. francis, who, in spite of cifuentes, learnt what was being projected at rome, warned henry that the emperor was about to invade england. he even said that the emperor had promised that, if he would not interfere, the english crown might be secured to a french prince by a marriage with mary. cromwell questioned chapuys on such "strange news." lying cost chapuys nothing. the story was true, but he replied that it was wild nonsense. not only had the emperor never said such a thing, but he had never even thought of anything to the king's prejudice, and had always been solicitous for the honour and tranquillity of england. the emperor wished to increase, not diminish, the power of the king, and even for the sake of the queen and princess he would not wish the king to be expelled, knowing the love they bore him. cromwell said he had always told the king that the emperor would attempt nothing against him unless he was forced. chapuys agreed: so far, he said, from promoting hostilities against the king, the emperor, ever since the sentence on the divorce, had held back the execution, and, if further measures were taken, they would be taken by the pope and cardinals, not by the emperor.[366] in this last intimation chapuys was more correct than he was perhaps aware of. the pope, sick of the irresolutions and mutual animosities of the great catholic powers, had determined to act for himself. catherine's friends had his ear. they at all events knew their own minds. on the 10th of december he called a consistory, said that he had suffered enough in the english cause, and would bear it no more. he required the opinions of the cardinals on the issue of the executorial brief. the scene is described by du bellay, who was one of them, and was present. the cardinals, who had been debating and disagreeing for seven years, were still in favour of further delays. they all felt that a brief or bull deposing the king was a step from which there would be no retreat. the great powers, they were well aware, would resent the pope's assumption of an authority so arrogant. all but one of them said that before the executory letters were published a monition must first be sent to the king. the language of the letters, besides, was too comprehensive. the king's subjects and the king's allies were included in the censures, and, not being in fault, ought not to suffer. voices, too, were heard to say that kings were privileged persons, and ought not to be treated with disrespect. the pope, before dissatisfied with their objections, now in high anger at the last suggestion, declared that he would spare neither emperors, nor kings, nor princes. god had placed him over them all; the papal authority was not diminished--it was greater than ever, and would be greater still when there was a pope who dared to act without faction or cowardice. he reproached the cardinals with embroiling a clear matter. the brief, he maintained, was a good brief, faulty perhaps in style, but right in substance, and approved it was to be, and at once. it hit all round--hit the english people who continued loyal to their sovereign, hit the continental powers who had treaties with henry which they had not broken. the cardinals thought the pope would spoil everything. campeggio said such a bull touched the french king, and must not appear. the archbishop of capua went with the pope: "issue at once," he said, "or the king will be sending protests, as he did in clement's time." the pope spoke in great anger, but to no purpose. the majority of the cardinals was against him, and the bull was allowed to sleep till a more favourable time. "it is long," said du bellay, "since there has been a pope less loved by the college, the romans, and the world."[367] chapter xx. illness of queen catherine--her physician's report of her health--her last letter to the emperor--she sends for chapuys--interview between chapuys and henry--chapuys at kimbolton--death of catherine--examination of the body--suspicion of poison--chapuys's opinion--reception of the news at the court--message of anne boleyn to the princess mary--advice of chapuys-unpopularity of anne--court rumours. while the pope was held back by the cardinals, and the great powers were watching each other, afraid to move, the knot was about to be cut, so far as it affected the fortunes of catherine of aragon, in a manner not unnatural and, by cromwell and many others, not unforeseen. the agitation and anxieties of the protracted conflict had shattered her health. severe attacks of illness had more than once caused fear for her life, and a few months previously her recovery had been thought unlikely, if not impossible. cromwell had spoken of her death to chapuys as a contingency which would be useful to the peace of europe, and which he thought would not be wholly unwelcome to her nephew. politicians in the sixteenth century were not scrupulous, and chapuys may perhaps have honestly thought that such language suggested a darker purpose. but cromwell had always been catherine's friend within the limits permitted by his duty to the king and the reformation. the words which chapuys attributed to him were capable of an innocent interpretation; and it is in the highest degree unlikely that he, of all men, was contemplating a crime of which the danger would far outweigh the advantage, and which would probably anticipate for a few weeks or months only a natural end, or that, if he had seriously entertained such an intention, he would have made a confidant of the spanish ambassador. catherine had been wrought during the autumn months into a state of the highest excitement. her letters to the pope had been the outpourings of a heart driven near to breaking; and if chapuys gave her charles's last message, if she was told that it was the emperor's pleasure that she and her daughter must submit, should extremities be threatened against them, she must have felt a bitter conviction that the remedy which she had prayed for would never be applied, and that the struggle would end in an arrangement in which she would herself be sacrificed. the life at kimbolton was like the life at an ordinary well-appointed english country-house. the establishment was moderate, but the castle was in good condition and well-furnished; everything was provided which was required for personal comfort; the queen had her own servants, her confessor, her physician, and two or three ladies-in-waiting; if she had not more state about her it was by her own choice, for, as has been seen, she had made her recognition as queen the condition of her accepting a more adequate establishment. bodily hardships she had none to suffer, but she had a chronic disorder of long standing, which had been aggravated by the high-strung expectations of the last half-dozen years. sir john wallop, the english ambassador at paris, had been always "her good servant;" lady wallop was her _creatura_ and was passionately attached to her. from the wallops the nuncio at the french court heard in the middle of december that she could not live more than six months. they had learnt the "secret" of her illness from her own physician, and their evident grief convinced him that they were speaking the truth. francis also was aware of her condition; the end was known to be near, and it was thought in court circles that when she was gone "the king would leave his present queen and return to the obedience of the church."[368] the disorder from which catherine was suffering had been mentioned by cromwell to chapuys. the ambassador asked to be allowed to visit her. cromwell said that he might send a servant at once to kimbolton, to ascertain her condition, and that he would ask the king's permission for himself to follow. the alarming symptoms passed off for the moment; she rallied from the attack, and on the 13th of december she was able to write to ortiz, to tell him of the comfort and encouragement which she had received from his letters, and from the near prospect of the pope's action. in that alone lay the remedy for the sufferings of herself and her daughter and "all the good." the devil, she said, was but half-tied, and slackness would let him loose. she could not and dared not speak more clearly; ortiz was a wise man, and would understand.[369] on the same day she wrote her last letter to the emperor. the handwriting, once bold and powerful, had grown feeble and tremulous, and the imperfectly legible lines convey only that she expected something to be done at the approaching parliament which would be a world's scandal and her own and her daughter's destruction.[370] finding herself a little better, she desired chapuys to speak to cromwell about change of air for her, and to ask for a supply of money to pay the servants' wages. money was a gratuitous difficulty: she had refused to take anything which was addressed to her as princess dowager, and the allowance was in arrears. she had some confidence in cromwell, and charles, too, believed, in spite of chapuys's stories, that cromwell meant well to catherine, and wished to help her. he wrote himself to cromwell to say that his loyal service would not be forgotten.[371] chapuys heard no more from kimbolton for a fortnight, and was hoping that the attack had gone off like those which had preceded it; on the 29th, however, there came a letter to him from the spanish physician, saying that she was again very ill, and wished to see him. chapuys went to cromwell immediately. cromwell assured him that no objection would be raised, but that, before he set out, the king desired to speak with him. he hurried to greenwich, where the court was staying, and found henry more than usually gracious, but apparently absorbed in politics. he walked up and down the room with his arm around the ambassador's neck, complained that charles had not written to him, and that he did not know what to look for at his hands. the french, he said, were making advances to him, and had become so pressing, since the death of the duke of milan, that he would be forced to listen to them, unless he could be satisfied of the emperor's intentions. he was not to be deluded into a position where he would lose the friendship of both of them. francis was burning for war. for himself he meant honourably, and would be perfectly open with chapuys: he was an englishman, he did not say one thing when he meant another. why had not the emperor let him know distinctly whether he would treat with him or not? chapuys hinted a fear that he had been playing with the emperor only to extort better terms from france. a war for milan there might possibly be, but the emperor after his african successes was stronger than he had ever been, and had nothing to fear. all that might be very well, henry said, but if he was to throw his sword into the scale the case might be different. hitherto, however, he had rejected the french overtures, and did not mean to join france in an italian campaign if the emperor did not force him. as to the threats against himself, english commerce would of course suffer severely if the trade was stopped with the low countries, but he could make shift elsewhere; he did not conceal his suspicions that the emperor meant him ill, or his opinion that he had been treated unfairly in the past.[372] chapuys enquired what he wished the emperor to do. to abstain, the king replied, from encouraging the princess and her mother in rebellion, and to require the revocation of the sentence which had been given on the divorce. the emperor could not do that, chapuys rejoined, even if he wished to do it. the king said he knew the pope had called on the emperor to execute the sentence; he did not believe, however, that madame, as he called catherine, had long to live, and, when she was gone, the emperor would have no further excuse for interfering in english affairs. chapuys replied that the queen's death would make no difference. the sentence had been a necessity. the king ended the conversation by telling him that he might go to see her, if he liked; but she was _in extremis_, and he would hardly find her alive. at the princess's request, chapuys asked if she also might go to her mother. at first henry refused, but said, after a moment, he would think about it, and added, as chapuys afterwards recollected, a few words of kindness to catherine herself. unfeeling and brutal, the world exclaims. more feeling may have been shown, perhaps, than chapuys cared to note. but kings whose thrones are menaced with invasion and rebellion have not much leisure for personal emotions. affection for catherine henry had none, however, and a pretence of it would have been affectation. she had harassed him for seven years; she had urged the pope to take his crown from him; she had done her worst to stir his subjects into insurrection, and bring a spanish fleet and army into english waters and upon english soil. respect her courage he did, but love for her, if in such a marriage love had ever existed, must have long disappeared, and he did not make a show of a regret which it was impossible for him to feel. he perhaps considered that he had done more than enough in resisting the advice of his council to take stronger measures. after despatching the letter describing the interview at greenwich, the ambassador started with his suite for kimbolton, and with a gentleman of cromwell's household in attendance. immediately on his arrival catherine sent for him to her bedside, and desired that this gentleman should be present also, to hear what passed between them. she thanked chapuys for coming. she said, if god was to take her, it would be a consolation to her to die in his arms and not like a wild animal. she said she had been taken seriously ill at the end of november with pain in the stomach and nausea; a second and worse attack of the same kind had followed on christmas day; she could eat nothing, and believed that she was sinking. chapuys encouraged her--expressed his hopes for her recovery--said that he was commissioned to tell her that she might choose a residence for herself at any one of the royal manors, that the king would give her money, and was sorry to hear of her illness. he himself entreated her to keep up her spirits, as on her recovery and life the peace of christendom depended. the visit excited her, she was soon exhausted, and they then left her to rest. after an interval she sent for the ambassador again, and talked for two hours with him alone. she had brightened up; the next morning she was better; he remained four days at kimbolton, which were spent in private conversation. she was the same catherine which she had always been--courageous, resolute, and inflexible to the end. she spoke incessantly of the emperor, and of her own and her daughter's situation. she struck perpetually on the old note: the delay of the "remedy" which was causing infinite evil, and destroying the souls and bodies of all honest and worthy people. chapuys explained to her how the emperor had been circumstanced, and how impossible it had been for him to do more than had been done. he comforted her, however, with dilating on the pope's indignation at the execution of fisher, and his determination to act in earnest at last. he told her how francis, who had been the chief difficulty, was now becoming alienated from the king, and satisfied her that the delay had not been caused by forgetfulness of herself and the princess. with these happier prospects held out to her she recovered her spirits and appeared to be recovering her health. at the end of the four days she was sleeping soundly, enjoying her food, laughing and exchanging castilian jokes with a spaniard whom chapuys had brought with him. she was so much better, so happy, and so contented, that the ambassador ceased to be alarmed about her. he thought it would be imprudent to abuse the king's permission by remaining longer unnecessarily. the physician made no objection to his going, and promised to let him know if there was again a change for the worse; but this person evidently no longer believed that there was any immediate danger, for his last words to chapuys were to ask him to arrange for her removal from kimbolton to some better air. catherine, when the ambassador took leave, charged him to write to the emperor, to granvelle, and to secretary covos, and entreat them, for god's sake, to make an end one way or the other, for the uncertainty was ruining the realm and would be her own and her daughter's destruction. this was on the night of tuesday, the 4th of january. chapuys was to leave the next morning. before departing he ascertained that she had again slept well, and he rode off without disturbing her. through the wednesday and thursday she continued to improve, and on the thursday afternoon she was cheerful, sate up, asked for a comb and dressed her hair. that midnight, however, she became suddenly restless, begged for the sacrament, and became impatient for morning when it could be administered. her confessor, father ateca (who had come with her from spain, held the see of llandaff, and had been left undisturbed through all the changes of the late years), offered to anticipate the canonical hour, but she would not allow him. at dawn on friday she communicated, prayed god to pardon the king for the wrongs which had been inflicted upon her, and received extreme unction; she gave a few directions for the disposition of her personal property, and then waited for the end. at two o'clock in the afternoon she passed peacefully away (friday, jan. 7, 1536). a strange circumstance followed. the body was to be embalmed. there were in the house three persons who, according to chapuys, had often performed such operations, neither of them, however, being surgeons by profession. these men, eight hours after the death, opened the stomach in the usual way, but without the presence either of the confessor or the physician. chapuys says that these persons were acting by the king's command,[373] but there is nothing to indicate that the confessor and physician might not have been present at the operation had they thought it necessary. chapuys had previously asked the physician if the queen could have been poisoned. the physician said that he feared so, as she had not been well since she had taken some welsh ale; if there had been poison, however, it must have been very subtle, as he had observed no symptom which indicated it; when the body was opened they would know.[374] the physician had thus looked forward to an examination, and had he really entertained suspicions he would certainly have made an effort to attend. if he was prohibited, or if the operation had been hurried through without his knowledge, it is not conceivable that, after he had left england and returned to his own country, he would not have made known a charge so serious to the world. this he never did. it is equally remarkable that on removing from kimbolton he was allowed to attend upon the princess mary--a thing impossible to understand if he had any mystery of the kind to communicate to her, or if the government had any fear of what he might say. when the operation was over, however, one of the men went to the father ateca and told him in confession, as if in fear of his life, that the body and intestines were natural and healthy, but that the heart was black. they had washed it, he said; they had divided it, but it remained black and was black throughout. on this evidence the physician concluded that the queen, beyond doubt, had died of poison.[375] a reader who has not predetermined to believe the worst of henry viii. will probably conclude differently. the world did not believe catherine to have been murdered, for among the many slanders which the embittered catholics then and afterwards heaped upon henry, they did not charge him with this. chapuys, however, believed, or affected to believe, that by some one or other murdered she had been. it was a terrible business, he wrote. the princess would die of grief, or else the concubine would kill her. even if the queen and princess had taken the emperor's advice and submitted, the concubine, he thought, under colour of the reconciliation which would have followed, would have made away with them the more fearlessly, because there would then be less suspicion. he had not been afraid of the king. the danger was from the concubine, who had sworn to take their lives and would never have rested till it was done. the king and his mistress, however, had taken a shorter road. they were afraid of the issue of the brief of execution. with catherine dead the process at rome would drop, the chief party to the suit being gone. further action would have to be taken by the pope on his own account, and no longer upon hers, and the pope would probably hesitate; while, as soon as the mother was out of the way, there would be less difficulty in working upon the daughter, whom, being a subject, they would be able to constrain.[376] it was true that the threatened papal brief, being a part and consequence of the original suit, would have to be dropped or recalled. henry could not be punished for not taking back his wife when the wife was dead. to that extent her end was convenient, and thus a motive may be suggested for making away with her. it was convenient also, as was frankly avowed, in removing the principal obstacle to the reconciliation of henry and the emperor; but, surely, on the condition that the death was natural. had charles allowed chapuys to persuade him that his aunt had been murdered, reconciliation would have been made impossible for ever, and henry would have received the just reward of an abominable crime. chapuys's object from the beginning had been to drive the emperor into war with england, and if motive may be conjectured for the murder of catherine, motive also can be found for chapuys's accusations, which no other evidence, direct or indirect, exists to support. if there had been foul play there would have been an affectation of sorrow. there was none at all. when the news arrived anne boleyn and her friends showed unmixed pleasure. the king (chapuys is again the only witness and he was reporting from hearsay) thanked god there was now no fear of war; when the french knew that there was no longer any quarrel between him and the emperor, he could do as he pleased with them. chapuys says these were his first words on receiving the tidings that catherine was gone--words not unnatural if the death was innocent, but scarcely credible if she had been removed by assassination. the effect was of general relief at the passing away of a great danger. it was thought that the pope would now drop the proceedings against the king, and cromwell said that perhaps before long they would have a legate among them. even chapuys, on consideration, reflected that he might have spoken too confidently about the manner of catherine's end. her death, he imagined, had been brought about partly by poison and partly by despondency. had he reflected further he might have asked himself how poison could have been administered at all, as the queen took nothing which had not been prepared by her own servants, who would all have died for her. undoubtedly, however, the king breathed more freely when she was gone. there was no longer a woman who claimed to be his wife, and whose presence in the kingdom was a reflection on the legitimacy of his second daughter. on the sunday following, the small elizabeth was carried to church with special ceremony. in the evening there was a dance in the hall of the palace, and the king appeared in the middle of it with the child in his arms. all allowance must be made for the bitterness with which chapuys described the scene. he was fresh from catherine's bedside. he had witnessed her sufferings; he had listened to the story of her wrongs from her own lips. he had talked hopefully with her of the future, and had encouraged her to expect a grand and immediate redress; and now she was dead, worn out with sorrow, if with nothing worse, an object at least to make the dullest heart pity her, while of pity there was no sign. what was to be done? he himself had no doubt at all. the enemy was off his guard and now was the moment to strike. anne boleyn sent a message to mary that she was ready, on her submission, to be her friend and a second mother to her. mary replied that she would obey her father in everything, saving her honour and conscience, but that it was useless to ask her to abjure the pope. she was told that the king himself would use his authority and command her to submit. she consulted chapuys on the answer which she was to give should such a command be sent. he advised her to be resolute but cautious. she must ask to be left in peace to pray for her mother's soul; she must say that she was a poor orphan, without experience or knowledge; the king must allow her time to consider. he himself despatched a courier to the regent of the netherlands with plans for her escape out of england. the pope, he said, must issue his bull without a day's delay, and in it, for the sake of catherine's honour, it must be stated that she died queen. instant preparations must be made for the execution of the sentence. meanwhile he recommended the emperor to send some great person to remonstrate against the princess's treatment and to speak out boldly and severely. the late queen, he wrote, used to say that the king and his advisers were like sheep to those who appeared like wolves, and lions to those who were afraid of them. mildness at such a moment would be the ruin of christendom. if the emperor hesitated longer, those who showed no sorrow at the mother's death would take courage to make an end with the daughter. there would be no need of poison. grief and hard usage would be enough.[377] the king with some hesitation had consented to chapuys's request that catherine's physician should be allowed to attend the princess. the presence of this man would necessarily be a protection, and either anne's influence was less supreme than the ambassador had feared or her sinister designs were a malicious invention. it is unlikely, however, that warnings so persistently repeated and so long continued should have been wholly without foundation, and, if the inner secrets of the court could be laid open, it might be found that the princess had been the subject of many an altercation between anne and the king. even chapuys always acknowledged that it was from her, and not from henry, that the danger was to be feared. he had spoken warmly of mary, had shown affection for her when her behaviour threatened his own safety. he admired the force of character which she was showing, and had silenced peremptorily the ministers who recommended severity. but if he was her father, he was also king of england. if he was to go through with his policy towards the church, the undisguised antagonism of a child whom three quarters of his subjects looked on as his legitimate successor, was embarrassing and even perilous. had anne boleyn produced the prince so much talked of all would then have been easy. he would not then be preferring a younger daughter to an elder. both would yield to a brother with whom all england would be satisfied, and mary would cease to have claims which the emperor would feel bound to advocate. the whole nation were longing for a prince; but the male heir, for which the king had plunged into such a sea of troubles, was still withheld. he had interpreted the deaths of the sons whom catherine had borne him into a judgment of heaven upon his first marriage; the same disappointment might appear to a superstitious fancy to be equally a condemnation of the second. anne boleyn's conduct during the last two years had not recommended her either to the country or perhaps to her husband. setting aside the graver charges afterwards brought against her, it is evident that she had thrown herself fiercely into the political struggles of the time. to the catholic she was a _diablesse_, a tigress, the author of all the mischief which was befalling them and the realm. by the prudent and the moderate she was almost equally disliked; the nation generally, and even reformers like cromwell and cranmer, were imperialist; anne boleyn was passionately french. personally she had made herself disliked by her haughty and arrogant manners. she had been received as queen, after her marriage was announced, with coldness, if not with hostility. had she been gracious and modest she might have partially overcome the prejudice against her. but she had been carried away by the vanity of her elevation; she had insulted the great english nobles; she had spoken to the duke of norfolk "as if he was a dog;" she had threatened to take off cromwell's head. such manners and such language could not have made henry's difficulties less, or been pleasing to a sovereign whose authority depended on the goodwill of his people. he had fallen in love with an unworthy woman, as men will do, even the wisest; yet in his first affection he had not been blind to her faults, and, even before his marriage, had been heard to say that, if it was to be done again, he would not have committed himself so far. he had persisted, perhaps, as much from pride, and because he would not submit to the dictation of the emperor, as from any real attachment. qualities that he could respect she had none. catherine was gone; from that connection he was at last free, even in the eyes of the roman curia; but whether he was or was not married lawfully to anne, was a doubtful point in the mind of many a loyal englishman; and, to the best of his own friends, to the emperor, and to all europe, his separation from a woman whom the catholic world called his concubine, and a marriage with some other lady which would be open to no suspicion and might result in the much desired prince, would have been welcomed as a peace-offering. she had done nothing to reconcile the nation to her. she had left nothing undone to exasperate it. she was believed, justly or unjustly, to have endeavoured to destroy the princess mary. she was credited by remorseful compassion with having been the cause of her mother's death. the isolation and danger of england was all laid to her account. she was again _enceinte_. if a prince was born, all faults would be forgotten; but she had miscarried once since the birth of elizabeth, and a second misfortune might be dangerous. she had failed in her attempts to conciliate mary, who, but for an accident, would have made good her escape out of england. when the preparations were almost complete the princess had been again removed to another house, from which it was found impossible to carry her away. but chapuys mentions that, glad as anne appeared at the queen's death, she was less at ease than she pretended. lord and lady exeter had brought him a court rumour of words said to have been uttered by the king, that "he had been drawn into the marriage by witchcraft; god had shown his displeasure by denying him male children by her, and therefore he might take another wife." lord and lady exeter were not trustworthy authorities--on this occasion even chapuys did not believe them--but stories of the kind were in the wind. it was notorious that everything was not well between the king and lady anne. a curious light is thrown on the state of anne's mind by a letter which she wrote to her aunt, mrs. shelton, after mary's rejection of her advances. mrs. shelton left it lying open on a table. mary found it, copied it, and replaced it, and the transcript, in mary's handwriting, is now at vienna. "mrs. shelton,--my pleasure is that you seek to go no further to move the lady mary towards the king's grace, other than as he himself directed in his own words to her. what i have done myself has been more for charity than because the king or i care what course she takes, or whether she will change or not change her purpose. when i shall have a son, as soon i look to have, i know what then will come to her. remembering the word of god, that we should do good to our enemies, i have wished to give her notice before the time, because by my daily experience i know the wisdom of the king to be such that he will not value her repentance or the cessation of her madness and unnatural obstinacy when she has no longer power to choose. she would acknowledge her errors and evil conscience by the law of god and the king if blind affection had not so sealed her eyes that she will not see but what she pleases. "mrs. shelton, i beseech you, trouble not yourself to turn her from any of her wilful ways, for to me she can do neither good nor ill. do your own duty towards her, following the king's commandment, as i am assured that you do and will do, and you shall find me your good lady, whatever comes. "your good mistress, "anne r." chapter xxi. funeral of catherine--miscarriage of anne--the princess mary and the act of supremacy--her continued desire to escape--effect of catherine's death on spanish policy--desire of the emperor to recover the english alliance-chapuys and cromwell--conditions of the treaty--efforts of the emperor to recover henry to the church--matrimonial schemes--likelihood of a separation of the king from anne--jane seymour--anne's conduct--the imperial treaty--easter at greenwich--debate in council--the french alliance or the imperial--the alternative advantages--letter of the king to his ambassador in spain. catherine was buried with some state in peterborough cathedral, on the 29th of january. in the ceremonial she was described as the widow of prince arthur, not as the queen of england, and the spanish ambassador, therefore, declined to be present. on the same day anne boleyn again miscarried, and this time of a male infant. she laid the blame of her misfortune on the duke of norfolk. the king had been thrown from his horse; norfolk, she said, had alarmed her, by telling her of the accident too suddenly. this chapuys maliciously said that the king knew to be untrue, having been informed she had heard the news with much composure. the disappointment worked upon his mind; he said he saw plainly god would give him no male children by that woman; he went once to her bedside, spoke a few cold words, and left her with an intimation that he would speak to her again when she was recovered. some concluded that there was a defect in her constitution; others whispered that she had been irritated at attentions which the king had been paying to jane seymour, who in earlier days had been a lady-in-waiting to catherine. anne herself, according to a not very credible story of chapuys's, was little disturbed; her ladies were lamenting; she consoled them by saying that it was all for the best; the child that had been lost had been conceived in the queen's lifetime, and the legitimacy of it might have been doubtful; no uncertainty would attach to the next.[378] it is not likely that anne felt uncertain on such a point, or would have avowed it if she had. she might have reasons of her own for her hopes of another chance. henry seemed to have no hope at all; he sent chapuys a message through cromwell that mary's situation was now changed; her train should be increased, and her treatment improved--subject, however, of course, to her submission. mary had made up her mind, under chapuys's advice, that if a prince was born, she would acknowledge the act of supremacy and the act of succession with a secret protest, as the emperor had recommended her. she had no intention, however, of parting with her pretensions, and alienating her friends, as long as there was no brother whose claims she could not dispute. chapuys had imagined, and mary had believed, that the emperor would have resented the alleged poisoning of catherine; that, instead of her death removing the danger of war, as henry supposed, war had now become more certain than ever. with this impression, the princess still kept her mind fixed on escaping out of the country, and continued to press chapuys to take her away. she had infinite courage; a flemish ship was hovering about the mouth of the thames ready to come up, on receiving notice, within two or three miles of gravesend. the house to which she had been removed was forty miles from the place where she would have to embark; it was inconvenient for the intended enterprise, and was, perhaps, guarded, though she did not know it. she thought, however, that, if chapuys would send her something to drug her women with, she could make her way into the garden, and the gate could be broken open. "she was so eager," chapuys said, "that, if he had told her to cross the channel in a sieve, she would venture it;" the distance from gravesend was the difficulty: the flemish shipmaster was afraid to go higher up the river: a forty miles' ride would require relays of horses, and the country through which she had to pass was thickly inhabited. means, however, might be found to take her down in a boat, and if she was once out of england, and under the emperor's protection, chapuys was convinced that the king would no longer kick against the pricks. mary herself was less satisfied on this point. happy as she would be to find herself out of personal danger, she feared her father might still persist in his heresies, and bring more souls to perdition; "she would, therefore, prefer infinitely," she said, "the general and total remedy so necessary for god's service." she wished chapuys to send another messenger to the emperor, to stir him up to activity. but chapuys, desperate of rousing charles by mere entreaties, encouraged her flight out of the country as the surest means of bringing henry to a reckoning. the difficulty would not be very great; the king had shown an inclination to be more gentle with her; mrs. shelton had orders to admit her mother's physician to her at any time that he pleased; and others of the household at kimbolton were to be transferred to her service; these relaxations would make the enterprise much easier, and chapuys was disposed to let it be tried. the emperor's consent, however, was of course a preliminary condition, and his latest instructions had been unfavourable. the ambassador, therefore, referred the matter once more to charles's judgment, adding only, with a view to his own safety, that, should the escape be carried out, his own share in it would immediately be suspected; and the king, who had no fear of anyone in the world, would undoubtedly kill him. he could be of no use in the execution of the plot, and would, therefore, make an excuse to cross to flanders before the attempt was made.[379] chapuys's precipitancy had been disappointed before, and was to be disappointed again; he had worked hard to persuade charles that catherine had been murdered; charles, by the manner in which he received the intelligence, showed that his minister's representations had not convinced him. in sending word to the empress that the queen was dead, the emperor said that accounts differed as to her last illness: some saying that it was caused by an affection of the stomach, which had lasted for some days; others that she had drunk something suspected to have contained poison. he did not himself say that he believed her to have been poisoned, nor did he wish it to be repeated as coming from him. the princess, he heard, was inconsolable; he hoped god would have pity on her. he had gone into mourning, and had ordered the spanish court to do the same.[380] in spain there was an obvious consciousness that nothing had been done of which notice could be taken. had there been a belief that a spanish princess had been made away with in england, as the consummation of a protracted persecution, so proud a people would indisputably have demanded satisfaction. the effect was exactly the opposite. articles had been drawn by the spanish council for a treaty with france as a settlement of the dispute about milan. one of the conditions was the stipulation to which cromwell had referred in a conversation with chapuys, that france was to undertake the execution of the papal sentence and the reduction of england to the church. the queen being dead, the emperor's council recommended that this article should now be withdrawn, and the recovery of the king be left to negotiation.[381] instead of seeing in catherine's death an occasion for violence, they found in it a fresh motive for a peaceful arrangement. it was assumed that if the princess escaped, and if henry did not then submit, war would be the immediate consequence. the emperor, always disinclined towards the "remedy" which his ambassador had so long urged upon him, acted as cromwell expected. the adventurous flight to gravesend had to be abandoned, and he decided that mary must remain quiet. in protecting catherine while alive he had so far behaved like a gentleman and a man of honour. he was her nearest relation, and it was impossible for him to allow her to be pushed aside without an effort to prevent it. but as a statesman he had felt throughout that a wrong to his relation, or even a wrong to the holy see, in the degraded condition of the papacy, was no sufficient cause for adding to the confusions of christendom. he had rather approved than condemned the internal reforms in the church of england: and, after taking time to reflect and perhaps inquire more particularly into the circumstances of catherine's end, he behaved precisely as he would have done if he was satisfied that her death was natural: he gave chapuys to understand, in a letter from naples,[382] that, if a fresh opening presented itself, he must take up again the abandoned treaty; and the secret interviews recommenced between the ambassador and the english chief secretary. these instructions must have arrived a week after the plans had been completed for mary's escape, and chapuys had to swallow his disappointment and obey with such heart as he could command. the first approaches were wary on both sides. cromwell said that he had no commission to treat directly; and that, as the previous negotiations had been allowed to drop, the first overtures must now come from the emperor; the queen being gone, however, the ground of difference was removed, and the restoration of the old alliance was of high importance to christendom; the king and the emperor united could dictate peace to the world; france was on the eve of invading italy, and had invited the king to make a simultaneous attack upon flanders; a party in the council wished him to consent; the king, however, preferred the friendship of the emperor, and, catherine being no longer alive, there was nothing to keep them asunder. chapuys, who never liked the proposal of a treaty at all, listened coldly; he said he had heard language of that kind before, and wished for something more precise; cromwell replied that he had been speaking merely his own opinion; he had no authority and, therefore, could not enter into details; if there was to be a reconciliation, he repeated that the emperor must make the advances. the emperor, chapuys rejoined, would probably make four conditions: the king must be reconciled to the church as well as to himself; the princess must be restored to her rank and be declared legitimate; the king must assist in the war with the turks, and the league must be offensive as well as defensive. cromwell's answer was more encouraging than chapuys perhaps desired. the fourth article, he said, would be accepted at once, and on the third the king would do what he could; no great objection would be made to the second; the door was open. reconciliation with rome would be difficult, but even that was not impossible. if the emperor would write under his own hand to the dukes of norfolk and suffolk, and to the duke of richmond, who in mind and body singularly resembled his father, much might be done. a confidential minister would not have ventured so far without knowing henry's private views, and such large concessions were a measure of the decline of anne boleyn's influence. as regarded the princess mary, chapuys had found that there was a real disposition to be more kind to her, for the king had sent her a crucifix which had belonged to her mother, containing a piece of the true cross, which catherine had desired that she should have,[383] and had otherwise showed signs of a father's affection. the emperor himself now appears upon the scene, and the eagerness which he displayed for a reconciliation showed how little he had really seen to blame in henry's conduct. so long as catherine lived he was bound in honour to insist on her acknowledgment as queen; but she was gone, and he was willing to say no more about her. he saw that the intellect and energy of england were running upon the german lines. chapuys, and perhaps other correspondents more trustworthy, had assured him that, if things went on as they were going, the hold of the catholic church on the english people would soon be lost. the king himself, if he wished it, might not be able to check the torrent, and the opinion of his vassals and his own imperious disposition might carry him to the extreme lengths of luther. the emperor was eager to rescue henry before it was too late from the influences under which his quarrel with the pope had plunged him. he praised chapuys's dexterity; he was pleased with what cromwell had said, and proceeded himself to take up the points of the proposals. "the withdrawal of the king from the church of rome," he said, "was a matter of great importance. his pride might stand in the way of his turning back: he might be ashamed of showing a want of resolution before the world and before his subjects, and he was obstinate in his own opinions." charles, therefore, directed chapuys to lay before him such considerations as were likely to affect his judgment, the peril to his soul, the division and confusion sure to arise in his realm, and the evident danger should the pope go on to the execution of the sentence and call in the assistance of the princes of christendom. under the most favourable aspect, both he and his supporters would be held in continual anxiety; and, though he might be able to maintain what he had begun as long as he himself lived, he could not do it without great difficulty, and would inevitably leave an inheritance of calamity to those who came after him. chapuys was to advise him, therefore, to take timely measures for the security of the realm, and either refer his differences with the pope to a general council, or trust to charles himself to negotiate for him with the holy see, which he might assure himself that charles would do on honourable and favourable terms. the chief objections likely to be raised by henry would be the pope's sentence in the divorce case, the interests of his country in the annates question, and other claims upon the realm which the pope pretended. the first could be disposed of in the arrangement to be made for the princess; the annates could be moderated, and a limit fixed for the pope's other demands; as to the supreme authority over the church of england, chapuys might persuade the king that the relative positions of the crown and the holy see might be determined to his own honour, and the profit and welfare of the realm.[384] the emperor, indeed, was obliged to add he could give no pledge to the prejudice of the church without the pope's consent, but chapuys might promise that he would use his utmost exertions to bring about a reasonable composition. charles evidently did not intend to allow the pretensions of the papacy to stand in the way of the settlement of europe. if the ambassador saw that a reconciliation with rome was hopeless, sooner than lose the treaty the emperor was ready to consent to leave that point out in order to carry the others, provided the king did not require him directly to countenance what he had done. as to the princess, care would have to be taken not to compromise the honour of the late queen, or the legitimacy and rights of her daughter. if her father would not consent to recognise formally her claim on the succession, that too might be left in suspense till the king's death; and charles was willing to undertake that, as long as henry lived, no action was to be taken against him, and none permitted to be taken on the part of any one, not even of the pope, to punish him for his treatment of catherine--not though her end had been hastened, as some suspected, by sinister means. a marriage could be arranged for mary between the king and the emperor; and, should the king himself decide to abandon the concubine and marry again in a fit and convenient manner, chapuys was to offer no opposition, and the emperor said that he would not object to help him in conformity with the treaty.[385] it was obvious to everyone that, if henry separated from anne, an immediate marriage with some other person would follow. charles was already weighing the possibility, and when the event occurred it will be seen that he lost not a moment in endeavouring to secure henry's hand for another of his own relations. princes and statesmen are not scrupulous in arranging their political alliances, but, considering all that had happened and all that was about to happen, the readiness of charles v. to bestow a second kinswoman on the husband of queen catherine may be taken to prove that his opinion of henry's character was less unfavourable than that which is generally given by historians. cromwell had been premature in allowing a prospect of the restoration of the papal authority in england. charles, in his eagerness to smooth matters, had suggested that a way might be found to leave the king the reality of the supremacy, while the form was left to the pope. but no such arrangement was really possible, and henry had gone on with his legislative measures against the church as if no treaty was under consideration. parliament had met again, and had passed an act for the suppression of the smaller monasteries. that the emperor should be suing to him for an alliance while he was excommunicated by the pope, and was deliberately pursuing a policy which was exasperating his own clergy, was peculiarly agreeable to henry, and he enjoyed the triumph which it gave him; a still greater triumph would be another marriage into the imperial family; and a wish that he should form some connection, the legality of which could not be disputed, was widely entertained and freely uttered among his own subjects. chapuys, before charles's letter could have reached him, had been active in encouraging the idea. he had spoken to mary about it, and mary had been so delighted at the prospect of her father's separation from anne, that she said she would rejoice at it, though it cost her the succession.[386] that the king was likely to part with anne was the general talk of london. chapuys called on cromwell, alluded to the rumour which had reached him, and intimated how much mischief would be avoided if the king could make up his mind to take another wife, against whom no objection could be brought. cromwell said that he had never himself been in favour of the marriage with anne, but, seeing the king bent on it, he had assisted him to the best of his power; he believed, however, that, the thing having been done, the king would abide by it; he might pay attentions to other ladies, but they meant nothing. cromwell's manner seemed peculiar, and chapuys observed him more closely. the secretary was leaning against a window, turning away his face as if to conceal a smile. there had been a report that some french princess was being thought of, and perhaps chapuys made some allusion to it; for cromwell said that chapuys might assure himself that, if the king did take another wife, he would not look for her in france. the smile might have had a meaning which chapuys could not suspect. the secretary was by this time acquainted with circumstances in anne's conduct which might throw another aspect on the situation, but the moment had not come to reveal them. it is likely enough that the king had been harassed and uncertain. the air was thick with stories claiming to be authentic. lady exeter had told chapuys that the king had sent a purse and a letter to jane seymour, of whom anne had been jealous. jane seymour had returned the letter unopened and the money along with it, and had prayed the bearer to say to the king that he must keep his presents till she made some honourable marriage. lady exeter and her friends made their own comments. anne's enemies, it was said, were encouraging the intimacy with jane, and had told the lady to impress upon the king that the nation detested his connection with anne and that no one believed it lawful; as if it was likely that a woman in the position in which jane seymour was supposed to stand could have spoken to him on such a subject, or would have recommended herself to henry, if she did. at the same time it is possible and even probable that henry, observing her quiet, modest and upright character, may have contrasted her with the lady to whom he had bound himself, may have wished that he could change one for the other, and may even have thought of doing it; but that, as cromwell said, he had felt that he must make no more changes, and must abide by the destiny which he had imposed on himself.[387] for, in fact, it was not open to henry to raise the question of the lawfulness of his marriage with anne, or to avail himself of it if raised by others. he had committed himself far too deeply, and the parliament had been committed along with him, to the measures by which the marriage was legalised. yet anne's ascendancy was visibly drawing to an end, and clouds of a darker character were gathering over her head. in the early days of her married life outrageous libels had been freely circulated, both against her and against the king. henry had been called a devil. the duke of norfolk had spoken of his niece as a _grande putaine_. to check these effusive utterances the severest penalties had been threatened by proclamation against all who dared to defame the queen's character, and no one had ventured to whisper a word against her. but her conduct had been watched; light words, light actions had been observed and carefully noted. her overbearing manner had left her without a friend save her own immediate connections and personal allies. "men's mouths had been shut when they knew what ought not to have been concealed."[388] a long catalogue of misdeeds had been registered, with dates and particulars, treasured up for use by the ladies of the household, as soon as it should become safe to speak; and if her conduct had been really as abandoned as it was afterwards alleged to have been, the growing alienation of the king may be easily understood. it was impossible for any woman to have worn a mask so long and never to have given her husband occasion for dissatisfaction. incidents must have occurred in the details of daily life, if not to rouse his suspicions, yet to have let him see that the woman for whom he had fought so fierce a battle had never been worth what she had cost him. anne boleyn's fortunes, however, like catherine's, were but an episode in the affairs of england and of christendom, and the treaty with the emperor was earnestly proceeded with as if nothing was the matter. the great concerns of nations are of more consequence to contemporary statesmen than the tragedies or comedies of royal households. events rush on; the public interests which are all-absorbing while they last are superseded or forgotten; the personal interests remain, and the modern reader thinks that incidents which most affect himself must have been equally absorbing to every one at the time when they occurred. the mistake is natural, but it is a mistake notwithstanding. the great question of the hour was the alternative alliance with the empire or with france, and the result to be expected from the separation of england from rome. the emperor wrote, as cromwell had suggested, to the three dukes. chapuys paid cromwell a visit at his country-house in the middle of april, to discuss again the four conditions. cromwell had laid them before the king, and had to report his answer. the reconciliation with rome was declared impossible. henry said that the injuries to england by the pope's sentence had been too great, and the statutes too recent to be repealed. the pope himself was now making overtures, and was disposed to gratify the king as much as possible. something, therefore, might be done in the future, but for the present the question could not be entertained. cromwell offered to show the ambassador the pope's letters, if he wished to see them. chapuys observed sarcastically that, after all that had passed, the king ought to be highly gratified at finding his friendship solicited by the pope and the emperor, the two parties whom he had most offended. it might be hoped that, having enjoyed his triumph, the king would now recollect that something was due to the peace of christendom. cromwell did not attempt a repartee, and let the observation pass. he said, however, that he hoped much from time. on the other points, all consideration would be shown for the princess, but the king could not consent to make her the subject of an article in the treaty; no difficulty would be made about assistance in the turkish war; as to france, the council were now unanimous in recommending the imperial alliance, and had represented their views to the king. the king was pausing over his resolution, severely blaming the course which francis was pursuing, but less willing to break with france than cromwell had himself expected. francis, cromwell said, had stood by the king as a friend in the worst of his difficulties, and the king did not like to quarrel with him; he, however, intended to speak to chapuys himself. the court was keeping easter at greenwich, and thither the ambassador repaired. easter sunday falling on the 16th of april, the chapter of the garter was to be held there, and the assembly was large and splendid. anne boleyn was present in state as queen, with her brother lord rochford, the demeanour of both of them undisturbed by signs of approaching storm. when chapuys presented himself, rochford paid him particular attention. the ambassador had been long absent from the court circle. cromwell told him that the king would be pleased if he would now pay his respects to anne, which he had never hitherto done, adding that, if he objected, it would not be insisted on. chapuys excused himself. for various reasons, he said, he thought it not desirable. cromwell said that his answer would be taken in good part, and hoped that the rest of their business would run smoothly. henry himself passed by as cromwell was speaking to chapuys. he bowed, took off his cap, and motioned to the ambassador to replace his own. he then inquired after his health, asked how the emperor was, how things were going in italy--in short, was particularly courteous. service followed in the chapel. rochford conducted chapuys thither, and, as his sister was to be present and an encounter could not be avoided, people were curious to see how she and the ambassador would behave to each other. anne was "affable" enough, and curtseyed low as she swept past. after mass the king and several members of the council dined in anne's apartments. as it was presumed that chapuys would not desire to form one of the party, he was entertained by the household. anne asked why he had not been invited. the king said there was reason for it. dinner over, henry led chapuys into his private cabinet, cromwell following with the chancellor audeley. no one else was present at the beginning of the conference. the king drew the ambassador apart into a window, when chapuys again produced at length his four points. the king listened patiently as chapuys expatiated on the action of the french, remarking only that milan and burgundy belonged to france and not to the emperor. the observation showed chapuys that things were not yet as he could have wished. he inquired whether, if the treaty was made, england would be prepared to assist the emperor should france attack the duke of gueldres. henry answered that he would do his part better than others had done their parts with him; he then called up cromwell and audeley, and made chapuys repeat what he had said. this done, chapuys withdrew to another part of the room, and fell into conversation with sir edward seymour, who had since entered. he left henry talking earnestly with the two ministers, and between him and them chapuys observed that there was a strong difference of opinion. the king's voice rose high. cromwell, after a time, left him, and, saying that he was thirsty, seated himself on a chest out of the king's sight and asked for water. the king then rejoined the ambassador, and told him that his communications were of such importance that he must have them in writing. chapuys objected that this was unusual. he had no order to write anything, and dared not go beyond his instructions. henry was civil, but persisted, saying that he could give no definite answer till he had the emperor's offer in black and white before him. generally, however, he said that his quarrel with rome did not concern the emperor. if he wished to treat with the pope, he could do it without the emperor's interposition; the princess was his daughter, and would be used according to her deserts; a subvention for the turkish war might be thought of when the alliance with charles was renewed. finally he said that he would not refuse his friendship to those who sought it in becoming terms, but he _was not a child, to be whipped first and then caressed and invited back again and called sweet names_. he drummed with his finger on his knees as he spoke. he insisted that he had been injured and expected an acknowledgment that he had been injured. the overtures, he repeated, must come from the emperor. the emperor must write him a letter requesting him to forget and forgive the past, and no more should then be said about it; but such a letter he must and would have. chapuys restrained his temper. he said it was unreasonable to expect the emperor to humiliate himself. henry only grew more excited, called charles ungrateful, declared that but for himself he would never have been on the imperial throne, or even have recovered his authority in spain when the commons had revolted; and, in return, the emperor had stirred up pope clement to deprive him of his kingdom. chapuys said it was not the emperor's doing. the pope had done it himself, at the solicitation of other parties. so the conference ended, and not satisfactorily. henry was not a child to be whipped and caressed. charles wanted him now, because he was threatened by france; and he, of his own judgment, preferred the imperial alliance, like the rest of his countrymen; but charles had coerced the pope into refusing a concession which the pope had admitted to be just, and the king knew better than his council that the way to secure the emperor's friendship was not to appear too eager for it. the sharpness with which the king had spoken disappointed and even surprised cromwell, who, when the audience was over, could hardly speak for vexation. his impression apparently was that the french faction had still too much influence with the king, and the french faction was the faction of anne. he recovered his spirits when chapuys informed him of the concessions which the emperor was prepared to make, and said that he still hoped for "a good result." the next morning, wednesday, 19th of april, the privy council met again in full number. they sate for three hours. the future of england, the future of europe, appeared to them at that moment to be hanging on the king's resolution. they went in a body to him and represented on their knees that they believed the imperial alliance essential to the safety of the country, and they implored him not to reject a hand so unexpectedly held out to him on a mere point of honour. henry, doubtless, felt as they did. since his quarrel with charles he had hardly known a quiet hour; he had been threatened with war, ruin of trade, interdict, and internal rebellion. on a return to the old friendship the sullen clergy, the angry peers, would be compelled into submission, for the friend on whom they most depended would have deserted them; the traders would no longer be in alarm for their ventures; the pope and his menaces would become a laughingstock, and in the divorce controversy the right would be tacitly allowed to have been with the king, since it was to be passed over without being mentioned. immense advantages. but the imperious pride of henry insisted on the form as well as the substance--on extorting a definite confession in words as well as a practical acknowledgment. all the troubles which had fallen on him--the quarrel with the papacy, the obstinate resistance of catherine and mary, the threats of invasion, and insurrection--he looked upon as charles's work. it was true that the offered friendship was important to england, but england's friendship was important to the emperor, and the emperor must ask for it. he told the kneeling councillors that he would sooner lose his crown than admit, even by implication, that he had given charles cause to complain of him. he was willing to take the emperor's hand, but he would not seek or sue for it. the emperor himself must write to him. cromwell, in describing what had passed to chapuys, said that he was sorry that things had gone no better, but that he was not discouraged. the king had directed him to thank chapuys for his exertions, and, for himself, he trusted that the ambassador would persevere. if the emperor would send even a letter of credit the king would be satisfied. in all his private conversations, although he had taken the responsibility on himself, he had acted under the king's instructions. the ambassador asked him, if this was so, what could have caused the change. he answered that kings had humours and peculiarities of their own, unknown to ordinary mortals. in spite of what had passed, the king was writing at that moment to francis, to require him to desist from his enterprise against italy. chapuys replied that he would endeavour to obtain the letter from the emperor which the king demanded. he wrote to charles, giving a full and perhaps accurate account of all that had passed; but he ended with advice of his own which showed how well henry had understood chapuys's own character, and the slippery ground on which he was standing. chapuys had disliked the treaty with england from the beginning. he told his master that henry's real purpose was to make him force out of the pope a revocation of the sentence on the divorce. he recommended the emperor once more to leave henry to reap the fruit of his obstinacy, to come to terms with france, and allow the pope to issue the bull of deposition--with a proviso that neither he nor francis would regard any child as legitimate whom the king might have, either by the concubine or by any other woman whom he might marry during the concubine's life, unless by a dispensation from the pope, which was not likely to be asked for. he did not venture to hope that the emperor would agree, but such a course, he said, would bring the king to his senses, and force would be unnecessary.[389] to granvelle the ambassador wrote more briefly to the same purpose. "god knew," he said, "how he had worked to bring the king to a right road; but he had found him unspeakably obstinate. the king seemed determined to compel the emperor to acknowledge that clement's sentence had been given under pressure from himself. cromwell had behaved like an honest man, and had taken to his bed for sorrow. cromwell knew how necessary the emperor's friendship was to the king, but god or the devil was preventing it."[390] henry gave his own version of the story to the english ministers at charles's court. "the emperor's ambassador," he said, "has been with us at greenwich with offers to renew the alliance, the conditions being that he would allow the emperor to reconcile us with the pope, that we will declare our daughter mary legitimate and give her a place in the succession, that we will help him against the turks, and declare war against france should france invade milan. "our answer was that the breach of amity came first from the emperor himself. we gave him the imperial crown when it lay with us to dispose of. we lent him money in his difficulties, etc. in return he has shown us nothing but ingratitude, stirring the bishop of rome to do us injury. if he will by express writing desire us to forget his unkind doings, or will declare that what we consider unkindness has been wrongly imputed to him, we will gladly embrace his overtures; but as we have sustained the wrong we will not be suitors for reconciliation. as to the bishop of rome, we have not proceeded on such slight grounds as we would revoke or alter any part of our doings, having laid our foundation on the law of god, nature, and honesty, and established our work thereupon with the consent of the estates of the realm in open and high court of parliament. a proposal has been made to us by the bishop himself which we have not yet embraced, nor would it be expedient that a reconciliation should be compassed by any other means. we should not think the emperor earnestly desired a reconciliation with us, if he desired us to alter anything for the satisfaction of the bishop of rome, our enemy. "as to our daughter mary, if she will submit to the laws we will acknowledge and use her as our daughter; but we will not be directed or pressed therein. it is as meet for us to order things here without search for foreign advice as for the emperor to determine his affairs without our counsel. about the turks, we can come to no certain resolution; but if a reconciliation of the affairs of christendom ensue, we will not fail to do our duty. before we can treat of aid against the french king the amity with the emperor must first be renewed."[391] chapter xxii. easter at greenwich--french and imperial factions at the english court-influence of anne boleyn--reports of anne's conduct submitted to the king--flying rumours--secret commission of inquiry--arrests of various persons--sir henry norris and the king--anne before the privy council-sent to the tower--her behaviour and admissions--evidence taken before the commission--trials of norris, weston, brereton, and smeton--letter of weston--trial of anne and her brother--executions--speech of rochford on the scaffold--anne sentenced to die--makes a confession to cranmer-declared to have not been the king's lawful wife--nature of the confession not known--execution. at the moment when the king was bearing himself so proudly at the most important crisis of his reign, orthodox historians require us to believe that he was secretly contriving to rid himself of anne boleyn by a foul and false accusation, that he might proceed immediately to a new marriage with another lady. men who are meditating enormous crimes have usually neither leisure nor attention for public business. it is as certain as anything in history can be certain that to startle europe with a domestic scandal while mighty issues were at stake on which the fate of england depended was the last subject with which england's king was likely to have been occupied. he was assuming an attitude of haughty independence, where he would need all his strength and all the confidence of his subjects. to conspire at such a moment against the honour and life of a miserable and innocent woman would have occurred to no one who was not a maniac. rumour had been busy spreading stories that he was weary of anne and meant to part with her; but a few days previously he had dissolved the parliament which for seven years had been described as the complacent instrument of his will. he could not be equally assured of the temper of another, hastily elected, in the uneasy condition of the public mind; and, without a parliament, he could take no action which would affect the succession. however discontented he might be with his present queen, the dissolution of parliament is a conclusive proof that at the time of chapuys's visit to greenwich he was not contemplating a matrimonial convulsion. probably, in spite of all the stories set flowing into chapuys's long ears by the ladies of the household, he had resolved to bear his fortune, bad as it was, and was absolutely ignorant of the revelation which was about to break upon him. husbands are proverbially the last to know of their wives' infidelities; and the danger of bringing charges which could not be substantiated against a woman in anne's position would necessarily keep every lip shut till the evidence could be safely brought forward. cromwell appears to have been in possession of important information for many weeks. the exposure, however, might still have been delayed, but for the unfavourable answer of the king to the emperor's advances, which had so much distressed the advocates of a renewal of the amity. france was now going to war, and making large offers for the english alliance. henry, though his affection for anne had cooled, still resented the treatment which he had received from charles, and had a fair opportunity of revenging himself. the wisest of his ministers were against continental adventures, and wished him earnestly to accept the return of a friendship the loss of which had cost the country so dear. but the french faction at the court, anne and her relations, and the hot-tempered young men who surrounded him, were still able to work upon his wounded pride. could they plunge the country into war at the side of francis, they would recover their ascendancy. any day might see some fatal step taken which could not be recovered. both anne and rochford were bold, able, and unscrupulous, and cromwell, with a secret in his hand which would destroy them, saw that the time was come to use it. that it was not accident which connected the outburst of the storm on anne's head with the political negotiations is certain from cromwell's own words. he told chapuys that it was the disappointment which he had felt at the king's reply to him on the wednesday after easter that had led him to apply the match to the train.[392] a casual incident came to his assistance. a privy councillor, whose name is not mentioned, having remarked sharply on the light behaviour of a sister who was attached to the court, the young lady admitted her offence, but said it was nothing in comparison with the conduct of the queen. she bade her brother examine mark smeton, a groom of the chamber and a favourite musician.[393] the privy councillor related what he had heard to two friends of the king, of whom cromwell must have been one. the case was so serious that they agreed that the king must be informed. they told him. he started, changed colour, thanked them, and directed an inquiry to be held in strict secrecy. the ladies of the bedchamber were cross-questioned. lady worcester[394] was "the first accuser." "nan cobham" and a maid gave other evidence; but "lady worcester was the first ground."[395] nothing was allowed to transpire to disturb the festivities at greenwich. on st. george's day, april 23, the queen and her brother received an intimation that they were in less favour than usual. the chapter of the garter was held. an order was vacant; anne asked that it should be given to lord rochford, and the request was refused; it was conferred on her cousin, sir nicholas carew, to her great vexation. in this, however, there was nothing to alarm her. the next day, the 24th, a secret committee was appointed to receive depositions, consisting of the chancellor, the judges, cromwell, and other members of council; and by this time whispers were abroad that something was wrong, for chapuys, writing on the 29th of april, said that "it would not be carew's fault if anne was not out of the saddle before long, as he had heard that he was daily conspiring against her and trying to persuade mistress seymour and her friends to work her ruin. four days ago [i. e. on april 25] carew and other gentlemen sent word to the princess to take courage, as the king was tired of the concubine and would not endure her long."[396] geoffrey pole, reginald's brother, a loose-tongued gentleman, told chapuys that the bishop of london (stokesley) had been lately asked whether the king could dismiss the concubine; the bishop had declined to give an opinion till the king asked for it, and even then would not speak till he knew the king's intention. the bishop, chapuys said, was one of the promoters of the first divorce, and was now penitent, the concubine and all her family being accursed lutherans.[397] such stories were but surmise and legend. i insert them to omit nothing which may be construed into an indication of conspiracy. the commission meanwhile was collecting facts which grew more serious every day. on thursday, the 27th, sir william brereton, a gentleman of the king's privy chamber, was privately sent to the tower, and on the 30th was followed thither by the musician smeton. the next morning, the 1st of may, high festival was held at greenwich. a tournament formed a part of the ceremony, with the court in attendance. anne sate in a gallery as queen of the day, while her knights broke lances for her, caring nothing for flying scandal, and unsuspecting the abyss which was opening under her feet. sir henry norris and lord rochford were in the lists as defender and challenger, when, suddenly, the king rose; the pageant was broken up in confusion; henry mounted his horse and, followed by a small train, rode off for london, taking norris with him. sir henry norris was one of henry's most intimate personal friends. he was his equerry, and often slept in his room or in an adjoining closet. the inquiries of the commission had not yet implicated him as a principal, but it had appeared that circumstances were known to him which he ought to have revealed. the king promised to forgive him if he would tell the truth, but the truth was more than he could dare to reveal. on the following day he, too, was sent to the tower, having been first examined before the commissioners, to whom--perhaps misled by some similar hope of pardon held out to him by sir william fitzwilliam--he confessed more than it was possible to pardon, and then withdrew what he had acknowledged.[398] so far, smeton only had confessed to "any actual thing," and it was thought the king's honour would be touched if the guilt of the rest was not proved more clearly. anne had been left at greenwich. on the next morning she was brought before the council there, her uncle, the duke of norfolk, presiding. she was informed that she was charged with adultery with various persons. her answers, such as they were, the duke set aside as irrelevant. she complained afterwards that she had been "cruelly handled" by the council. it was difficult not to be what she would consider cruel. she, too, was conducted up the river to the tower, where she found that to smeton and brereton and norris another gentleman of the household, sir francis weston, had now been added. a small incident is mentioned which preserves a lost practice of the age. "on the evening of the day on which the concubine was sent to the tower, the duke of richmond went to his father to ask his blessing, according to the english custom. the king said, in tears, that he, and his sister the princess, ought to thank god for having escaped the hands of that woman, who had planned to poison them."[399] chapuys made haste to inform the emperor of the welcome catastrophe. the emperor, he said, would recollect the expressions which he had reported as used by cromwell regarding the possible separation of the king and the concubine. both he and the princess had been ever since anxious that such a separation should be brought about. what they had desired had come to pass better than any one could have hoped, to the great disgrace of the concubine, who, by the judgment of god, had been brought in full daylight from greenwich to the tower, in charge of the duke of norfolk and two chamberlains. report said it was for continued adultery with a spinet-player belonging to her household. the player had been committed to the tower also, and, after him, sir h. norris, the most familiar and private companion of the king, for not having revealed the matter.[400] fresh news poured in as chapuys was writing. before closing his despatch he was able to add that sir francis weston and lord rochford were arrested also. the startling story flew from lip to lip, gathering volume as it went. swift couriers carried it to paris. viscount hannaert, the imperial ambassador there,[401] wrote to granvelle that anne had been surprised in bed with the king's organist.[402] in the course of the investigation, witnesses had come forward to say that nine years previously a marriage had been made and consummated between anne and percy, earl of northumberland. percy, however, swore, and received the sacrament upon it, before the duke of norfolk and the archbishops of canterbury and york, that no contract or promise of marriage of any kind had passed between them.[403] anne's attendants in the tower had been ordered to note what she might say. she denied that she was guilty, sometimes with hysterical passion, sometimes with a flighty levity; but not, so far as her words are recorded, with the clearness of conscious innocence. she admitted that with norris, weston, and smeton she had spoken foolishly of their love for herself, and of what might happen were the king to die. smeton, on his second examination, confessed that he had on three several occasions committed adultery with the queen. norris repudiated his admissions to sir william fitzwilliam--what they were is unknown--and offered to maintain his own innocence and the queen's with sword and lance. weston and brereton persisted in absolute denial. meanwhile the commission continued to take evidence. a more imposing list of men than those who composed it could not have been collected in england. the members of it were the lord chancellor, the duke of norfolk, the duke of suffolk, lord wiltshire, anne's and rochford's father, the earls of oxford, westmoreland, and sussex, lord sandys, thomas cromwell, sir william fitzwilliam, the lord high admiral, sir william paulet, lord treasurer, and nine judges of the courts at westminster. before these persons the witnesses were examined and their depositions written down. "the confessions," cromwell wrote afterwards to gardiner, "were so abominable that a great part of them were not given in evidence, but were clearly kept secret."[404] the alleged offences had been committed in two counties. the grand juries of kent and middlesex returned true bills on the case presented to them. on the 7th of may writs were sent out for a new parliament, to be chosen and to meet immediately. the particular charges had been submitted to the grand juries with time, place, and circumstance. the details have been related by me elsewhere.[405] in general the indictment was that for a period of more than two years, from within a few weeks after the birth of elizabeth to the november immediately preceding, the queen had repeatedly committed acts of adultery with sir henry norris, sir william brereton, sir francis weston, mark smeton, and her brother lord rochford. in every case the instigation and soliciting were alleged to have been on the queen's side. the particulars were set out circumstantially, the time at which the solicitations were made, how long an interval elapsed between the solicitation and the act, and when and where the several acts were committed. finally it was said that the queen had promised to marry some one of these traitors whenever the king depart this life, affirming that she would never love the king in her heart. of all these details evidence of some kind must have been produced before the commission, and it was to this that cromwell referred in his letter to gardiner. the accused gentlemen were all of them in situations of trust and confidence at the court, with easy access to the queen's person, and, if their guilt was real, the familiarity to which they were admitted through their offices was a special aggravation of their offences. in a court so jealous, and so divided, many eyes were on the watch and many tongues were busy. none knew who might be implicated, or how far the queen's guilt had extended. suspicion fell on her cousin, sir francis bryan, who was sharply examined by cromwell. suspicion fell also on anne's old lover, sir thomas wyatt, surrey's friend, to whom a letter survives, written on the occasion by his father, sir henry. the old man told his son he was sorry that he was too ill to do his duty to his king in that dangerous time when the king had suffered by false traitors. he prayed god long to give _him_ grace, to be with him and about him that had found out the matter, and the false traitors to be punished to the example of others.[406] cranmer had been much attached to anne. the catholic party being so bitter against her, she had made herself the patroness of the protestant preachers, and had protected them against persecution. the archbishop had regarded her as an instrument of providence, and when the news reached him of the arrest and the occasion of it he was thunderstruck. he wrote an anxious and beautiful letter to the king, expressing a warm belief and hope that the queen would be able to clear herself. before he could send it he was invited to meet the council in the star chamber. on his return he added a postscript that he was very sorry such faults could be proved by the queen as he heard of their relation.[407] on friday, the 12th of may, the four commoners were brought up for trial. the court sat in westminster hall, lord wiltshire being on the bench with the rest. their guilt, if proved, of course involved the guilt of his daughter. the prisoners were brought to the bar and the indictment was read. smeton pleaded guilty of adultery, but not guilty of the inferential charge of compassing the death of the king. the other three held to their denial. weston was married. his mother and his young wife appeared in court, "oppressed with grief," to petition for him, offering "rents and goods" for his deliverance;[408] but it could not avail. the jury found against them all, and they were sentenced to die. two letters to lord and lady lisle from a friend in london convey something of the popular feeling. "john husee to lady lisle. may 13. "madam, i think verily if all the books and chronicles were totally revolved and to the uttermost persecuted and tried, which against women hath been penned, contrived, and written since adam and eve, those same were, i think, verily nothing in comparison of that which hath been done and committed by anne the queen, which though i presume be not all things as it is now rumoured, yet that which hath been by her confessed, and other offenders with her, by her own alluring, procurement, and instigation, is so abominable and detestable, that i am ashamed that any good woman should give ear thereunto. i pray god give her grace to repent while she now liveth. i think not the contrary but she and all they shall suffer."[409] "to lord lisle. same date. "here are so many tales i cannot tell what to write. some say young weston shall scape, and some that none shall die but the queen and her brother; others, that wyatt and mr. page are as like to suffer as the rest. if any escape, it will be young weston, for whom importunate suit is made." great interest was felt in sir f. weston. the appearance of his wife and mother in court had created general compassion for him. he was young, rich, accomplished. he was well known in paris, had been much liked there. m. d'intevelle, who had been his friend, hurried over to save him, and the bishop of tarbes, the resident ambassador, earnestly interceded. money, if money could be of use, was ready to be lavished. but like norris, weston had been distinguished by henry with peculiar favour; and if he had betrayed the confidence that was placed in him he had nothing to plead which would entitle him to special mercy. a letter has been preserved, written by weston to his family after his sentence, inclosing an inventory of his debts, which he desired might be paid. if any one can believe, after reading it, that the writer was about to die for a crime of which he knew that he was innocent, i shall not attempt to reason with such a person. "father, mother, and wife, "i shall humbly desire you, for the salvation of my soul, to discharge me of this bill, and forgive me all the offences that i have done unto you, and in especial to my wife, which i desire for the love of god to forgive me and to pray for me; for i believe prayer will do me good. god's blessing have my children and mine. "by me, a great offender to god."[410] on sunday the 14th a report of the proceedings up to that moment was sent by cromwell to sir john wallop and gardiner at paris. the story, he said, was now notorious to every one, but he must inform them further how the truth had been discovered and how the king had proceeded. the queen's incontinent living was so rank and common that the ladies of the privy chamber could not conceal it. it came to the ears of some of the council, who told his majesty, though with great fear, as the case enforced. certain persons of the household and others who had been about the queen's person were examined; and the matter appeared so evident that, besides the crime, there brake out a certain conspiracy of the king's death, which extended so far that they that had the examination of it quaked at the danger his grace was in, and on their knees gave god laud and praise that he had preserved him so long from it. certain men were committed to the tower, mark and norris, and the queen's brother. then she herself was apprehended; after her, sir francis weston and brereton. norris, weston, brereton, and mark were already condemned to death, having been arraigned at westminster on the past friday. the queen and her brother were to be arraigned the next day. he wrote no particulars. the things were so abominable that the like was never heard.[411] anne boleyn was already condemned by implication. the guilt of her paramours was her own. she herself was next brought to the bar, with her brother, to be tried by the peers. the court was held at the tower. norfolk presided as high steward. lord wiltshire was willing to sit, but the tragedy was terrible enough without further aggravation, and the world was spared the spectacle of a father taking part in the conviction of his own children on a charge so hideous. the earl of northumberland did sit, though ill from anxiety and agitation. twenty-five other peers took their places also. the account of the proceedings is preserved in outline in the official record; a further detailed description was furnished by chapuys to the emperor, containing new and curious particulars. on monday the 15th of may, chapuys wrote, the concubine and her brother were condemned for treason by the principal nobles of england. the duke of norfolk passed sentence, and chapuys was told that the earl of wiltshire was ready to assist at the trial, as he had done at that of the rest. the _putaine_ and her brother were not taken to westminster, as the others had been, but were brought to the bar at the tower. no secret was made of it, however, for over two thousand persons were present. the principal charge against her was that she had cohabited with her brother and the other accomplices, that a promise had passed between her and norris that she would marry him after the king's decease--a proof that they had desired his death; that she had exchanged medals with norris, implying that they were leagued together; that she had poisoned the late queen, and intended to poison the princess.[412] to most of these charges she returned an absolute denial; others she answered plausibly, but confessed having given money to weston and to other gentlemen. she was likewise charged, and the brother also, with having ridiculed the king, showing in many ways she had no love for him, and was tired of her life with him. the brother was accused of having had connection with his sister. no proof of his guilt was produced, except that of having been once alone with her for many hours, and other small follies. he replied so well that many who were present were betting two to one he would be acquitted. another charge against him was that the concubine had told his wife that the king was unequal to his duties.[413] this was not read out in court; it was given to rochford in writing, with a direction not to make it public, but to say merely yes or no. to the great annoyance of cromwell and others, who did not wish suspicions to be created which might prejudice the king's issue, rochford read it aloud.[414] he was accused also of having used words implying a doubt whether anne's daughter was the king's, to which he made no answer. the brother and sister were tried separately and did not see each other. the concubine was sentenced to be burnt alive or beheaded, at the king's pleasure. when she heard her fate she received it calmly, saying that she was ready to die, but was sorry that others who were innocent and loyal should suffer on her account. she begged for a short respite, to dispose her conscience. the brother said that, since die he must, he would no longer plead "not guilty," but would confess that he deserved death, and requested only that his debts might be paid out of his property.[415] two days after the trial of the queen and rochford, the five gentlemen suffered on tower hill. the concubine, wrote chapuys, saw them executed from the windows of the tower, to enhance her misery. the lord rochford declared himself innocent of everything with which he was charged, although he confessed that he had deserved death for having contaminated himself with the new sects of religion, and for having infected many others. for this he said that god had justly punished him. he prayed all the world to keep clear of heresy, and his words would cause the recovery and conversion of innumerable souls.[416] this is a good instance of chapuys's manner, and is a warning against an easy acceptance of his various stories. it is false that rochford declared himself innocent of the adultery. it is false that he said that he deserved death for heresy. he said nothing--not a word--about heresy. what he did say is correctly given in wriothesley's chronicle, which confirms the report sent from london to the regent of the netherlands.[417] the spanish writer says that his address was "_muy bien catolica_," but it will be seen that he carefully avoided a denial of the crime for which he suffered. "masters all, i am come hither not to preach a sermon, but to die, as the law hath found me, and to the law i submit me, desiring you all, and specially my masters of the court, that you will trust in god specially, and not in the vanities of the world; for if i had so done i think i had been alive as ye be now. also i desire you to help to the setting forth of the true word of god; i have been diligent to read it and set it forth truly; but if i had been as diligent to observe it and done and lived thereafter as i was to read it and set it forth, i had not come hereto. wherefore i beseech you all to be workers and live thereafter, and not to read it and live not thereafter. as for my offences, it cannot avail you to hear them that i die here for; but i beseech god that i may be an example to you all, and that all you may beware by me, and heartily i require you all to pray for me and to forgive me if i have offended you, and i forgive you all, and god save the king."[418] of the other four, smeton and brereton admitted the justice of their sentence, brereton adding that, if he had to die a thousand deaths, he deserved them all. norris was almost silent. weston lamented in general terms the wickedness of his past life. from not one of the five came the indignant repudiation of a false accusation which might have been surely looked for from innocent men, and especially to be looked for when the queen's honour was compromised along with theirs. a protestant spectator of the execution, a follower of sir h. norris, and a friend and schoolfellow of brereton, said that at first he and all other friends of the gospel had been unable to believe that the queen had behaved so abominably. "as he might be saved before god, he could not believe it, till he heard them speak at their death; but in a manner all confessed but mr. norris, who said almost nothing at all."[419] dying men hesitate to leave the world with a lie on their lips. it appears to me, therefore, that these five gentlemen did not deny their guilt, because they knew that they were guilty. the unfortunate anne was still alive; and while there was life there was hope. a direct confession on their part would have been a confession for her as well as themselves, and they did not make it; but, if they were really innocent, that they should have suffered as they did without an effort to clear themselves or her is one more inexplicable mystery in this extraordinary story. something even more strange was to follow. at her trial anne had been "unmoved as a stone, and had carried herself as if she was receiving some great honour." she had been allowed a chair, and had bowed to the peers as she took her seat. she said little, "but her face spoke more than words, and no one to look on her would have thought her guilty." "she protested that she had not misconducted herself." when norfolk delivered sentence her face did not change. she said merely that she would not dispute the judgment, but appealed to god.[420] smeton had repeated his own confession on the scaffold. she turned pale when she was told of it. "did he not acquit me of the infamy he has laid on me?" she said. "alas, i fear his soul will suffer for it!"[421] but she had asked for time to prepare her conscience and for spiritual help; she called herself a lutheran, and on the tuesday, the day after her trial, cranmer went to the tower to hear her confession. she then told the archbishop something which, if true, invalidated her marriage with the king; if she had not been his wife, her intrigues were not technically treason, and cranmer perhaps gave her hope that this confession might save her, for she said afterwards to sir william kingston that she expected to be spared and would retire into a nunnery.[422] the confession, whatever it might be, was produced on the following day by the archbishop sitting judicially at lambeth,[423] and was there considered by three ecclesiastical lawyers, who gave as their opinion that she had never been the king's lawful wife, and this opinion was confirmed by the chancellor, the duke of suffolk, the earl of oxford, and a committee of bishops. the confession itself belonged to the secrets which cromwell described as "too abominable to be made known," and was never published. the judgment of the archbishop itself was ratified on the 28th of june by the two houses of convocation. it was laid before parliament and was made the basis of a new arrangement of the succession. but the statute merely says "that god, from whom no secret things could be hid, had caused to be brought to light evident and open knowledge of certain impediments unknown at the making of the previous act, and since that time confessed by the lady anne before the archbishop of canterbury, sitting judicially for the same, whereby it appeared that the marriage was never good nor consonant to the laws." conjecture was, of course, busy over so singular a mystery. some said that the archbishop had declared elizabeth to have been norris's bastard, and not the daughter of the king. others revived the story of henry's supposed intrigue with anne's sister, mary, and chapuys added a story which even he did not affect to believe, agreeable as it must have been to him. "many think," he said, "that the concubine had become so audacious in vice, because most of the new bishops had persuaded her that she need not go to confession; and that, according to the new sect, it was lawful to seek aid elsewhere, even from her own relations, when her husband was not able to satisfy her."[424] the wriothesley chronicle says positively that, on the 17th of may, in the afternoon, at a solemn court kept at lambeth by the archbishop of canterbury and the doctors of the law, the king was divorced from his wife, queen anne; and there at the same court was a privy contract approved that she had made to the earl of northumberland, afore the king's time, and so she was discharged, and was never lawful queen of england.[425] there are difficulties in accepting either of these conjectures. chapuys, like dr. lingard after him, decided naturally for the hypothesis most disgraceful to the king. the mary boleyn story, authoritatively confirmed, at once covered henry's divorce process with shame, and established the superior claim of mary to the succession.[426] but in the act of parliament the cause is described as something unknown in 1533, when the first statute was passed: and the alleged intrigue had then been the common subject of talk in catholic circles and among the opposition members of parliament. the act says that the cause was a fact confessed by the lady anne. the lady anne might confess her own sins, but her confession of the sins of others was not a confession at all, and could have carried no validity unless supported by other evidence. chapuys's assertion requires us to suppose that henry, being informed of anne's allegation, consented to the establishment of his own disgrace by making it the subject of a legal investigation; that he thus himself allowed a crime to be substantiated against him which covered him with infamy, and which no other attempt was ever made to prove. how did chapuys know that this was the cause of the divorce of anne? if it was communicated to parliament, it must have become the common property of the realm, and have been no longer open to question. if it was not communicated, but was accepted by parliament, itself on the authority of the council, who were chapuys's informants, and how did they know? under chapuys's hypothesis the conduct of king, council, parliament, and convocation becomes gratuitous folly--folly to which there was no temptation and for which there was no necessity. the king had only to deny the truth of the story, and nothing further would have been made of it. the real evidence for the _liaison_ with mary boleyn is the ineradicable conviction of a certain class of minds that the most probable interpretation of every act of henry is that which most combines stupidity and wickedness. to argue such a matter is useless. those who believe without reason cannot be convinced by reason. the northumberland explanation is less improbable, but to this also there are many objections. northumberland himself had denied on oath, a few days before, that any contract had ever passed between anne and himself. if he was found to have perjured himself, he would have been punished, or, at least, disgraced; yet, a few months later, in the pilgrimage of grace, he had the king's confidence, and deserved it by signal loyalty. the norris story is the least unlikely. the first act of criminality with anne mentioned in the indictment was stated to have been committed with norris four weeks after the birth of elizabeth, and the intimacy may have been earlier; while the mystery observed about it may be better accounted for, since, if it had been avowed, elizabeth's recognition as the king's daughter would have made ever after impossible, and the king did believe that she was really his own daughter. but here, again, there is no evidence. the explanation likeliest of all is that it was something different from each of these--one of the confessions which had been kept back as "too abominable." it is idle to speculate on the antecedents of such a woman as anne boleyn. if she had expected that her confession would save her, she was mistaken. to marry a king after a previous unacknowledged intrigue was in those days constructive treason, since it tainted the blood royal.[427] the tragedy was wound up on friday, the 19th of may; the scene was the green in front of the tower. foreigners were not admitted, but the london citizens had collected in great numbers, and the scaffold had been built high that everyone might see. the chancellor, the duke of suffolk, the young duke of richmond--then himself sick to death--cromwell, and other members of the council, were present by the king's order. throughout the previous day anne had persisted in declaring her innocence. in the evening she had been hysterical, had talked and made jokes. the people would call her "queen anne _sans tête_," she said, and "laughed heartily." in the morning at nine o'clock she was led out by sir william kingston, followed by four of her ladies. she looked often over her shoulder, and on the fatal platform was much "amazed and exhausted." when the time came for her to speak, she raised her eyes to heaven and said, "masters, i submit me to the law, as the law has judged me, and as for my offences, i accuse no man. god knoweth them. i remit them to god, beseeching him to have mercy on my soul. i beseech jesu save my sovereign and master, the king, the most godly, noble, and gentle prince there is."[428] she then laid her head on the block and so ended; she, too, dying without at the last denying the crime for which she suffered. of the six who were executed not one made a protestation of innocence. if innocent they were, no similar instance can be found in the history of mankind. chapter xxiii. competition for henry's hand--solicitations from france and from the emperor--overtures from the pope--jane seymour--general eagerness for the king's marriage--conduct of henry in the interval before anne's execution--marriage with jane seymour--universal satisfaction--the princess mary--proposal for a general council--neutrality of england in the war between france and the empire. human nature is said to be the same in all ages and countries. manners, if it be so, signally vary. among us, when a wife dies, some decent interval is allowed before her successor is spoken of. the execution for adultery of a queen about whom all europe had been so long and so keenly agitated might have been expected to be followed by a pause. no pause, however, ensued after the fall of anne boleyn. if henry had been the most interesting and popular of contemporary princes, there could not have been greater anxiety to secure his vacant hand. had he been the most pious of churchmen, the pope could not have made greater haste to approach him with offers of friendship. there was no waiting even for the result of the trial. no sooner was it known that anne had been committed to the tower for adultery than the result was anticipated as a certainty. it was assumed as a matter of course that the king would instantly look for another wife, and francis and the emperor lost not a moment in trying each to be beforehand with the other. m. d'inteville had come over to intercede for sir francis weston, but he brought a commission to treat for a marriage between henry and a french princess. to this overture the king replied at once that it could not be, and, according to chapuys, added ungraciously, and perhaps with disgust, that he had experienced already the effects of french education.[429] the words, perhaps, were used to cromwell, and not to the french ambassador; but chapuys was hardly less surprised when cromwell, in reporting them, coolly added that the king could not marry out of the realm, because, if a french princess misconducted herself, they could not punish her as they had punished the last.[430] the ambassador did not understand irony, and was naturally startled, for he had received instructions to make a similar application on behalf of his own master. charles was eager to secure the prize, and, anticipating anne's fate, he despatched a courier to chapuys on hearing of her arrest, with orders to seize the opportunity. "if hannaert's news be true," he wrote on the 15th of may, the day of the trial at westminster, "the king, now that god has permitted this woman's damnable life to be discovered, may be more inclined to treat with us, and there may be a better foundation for an arrangement in favour of the princess. but you must use all your skill to prevent a marriage with france. the king should rather choose one of his own subjects, either the lady for whom he has already shown a preference or some other." so far charles had written when chapuys's messenger arrived with later news. "george has just come," the emperor then continued, "and i have heard from him what has passed about the concubine. it is supposed that she and the partners of her guilt will be executed, and that the king, being of amorous complexion and anxious, as he has always pretended, for a male heir, will now marry immediately. overtures will certainly be made to him from france. you will endeavour, either as of yourself or through cromwell, to arrange a match for him with the infanta of portugal, my niece, who has a settlement by will of 400,000 ducats. simultaneously you will propose another marriage between the princess mary and the infant of portugal, don louis, my brother-in-law. you will point out that these alliances will remove past unpleasantness, and will unite myself, the king, and our respective countries. you will show the advantage that will accrue to the realm of england should a prince be the result, and we may reasonably hope that it will be so, the infanta being young and well nurtured. if you find the king disinclined to this marriage, you may propose my niece, the duchess dowager of milan, a beautiful young lady with a good dowry."[431] on the same 15th of may granvelle, no less eager, wrote to chapuys also. "m. l'ambassadeur, my good brother and friend, i have received your letters and have heard what your messenger had to tell me. you have done well to keep us informed about the concubine. it is indeed fine music and food for laughter.[432] god is revealing the iniquity of those from whom so much mischief has risen. we must make our profit of it, and manage matters as the emperor directs. use all your diligence and dexterity. immense advantage will follow, public and private. you will yourself not fail of your reward for your true and faithful services."[433] so anxious was charles for fresh matrimonial arrangements with henry, that he wrote again to the same purpose three days later--a strange wish if he believed catherine to have been murdered, or her successor to be on the eve of execution because the king was tired of her. to charles and granvelle, as to chapuys himself, the unfortunate anne was the english messalina. the emperor and all the contemporary world saw in her nothing but a wicked woman at last detected and brought to justice.[434] what came of these advances will be presently seen; but, before proceeding, a glance must be given at the receipt of the intelligence of anne's fall at the holy see. this also was _chose de rire_. chapuys had sent to rome in the past winter a story that henry had said anne boleyn had bewitched him. the pope had taken it literally, and had supposed that when the witch was removed the enchantment would end. he sent for sir gregory casalis on the 17th of may, and informed him of what he had heard from england. he said that he had always recognised the many and great qualities of the king; and those qualities he did not doubt would now show themselves, as he had been relieved from his unfortunate marriage. let the king reattach himself to holy church and take the pope for an ally; they could then give the law both to the emperor and to the king of france, and the entire glory of restoring peace to christendom would attach to henry himself. the king, he said, had no cause to regard him as an enemy; for he had always endeavored to be his friend. in the matrimonial cause he had remonstrated in private with his predecessor. at bologna he had argued for four hours with the emperor, trying to persuade him that the king ought not to be interfered with.[435] never had he desired to offend the king, although so many violent acts had been done in england against the holy see. he had made the bishop of rochester a cardinal solely with a view to the general council, and because the bishop had written a learned book against luther. on the bishop's execution, he had been compelled to say and do certain things, but he had never intended to give effect to them. if the pope had thought the king to have been right in his divorce suit, it was not easy to understand why he had excommunicated him and tried to deprive him of his crown because he had disobeyed a judgment thus confessed to have been unjust. casalis asked him if he was to communicate what he had said to the king. the pope, after reflecting a little, said that casalis might communicate it as of himself; that he might tell the king that the pope was well-disposed towards him, and that he might expect every favour from the pope. casalis wrote in consequence that on the least hint that the king desired a reconciliation, a nuncio would be sent to england to do everything that could be found possible; after the many injuries which he had received, opinion at rome would not permit the pope to make advances until he was assured that they would be well received; but some one would be sent in casalis's name bringing credentials from his holiness. never since the world began was a dastardly assassination, if anne boleyn was an innocent woman, rewarded with so universal a solicitation for the friendship of the assassin. in england the effect was the same. except by the lutherans, anne had been universally hated, and the king was regarded with the respectful compassion due to a man who had been cruelly injured. the late marriage had been tolerated out of hope for the birth of the prince who was so passionately longed for. even before the discovery of anne's conduct, a considerable party, with the princess mary among them, had desired to see the king separated from her and married to some other respectable woman. jane seymour had been talked about as a steady friend of catherine, and, when catherine was gone, of the princess. the king had paid her attentions which, if chapuys's stories were literally true--as probably they were not--had been of a marked kind. in all respects she was the opposite of anne. she had plain features, pale complexion, a low figure--in short, had no personal beauty, or any pretensions to it, with nothing in her appearance to recommend her, except her youth. she was about twenty-five years of age. she was not witty either, or brilliant; but she was modest, quiet, with a strong understanding and rectitude of principle, and, so far as her age and her opportunities allowed, she had taken mary's part at the court. perhaps this had recommended her to henry. whether he had himself ever seriously thought of dismissing anne and inviting jane seymour to take her place is very dubious; nor has anyone a right to suppose that under such conditions jane seymour would have regarded such a proposal as anything but an insult. how soon after the detection of anne's crime the intention was formed is equally uncertain.[436] every person at home and abroad regarded it as obvious that he must marry some one, and marry at once. he himself professed to be unwilling, "unless he was constrained by his subjects." in chapuys's letters, truth and lies are so intermixed that all his personal stories must be received with distrust. invariably, however, he believed and reported the most scandalous rumours which he could hear. everybody, he said, rejoiced at the execution of the _putaine_; but there were some who spoke variously of the king. he had heard, from good authority, that in a conversation which passed between mistress seymour and the king before the arrest of the concubine, the lady urged him to restore the princess to the court. the king told her she was a fool; she ought to be thinking more of the children which they might expect of their own, than of the elevation of the other. the lady replied that in soliciting for the princess, she was consulting for the good of the king, of herself, of her children should she have any, and of all the realm, as, without it, the english nation would never be satisfied. such a conversation is not in itself likely to have been carried on _before_ anne's arrest, and certainly not where it could be overheard by others; especially as chapuys admitted that the king said publicly he would not marry anyone unless the parliament invited him. one would like to know what the trustworthy authority might have been. unfortunately for the veracity of his informant, he went on with an account of the king's personal behaviour, the accuracy of which can be tested. "people," he said, "had found it strange that the king, after having received such ignominy, should have gone about at such a time banqueting with ladies, sometimes remaining after midnight, and returning by the river, accompanied by music and the singers of his chamber. he supped lately," the ambassador continued, "with several ladies at the house of the bishop of carlisle, and showed extravagant joy." the bishop came the next morning to tell chapuys of the visit, and added a story of the king having said that he had written a tragedy on anne's conduct which he offered the bishop to read.[437] of john kite, the bishop of carlisle, little is known, save that sir william kingston said he used to play "penny gleek" with him. but it happens that a letter exists, written on the same day as chapuys's, which describes henry's conduct at precisely the same period. john husee, the friend and agent of lord lisle, was in london on some errand from his employer. his business required him to speak to the king, and he said that he had been unable to obtain admittance, the king having remained in strict seclusion from the day of anne's arrest to her execution. "his grace," husee wrote, "came not abroad this fortnight, except it was in the garden or in his boat, when it may become no man to interrupt him. now that this matter is past i hope to see him."[438] chapuys was very clever; he may be believed, with limitations, when writing on business or describing conversations of his own with particular persons; but so malicious was he, and so careless in his matters of fact or probability, that he cannot be believed at all when reporting scandalous anecdotes which reached him from his "trustworthy authorities." it is, however, true that, before the fortnight had expired, the king had resolved to do what the council recommended--marry jane seymour, and marry her promptly, to close further solicitation from foreign powers. there is no sign that she had herself sought so questionable an elevation. a powerful party in the state wished her to accept a position which could have few attractions, and she seems to have acquiesced without difficulty. francis and charles were offering their respective princesses; the readiest way to answer them without offence was to place the so much coveted hand out of the reach of either. on the 20th of may, the morning after anne was beheaded, jane seymour was brought secretly by water to the palace at westminster, and was then and there formally betrothed to the king. the marriage followed a few days later. on ascension day, the 25th of may, the king, in rejecting the offered match from francis, said that he was not then actually married. on the 29th or 30th, jane was formally introduced as queen. chapuys was disappointed in his expectation of popular displeasure. not a murmur was heard to break the expression of universal satisfaction. the new queen was a general favourite; everyone knew that she was a friend of the princess mary, and everyone desired to see mary replaced in her rights. fortunately for the princess, the attempt at escape had never been carried out. she had remained quietly watching the overthrow of her enemy, and trusting the care of her fortunes to cromwell, who, she knew, had always been her advocate. she had avoided writing to him to intercede for her, because, as she said, "i perceived that nobody dared speak for me as long as that woman lived who is now gone, whom god in his mercy forgive!"[439] the time had now come for her to be received back into favour. submission of some kind it would be necessary for her to make; and the form in which it was to be done was the difficulty. the king could not replace in the line of the succession a daughter who was openly defying the law. cromwell drew for mary a sketch of a letter which he thought would be sufficient. it was to acknowledge that she had offended her father, to beg his blessing and his forgiveness, and to promise obedience for the future, to congratulate him on his marriage, and to ask permission to wait on the new queen. he showed the draft to chapuys, for the princess to transcribe and send. chapuys objected that the surrender was too absolute. cromwell said that he might alter it if he pleased, and a saving clause was introduced, not too conspicuous. she was to promise to submit in all things "under god." in this form, apparently, the letter was despatched, and was said to have given great satisfaction both to henry and the new queen. now it was thought that mary would be restored to her rank as princess. she would be excluded from the succession only if a son or daughter should be born of the new marriage; but this did not alarm chapuys, for "according to the opinion of many," he said, "there was no fear of any issue of either sex." on ascension day, the ambassador had been admitted to an audience, the first since the unprosperous discussion at greenwich. the subject of the treaty with the emperor had been renewed under more promising auspices. the king had been gracious. chapuys had told him that the emperor desired to explain and justify the actions of which the king had complained; but before entering on a topic which might renew unpleasant feelings, he said that the emperor had instructed him to consult the king's wishes; and he undertook to conform to them. the king listened with evident satisfaction; and a long talk followed, in the course of which the ambassador introduced the various proposals which the emperor had made for fresh matrimonial connections. the king said that chapuys was a bringer of good news; his own desire was to see a union of all christian princes; if the emperor was in earnest, he hoped that he would furnish the ambassador with the necessary powers to negotiate, or would send a plenipotentiary for that particular purpose. the offer of the infanta of portugal for the king himself was, of course, declined, the choice being already made; but cromwell said afterwards that don luis might perhaps be accepted for the princess, the position of the princess being the chief point on which the stability of all other arrangements must depend. as to the "general council," it was not to be supposed that the king wanted to set up "a god of his own," or to separate himself from the rest of christendom. he was as anxious as any one for a council, but it must be a council called by the emperor as chief of christian europe. it is to be observed that henry, as head of the church of england, took upon himself the entire ordering of what was or was not to be. even the form of consulting the clergy was not so much as thought of. chapuys could not answer for as much indifference on the emperor's part. the council, he thought, must be left in the pope's hand at the outset. the council itself, when it assembled, could do as it pleased. he suggested, however, that cromwell should put in writing his conception of the manner in which a council could be called by the emperor, which cromwell promised to do. all things were thus appearing to run smooth. four days later, when the marriage with jane seymour had been completed, chapuys saw henry again. the king asked him if he had heard further from the emperor. chapuys was able to assent. charles's eager letters had come in by successive posts, and one had just arrived in which he had expressed his grief and astonishment at the conduct of anne boleyn, had described how he had spoken to his own council about the woman's horrible ingratitude, and had himself offered thanks to god for having discovered the conspiracy, and saved the king from so great a danger. henry made graceful acknowledgments, replied most politely on the offer of the infanta, for which he said he was infinitely obliged to the emperor, and conducted the ambassador into another room to introduce him to the queen. chapuys was all courtesy. at henry's desire he kissed and congratulated jane. the emperor, he said, would be delighted that the king had found so good and virtuous a wife. he assured her that the whole nation was united in rejoicing at her marriage. he recommended the princess to her care, and hoped that she would have the honourable name of peacemaker. the king answered for her that this was her nature. she would not for the world that he went to war. chapuys was aware that henry was not going to war on the side of francis--that danger had passed; but that he would not go to war at all was not precisely what chapuys wished to hear. what charles wanted was henry's active help against the french. the fourth condition of the proposed treaty was an alliance offensive and defensive. henry merely said he would mediate, and, if france would not agree to reasonable terms, he would then declare for the emperor.[440] the emperor, like many other persons, had attributed the whole of henry's conduct to the attractions of anne boleyn. he had supposed that after his eyes had been opened he would abandon all that he had done, make his peace with the pope, and return to his old friends with renewed heartiness. he was surprised and disappointed. mediation would do no good at all, he said. if the king would join him against france, the emperor would undertake to make no peace without including him, and would take security for the honour and welfare of the realm. but he declined to quarrel with the pope to please the king; and if the king would not return to the obedience of the holy see or submit his differences with the pope to the emperor and the council, he said that he could make no treaty at all with him. he directed chapuys, however, to continue to discuss the matter in a friendly way, to gain time till it could be seen how events would turn.[441] how events did turn is sufficiently well known. the war broke out--the french invaded italy; the emperor, unable to expel them, turned upon provence, where he failed miserably with the loss of the greater part of his army. henry took no part. the state of europe was considered at length before the english council. chapuys was heard, and the french ambassador was heard; and the result was a declaration of neutrality--the only honourable and prudent course where the choice lay between two faithless friends who, if the king had committed himself to either, would have made up their own quarrels at england's expense. chapter xxiv. expectation that henry would return to the roman communion--henry persists in carrying out the reformation--the crown and the clergy--meeting of a new parliament--fresh repudiation of the pope's authority--complications of the succession--attitude of the princess mary--her reluctant submission--the king empowered to name his successor by will--indication of his policy--the pilgrimage of grace--cost of the reformation--the martyrs, catholic and protestant. whether henry, on the exposure of the character of the woman for whom, in the world's union, he had quarrelled with rome and broken the union of christendom, would now reverse his course and return to the communion of the apostolic see, was the question on which all minds were exercising themselves. the pope and the european powers were confident, believing the reports which had reached them of the discontent in england. cranmer feared it, as he almost confessed in the letter which he wrote to the king when he first heard of the arrest of anne. she had been conspicuously lutheran; her family and her party were lutheran, and the disgrace might naturally extend to the cause which they represented. the king was to show that he had not, as he said himself, "proceeded on such light grounds." the divorce had been the spark which kindled the mine; but the explosive force was in the temper of the english nation. the english nation was weary of a tribunal which sold its decrees for money, or allowed itself to be used as a tool by the continental sovereigns. it was weary of the iniquities of its own church courts, which had plundered rich and poor at their arbitrary pleasure--of a clergy which, protected by the immunities which becket had won for them, and restrained by no laws save those which they themselves allowed, had made their lives a scandal and their profession an offence. the property which had been granted them in pious confidence for holy uses was squandered in luxurious self-indulgence; and they had replied to the reforms which were forced upon them by disloyalty and treason. they had been coerced into obedience; they had been brought under the control of the law, punished for their crimes in spite of their sacred calling under which they had claimed exemption, and been driven into the position of ordinary citizens. their prelates were no longer able to seize and burn _ex officio_ obnoxious preachers, or imprison or ruin under the name of heretics rash persons who dared to speak the truth of them. in exasperation at the invasion of these time-honoured privileges, they denounced as sacrilege the statutes which had been required to restrain them. they had conspired to provoke the pope to excommunicate their sovereign, and solicited the catholic powers to invade their country and put the reformers down with fire and sword. the king, who had been the instrument of their beneficent humiliation, did not intend either to submit the internal interests of the country to the authority of a foreign bishop, or to allow the black regiments at home to recover the power which they had so long abused. cromwell's commissioners were still busy on the visitation of the religious houses. each day brought in fresh reports of their condition. these communities, supposed to be special servants of god, had become special servants of the devil. the eagerness with which the pope solicited henry's return, the assurance that he had always been his friend--had always maintained that henry was right in the divorce case, when he had a bull ready in his desk taking his crown from him--was in itself sufficient evidence of the fitness of such a ruler to be the supreme judge in christendom. just as little could the emperor be trusted, whose affectations of friendship were qualified by secret reservations. the king had undertaken a great and beneficent work in his own realm and meant to go through with it. the pope might do as he pleased. the continental princes might quarrel or make peace, hold their councils, settle as they liked their own affairs, in their own way; england was sufficient for herself. he had called his people under arms; he had fortified the coasts; he had regenerated the navy. the nation, or the nobler part of it, he believed to be loyal to himself--to approve what he had done and to be ready to stand by him. he was not afraid of attack from abroad. if there was a rebellious spirit at home, if the clergy were mutinous because the bit was in their mouths, if the peers of the old blood were alarmed at the growth of religious liberty and were discontented because they could no longer deal with it in the old way, the king was convinced that he was acting for the true interests of the country, that parliament would uphold him, and that he could control both the ecclesiastics and the nobles. the world should see that the reforms which he had introduced into england were not the paltry accidents of a domestic scandal, but the first steps of a revolution deliberately resolved on and sternly carried out which was to free the island for ever from the usurped authority of an italian prelate, and from the poisonous influences within the realm of a corrupt and demoralising superstition. the call of parliament after anne's execution was the strongest evidence of confidence in his people which henry had yet given. he had much to acknowledge and much to ask. he had to confess that, although he had been right in demanding a separation from his brother's wife, he had fatally mistaken the character of the woman whom he had chosen to take her place. the succession which he had hoped to establish he had made more intricate than before. he had now three children, all technically illegitimate. the duke of richmond was the son of the only mistress with whom he was ever known to have been really connected. the duke was now eighteen years old. he had been educated as a prince, but had no position recognised by the law. elizabeth's mother had acknowledged to having committed herself before her marriage with the king, and many persons doubted whether elizabeth was the king's true daughter. mary's claim was justly considered as the best, for, though her mother's marriage had been declared illegal, she had been born _bonâ fide parentum_. what parliament would do in such extraordinary circumstances could not be foreseen with any certainty, and the elections had to be made with precipitancy and without time for preparation. the writs were issued on the 7th of may. the meeting was to be on the 8th of june. the crown could influence or control the elections at some particular places. at canterbury cromwell named the representatives who were to be chosen,[442] as, till the reform bill of 1832, they continued to be named by the patrons of boroughs. yet it would be absurd to argue from single instances that the crown could do what it pleased. even with leisure to take precautions and with the utmost exercise of its powers, it could only affect the returns, in the great majority of the constituencies, through the peers and landowners, and the leading citizens in the corporations. with only four weeks to act in, a queen to try and execute, and a king to marry in the interval, no ingenuity and no industry could have sufficed to secure a house of commons whose subserviency could be counted on, if subserviency was what the king required. it is clear only that, so far as concerned the general opinion of the country, the condemnation of anne boleyn had rather strengthened than impaired his popularity. as queen she had been feared and disliked. her punishment was regarded as a creditable act of justice, and the king was compassionated as a sufferer from abominable ingratitude. little is known in detail of the proceedings of this parliament. the acts remain: the debates are lost. the principal difficulties with which it had to deal concerned anne's trial and the disposition of the inheritance of the crown. on the matter of real importance, on the resolution of king and legislature to go forward with the reformation, all doubts were promptly dispelled. an act was passed without opposition reasserting the extinction of the pope's authority, and another taking away the protection of sanctuary from felonious priests. the succession was a harder problem. day after day it had been debated in the council. lord sussex had proposed that, as all the children of the king were illegitimate, the male should be preferred to the female and the crown be settled on the duke of richmond.[443] richmond was personally liked. he resembled his father in appearance and character, and the king himself was supposed to favour this solution. with the outer world the favourite was the princess mary. both she and her mother were respected for a misfortune which was not due to faults of theirs, and the princess was the more endeared by the danger to which she was believed to have been exposed through the machinations of anne. the new queen was her strongest advocate, and the king's affection for her had not been diminished even when she had tried him the most. he could not have been ignorant of her correspondence with chapuys: he probably knew that she had wished to escape out of the realm, and that the pope, who was now suing to him, had meant to bestow his own crown upon her. but her qualities were like his own, tough and unmalleable, and in the midst of his anger he had admired her resolution. every one expected that she would be restored to her rank after anne's death. the king had apparently been satisfied with her letter to him. cromwell was her friend, and chapuys, who had qualified her submission, was triumphant and confident. he was led to expect that an act would be introduced declaring her the next heir--nay, he had thought that such an act had been passed. unfortunately for him the question of her acknowledgment of the act of supremacy was necessarily revived. had she or had she not accepted it? the act had been imposed, with the statute of treasons attached, as a test of loyalty to the reformation. it was impossible to place her nearest to the throne as long as she refused obedience to a law essential to the national independence. to refuse was to confess of a purpose of undoing her father's work, should he die and the crown descend to her. she had supposed that "she was out of her trouble" while she had saved her conscience by the reservation in her submission. chapuys found her again "in extreme perplexity and anger." the reservation had been observed. the duke of norfolk, lord sussex, a bishop, and other privy councillors, had come with a message to her, like those which had been so often carried ineffectually to her mother, to represent the necessity of obedience. chapuys said that she had confounded them with her wise answers, and that, when they could not meet her arguments, they "told her that, if she was their daughter, they would knock her head against the wall till it was as soft as a baked apple." in passing through mary and through chapuys the words, perhaps, received some metaphorical additions. it is likely enough, however, that norfolk, who was supporting her claims with all his power, was irritated at the revival of the old difficulties which he had hoped were removed. the princess "in her extreme necessity" wrote for advice to the ambassador. the emperor was no longer in a condition to threaten, and to secure mary's place as next in the succession was of too vital importance to the imperialists to permit them to encourage her in scruples of conscience. chapuys answered frankly that, if the king persisted, she must do what he required. the emperor had distinctly said so. her life was precious, she must hide her real feelings till a time came for the redress of the disorders of the realm. nothing was demanded of her expressly against god or the articles of faith, and god looked to intentions rather than acts. mary still hesitated. she had the tudor obstinacy, and she tried her will against her father's. the king was extremely angry. he had believed that she had given way and that the troubles which had distracted his family were at last over. he had been exceptionally well-disposed towards her. he had probably decided to be governed by the wishes of the people and to appoint her by statute presumptive heir, and she seemed determined to make it impossible for him. he suspected that she was being secretly encouraged. to defend her conduct, as cromwell ventured to do, provoked him the more, for he felt, truly, that to give way was to abandon the field. lady hussey was sent to the tower; lord exeter and sir william fitzwilliam were suspended from attendance on the council; and even cromwell, for four or five days, counted himself a lost man. jane seymour interceded in vain. to refuse to acknowledge the supremacy was treason, and had been made treason for ample reason. mary, as the first subject in the realm, could not be allowed to deny it. henry sent for the judges, to consider what was to be done, and the court was once more in terror. the judges advised that a strict form of submission should be drawn, and that the princess should be required to sign it. if she persisted in her refusal, she would then be liable to the law. the difficulty was overcome, or evaded, in a manner characteristic of the system to which mary so passionately adhered. chapuys drew a secret protest that, in submitting, she was yielding only to force. thus guarded, he assured her that her consent would not be binding, that the pope would not only refrain from blaming her, but would highly approve. she was still unsatisfied, till she made him promise to write to the imperial ambassador at rome to procure a secret absolution from the pope for the full satisfaction of her conscience. thus protected, she disdainfully set her name to the paper prepared by the judges, without condescending to read it, and the marked contempt, in chapuys's opinion, would serve as an excuse for her in the future.[444] while the crisis lasted the council were in permanent session. timid peers were alarmed at the king's peremptoriness, and said that it might cost him his throne. the secret process by which mary had been brought to yield may have been conjectured, and her resistance was not forgotten, but she had signed what was demanded, and it was enough. in the court there was universal delight. chapuys congratulated cromwell, and cromwell led him to believe that the crown would be settled as he wished. the king and queen drove down to richmond to pay the princess a visit. henry gave her a handsome present of money and said that now she might have anything that she pleased. the queen gave her a diamond. she was to return to the court and resume her old station. one cloud only remained. if it was generally understood that the heir presumptive in her heart detested the measures in which she had formally acquiesced, the country could no longer be expected to support a policy which would be reversed on the king's death. mary's conduct left little doubt of her real feelings, and therefore it was not held to be safe to give her by statute the position which her friends desired for her. the facility with which the pope could dispense with inconvenient obligations rendered a verbal acquiescence an imperfect safeguard. parliament, therefore, did not, after all, entail the crown upon her, in the event of the king's present marriage being unfruitful, but left her to deserve it and empowered the king to name his own successor. chapuys, however, was able to console himself with the reflection that the bastard, as he called elizabeth, was now out of the question. the duke of richmond was ill--sinking under the same weakness of constitution which had been so fatal in the tudor family and of which he, in fact, died a few weeks later. the prevailing opinion was that the king could never have another child. mary's prospects, therefore, were tolerably "secure. i must admit," chapuys wrote on the 8th of july, "that her treatment improves every day. she never had so much liberty as now, or was served with so much state even by the little bastard's waiting-women. she will want nothing in future but the name of princess of wales,[445] and that is of no consequence, for all the rest she will have more abundantly than before." mary, in fact, now wanted nothing save the pope's pardon for having abjured his authority. chapuys had undertaken that it would be easily granted. the emperor had himself asked for it, yet not only could not cifuentes obtain the absolution, but he did not so much as dare to speak to paul on the subject. the absolution for the murder of an archbishop of dublin had been bestowed cheerfully and instantly on fitzgerald. mary was left with perjury on her conscience, and no relief could be had. there appeared to be some technical difficulty. "unless she retracted and abjured in the presence of the persons before whom she took the oath, it was said that the pope's absolution would be of no use to her." there was, perhaps, another objection. cifuentes imperfectly trusted paul. he feared that if he pressed the request the secret would be betrayed and that mary's life would be in danger.[446] time, perhaps, and reflection alleviated mary's remorse and enabled her to dispense with the papal anodyne, while cromwell further comforted the ambassador in august by telling him that the king felt he was growing old, that he was hopeless of further offspring, and was thinking seriously of making mary his heir after all.[447] age the king could not contend with, but for the rest he had carried his policy through. the first act of the reformation was closing, and he was left in command of the situation. the curtain was to rise again with the lincolnshire and yorkshire rebellion, to be followed by the treason of the poles. but there is no occasion to tell a story over again which i can tell no better than i have done already, nor does it belong to the subject of the present volume. the pilgrimage of grace was the outbreak of the conspiracy encouraged by chapuys to punish henry, and to stop the progress of the reformation; chapuys's successors in the time of elizabeth followed his example; and with them all the result was the same--the ruin of the cause which with such weapons they were trying to maintain, and the deaths on the scaffold of the victims of visionary hopes and promises which were never to be made good. all the great persons whom chapuys names as willing to engage in the enterprise--the peers, the knights, who, with the least help from the emperor, would hurl the king from his throne, lord darcy and lord hussey, the bishop of rochester, as later on, the marquis of exeter, lord montague, and his mother--sank one after another into bloody graves. they mistook their imaginations for facts, their passions for arguments, and the vain talk of an unscrupulous ambassador for solid ground on which to venture into treason. in their dreams they saw the phantom of the emperor coming over with an army to help them. excited as they had been, they could not part with their hopes. they knew that they were powerful in numbers. their preparations had been made, and many thousands of clergy and gentlemen and yeomen had been kindled into crusading enthusiasm. the flame burst out sporadically and at intervals, without certain plan or purpose, at a time when the emperor could not help them, even if he had ever seriously intended it, and thus the conflagration, which at first blazed through all the northern counties, was extinguished before it turned to civil war. the common people who had been concerned in it suffered but lightly. but the roots had penetrated deep; the conspiracy was of long standing; the intention of the leaders was to carry out the papal censures, and put down what was called heresy. the rising was really formidable, for the loyalty of many of the great nobles was not above suspicion, and, if not promptly dealt with, it might have enveloped the whole island. those who rise in arms against governments must take the consequences of failure, and the leaders who had been the active spirits in the sedition were inexorably punished. in my history of the time i have understated the number of those who were executed. care was taken to select only those who had been definitely prominent. nearly three hundred were hanged in all--in batches of twenty-five or thirty, in each of the great northern cities; and, to emphasize the example and to show that the sacerdotal habit would no longer protect treason, the orders were to select particularly the priests and friars who had been engaged. the rising was undertaken in the name of religion. the clergy had been the most eager of the instigators. chapuys had told the emperor that of all henry's subjects the clergy were the most disaffected, and the most willing to supply money for an invasion. they were therefore legitimately picked out for retribution, and in lincoln, york, hull, doncaster, newcastle, and carlisle, the didactic spectacle was witnessed of some scores of reverend persons swinging for the crows to eat in the sacred dress of their order. a severe lesson was required to teach a superstitious world that the clerical immunities existed no longer and that priests who broke the law would suffer like common mortals; but it must be clearly understood that, if these men could have had their way, the hundreds who suffered would have been thousands, and the victims would have been the poor men who were looking for a purer faith in the pages of the new testament. when we consider the rivers of blood which were shed elsewhere before the protestant cause could establish itself, the real wonder is the small cost in human life of the mighty revolution successfully accomplished by henry. with him, indeed, chapuys must share the honour. the catholics, if they had pleased, might have pressed their objections and their remonstrances in parliament; and a nation as disposed for compromise as the english might have mutilated the inevitable changes. chapuys's counsels tempted them into more dangerous and less pardonable roads. by encouraging them in secret conspiracies he made them a menace to the peace of the realm. he brought fisher to the block. he forced the government to pass the act of supremacy as a defence against treason, and was thus the cause also of the execution of sir thomas more and the charterhouse monks. to chapuys, perhaps, and to his faithful imitators later in the century--de quadra and mendoza--the country owes the completeness of the success of the reformation. it was a battle fought out gallantly between two principles--a crisis in the eternal struggle between the old and the new. the catholics may boast legitimately of their martyrs. but the protestants have a martyrology longer far and no less honourable, and those who continue to believe that the victory won in england in the sixteenth century was a victory of right over wrong, have no need to blush for the actions of the brave men who, in the pulpit or in the council chamber, on the scaffold or at the stake, won for mankind the spiritual liberty which is now the law of the world. footnotes: [1] _calendar of state papers, hen. viii., foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. introduction, p. 223. [2] _calendar, foreign and domestic, hen. viii._, vol. iv. p. 1112.--hen. viii. to clement vii., oct. 23, 1526.--_ib._ p. 1145. giberto to gambara, dec. 20, 1526.--_ib._ p. 1207. [3] giberto, bishop of verona, to wolsey, feb. 10, 1527.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. pp. 1282-3. [4] giberto, bishop of verona, to wolsey, feb. 10, 1527.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, april 26, 1527, vol. iv. p. 1386. [5] inigo de mendoza to the emperor, jan. 19, 1527.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iii. pt. 2, p. 24. [6] alonzo sanchez to charles v., may 7, 1527.--_ib._ p. 176. [7] mendoza to charles v., march 18, 1527.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iii. part 2, p. 110. [8] report from england, nov. 10, 1531.--_venetian calendar._ falieri arrived in england in 1528, and the general parts of the report cover the intervening period. [9] inigo de mendoza to charles v., may 18, 1527.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iii. part 2, p. 193. [10] lope de soria to charles v., may 25, 1527.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iii. part 2, p. 209. [11] mendoza to charles v., july 13, 1527.--_spanish calendar_, vol. ii. part 2, p. 276. [12] _ib._ vol. iii. part 2, p. 273. [13] andrea navagero to the signory, july 17, 1527.--_venetian calendar._ [14] mendoza to charles v., july 17, 1527.--_spanish calendar._ [15] wolsey to henry viii., july 5.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. part 2. bishop fisher to paul, _ibid._, p. 1471. [16] charles v. to inigo de mendoza, july 29.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 1500. [17] _ibid._ [18] charles v. to mendoza, sept. 30, 1527.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. p. 1569. [19] the emperor to the cardinal of york, aug. 31, 1527.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iii. part 2, p. 357. [20] wolsey to henry viii., aug. --, 1527.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. part 2. [21] the cardinals of france to clement vii., sept. 16, 1527.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iii. part 2, p. 383. [22] mendoza to charles v., aug. 16, 1527.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iii. part 2, p. 327. [23] the date of henry's resolution to marry anne is of some consequence, since the general assumption is that it was the origin of the divorce. rumour, of course, said so afterwards, but there is no evidence for it. the early love-letters written by the king to her are assigned by mr. brewer to the midsummer of 1527. but they are undated, and therefore the period assigned to them is conjecture merely. [24] mendoza to charles v., oct. 26, 1527.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iii. part 2, p. 432. [25] _ibid._ [26] knight to henry viii., dec. 4.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. part 2, pp. 1633-4. [27] i follow mr. brewer's translation. [28] 1. when he says, "it is thought," let him be examined whom he ever heard say any such thing of the king. 2. where, when, and why he spoke those words to sir wm. essex and sir wm. barentyne. 3. whether he communicated the matter to any other. 5, 6. whether he thought the words true and why. 7, 8. whether he did not think the words very slanderous to any man's good name. 10, 15. whether he thinks such reports conducive to the peace of the commonwealth, or fitting for a true subject to spread.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, 1537, p. 333. [29] _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 1672. [30] _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 1672. [31] casalis to wolsey, january 13, 1528.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 1694. [32] three foreigners held english sees, not one of which either of them had probably ever visited. campeggio was bishop of salisbury; ghinucci, the auditor of the rota, was bishop of worcester; and catherine's spanish confessor, who had come with her to england, was bishop of llandaff. [33] wolsey to gardiner and fox, february --, 1528.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 1740. [34] embassy to the german princes, january 5, 1534.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vii. p. 10. [35] casalis to peter vannes, april, 1538.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 1842. [36] henry viii. to anne boleyn, june or july, 1528.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 1960. [37] eleanor carey was the sister of mary boleyn's husband. [38] _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv., introduction, pp. 388-9. [39] the emperor to mendoza, july 5, 1528.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iii. part 2, p. 728. [40] mendoza to the emperor, september 18, 1528.--_ibid._ vol. iii. part 2, p. 788. [41] charles v. to queen catherine, september 1, 1528.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iii. part 2, p. 779. [42] campeggio to salviati and to sanga, october 17, 1528.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. part 2, pp. 2099-2102. [43] campeggio to salviati, october 26, 1528.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 2108. [44] campeggio to sanga, oct. 28.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vi. part 2, p. 2113. [45] sanga to campeggio, dec. --, 1528.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vi. part 2, p. 2210. [46] wolsey to casalis, nov. 1, 1528.--_ib._ vol. iv. part 2, p. 2120. [47] catherine to charles v., nov. 24, 1528.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iii. part 2, p. 855. [48] mendoza to charles v., dec. 2, 1528.--_ib._ p. 862. jan. 16, 1529.--_ib._ p. 878. [49] sylvester darius to wolsey, nov. 25, 1528.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. pt. 2, p. 2126. [50] du bellay to montmorency, dec. 9, 1528.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. pt. 2, p. 2177. [51] john casalis to wolsey, dec. 17, 1528.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 2186. [52] mendoza to charles v., feb. 4, 1529.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iii. part 2. [53] knight and benet to wolsey, jan. 8, 1529.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. part 3, p. 2262. [54] mai to charles v., april 3, 1529,--_spanish calendar_, vol. iii. part 2, p. 973. [55] micer mai to the emperor, may 11, 1529.--_ibid._ vol. iv. part 1, p. 20. [56] in spanish the words are even more emphatically contemptuous: "y que ennoramala que se curasen de sus bulas y de sus bellaquerias, si las querian dar ó no dar, y que no pongan lengua en los reyes y querir ser jueces de la subjeccion de los reynos." [57] micer mai to the emperor, june 5, 1529.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 60. [58] campeggio to sanga, april 3, 1529.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. p. 2379. [59] gardiner to henry viii., april 21.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. p. 2415. [60] bryan to henry viii.--_ibid._ p. 2418. [61] wolsey to gardiner, may 5, 1529.--_ibid._ p. 2442. [62] campeggio to salviati, may 12, 1529.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, p. 2451. [63] du bellay to montmorency, may 22, 1529.--_ibid._ vol. iv. p. 2469. [64] _ibid._ may 28, 1529, p. 2476-7. [65] the duke of suffolk to henry viii., june 4, 1529.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. p. 2491. [66] sanga to campeggio, may 29, 1529.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. p. 2479. [67] casalis to wolsey, june 13, 1529.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, pp. 2507-8. [68] mendoza to charles v., june 17, 1529.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 96. [69] campeggio to salviati, june 16, 1529.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. p. 2509. [70] wolsey to casalis, june 22, 1529.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. p. 2526. [71] "la mas necia y bellaca carta que se pudiera hacer en el infierno." [72] mai to charles v., august 4, 1529.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, page 155 (abridged). [73] same to the same, august 28.--_ibid._ p. 182. [74] benet, casalis, and vannes to henry viii.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. pp. 2567-8. [75] campeggio to salviati, june 29, 1529.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. p. 2538. [76] _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. p. 2581. [77] mai to charles v., sept. 3, 1529.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 195. [78] this was not an idle boast. a united army of french and english might easily have marched across the alps; and nothing would have pleased francis better than to have led such an army, with his brother of england at his side, to drive out the emperor. [79] wolsey to benet, etc., july 27.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. p. 2591. [80] paget to petre.--_state papers, henry viii._, vol. x. p. 466. [81] chapuys to the regent margaret, sept. 18, 1529.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 214. [82] chapuys to charles v., sept. 2.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. part 2, p. 225. [83] _ibid._ p. 229. [84] chapuys to charles v., sept. 2, 1529.--_spanish calendar_, vol. vi. part 1, pp. 236-7. [85] _ibid._ p. 236. [86] _ibid._ p. 274. [87] chapuys to charles v., sept. 2, 1529.--_spanish calendar_, vol. vi. part 1, p. 294. [88] the transcripts of these documents were furnished to me by the late sir francis palgrave, who was then keeper of the records. [89] cardinal wolsey and lord darcy, july 1, 1529.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. pp. 2548-62. [90] du bellay to montmorency, oct. 17, 1529.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. pt. 3, p. 2675. [91] chapuys to the emperor, oct. 25, 1529.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. pt. 1, p. 304. [92] hen. viii. to campeggio, oct. 22, 1529.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. p. 2677. [93] to salviati, nov. 5.--_ibid._ p. 2702. [94] hen. viii. to clement vii.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. p. 2660. [95] casalis to henry viii., dec. 26, 1529.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. p. 2722. [96] chapuys to charles v., dec. 6, 1529.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 344. [97] _ibid._ [98] chapuys to charles v., dec. 6, 1529.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 351. [99] charles v. to ferdinand, jan. 11, 1530.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. p. 2742. [100] chapuys to charles v., dec. 9, 1529--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 359. [101] _ibid._ p. 361. [102] _ibid._ p. 366. [103] chapuys to charles v., dec. 9, 1529.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 367. [104] _ibid._ p. 368. [105] chapuys to charles v., dec. 9, 1529.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 369. [106] wolsey to gardiner, jan. 1530.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. p. 2763. [107] chapuys to charles v., feb. 6, 1530.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. pp. 449-50. [108] chapuys to charles v. jan. 31, 1529.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. p. 387. [109] charles v. to ferdinand, jan. 11, 1530.--_ibid._ vol. iv. part 1, pp. 405-6. [110] chapuys to charles v., feb. 6, 1530.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol, iv. p. 2780. [111] bishop of tarbes to francis i., from bologna, march 27, 1530.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. p. 2826. [112] chapuys to charles v., dec. 31, 1529.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 394. [113] chapuys to charles v., jan. 12, 1530.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 417. [114] chapuys to charles v., jan. 20, 1530.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 436. [115] _ibid._ april 23, 1530, p. 511. [116] chapuys to charles v., april 23, 1530.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 533. [117] _ibid._ p. 600. [118] "j'ay reçeu lettres du medicin du cardinal, par lesquelles il m'advertit que son maystre pour non sçavoir en quelles termes sont les affaires de la reyne, il ne scauroit particulierement quel conseil donner et que estant informe, il y vouldroit donner conseil et addresse comme ce estoit pour gagner paradis. car de la depend son bien, honneur et repoz, et qu'il lui semble pour maintenant que l'on debvroyt proceder a plus grandes censures et a la _invocation du bras seculier_. car maintenant il n'y a nul nerf." [119] t. arundel to wolsey, oct. 16, 1530.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. p. 3013. [120] chapuys to charles v., nov. 27, 1530.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 3035. [121] anne boleyn. [122] chapuys to charles v., july 11, 1530.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 630. [123] mai to charles v., oct. 2 and oct. 10, 1530.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. pp. 3002, 3009. [124] answer of the pope, sept. 27, 1530.--_ibid._ p. 2291. [125] chapuys to charles v., sept. 4, 1530.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 707. [126] chapuys to charles, sept. 20, 1530.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 726. [127] chapuys to charles v., oct. 1, 1530.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 734. [128] chapuys to charles v., oct. 1, 1530.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 734. [129] chapuys to charles v., oct. 15, 1530.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 759. [130] henry viii. to clement vii., dec. 6, 1530.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. iv. p. 3055. [131] chapuys to charles v., dec. 21, 1530.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 853. [132] _ibid._ [133] catherine to the pope, dec. 17, 1530.--_ibid._ p. 855. [134] catherine to the pope, december 17, 1530.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 855. [135] chapuys to charles v., jan. 1, 1531.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. v. p. 10. [136] _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. v. p. 12. [137] chapuys to charles, dec. 21, 1530.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 854. [138] chapuys to charles v., january 13, 1531.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 22. [139] chapuys to charles v., january 13, 1531.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 23. [140] _ibid._ p. 26. [141] muxetula to charles v., jan. 12, 1531.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. v. p. 18. [142] mai to covos, feb. 13, 1531.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 59. [143] chapuys to the emperor, jan. 23, 1531.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 39. [144] chapuys to charles v., feb. 14, 1531.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 63. [145] chapuys to charles v., feb. 21, 1530.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 69; and _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. v. p. 49. there are a few verbal differences between the two versions. [146] chapuys to charles v., feb. 21, 1530.--_ibid._ [147] chapuys to charles v., march 22, 1531.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 94. _ibid._--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. v. p. 68. [148] micer mai to covos, march 28, 1531.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 105. ortiz to the archbishop of santiago, april 11, 1531.--_ibid._ p. 116. [149] queen catherine to the emperor, april 5, 1531.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 112. [150] micer mai to charles v., april 21, 1531.--_ibid._ p. 130. [151] chapuys to charles v., april 2, 1531.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. v. p. 83. [152] micer mai to charles v., may 25, 1531.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 165. [153] chapuys to charles v., june 6, 1531.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 170. [154] chapuys to charles v., june 6, 1531.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 172. [155] answer to the papal legate respecting the cause of england, july, 1531.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 203. [156] chapuys to charles v., june 24, 1531.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. v. pp. 144-5. [157] the emperor's answer to the legate, july 26, 1531.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 218. [158] catherine's phrase for the excommunication of her husband. [159] queen catherine to charles v., july 28.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 220. [160] _spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 239. [161] chapuys to charles v., january 4, 1532.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. v. p. 335. [162] chapuys to charles v., october 1, 1531---_spanish calendar_, vol. v. part 2, p. 256. [163] mai to covos, oct. 24, 1531.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 276. [164] _ibid._ [165] chapuys to charles v., oct. 16, 1531.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 263. [166] catherine to charles v., nov. 6, 1531.--_ib._ p. 279. i must remind the reader that i have to compress the substance both of this and many other letters. [167] chapuys to charles v., dec. 4, 1531.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 320. [168] mai to charles v., dec. 12.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 328. [169] catherine to charles v., dec. 15, 1531.--_ib._ p. 331. [170] mai to the emperor, jan. 15, 1532--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 360. [171] clement vii. to henry viii., jan. 25, 1532.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. v. p. 358. [172] _spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 368. [173] henry viii. to the bishop of durham, feb. 24, 1532. compressed.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. v. p. 387. [174] archbishop warham, 1532.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. v. p. 541. [175] _history of england_, vol. i. p. 322, etc. [176] carlo capello to the signory, july 10, 1532.--_venetian calendar_, vol. iv. p. 342. [177] chapuys to charles v., may 13, 1532.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 446. [178] "le roy et son conseil sçavoient bien qu'il y en avoient à faire sans vouloir mestre le chat entre les jambes dautres." chapuys to the emperor, feb. 14, 1532.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 384; _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. v. p. 381. [179] chapuys to charles v., feb. 28, 1532.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. v. p. 392. [180] an address purporting to have been presented by convocation on this occasion, not only complaining of the annates, but inviting a complete separation from the see of rome, was perhaps no more than a draft submitted to the already sorely humiliated body, and not accepted by it.--_history of england_, vol. i. p. 332-3. the french ambassador says distinctly that the clergy agreed to nothing, but their refusal was treated as of no consequence. [181] chapuys to charles v., may 22, 1532.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. v. p. 476. [182] maître d'hôtel to the emperor, and governor of brescia. [183] montfalconet to charles v., may, 1532.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. v. p. 479. [184] chapuys to the emperor, april 16, 1532.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 425. in 1499 louis xii. repudiated his first wife, jeanne de france, and married anne of brittany, widow of charles viii. [185] _spanish calendar_, vol iv. part 1, p. 447. [186] ortiz to charles v., may, 1532.--_ibid._ p. 438. [187] _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. v. p. 539. [188] ortiz to charles v., july 28, 1532.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 486. [189] ortiz to charles v., july 28, 1532.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 414. [190] ortiz to charles v., july 28, 1532.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 469. [191] charles v. to mary of hungary, nov. 7, 1532.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. v. p. 642. [192] chapuys to charles v., oct. 1, 1532.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. v. p. 592. [193] _spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 512. [194] ortiz to the emperor, sept. 30, 1532.--_ib._ p. 533. [195] instructions to cardinal grammont and tournon, nov. 13, 1532.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. v. p. 648. [196] chapuys to charles v., nov. 10.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. v. p. 644. [197] _ibid._ p. 667. [198] to the emperor, nov. 11.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 554. [199] queen catherine to chapuys, nov. 22, 1532.--_compressed spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 291. the editor dates this letter nov. 1531. he has mistaken the year. no report had gone abroad that the king was married to anne before his return from france. [200] clement vii. to henry viii., nov. 15, 1532; second date, dec. 23.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. v. p. 650. [201] ortiz to the empress, jan. 19, 1533.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, pp. 579-80. [202] carlo capello to the signory, march 15, 1533.--_venetian calendar_, vol. iv. p. 389. [203] chapuys to charles v., feb. 9, 1533, vol. vi. p. 62. the same letter will be found in the _spanish calendar_, with some differences in the translation. the original french is in parts obscure. [204] chapuys to the emperor, feb. 23, 1533. _spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 1, p. 609. [205] _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vi. p. 65. [206] ghinucci and lee to henry viii., march 11, 1533.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vi. p. 100. [207] more to erasmus.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vi. p. 144. [208] chapuys to charles v., feb. 15.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vi. p. 73. _spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 600. [209] chapuys to charles v., feb. 9, 1533. compressed.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, pp. 592-600. [210] chapuys here mentions this very curious fact: "the earl of wiltshire," he wrote on feb. 15, "has never declared himself up to this moment. on the contrary, he has hitherto, as the duke of norfolk has frequently told me, tried to dissuade the king rather than otherwise from the marriage."--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 602. [211] henry viii. to francis i., march 11, 1533.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vi. p. 103. [212] chapuys to charles v., march 11, 1533.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 619. [213] _calendar, foreign and domestic_, april 21, 1533, vol. iv. p. 171. [214] chapuys to charles v., march 31.--_ibid._ vol. vi. p. 128. [215] chapuys to charles v., march 31.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vi. p. 128. [216] dr. ortiz to charles v., april 14, 1533.--_ibid._ pp. 159-60. [217] chapuys to charles v., march 31, 1533.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 626. [218] chapuys to charles v., april 10, 1533. compressed.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vi. pp. 149-51. _spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 630. [219] chapuys to charles v., april 16, 1533.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vi. p. 163, etc., abridged. also _spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 635. [220] i have related elsewhere the story of the dunstable trial, and do not repeat it.--_history of england_, vol. i, pp. 417-423. [221] chapuys to charles v., april 27, 1533. abridged.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv, part 2, p. 648. [222] _spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, pp. 650-658. [223] the count de cifuentes to charles v., may 7, 1533.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vi. pp. 203-4. [224] _ibid._, may 10. [225] ortiz to charles v., may 3, 1533.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 659. [226] chapuys to charles v., may 18, 1533.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vi. pp. 225-6. [227] chapuys to henry viii., may 5, 1533.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 668. [228] cranmer had sworn the usual oath, but with a reservation that his first duty was to his sovereign and the laws of his country. [229] chapuys to charles v., may 26, 1533.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 687. [230] chapuys to charles v., may 29, 1533.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 699. [231] cifuentes to charles v., may 29, 1533.--_ibid._ p. 702. [232] the cardinal of jaen to charles v., june 16, 1533.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 709. [233] davalos to charles v., june 30 and july 5, 1533.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, pp. 725-728. [234] _ibid._ [235] davalos to charles v., june 30 and july 5, 1533.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 749. [236] _ibid._ p. 734. [237] chapuys to charles v., june 28, 1533.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, pp. 718-20. [238] _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vi. p. 399. [239] chapuys to charles v., aug. 3, 1533.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, pp. 759-60. [240] chapuys to granvelle, nov. 21, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. 9, p. 289. [241] chapuys to charles v., aug. 23, 1533.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 777. [242] chapuys to charles v., sept. 10, 1533.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 789. [243] _ibid._ p. 788. [244] chapuys to charles v., nov. 3, 1533.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 842. [245] the king's infirmities were not a secret. in 1533, upon elizabeth's birth, a señor de gambaro, who was an intimate friend of the duke of norfolk, wrote at rome for cifuentes a curious account of the situation and prospects of things in england. among other observations he says: "the [expected] child will be weak, owing to his father's condition." avisos de las cosas de inglaterra dados por sr. de gambaro en roma.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vi. p. 683. [246] _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vi. p. 486. _spanish calendar_, vol. vi. part 2, p. 813. [247] _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vi. p. 486. _spanish calendar_, vol. vi. part 2, p. 813. [248] news from flanders.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vi. p. 493. [249] _i. e._ the calling in the secular arm, which had not been actually done in the brief _de attentatis_. [250] chapuys to charles v., oct. 10, 1533.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vi. p. 511. [251] _ibid._ [252] cifuentes to charles v., oct. 23, 1533.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vi. p. 534. [253] _ibid._ [254] the papal nuncio to charles v., oct. 22.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 830. [255] chapuys to charles v., nov. 3, 1533.--_ibid._ pp. 839-41. [256] chapuys to charles v., dec. 6, 1533.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 871. [257] chapuys to charles v., nov. 20, 1533.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 859. catherine to charles v., nov. 21.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vi. p. 578. [258] chapuys to charles v., nov. 24, 1533.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 864. [259] gardiner to henry viii., nov. 1533.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vi. p. 571. [260] chapuys to charles, dec. 9, 1533.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 875. [261] chapuys to charles, jan. 17, 1534.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vii. p. 31. [262] chapuys to charles v., feb. 11, 1534.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 31. [263] chapuys to charles v., jan. 17, 1534.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vii. pp. 31-33. [264] chapuys to charles v., dec. 16, 1533.--_spanish calendar_, vol. iv. part 2, p. 883. [265] _spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 32. [266] chapuys to charles v., jan. 3, 1534.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 1. [267] cifuentes to charles v., jan. 23, 1534.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 17. [268] chapuys to charles v., jan. 28, 1534.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 24. [269] cifuentes to charles v., march 24.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 84. [270] ortiz to charles v., march 24, 1534.--_ibid._ vol. v. p. 89. [271] chapuys to charles v., feb. 21, 1534.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. pp. 53-54. [272] _haine novercule._ [273] chapuys to charles v., feb. 26, 1534. abridged.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 59, etc. [274] chapuys to charles v., march 7, 1534.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 73. [275] chapuys to charles v., march 30.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 96. [276] chapuys to charles v., 1534.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 96. [277] chapuys to charles v., april 22, 1534.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. pp. 126, 127. [278] _ibid._ may 14, p. 151. [279] chapuys to charles v., april 14, 1534.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. pp. 125-31. [280] _ibid._ may 21, 1534, p. 167. [281] chapuys to charles v., may 14, 1534.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. pp. 153, 154. [282] chapuys to charles v., may 14, 1534.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. pp. 153, 154. [283] chapuys to charles v., may 19, 1534.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. pp. 155-66. [284] lee and tunstall to henry viii., may 21, 1534.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vii. p. 270. [285] chapuys to charles v., may 29, 1534,--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 169. [286] thus much was certainly meant by the king's words: "he could not allow any of his native subjects to refuse to take the oath."--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vii. p. 272. [287] _spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 172. [288] cifuentes to charles v., june 6, 1534.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. pp. 174 et seq. [289] chapuys to charles v., june 23, 1534. abridged.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. pp. 198-99. [290] chapuys to charles v., july 27, 1534.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. pp. 219-20. [291] chapuys to charles v., july 27, 1534.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vii. p. 389. [292] cifuentes to charles v., aug. 1, 1534.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 229. [293] chapuys to charles v., aug. 11, 1534.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. pp. 243-4. [294] chapuys to charles v., aug. 29, 1534.--_spanish calendar_, p. 250. [295] chapuys to charles v., oct. 24, 1534.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. pp. 294 et seq. [296] chapuys to charles v., sept. 30, 1534.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vii. p. 466; _spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 608. [297] chapuys to charles v., oct. 13, 1534.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 279. [298] chapuys to charles v., nov. 3, 1534.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. vii. p. 519. [299] chapuys to charles v., dec. 19, 1534.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 343. [300] chapuys to charles v., jan. 14, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. viii. p. 14. [301] chapuys to charles v., jan. 28, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. viii. p. 38. [302] "veuillant denoter par icelle, puisque n'a moyen de m'envoyer dire securement, que la saison sera propice pour jouer des cousteaulx."-_ibid._ jan. 1, p. 1; and _ms. vienna_. [303] chapuys to charles v., jan. 28, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. viii. p. 38. [304] chapuys to charles v., feb. 9, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. viii. pp. 68-72. [305] chapuys to charles v., feb. 25, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. viii. p. 100. [306] "car estant la royne si haultain de coeur, luy venant en fantasye, a l'appuy de la faveur de la princesse, elle se pourroit mettre au champs et assembler force des gents et luy faire la guerre aussy hardiment que fit la royne sa mere." chapuys à l'empereur, mar. 23, 1535.--_ms. vienna._ [307] chapuys to granvelle, march 23, 1535.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 432; and _ms. vienna_. [308] chapuys to charles v., feb. 25, 1534.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. viii. p. 105. [309] _spanish calendar_, feb. 26, 1535, vol. v. p. 402. [310] _calendar, foreign and domestic_, feb. 26, 1535, vol. viii. p. 106. [311] _spanish calendar_, vol. v. pp. 421-22. [312] chapuys to charles v., march 7, 1535.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. pp. 413-422. [313] "il me dit que vostre majesté ne se debvoit arrester pour empescher ung si inestimable bien que produiroit en toute la chresteaneté l'union et la bonne intelligence dentre vostre majesté et le roi son maistre pour l'affaire des royne et princesse qui n'estoient que mortelles; et que ne seroit grande dommage de la morte de la dicte princesse au pris du bien que sortiroit de la dicte union et intelligence; en quoy il me prioit vouloir considerer quand seroy seul et desoccupé." chapuys to charles v., march 23, 1535.--_ms. vienna_; and _spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 426. this and other of chapuys's most important letters i transcribed myself at vienna. [314] "me repliequant de nouveaulx quel dommage ou danger seroyt que la dicte princesse feust morte oyres que le peuple en murmurast, et quelle raison auroit vostre majesté en fayre cas." [315] queen catherine to charles v., april 8.--_ms. vienna_; _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. viii. p. 197. [316] chapuys to charles v., april 4, 1535.--_ms. vienna_; _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. viii. p. 193. [317] chapuys to granvelle, april 5, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. viii. p. 194 and _ms. vienna_. [318] chapuys to charles v., april 17, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. viii. p. 209. [319] "le premier estoit si dieu vouloit visiter le roy de quelque petite maladie." the word _petite_ implied perhaps in chapuys's mind that dr. butts contemplated a disorder of which he could control the dimensions, and the word, if he used it, is at least as suspicious as cromwell's language about mary. [320] "affirmant pour tout certain qu'il y avoit une xx des principaulx seigneurs d'angleterre et plus de cent chevaliers tout disposés et prests à employer personnes, biens, armes, et subjects, ayant le moindre assistance de vostre majesté." chapuys to charles v., april 25, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. viii. p. 222; and _ms. vienna_. [321] chapuys to charles v., may 5, 1535.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 452. [322] _ibid._ [323] charles v. to chapuys, may 10, 1535.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 459. [324] _spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 459. [325] chapuys to charles v., may 8, 1535.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 457. [326] dr. ortiz to charles v., may 27, 1535.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 462. [327] chapuys to charles v., may 23, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. viii. p. 280; _spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 465. [328] _spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 484. [329] chapuys to charles v., june 5, 1535.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 483. [330] _spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 486. [331] chapuys to charles v., june 30, 1535.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 500. [332] the bishop of faenza to m. ambrogio, june 6, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. viii. p. 320. [333] examination of fisher in the tower, june 12, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. viii. pp. 331 et seq. [334] news from england, july 1, 1535.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 507. [335] chapuys to charles v., july 11, 1535.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 512. [336] cifuentes to charles v., july 16, 1535.--_ibid._ p. 515. [337] _spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 532. [338] chapuys to charles v., july 25, 1535.--_ibid._ vol. v. p. 518. [339] memorandum on the affairs of england.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 522. [340] _ibid._ p. 535. [341] ortiz to the empress, sept. 1, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. ix. p. 84. [342] "cuando se viese con la señora reyna su hermana despues de dadas mis afectuosas encomiendas rogarle de mi parte quisiese tener mencion de my con el christianisimo rey su marido y hacer quanto pudiese ser, que el sea buen amigo al rey mi señor procurando de quitarle del pecado, en que esta." catherine to the regent mary, aug. 8, 1535.--_ms. vienna._ [343] chapuys to charles v., sept. 25, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. ix. pp. 140-141. [344] chapuys to granvelle, sept. 25, 1535.--_vienna ms._; _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. ix. p. 141. [345] the executory brief was not identical with the bull of deposition. the first was the final act of catherine's process, a declaration that henry, having disobeyed the sentence on the divorce delivered by clement vii., was excommunicated, and an invitation to the catholic powers to execute the judgment by force. the second involved a claim for the holy see on england as a fief of the church--an intimation that the king of england had forfeited his crown and that his subjects' allegiance had reverted to their supreme lord. the pope and consistory preferred the complete judgment, as more satisfactory to themselves. the catholic powers objected to it for the same reason. the practical effect would be the same. [346] cifuentes to charles v., oct. 8, 1535.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 547. [347] "et luy supplier de la part de la reyne, ma mère, et myenne en l'honneur de dieu et pour aultres respects que dessus vouloit entendre et pourvoyr aux affaires dycy. en quoy fera tres agréable service a dieu, et n'en acquerra moins de gloire qu'en la conqueste de tunis et de toute l'affaire d'afrique." _de la princesse de l'angleterre à l'ambassadeur_, october, 1535.--_ms. vienna_; _spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 559. [348] queen catherine to the pope, october 10, 1535.--_ms. vienna._ [349] the bishop of tarbes to the bailly of troyes, october, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. ix. p. 187. [350] chapuys to charles v., october 13, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. ix. p. 196. [351] chapuys to granvelle, october 13, 1535.--_ibid._ p. 199. [352] _ibid._ pp. 225, 228. [353] _spanish calendar_, october 24, 1535, vol. v. p. 559. [354] ortiz to the emperor, november 4, 1535.--_ibid._ vol. v. p. 565. [355] du bellay and the bishop of mâcon to francis i., november 12, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. ix. p. 273. [356] froude's _history of england_, vol. ii. p. 386. [357] bishop of faenza to m. ambrogio, november 15, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. ix. p. 276. [358] charles v. to cifuentes, november, 1535.--_ibid._ vol. ix. p. 277. [359] "tout a cest instant la marquise de exeter m'a envoyé dire que le roy a dernierement dit à ses plus privés conseillers qu'il ne voulloit plus demeurer en les fascheuses crainctes et grevements qu'il avoit de long temps eus à cause des royne et princesse; et qu'il y regardassent à ce prochain parlement l'en faire quiete, jurant bien et tres obstinement qu'il n'actendoit plus longuement de y pourvoir." chapuys to charles v., nov. 6, 1535.--_ms. vienna._ [360] "afin que par ce moyen, perdant l'espoir de la clemence et misericorde de vostre majeste toute-fois fussent plus determinez a se defendre." chapuys à l'empereur.--_ms. vienna_, nov. 23. [361] the emperor to chapuys.--_ms. vienna._ [362] chapuys to granvelle, nov. 21, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. ix. p. 290. [363] ortiz to the empress, nov. 22, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. ix. pp. 293-4. [364] bishop of faenza to m. ambrogio, dec. 9.--_ibid._ vol. ix. p. 317. [365] cifuentes to charles v., nov. 30, 1535.--_ibid._ vol. ix. p. 303. [366] chapuys to charles v., dec. 18, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. ix. p. 333. [367] cardinal du bellay to the cardinals of lorraine and tournon, dec. 22, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. ix. pp. 341-43. [368] the bishop of faenza to m. ambrogio, dec. 13, 1535.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. ix. p. 326. [369] queen catherine to dr. ortiz, dec. 13, 1535.--_ibid._ vol. ix. p. 325. [370] queen catherine to charles v., dec. 13, 1535.--_ms. vienna._ [371] the emperor to thomas cromwell, dec. 13, 1535.--_spanish calendar_, vol. ix. p. 588. [372] "et que vostre ma{té} luy avoit usé de la plus grande ingratitude que l'on scauroit dire, solicitant à l'appetit d'une femme tant de choses contre luy, que luy avoit faict innumerables maux et fascheries, et de telle importance, que vostre ma{té} par menasses et force avoit faict donner la sentence contre luy, comme le mesme pape l'avoit confessé." chapuys a l'empereur, dec. 30, 1535.--_ms. vienna_; _spanish calendar_, vol. v. p. 595. [373] chapuys to charles v., jan. 21, 1536.--_ms. vienna_; _spanish calendar_, vol. v. part 2, p. 18. [374] "je demanday par plusieurs fois au médecin s'il y avoit quelque soubçon de venin. il me dict qu'il s'en doubtoit, car depuys qu'elle avoit beu d'une cervise de galles elle n'avoit fait bien; et qu'il failloit que ne fust poison terminé et artificeux, car il ne veoit les signes de simple et pur venin." chapuys à l'empereur, jan. 9, 1536.--_ms. vienna_; _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 22. [375] chapuys to charles v., jan. 9 and jan. 21, 1536.--_ms. vienna_; _spanish calendar_, vol. v. part 2, pp. 2-10. [376] chapuys to charles v., jan. 21, 1536.--_ms. vienna_; _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 47. [377] chapuys to charles v., jan. 21 and jan. 29.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. part 2, pp. 10-26. [378] "l'on m'a dicte que la concubine consoloit ses demoiselles qui pleuroient, leur disant que c'estoit pour le mieulx, car elle en seroit tant plus tost enceinte, et que le fils qu'elle pourterait ne seroit dubieulx comme fust este icelle, estant concen du vivant de la royne." chapuys to granvelle, feb. 25, 1536.--_ms. vienna_; _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 135. [379] chapuys to charles v., feb, 17, 1536.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 116. [380] charles v. to the emperor, feb. 1, 1536.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. part 2, p. 33. [381] report of the privy council of spain, feb. 26, 1536.--_ibid._ p. 60. [382] _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 224. [383] chapuys to charles v., feb. 25, 1536.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. pp. 131 et seq. [384] "et aussy quant à l'auctorité de l'eglise anglicane l'on pourroit persuader au roy que la chose se appoineteroit à son honnneur, proufit, et bien du royaulme." [385] _i. e._ as part of it. charles v. to chapuys, march 28, 1536.--_ms. vienna_; _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. pp. 224 et seq.; _spanish calendar_, vol. v. part 2, pp. 71 et seq. there are some differences in the translations in the two calendars. when i refer to the ms. at vienna i use copies made there by myself. [386] chapuys to charles v., april 1, 1536.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 243. [387] chapuys to charles v., april 1, 1536.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 242. [388] _calendar, foreign and domestic_, june 2, 1536, vol. x. pp. 428 et seq. [389] chapuys to charles v., april 21, 1536.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. pp. 287 et seq.; _spanish calendar_, vol. v. part 2, pp. 85 et seq. [390] april 21.--_calendar, foreign and domestic._ [391] henry viii. to pate, april 25, 1536. abridged.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 306. [392] "et que a luy avoit este l'auctorite de descouvrir et parachever les affairs de la dicte concubine, en quoy il avoit eu une merveilleuse pene; et que sur le desplesir et courroux qu'il avoit eu sur le reponse que le roy son maistre m'avoit donné le tiers jour de pasques il se mit a fantasier et conspirer le dict affaire," etc. chapuys to charles v., june 6, 1536.--_ms. vienna_; _spanish calendar_, vol. v. part 2, p. 137. from the word "conspirer" it has been inferred that the accusation of anne and her accomplices was a conspiracy of cromwell's, got up in haste for an immediate political purpose. cromwell must have been marvellously rapid, since within four days he was able to produce a case to lay before a special commission composed of the highest persons in the realm assisted by the judges, involving the queen and a still powerful faction at the court. we are to believe, too, that he had the inconceivable folly to acknowledge it to chapuys, the most dangerous person to whom such a secret could be communicated. cromwell was not an idiot, and it is impossible that in so short a time such an accumulation of evidence could have been invented and prepared so skilfully as to deceive the judges. [393] _calendar, foreign and domestic_, june 2, vol. x. p. 428. [394] daughter of sir anthony brown, master of the horse. [395] john husee to lady lisle, may 24, 1536.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 397. [396] chapuys to charles v., april 29.--_spanish calendar_, p. 105. [397] _ibid._ [398] _history of england_, vol. ii. p. 454. [399] chapuys to charles v., may 19, 1536.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. part 2, p. 125. [400] chapuys to charles v., may 2, 1536.--_mss. vienna_; _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 330; _spanish calendar_, vol. v. part 2, p. 107. [401] in transcribing the ms. twenty years ago at vienna i mistook the name for howard, which it much resembled in the handwriting of the time. i am reminded correctly that there was no viscount howard in the english peerage. [402] "le visconte hannaert a escript au sr de granvelle que au mesme instant il avoit entendu de bon lieu que la concubine du dict roy avoit esté surprise couchée avec l'organiste du dict roy." [403] the earl of northumberland to cromwell, may 13, 1536.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 356. [404] cromwell to gardiner, july 5, 1536.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. xi. p. 17. [405] _history of england_, vol. ii. p. 470. [406] sir henry wyatt to thomas wyatt, may 7, 1536.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 345. "him" refers to cromwell. [407] _history of england_, vol. ii. pp. 459-462. [408] _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 430. [409] _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 357. [410] autograph letter of sir francis weston, may 3, 1536.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 358. [411] cromwell to wallop and gardiner, may 14, 1536.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 359. [412] "qu'elle avoit faict empoissoner la fene royne et machyné de faire de mesme à la princesse." chapuys was not present, but was writing from report, and was not always trustworthy. no trace is found of these accusations in the record, but they may have been mentioned in the pleadings. [413] "que le roy n'estoit habille en cas de copuler avec femme, et qu'il n'avoit ni vertu ni puissance." historians, to make their narrative coherent, assume an intimate acquaintance with the motives for each man's or woman's actions. facts may be difficult to ascertain, but motives, which cannot be ascertained at all unless when acknowledged, they are able to discern by intuition. they have satisfied themselves that the charges against anne boleyn were invented because the king wished to marry jane seymour. i pretend to no intuition myself. i do not profess to be wise beyond what i find written. in this instance i hazard a conjecture--a conjecture merely--which occurred to me long ago as an explanation of some of the disasters of henry's marriages, and which the words, alleged to have been used by anne to lady rochford, tend, _pro tanto_, to confirm. henry was already showing signs of the disorder which eventually killed him. infirmities in his constitution made it doubtful, both to others and to himself, whether healthy children, or any children at all, would in future be born to him. it is possible--i do not say more--that anne, feeling that her own precarious position could only be made secure if she became the mother of a prince, had turned for assistance in despair at her disappointments to the gentlemen by whom she was surrounded. as an hypothesis, this is less intolerable than to suppose her another messalina. in every instance of alleged offence the solicitation is said to have proceeded from herself, and to have been only yielded to after an interval of time. [414] "au grand despit de cromwell et d'aucungs autres qui ne vouldroient en cest endroit s'engendroit suspicion qui pourroit prejudiquer à la lignée que le dict roy pretend avoir."--_mss. vienna._ [415] chapuys to charles v., may 19, 1536.--_mss. vienna_; _spanish calendar_, vol. v. part 2, pp. 122 et seq. in one or two instances my translation will be found to differ slightly from that of s{r} gayangas. [416] chapuys to charles v., may 19.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. part 2, p. 128. [417] _history of england_, vol. ii. p. 483. [418] _wriothesley's chronicle_ (camden society's publications), vol. i. p. 39. [419] constantine's memorial.--_archæologia_, vol. xxiii. pp. 63-66. [420] _calendar, foreign and domestic_, june 2, vol. x. p. 430. [421] _ibid._ p. 431. [422] kingston to cromwell, may 16, 1536.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 371. [423] 28 hen. viii. cap. 7. [424] chapuys to granvelle, may 19, 1536.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 380. [425] _wriothesley's chronicle_, vol. i. pp. 40, 41. [426] chapuys's words are worth preserving. he was mistaken in his account of the statute. it did not declare mary legitimate, and it left henry power to name his own successor should his marriage with jane seymour prove unfruitful. so great an error shows the looseness with which he welcomed any story which fell in with his wishes. he says: "le statut declairant la princesse legitime heretiere, la fille de la concubine, a esté revoqué, et elle declairé bastarde, non point comme fille de m. norris, comme se pouvoit plus honnestement dire, mais pour avoir esté la marriage entre la dicte concubine et le dict roy illegitime à cause qu'il avoit cogneu charnellement la soeur de la dicte concubine: pour laquelle cause l'archevesque de canterburi, ung ou deux jours avant que la dicte concubine fut executée, donna et prefera la sentence de divorce, de quoy, comme sçavez trop mieulx, n'estoit grand besoign, puisque l'epée et la mort les auroit prochainement et absolument divorcés: et puisque aussy le vouloient faire, le pretext eust esté plus honneste d'alleguer qu'elle avoit este mairée à aultre encores vivant. mais dieu a voulu descouvrir plus grande abomination, qui est plus que inexcusable actendu qu'il ne peut alleguer ignorance neque juris neque facti. dieu veuille que telle soit la fin de toutes ses folies!" chapuys à granvelle, july 8, 1536.--_ms. vienna._ [427] this was distinctly laid down in the case of catherine howard. [428] _wriothesley's chronicle_, pp. 41, 42. [429] "le roy respondit qu'il avoit trop experimenté en la dicte concubine, que c'estoit de la nourriture de france." chapuys à l'empereur, june 6.--_ms. vienna._ [430] "me dict qu'icelluy baily de troyes et l'autre ambassadeur avoient proposé le mariage de l'aisnée fille de france avec ce roy, mais que c'estoit peine perdue. car ce roy ne se marieroit oncques hors de sou royaulme, et, luy demandant raison pourquoy, il m'en dit avec assez mine assurance que se venant à mesfaire de son corps une reine estrangere qui fut de grand sang et parentage, l'on ne pourroit chastier et s'en faire quitte comme il avoit fait de la derniere," chapuys à l'empereur.--_ms. vienna_, june 6. [431] charles v. to chapuys, may 15, 1536.--_ms. vienna_; _calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 370. [432] "qui à la verité est une musique de hault genre et digne de rire." [433] _ms. vienna._ [434] chapuys to granvelle, may 19, 1536.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 380. [435] "in causâ matrimonii et in consistoriis et publice et privatim apud clementem vii. se omnia quæ potuit pro vestrâ majestate egisse: et bononiæ imperatori per horas quatuor accurate persuadere conatum fuisse, non esse majestatem vestram per illam causam impugnandam." sir gregory casalis to henry viii., may 27, 1536.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. pp. 406 _et seq._ [436] cromwell, writing to gardiner to inform him of the marriage, said that "the nobles and council upon their knees had moved him to it." if their entreaty had been no more than a farce, cromwell would hardly have mentioned it so naturally in a private letter to a brother privy councillor.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. xi. p. 16. [437] chapuys to charles v., may 19, 1536.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 378. [438] john husee to lord lisle, may 19.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 385. [439] the princess mary to cromwell, may 26, 1536.--_calendar, foreign and domestic._ [440] chapuys to charles v., june 6.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 440; _spanish calendar_, vol. v. pp. 137 et seq. [441] charles v. to chapuys, june 30, 1536.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 511. [442] _calendar, foreign and domestic_, june 6, 1536, vol. x. p. 389. [443] chapuys to charles v., june 6, 1536.--_calendar, foreign and domestic_, vol. x. p. 441. [444] chapuys to charles v., july 1, 1536.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. part 2, pp. 184 et seq. [445] chapuys to charles v., july 8, 1536.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. part 2, p. 221. in using the words, "princess of wales," chapuys adds a curious fact, if fact it be--"nowhere that i know of," he says, "is the title of princess given to a king's daughter as long as there is hope of male descent. it was the cardinal of york who, for some whim or other of his own, broke through the rule and caused henry's daughter by catherine to be called 'princess of wales.'" [446] cifuentes to charles v., august 4, 1536.--_spanish calendar_, vol. v. part 2, p. 221. [447] chapuys to charles v., august 12, 1536. index. abbots, mitred: division of opinion on the annates bill, 187. "advocation" of a cause to rome, 108. alençon, princesse d': wolsey's alleged desire of henry viii.'s marriage with, 49 _sq._ amadas, mrs., 235. annates bill, 187. appeals, act of, 58, 209. arches court, the, reformation of, 185. arthur, prince (henry viii.'s brother): question of the consummation of his marriage with catherine, 171. ateca, father (bishop of llandaff), catherine's confessor, 379. audeley, chancellor, 405. barentyne, sir william, 60. barton, elizabeth. see _nun of kent_. bath, bishop of (english ambassador at paris), on the initial stages of the divorce of henry viii., 25. becket, archbishop (canterbury), the hero of the english clergy, 158. bellay du (french ambassador to england): on wolsey's position towards the divorce, 94; on the blackfriars legatine court, 107; account of wolsey after his fall, 121; mission from francis to anne boleyn, 250; special mission to clement, 256; the pope's reply, 257 _sqq._; mission to the pope in regard to milan, 362; description of the debate in consistory on the bull of deposition, 369. benet, dr., english agent at rome, 104. bishop's courts, the, reformation of, 185. bishops, english: their qualified acceptance of the royal supremacy, 161; their official opinions on the divorce question, 166; unanimous against the annates bill, 187. bilney, thomas, burnt as a heretic, by a bishop's order, 255. blackfriars, the trial of the divorce cause before the legatine court at, 49; the papal supremacy on its trial there, 100. boleyn, sir thomas (anne boleyn's father; afterwards earl of wiltshire): opposed to his daughter's advancement, 48. see also _wiltshire, earl of_. boleyn, lady, 47; the charge of her being unduly intimate with henry viii., 55, 57. boleyn, anne: account of her family and her early life, 47; alleged amour with henry percy, _ib._; hatred of wolsey, 48; her personal appearance, _ib._; attempt to influence henry in appointing an abbess, 71; annoyance at wolsey's getting a pension after his fall, 132; pleasure at the signs of henry's breach with the papacy, 152; said (by chapuys) to be favouring the lutherans, 163; unpopularity arising from her insolence and her intrigues, 167; objects to the princess mary being near her father, 174; created marchioness of pembroke, 193; compliments paid her by the french king, 194; present at the interview between henry and francis, 195; continued unpopularity, 201; agrees to a private marriage, 203; a staunch lutheran, 207; announcement of her being _enceinte_, 211; her coronation, 230; gives birth to a daughter, 238; bill establishing the succession in her offspring by henry, 262; attempts to force princess mary to acknowledge her as queen, 266; alleged threats against mary, 262, 266, 269, 279; suspected evil intentions against catherine, 277; meets a rebuff in the acquittal of lord dacre, 284; violence and insolence to the king through jealousy, 296; and to his principal ministers, 297; urges henry to bring catherine and mary to trial under the succession act, 312; joy at catherine's death, 382; friendly message to mary, 383; anne's continued unpopularity, 385; letter to mrs. shelton about mary, 387; a second miscarriage, 388; a long catalogue of misdeeds charged against her, 402; easter (1536) at greenwich, 404; inquiry into infidelities charged against her, 415; charged before the council with adultery, 417; sent to the tower, _ib._; alleged to have planned the poisoning of the princess mary and the duke of richmond, 418; denial of the charge of adultery, 419; charged with having been herself the solicitor to adultery, 420; her trial: the indictment, 426; a reason suggested for her infidelities, 426 _n._; her trial, 480 _sqq._; her confession to cranmer, invalidating her marriage with henry, 431; her marriage declared null, 431; her dying speech, 435; execution, _ib._ boleyn, mary: henry viii.'s alleged intimacy with, 55 _sqq._; chapuys's reference to it, 130. bourbon, cardinal, 46. bourbon, duke of: his treatment of italy after the battle of pavia, 27; sack of rome by (1527), 35. brereton, sir william (paramour of anne boleyn), 416, 419; execution, 420. brewer, mr.: his translation and interpretation of wolsey's suggested papal dispensation for henry viii.'s second marriage, 54 _sq._; his views on the alleged intrigue between henry and mary boleyn, 58. bribery of ministers, a common custom, 45. brief of execution: its issue still delayed by paul iii., 318; differences between it and the bull of deposition, 353 _n._ brown, dr. (augustinian friar): denounces the authority of the pope in england, 298. bryan, sir francis: his opinion of clement vii.'s intentions towards henry viii., 93; suspected of intriguing with anne, 421. bulls for english bishoprics, enormous cost of, 89. burgo, andrea de, 103, 168. burgo, baron de: appointed to succeed casalis as nuncio in england, 144; chapuys's account of his first interview with henry, 145; protest against the revival of the statute of præmunire, 148; henry's reply, 149; report of an interview with henry at hampton court, and with norfolk, 150; reply to norfolk's caution against introducing papal briefs, 156; his attempted appeal to convocation, 160; presents clement's brief to henry, 162; account of henry's reception of the threat of excommunication, 169; secret communications with henry, 205; accompanies the king in state to the opening of parliament, 206. butts, dr. (henry's physician): chapuys's account of his treachery, 323. calais, conference at, 339, 347. cambrai: suggested as neutral ground for the trial of the divorce cause, 124, 129, 169, 176, 200. cambrai, peace of, 66, 109, 112, 114, 134, 223. campeggio, bishop (salisbury), 64, 92; chosen by the pope as special legate to england, 67 _sq._, 74; reception in england, 76; his reports thence, 78; his consultation with wolsey, 79; suggestion to marry the princess mary to the duke of richmond, _ib._; dilatoriness, 84; account of lutheran proposals to henry, 91; his advice to catherine at blackfriars, 100; effect upon him of bishop fisher's denunciation of the divorce, 107; indignity offered to him on his leaving england, 122; henry's reply to his complaint, _ib._; revenues of his see sequestrated, 238. canonists, henry viii.'s consultation of, and the results, 136. capello, carlo (venetian ambassador to london): his account of anne boleyn's unpopularity, 201. carew, sir nicholas, 415. carey, eleanor: henry viii.'s refusal to appoint her abbess of wilton, 71. casalis, sir gregory, english agent at rome, 37; on a special mission to the pope at orvieto, 53; his report, 63; on the pope's position, 68; account of his interview with clement to complain of dilatoriness, 84; after the pope's recovery from illness, 89; _résumé_ of the pope's position towards the emperor, 96; protests to the pope against fisher being made cardinal, 338. casalis, john (papal nuncio in england): his statement that the pope desired to reconcile the king and the emperor, 127; the nuncio "heart and soul" with the king, 135. catherine of aragon: death of her male children by henry, 21; irregularity of her marriage, 23; her character, 24; description of her by falieri, 32; first discovery of the proposal for a divorce, 34; a scene with her husband, 38; endeavours to obtain the revocation of wolsey's legatine powers, 39; no suspicion for some time of anne boleyn, 48; believed that wolsey was the instigator of the divorce, 49; her ignorance of any intrigue between henry and either lady boleyn or her daughter mary, 58; catherine refuses to acquiesce in a private arrangement of the divorce, 62; stands resolutely upon her rights, 64; objects to the case being tried in england, 75; the arguments of the legates to her, 77; the queen remains still firm, 78; her popularity, 79, 81; the brief amending defects in julius' dispensation, 83, 86; catherine refuses to embrace a conventual life, 87; protest against the trial at blackfriars, 101; appeal to henry there, _ib._; catherine pronounced contumacious, 102; her joy at the advocation of the cause to rome, 108; objection to the summoning of parliament, 110; first interview with chapuys, 113 _sq._; demands from rome instant sentence in her cause, 125; dislike of wolsey up to his death, 132; fresh efforts to persuade her to take the veil, 133; the suggestion of a neutral place for the trial, 143; alarm at the enforcement of præmunire, 149; a party formed in her favour in the house of commons, 151; letter of catherine to clement, 151; sends a special representative to rome, 159; reception of the news that henry had declared himself "pope" in england, 162; distrust of clement's intentions, 163; renewed appeal to the emperor, 165; causes of her popularity, 167; her answer to a delegation of peers and bishops urging a neutral place of trial, 170; sneer at the "supremum caput," 171; question of the consummation of her marriage with prince arthur, 171; catherine separated from her daughter, and sent to moor park, 174; english nobles make another effort to move catherine, 176; her reply, 177; annoyed at the pope's delays, 179; her opinion on the probable result of the meeting of henry and francis, 193; complaints to charles, 197; the proposal that cranmer should try the cause in the archbishop's court, 207; catherine pressed by english peers to withdraw her appeal, after the passing of the act of appeals, 214; her reply, 216; _résumé_ of her position in regard to henry, 217 _sq._; summoned, refuses to appear before cranmer's court at dunstable, 220; her rejection of the demand that she be styled and endowed as "princess dowager," 234; allowed to have the princess mary with her, 234; said to have desired a marriage between the princess and reginald pole, 241, 295; absolute refusal of the renewed cambrai proposition, 246; sent to kimbolton, and separated again from her daughter, 252; fear of foul play, 254; insistence that chapuys should appeal to parliament for her, 262; refusal to take the succession oath, 271; two accounts of her interview with tunstal and lee on the subject, 275 _sq._; suspected evil intentions of anne against her, 277; disquiet at the emperor's inaction, 280; obliged to refuse to receive chapuys at kimbolton, 281; her household reduced by anne, 296; endeavours to quicken the emperor's resolution, 392; anxiety caused by her daughter's second illness, 304; the emperor's refusal to interfere the death-knell of her hopes, 309; another appeal to charles, 319; appeal to the pope to "apply a remedy," 356; a similar appeal to charles, 357; what the "remedy" was, 362; catherine's expectation of "martyrdom," 366; seized with fatal illness, 372; her last letters, 373; interviews with chapuys, 377; her death, 379; suspicion that she was poisoned, 379 _sqq._; her burial as "widow of prince arthur," 389. catholic party in england: incipient treason develops into definite conspiracy, 240; notorious intention to take arms in behalf of catherine and mary, 271; all their leaders sank into bloody graves, 461. cellini, benvenuto, anecdote of clement vii., 75. chabot, admiral philip de, 364. chapuys, eustace (imperial ambassador to england): his character, 112; his reception in england, _ib._; interview with henry, 113; and with catherine, 114; report on the feeling of the people, _ib._; report of henry's refusal to aid charles with money against the turks, 126; and of henry's attack on the pope and cardinals, _ib._; on henry's firm determination to marry again, 127; on english popular hatred of the priests, 128; suggestion of reference to the sorbonne, 129; on norfolk's dread of wolsey's return to office, 132; statement that the commons were sounded on the divorce, 133; report of norfolk's opinion of probable results of refusing the divorce, 136 _sq._; chapuys's mistaken estimate of english feeling, 137; on wolsey's communications with catherine, 138; and his desire to "call in the secular arm," 139; secrets obtained from wolsey's physician, 140; his account of de burgo's (nuncio) first interview with henry (1530), 145; advice to the nuncio, 146; on anne boleyn's jubilance, 152; dislike of his position in england, 153; reply to norfolk's statement of the superiority in england of the king's to the pope's authority, 155; astounded by the enforcement of præmunire against the english clergy, 160; blames clement's timidity and dissimulation, 162; his account of henry's treatment of the pope's attempts at friendly negotiations, 178; report of henry's denunciation of papal claims in england, 209; desires the emperor to make war on england, 213; interview with henry after the passing of the act of appeals, 214; report on cranmer's judgment, 221; bold action, and consequent discussion with the council, 226; proposes a special spanish embassy to london, 233; his high opinion of thomas cromwell, 236; attempt to combine scotland and england through a marriage between james and the princess mary, 261; interview with henry as to catherine's appeal to parliament, 263; his intrigues with scotland and with ireland against the peace of england, 268 _sq._, 275; speech to the english council against the succession oath, 272 _sq._; presses his views on cromwell, 275; account of tunstal's and lee's interview with catherine on the succession oath, 276; expresses fears for the safety of catherine's life, 277; his pilgrimage to our lady of walsingham (taking kimbolton on the way), 281 _sq._; delight at the irish rebellion, 285; renewed fears for the safety of catherine and mary, 286; negotiations for insurrection with lords hussey and darcy, 288 _sq._; reversal of his revolutionary tactics, 309; fresh negotiations with cromwell, 309 _sqq._; belief that cromwell desired to have the princess mary made away with, 314; presses on cromwell the appeal to a general council, 321; letter to charles emphasizing catherine's appeals for the "remedy," 357; belief that time and circumstances were propitious, 358; reception of cromwell's protest against the emperor's supposed intended attack on henry, 359; interviews with the marchioness of exeter, 365; interview with henry before visiting catherine in her mortal illness, 374; visit to catherine, 377; suspicious as to her having been poisoned, 379 _sqq._; advice to mary in regard to anne boleyn, 383; another plan for mary's escape, 391; resumes negotiations with cromwell for a treaty between charles and henry, 394; expectations of henry's separation from anne, 400; continued negotiations for the treaty, 403; account of the easter (1536) at greenwich, 404; henry insists on a letter from charles, 406, 408; chapuys's report to charles, 409; report to the emperor of anne boleyn's downfall, 418; false account of rochford's dying speech, 428; his explanation of anne's mysterious confession to cranmer, 432; reports about jane seymour, 442; the negotiations for a treaty again taken up, 446; introduced to henry's new queen, 448; advises mary to take the succession oath with a secret protest, 457; on the title "princess of wales," 459 _n._; difficulty with rome about absolution for mary's "protest," 460; the success of the reformation indirectly owing to chapuys, 463. charles v. (emperor): his position in regard to europe in 1526, 26; his relations to the church, 43; letter to henry viii. on his desired divorce, 44; letter to wolsey, 45; persistent efforts to bribe wolsey, 50; allows the pope to escape from captivity, 52; suggests a private arrangement between henry and catherine, 64; declaration of war by france and england against charles, 65; his reply, _ib._; instructions to mendoza on the legatine commission, 74; letter to catherine, 75; suggestion that she should take the veil, 77; becomes the champion of the roman hierarchy, 97; seeks henry's aid against the turks, 126; determination to stand by catherine, 133; fear of exciting the german lutherans, _ib._; his coronation at bologna, 134; reply to the english deputies, _ib._; personal interest in the question of papal dispensations--his affinity to his wife, 141; unconscious of the changes passing over the mind of the english people, 154; perplexed by henry's enforcement of præmunire, 164; letter to sir t. more, 167; insistence that only the pope should be the judge in henry's case, 171; slight modification in his demand, 173; efforts to effect reunion of the lutherans with the church, 175; his position towards england after cranmer's judgment, 222 _sqq._; his nearness to the succession to the english crown, 254; dread of an anglo-french alliance, 278; suggests a joint embassy to england from the pope and himself, _ib._; causes of his hesitation to accede to the wishes of the reactionists in england, 299, 302; ultimate refusal, 306, 308; proposed treaty between charles and henry, 307; letter to henry relating to the proposed treaty, 335; his successful campaign in africa, 347; memorandum of the spanish council of state, 348; apparent change of feeling towards henry, 360; modifications of policy after the death of duke sforza (milan), 364; charles's treatment of chapuys's alarms about henry's intentions towards catherine and mary, 366; reception of the news of catherine's death, 392; resumption of negotiations for the abandoned treaty, 394; eagerness for reconciliation with henry, 396; his proposal, 397; anticipated remarriage of henry, 398; reply to cromwell's suggestions on the treaty, 403; proposes the infanta of portugal as a wife for henry, and the infant (don louis) as a husband for princess mary, 438; an alternative proposal, _ib._; disappointed with henry's conduct after his new marriage, 448; signally defeated by the french in provence, 449. charterhouse monks: their retractation of their supremacy oath, 327; executed for treason, 328. church reform in the parliament of 1529, 115 _sqq._, 127 _sq._ cifuentes, count de (imperial ambassador to rome), 210, 224, 231, 256 _sqq._, 270, 278, 346 _sq._, 353, 460. clarencieulx (english herald), 65. clarendon, constitutions of, 184 _sq._ clement vii., pope: his political position when the divorce was first mooted, 25; charles v.'s inroads on italy, 27; the pope's appeal for help to henry viii., _ib._; financial difficulties and the method of relieving them, 30; a witness of the sack of rome (1527), 35; his captivity, 38, 44; dr. knight's mission to, from henry viii, 51; the pope's escape to orvieto, 52; his desire to please henry, 62; his suggestion of a compromise, 63; concessions to henry, 67; consent that the cause should be heard in england, 68; the secret "decretal," 69; alleged contingent assent to the proposal to marry princess mary to duke of richmond, 80; perplexities in regard to the secret "decretal," 84; fresh pressure from the emperor, 86; the brief of julius ii., 87; serious illness of clement, 88; expresses determination not to grant the divorce, 90; _résumé_ of his halting conduct in the cause, 99; between the hammer and the anvil, 105; veers towards henry's side, 125; desirous to reconcile henry and the emperor, 127; his prohibitory brief against henry's second marriage, 134; the hand of the emperor therein, _ib._; his desire that henry should solve the difficulty, by marriage, 142; his reply to the english mission after the failure at blackfriars, 144; issues a second brief forbidding henry's second marriage, 153; continued desire of a compromise, 160; treatment of the appeal to a general council, 166; reasons for his delay in the divorce case, 168 _sq._; brought by micer mai to consent to communion in both kinds and to the marriage of priests, 175; attempts friendly negotiations with henry, 178; clement's distrust as to the statements about english popular sentiment, 180; he sends henry another expostulating brief, 181, 189; ortiz's attempt to extract a sentence of excommunication, 189; clement's privately expressed wish that henry would marry without waiting for sentence, 192; another brief prepared against henry, 196; continued indecision, 197; conditional excommunication of henry, 198; reception of the news of henry's marriage, 210; preparation for the interview with francis at nice, 231; clement signs the brief _super attentatis_, 233; interview with francis at marseilles, 243; treatment of the french suggestion that henry's case should be heard at cambrai, 244; subject to a cross-fire of influences, 256 _sqq._; the sentence delivered: the marriage of henry and catherine declared valid, 259; threat to absolve english subjects from their allegiance, 265; the brief of execution (calling in the secular arm) held back, 278; clement's death, 290. clergy discipline acts, 125. clergy (english): their state, and the popular feeling towards them, 115; their sentiments on the contest between henry and the pope, 157; unanimous censure of the king, 158; the clergy under præmunire, _ib._; felonious clerks punished like secular criminals, 185; traitor priests executed in their clerical habits, 185, 462; indignation of the clergy at the statutes passed in restraint of their privileges, 451. commission to investigate charges against anne boleyn, the, 420; the evidence before them, 421. commons, petition of the (1529), 115. comunidades, the revolt of the, 43. conspiracy connected with the nun of kent, 195, 247, 265. convocation: de burgo's futile appeal to, 160; acceptance of royal supremacy, 186; alleged address against annates, 187 _n._ covos, secretary, 269. cranmer, thomas (afterwards archbishop): one of the english deputies at the coronation of charles v., 134; his marriage as a priest, 202; made archbishop of canterbury, 203; the proposal that he should try the divorce cause, 207; gives judgment for the divorce, 220; his qualified oath to the pope, 227; his high regard for anne, 421; his alarm for the political results of anne's guilt, 450. cromwell, thomas: his relations with chapuys, 229, 235, 240; sketch of his career, 236; eager for the reform of the clergy, 237; alleged desire of the deaths of catherine and mary, 286; his discovery of the emperor's intentions in regard to princes mary, 302; on the illness of the princess, 303; his political principles, 308; in negotiation again with chapuys, 309, 321, 330, 333; professed anxiety for catherine's and mary's safety, 311; anne boleyn's enmity to him, 334; statement of english objection to a papal general council, 339; interferes with the election of the lord mayor, 359; treatment of chapuys's advances for resuming negotiations of the abandoned treaty, 394; contingent acceptance of the emperor's proposals, 395; sounded by chapuys as to henry's possible separation from anne, 400; negotiations continued, 403; his knowledge of anne's infidelities, 413; informs the king, 415; report of the proceedings against anne, 424; the commission of investigation of monastic establishments, 452; influence over some parliamentary elections, 454; a strong friend of princess mary, 455; her refusal of the succession oath brings on cromwell the king's displeasure, 457; expresses his belief that mary will be declared his heir by the king, 460. dacre of naworth, lord: tried for treason, and acquitted, 284. darcy of templehurst, lord: his charges against wolsey, 117 _sqq._; opinions on the royal supremacy, 186; scheme proposed by him to chapuys for an insurrection against henry, 289; intimates to chapuys that the time of action has arrived, 298; eager for insurrection, 332, 346; comes to a violent end, 461. darcy, sir arthur (lord darcy's son), 312. darius, sylvester, english agent at valladolid, 82. davalos, rodrigo (spanish lawyer): his special method of expediting the divorce suit at rome, 232. deceased husband's brother, marriage with, 24, 52. deposition, the bull of: not identical with the brief of execution, 353 _n._ desmond, earl of: offers his services to the emperor against henry, 269. dispensing power, the papal claim of, in matrimonial matters, 24, 33; various views of canon lawyers, 125; how it affected various royal families, 141; a cardinal's opinion of the alleged power, 160. dublin, archbishop of, slaughtered by lord thomas fitzgerald, 285. dunstable, cranmer's court at, 220. durham, wolsey bishop of, 89. dyngley, sir thomas, 59. ecclesiastical courts: their tyranny over the laity, 115. edward iv.: his children by elizabeth grey declared by a church court to be illegitimate, 22. elections, parliamentary, limited extent of crown influence over, 453 _sq._ elizabeth, princess: proposal for her marriage with the duke of angoulême, 331. emmanuel, king (portugal): married successively to two sisters and their niece, 141. english people: their sentiments on the contest between henry and the pope, 157, 167; wearied of the tyranny of rome, and of the iniquities of church courts and the clergy, 451. esher, wolsey's residence at, 132. essex, sir william, 60. europe, general interest of, in the english reformation movement, 13. exeter, marchioness of, 365 _sq._, 400. exeter, marquis of (grandson of edward iv.: a possible claimant to succeed henry viii.), 23, 214, 457, 461. falieri, ludovico (venetian ambassador to england): his descriptions of queen catherine and henry viii., 32; on female succession to the english crown, 123. ferdinand (king of hungary, and king of the romans: charles v.'s brother), 133, 342. fisher, bishop (rochester): his first views about the divorce, 42; his emphatic denunciation of it, 106; objection to the clergy discipline acts, 125; staunch in favour of catherine, 151; his opposition to the royal supremacy overcome by threats, 163; determination to defend catherine in parliament, 184; committed to the custody of bishop gardiner, 212; released, 231; becomes leader of the catholic conspiracy, 241; sent to the tower, 249; again sent to the tower for refusing to take the succession oath, 268; created cardinal, 338; committed for trial, 339; incriminating letters found on him, 341; trial and execution, 343. fitzgerald, lord thomas: in negotiation with chapuys, 269; in open rebellion against henry, 285; want of means, 297; defeat, 301; receives the pope's absolution for the murder of the archbishop of dublin, 332; a prisoner in the tower, 355; executed, 361. fitzwilliam, sir william, 176, 417, 419, 457. flemish artisans in london, 83. floriano, messer: his speech on campeggio's arrival in london, 76. foxe, dr. (afterwards bishop): his mission from henry to clement, 66; his reply to chapuys's defence of his action for catherine, 227. francis i. (france), defeat and capture of, at pavia, 25; his belief that charles intended to transfer the apostolic see to spain, 46; doubts wolsey's honesty in regard to henry viii., 95; negotiations with the smalcaldic league against charles v., 135; promise to arrange with the pope if henry cut the knot and married, 144; desires the pope to delay sentence, 165; his compliments and presents to anne boleyn, 194; meeting with henry, 195; encourages henry to marry and break with the pope, _ib._; fails to keep his apparent promise to henry, 231; abandons henry, 243; letter to anne boleyn, 250; last efforts at rome, 256 _sq._; influence on him of the remembrance of pavia, 278; desire to set up a patriarchate of france, 279; promotes the election of farnese (paul iii.), 291; anxious desire to take milan, 331, 334; dubious position on the question of the papal deposition of henry, 349; fresh aspirations towards milan, 362; policy towards the bull of deposition, 364; successful invasion of italy, 449; defeats charles in provence, _ib._ gardiner, stephen, 66, 92, 131, 212, 424. general council: suggested appeal to, for the settlement of difficulties, 166, 312, 320, 339; demanded of the pope by france and england, 195. ghinucci, bishop (worcester), 64; revenues of his see sequestrated, 238. granvelle (spanish minister), 353, 409, 419, 438. grey, lord leonard, 360. greys, the family of, possible claimants to succeed henry viii., 23. gueldres, duke of, 405. hannaert, viscount (charles's ambassador at paris): promotes a treaty between charles and henry, 307; his report on anne's infidelity, 419. haughton, prior (charterhouse), executed for treason, 328. henry viii.: effect of religious prejudice in estimating his character: on catholics, 4; high churchmen, 5; protestants, _ib._; his ministers and prelates must share in whatever was questionable in his acts, 8; his personal popularity, 9; permanent character of his legislation, 10; its benefits extended beyond england, 11; all his laws were submitted to his parliament, 13; calumnies and libels against henry in his lifetime, 14; recent discovery of unpublished materials for his history, 15; nature and especial value of these, 16 _sq._ henry viii.: prospects (in 1526) of a disputed succession through the lack of an heir, 21; primary reason for his ceasing to cohabit with catherine, _ib._; irregularity of his marriage, 23; first mention of the divorce, 25; receives an appeal for help from clement vii., 27; sends the pope money, 28; the first public expression of a doubt as to princess mary's legitimacy, 31; falieri's description of henry, 32; the king before the legatine court, 34; unpopularity of the divorce, 39; receives a letter from charles urging him not to make the divorce question public, 44; henry determines to choose a successor to catherine, 47; attracted to anne boleyn, _ib._; endeavors to obtain from the pope a dispensation to marry a second time, 51; _résumé_ of henry's position, 52 _sq._; examination of the charge that henry's connection with anne was incestuous, 55 _sqq._; the pope's advice that he should marry again and then proceed with the trial, 63; henry joins with france in declaring war against charles, 65; his statement of his case as laid before clement at orvieto, 67; henry's letter to anne boleyn, 70; the abbess of wilton, 71; henry's letter of complaint to wolsey about the appointment of an unfitting person, 72; campeggio's prearranged delays, 74; speech in the city, 81; resolves to let the trial proceed before campeggio and wolsey, 93; henry's address to the legates at blackfriars, 101; refuses to accept clement, the emperor's prisoner, as judge of his cause, 102; his momentary inclination to abandon anne, 111; reception of chapuys, the imperial ambassador, 112; interpretation of the advocation of his case to rome, 123; denunciation of the pope and cardinals, 126; approves of the _reforming_ side of lutheranism, _ib._; consults foreign doctors on his cause, 127, 134, 136; continued liking for wolsey, 129; a brief from clement forbidding his marriage, 134; henry invited by francis to join the smalcaldic league, 135; desire to recall wolsey, 136; sends him down to his diocese, 139; the suggestion of a neutral place for the trial, 143; henry again denounces the pope and all his court, 145; emphatically refuses to allow his cause to be tried at rome, _ib._; revival of the præmunire, 147; a step towards the break with the papacy, 149; henry's direct appeal to the pope, 150; clement's second brief against henry's second marriage, 153; a struggle with the pope inevitable, 157; clipping the claws of the clergy, 158; henry declared supreme head of the church of england, 159; receives the papal brief forbidding his second marriage, 162; reply to the nuncio's questions as to the nature of his new papacy, 163; and to the pope's appeal for aid against the turks, 164, 178; disregards the pope's threat of excommunication, 169; rejects the pope's efforts at friendly negotiations, 178; alleged bribery by henry's ambassador at rome, 179; deliberateness of henry's conduct of his policy, 182; his reply to bishop tunstal's letter against schism, 183; steps towards the toleration of heresy, 186; displeasure with more, _ib._; annates bill, 187; french advice to henry to marry without waiting for sentence, 192; meeting with francis, 193 _sqq._; the immediate outcome thereof, 195 _sq._; rumour of his secret marriage with anne, 196; again threatened with excommunication, 198; henry appoints cranmer to canterbury, 203; privately married to anne boleyn, _ib._; his law in restraint of the powers of bishops, 205; courteous conduct towards the nuncio, 206; allows his marriage to be known, 208; preparations for possible war, _ib._; appeals to rome forbidden, 209; _résumé_ of henry's position (in regard to the divorce) towards the pope, 218 _sq._; cranmer's judgment, 220; henry informs the emperor of his marriage, 224; the formal announcement in the house of lords, 225; discovers that he had been misled by francis, 231, 235, 245; disappointment at the birth of a daughter, 238; order that the pope was only to be styled "bishop of rome," 230; difficulty in disposing of catherine, 251; henry's fears of an insurrection, _ib._; the king's nomination to bishoprics sufficient, without requiring papal bulls, 256; the papal sentence, 259; passage of the act abolishing the pope's authority in england, _ib._; refusal of chapuys's demand to speak in parliament for catherine, 263; enforces the oath to the succession act, 267; orders more kindly treatment of princess mary, 271; the question of demanding the succession oath from catherine and mary, 271 _sqq._; the king modifies the demand, 276; another meeting with francis arranged, but postponed, 279; cooling of his feelings for anne, 286; reported _nouvelles amours_, 287, 296; interference on behalf of mary, 287; refuses to acknowledge any special authority in any pope, 291; prospects of civil war, 301; anxiety for mary in her second illness, 303; refuses chapuys's request that she should be again placed under her mother's care, 304; his high opinion of catherine's courage, 305; desire to be on good terms with charles, 310; letters to sir john wallop for the spanish ambassador in paris, 330; receives a letter from charles, 335; threat in regard to "cardinal" fisher, 339; jealousy of the rival powers, 350; enthusiastic reception during his progress to the welsh borders, _ib._; slanders against him on the continent, 359; interference in the election of lord mayor, _ib._; a period of danger for henry, 361; opinion that catherine and mary must "bend or break," 365; interview with chapuys during catherine's mortal illness, 375; effect of catherine's death, 382; rejoicings in the palace, 383; henry's treatment of mary, 384; beginning of his dissatisfaction with anne, 387; disappointment at her second miscarriage, 389; present from him to mary of her mother's crucifix, 395; speculation on his remarriage, 398; rumours about henry's partiality to jane seymour, 400; his legal position towards anne boleyn, 401; refuses the emperor's proposal of reconciliation with rome, 403; reception of chapuys at greenwich (easter, 1536), 404 _sqq._; henry's determined position towards charles, 406 _sqq._; his report on the affair to his ambassador to the emperor, 410; dissolution of parliament, 413; informed of anne's infidelities, orders an inquiry, 415; the trials resulting, 422 _sqq._; the trial of anne, 425; the mystery of anne's confession to cranmer, 430 _sqq._; the lambeth sentence, 431; anne's execution: high personages present by the king's command, 435; competition from the continent for his hand, 436; overtures for reconciliation from rome, 440 _sq._; jane seymour, 441; speedy marriage with her, 444; mary restored to favor, 445; henry's declaration of neutrality in the war between francis and charles, 449; his return to the roman communion expected by the catholics, 450; determination to carry out the reformation, 452; his difficult position towards the new parliament, 453; his popularity strengthened by the condemnation of anne, 454; strength of his affection for mary, 455; his anger at her again refusing to take the succession oath, 457; joy at her acquiescence, 458; hopeless of further offspring, 460; close of the first act of the reformation, 460 _sqq._ husee, john: his letter on anne boleyn to lord and lady lisle, 422; on henry's seclusion after anne boleyn's execution, 444. hussey, lady, 457. hussey, lord, 288, 334, 461. illegitimacy, treatment of, by the church of rome, 22. inteville, m. d': his compound mission to england, 423, 437. ireland, rebellion in: proofs that it was part of a papal holy war, 285. italian conjuror, the, 294. italian league, the, 28. jaen, cardinal of, 269. james v. of scotland, a possible claimant to succeed henry viii., 23. jordan, isabella (prioress of wilton), 71. julius ii., pope: his dispensation for henry viii.'s first marriage, 53; defects in his bull of dispensation to henry, 83; alleged brief correcting these, 83, 87; a roman opinion of the nullity of his dispensation, 160. kimbolton, catherine's residence at, 252. kingston, sir w. (constable of the tower), 300, 431, 435, 443. kite, bishop (carlisle), 443. knight, dr. (secretary to henry viii.): his special mission to rome, 51. laity, english middle class: their feelings towards queen catherine and towards the church, 79. lambeth sentence, the: the nullity of henry's marriage with anne boleyn, 431 _sq._ langey, sieur de: special envoy to anne boleyn from francis, 194. lee, archbishop (york), 176. legatine commission, the (campeggio's), 67 _sqq._, 74, 76. legatine court, wolsey's, 34. legend, invulnerability of, 61. legends, historic, 1 _sqq._ liberty, spiritual, of the world, won by henry's work in the reformation, 463. liège, cardinal of: suggested as a judge in the divorce cause, 144. lincolnshire rebellion, 460. lingard, dr.: his interpretation of wolsey's suggested papal dispensation for henry viii.'s second marriage, 55. llandaff, queen catherine's confessor bishop of, 64. lorraine, cardinal, 46. louis xii.: his method of settling a matrimonial difficulty, 188. luther, henry viii.'s partial sympathy with, 126. lutheran advances to henry viii., 91. lutheranism: its rapid spread in england, 255, 280, 297. lutherans, german: their tacit encouragement by charles v., 27, 35; his fear of exciting them, 133; decidedly opposed to henry's divorce, 154. mai, micer: imperial agent at rome, 89; resentment of a slight put upon the emperor, 90; assent to lutheran political objections to rome, 91; his opinion of the pope and his councillors, 103; and of salviati's instructions to campeggio, _ib._; reports on the mission from henry to clement, 143; suggestion of a general council to settle difficulties, 166; obtains from clement concessions as to reunion of lutherans, 175; distracted with the pope's evasions, 179; charges english ambassador with bribery, 179, 191. manor of the more, wolsey's residence at, 116. martyrology: the protestant longer and no less honourable than the catholic, 463. mary, princess: proposed marriage of, with francis i. or with one of his sons, 29; suggested proposal to marry her to her father's natural son (duke of richmond), 79; separated from her mother, 174; her father's love of her, _ib._; the emperor's desire to protect her rights, 200; allowed again to live with her mother, 234; deprived of the title of "princess," 240; letter to her father after his marriage with anne, 254; attached to the establishment of her sister elizabeth, 252; anecdotes of the king's affection for her, 252 _sq._; her determined attitude, 261, 266; "shows her teeth" against the succession oath, 271 _sq._; has an alarming illness, 286; belief that her life is threatened, 287; project to convey her out of england, 300; another serious illness, 302; consternation of the physicians, 303; reality of her personal danger, 317; fresh plans for her escape, 319; removed from greenwich to eltham, 320; further plans, _ib._; petition to the emperor to "apply the remedy," 355; her friends desire to have her married to the dauphin, 358; reply to anne boleyn's friendly message after catherine's death, 383; discovery of a letter about her from anne to mrs. shelton, 388; proposal to take the succession oath with a mental reservation, 390; another plan of escape, 391; rejoiced at the prospect of her father's separation from anne, 399; received back into her father's favor, 445; question of her marriage, 446; her popularity increased in consequence of the machinations of anne, 455; the question of the succession oath revived, 456; by chapuys's advice she submits (with a secret protest), 457; delight of the king and queen, 458; her real feelings not disguised, _ib._; unable to obtain a papal absolution for the "secret protest" connected with her oath, 460. maximilian, emperor: his high opinion of the english people, 20. medici, catherine de' (niece of clement vii.), marriage of, with the duke of orleans, 243. "melun, the eels of" (proverb), 226. mendoza, inigo de (bishop of burgos), mission of, from spain to france and england, 29, 32, 34, 38; offers wolsey the bribe of the papacy, 39; instructed to offer other bribes to win wolsey's friendship to the emperor, 45; his first mention of anne boleyn, 48; his belief that wolsey was the instigator of the divorce, 49; reports to charles on the legatine commission, 75; mistaken estimate of english national opinion, 82; recalled: his farewell interview with henry, 97. milan: the question of succession reopened, 362; treaty prepared by spain for settlement of the dispute, 393. molza, gerardo: his account of campeggio's reception in england, 76. monastic orders: their depraved condition, 325; preachers of insurrection, 326; the "very stews of unnatural crime," 350; continued proofs of their iniquitous condition, 452. money, comparative value of, in henry viii.'s time, 89, 117. montague, lord, 305, 461. montfalconet (charles's maître d'hôtel): his report to charles on catherine's desire for a sentence, 188. moor park: catherine's residence at, 174. more, sir thomas: made lord chancellor, 120; lack of sympathy with advanced reformers, 131; enforces heresy laws against lutherans, 154; horrified at the king's claim to supremacy over the church, he resigns the chancellorship, 163; statement before the lords of the opinions of universities on the divorce, 166; his chancellorship distinguished for heresy-prosecutions, 186; resigns his office, 188; sent to the tower for refusing to take the succession oath, 268; his prophecy in regard to anne boleyn's fate, 329; committed for trial, 339; sketch of his position, 343; trial, 344; execution, 345. mortmain acts: measures to prevent their evasion, 185. mountjoy, lord, 214. mythic element, the, influence of, in history, 1. nixe, bishop (norwich): imprisoned for burning a heretic, 255 _sq._ norfolk, duke of (uncle of anne boleyn), joins in an appeal to the pope to concede the divorce, 84; opposed to anne's marriage with the king, 111; sentiments about the divorce, 114; made president of the council, 120; his opinion on the absolute need of the divorce (1529), 128; condemnation of the pope's position in the matter, 129; suspicions of wolsey's possible return to power, 129, 131 _sq._; his statement to chapuys of the necessity of henry having made succession, 136; suggests the cardinal of liège and the bishop of tarbes as judges in the divorce cause, 143; cautions chapuys against introducing papal briefs into england, 154; firm stand against the threat of excommunication, 164; admiration of catherine and dislike of anne boleyn, 167; heads a deputation of peers and bishops to catherine, 170; consultation with peers on restraint of papal jurisdiction, 186; his courtesies to the papal nuncio, 206; interview with chapuys before attending the meeting of the pope and king francis at nice, 230; denunciation of rome and romanism, 250; expected that henry would submit to the successor of clement in the papacy, 291; withdrawal from court, 305; present at the execution of charterhouse monks, 328. norris, sir henry, 255; present at the execution of charterhouse monks, 328; a paramour of anne boleyn, 416 _sq._, 418, 419; execution, 429. northumberland, earl of (henry percy), alleged secret marriage of, with anne boleyn, 47; disgust at anne's arrogance, 297. nun of kent; disclosures connected with, 195, 265; the effect of the "revelations," 247. observants, the general of the, charles v.'s guardian of the pope, 52, 62, 68. orleans, duke of: marriage with catherine de' medici, 243. ortiz, dr., catherine's special representative at rome, 159, 165, 176, 178 _sq._, 181, 189, 194, 199, 259, 261, 351 _sqq._, 361, 367, 373. orvieto, imprisonment of clement vii. at, 52, 62. oxford, earl of, 214. paget, lord: his description of chapuys's character, 112. papal curse, inefficiency of, in modern days, 260. paris, university of: decision in favor of the divorce, 142. parliaments, annual, introduced by henry, 13. parliament summoned after the failure of the blackfriars court, 110; object of the meeting, 120; impeachment of wolsey, 121; reform of church courts, and clergy discipline acts, 125; effect of clement's delays on, 151; treatment (session 1531) of the universities' opinions on the divorce, 166; third session (jan. 1532): formation of an opposition against violent anti-clerical measures, 182; measures passed in restraint of clerical claims, 185; the opposition (peers and prelates) appeal to chapuys for armed intervention by the emperor, 225; the act of supremacy, 292; dissolution, 413; a new parliament speedily summoned after anne's execution, 453; no account left of the debates in this parliament, 454; the new act of succession, 455. patriarchate, a new, proposed, with wolsey as its head, 38. paul iii. (farnese): elected pope as successor to clement vii., 290; favourably disposed towards henry, 291; restrained by charles from issuing the brief of execution, 318; acknowledgment (when cardinal) of henry's right to a divorce, 333; prevents the treaty between charles and henry, 337; creates fisher a cardinal, 338; exasperation at the news of the execution of fisher, 348; difficulties of desired retaliation, 349; delay in issuing the censures, 351; reasons therefor, 352; desire that catherine should apply for the brief of execution, 356; thinks of declaring mary queen in place of her "deposed" father, 358; annoyance at the failure of fitzgerald's rebellion, 360; thinks himself a new hildebrand, 362; summary of his bull against henry, 363; delay in its issue, 367; a warm debate in consistory, 368 _sqq._; professes kindly feelings to henry after catherine's death, 403; reception of the news of anne's fall, 439; overtures for reconciliation, 440 _sq._; eager solicitations to henry to return to the roman communion, 454. paulet, sir william, 420. pavia, political results of the defeat of francis i. at, 25 _sqq._ peers, english: their petition to clement to grant henry's petition, 142. "penny gleek," 443. percy, henry (earl of northumberland): his statement that anne boleyn meant to poison the princess mary, 253; swears that there was never contract of marriage between him and anne, 419. petition of the commons (1529), 115. peto, cardinal, 60. pilgrimage of grace, the, 59, 460. pole, geoffrey (brother of reginald), 295, 416. pole, reginald: his manifesto accompanying paul iii.'s bull deposing henry viii., 56; his statement of henry's desire to break with anne boleyn, 111; suggested marriage with princess mary, 241, 295. pommeraye, la (french ambassador in london): his denunciation of "that devil of a pope," 181; recommendation that henry should follow louis xii.'s example, 188, 192. præmunire, 118, 147; proclamation for its enforcement, 148; embarrassments caused by its revival, 164. prejudice, influence of, in judging historical characters, 2 _sqq._ provisors, the statute of, 122; its revival, 149. reformation, english: at first political rather than doctrinal, 6; its characteristic excellence, 7. reunion of christendom, charles v.'s efforts for, 175. richmond, duke of (_cr._ 1525), natural son of henry viii., 22, 395; present at the execution of charterhouse monks, 328; educated as a prince, but his position not recognized by the law, 453; his popularity and resemblance to his father, 455; surrey's proposal that the crown should be settled on him, 455; his death, 459. rochford, lord (anne boleyn's brother): mission to paris to announce his sister's marriage, 208; present at the execution of charterhouse monks, 328; specially attentive to chapuys, 404; refused the garter, 415; takes part in the tournament (1536), 416; arrested, 418; charged with incest with his sister, 420; his trial, 426 _sq._; chapuys's account of his dying speech, 428; the real speech, _ib._ rome, sack of, by the duke of bourbon, 35. royal supremacy, meaning of, 159; accepted by convocation, 186. russell, sir john, sent with money to clement vii., 28. st. albans, wolsey abbot of, 89, 116. st. john the baptist and herod, bishop fisher's allusion to, in the matter of the divorce, 106. salisbury, countess of, 23, 241, 461. salviati, cardinal, 46, 88, 103, 233. sampson, dean (of the chapel royal): speech against the pope's claims over england, 274. sanctuary: felonious clerks deprived of the right of, 454. sandys, lord (henry's chamberlain), 297. sanga (clement vii.'s secretary), 27, 80, 96. sens, cardinal (chancellor), 46. seymour, sir edward, 405. seymour, jane: first association of her name with henry, 400; her marriage, 444; great popularity, 445; kindness to mary, 455, 458. sforza, duke of milan, death of, 362. shelton mrs. (anne boleyn's aunt), 252, 262, 267, 269 _sq._, 320, 387, 392. six articles bill, the, 7. smalcaldic league, the, 135, 255. smeton, mark (paramour of anne boleyn), 415, 416, 419; execution, 429. sorbonne, the: suggested reference of the divorce cause to, 129. soria, lope de (minister of charles v. at genoa), his letter on the sack of rome, 36, 43. spain: the cabinet's discussion of catherine's position after cranmer's judgment, 221 _sqq._; their decision, 223; debates on proposed treaty between charles and henry, 307, 335. spaniards, the: their atrocities in italy, 29, 35. statute book, the: its historic aspect, 13. stokesley, bishop (london), 134, 416. succession to the english throne, danger of a disputed, 21, 79, 123; various possible claimants if henry viii. had no heir, 23. succession, act of, 264; the oath to it enforced, 267; debate in council as to its enforcement on catherine and mary, 271 _sqq._; (after anne's death) the discussion of, 454 _sq._ suffolk, duke of: his mission from henry to france, 94; chapuys's report on his sentiments about the divorce, 114; made vice-president of the council, 120. supremacy, act of (explaining in detail the meaning of the royal supremacy), 292 _sq._; enforced, 327 _sqq._ sussex, lord: one of a deputation of nobles to catherine at moor park, 176; proposes to parliament (after anne's execution) that the duke of richmond should have the succession to the crown, 455. tarbes, bishop of (afterwards cardinal grammont): his mission to england from france, 30; the first publicly to question the legitimacy of the princess mary, 31, 81; (ambassador to clement vii.) his statement of clement's real opinion on the divorce, 134; suggested by duke of norfolk as a judge in the divorce cause, 143; caution to clement as to the consequences of his losing england, 168; mission to rome to demand a general council, 195; a proposal to clement apparently in henry's name, 244. talboys, sir gilbert: married the mother of henry viii.'s illegitimate son, 22. throgmorton, sir george: his statements about henry viii., lady boleyn and her daughters, 59 _sqq._ throgmorton, michael, 59. toison d'or (french herald), 65. tournon, cardinal: his special mission to rome to demand a general council, 195, 231. treasons, the statute of, 456. tunstal, bishop (durham): his letter to henry on the royal supremacy, 182; speech in favor of the succession act, 273 _sq._; mission to catherine on the subject, 275. wallop, sir john (english representative at paris), 306, 373, 424. warham, archbishop (canterbury), assessor to wolsey as legate, 34; doubtful as to the divorce, 42; afterwards in favour of it, 142; his halting opinions 151; protest against the royal supremacy, 183; dying protest against the anti-papal legislation, 187. weston, sir francis, paramour of anne boleyn, 417 _sqq._, 422 _sq._; execution, 429. wilton, the state of the convent at, 71; henry viii.'s letters on the appointment of its abbess, 72. wiltshire, earl of (sir thomas boleyn, anne boleyn's father), 111, 134; one of the english deputies at the coronation of charles v., 134; withdraws his opposition to his daughter's marriage with the king, 208; present at the execution of the charterhouse monks, 328. winchester, wolsey bishop of, 89, 116. wolsey, cardinal: his first efforts to promote the divorce of henry, 25; eager to maintain the papacy, 26; his desire of an anglo-french alliance, 29; a pensionary of the emperor, _ib._; brings the question of divorce before his legatine court, 34; his policy after the sack of rome, 37; the proposal to make wolsey archbishop of rouen and patriarch, 38; refuses the emperor's offered bribe of the papacy, 39; mission to paris, 41; interview with bishop fisher, 42; further bribes offered him by charles, 45; signs the french cardinals' protest against the pope's captivity, 46; distrust at the king's selection of anne boleyn, 49; at first endeavors to check the divorce, 50; sends a draft dispensation for the pope's signature, 53; the wording thereof, 54; consultations with campeggio, 79; the secret decretal, 84, 88; chances of wolsey's election to the papacy, 88; his boundless wealth, _ib._; letter to campeggio on catherine's position, 93; in doubt about the progress of his french policy, 94; foresight of coming events, 97; the legatine court at blackfriars, 99; delays, 105; effect of bishop fisher's interposition, 106; campeggio refuses to pass sentence, 107; despatch to the commissioners at rome, _ib._; causes of the animosity that broke out against him, 116; the manifold sources of his wealth, _ib._; his son, 117; lord darcy's list of complaints against him, _ib._; details of his fall, 120 _sqq._; hopes of return to power, 131; obliged to resign the sees of winchester and st. albans, 132; allowed a grant by way of pension, _ib._; becomes the friend of catherine and the secret adviser of chapuys, 138; starts to visit his diocese, 139; his death at leicester abbey, 140. worcester, lady, the first accuser of anne, 415. wriothesley chronicle, the, 428, 432. wyatt, sir henry, 421. wyatt, sir thomas (the poet), one of the lovers of anne boleyn, 47, 421. york, archbishop (lee): mission, with tunstal, to catherine about the succession act, 275. york, wolsey archbishop of, 89, 116. yorkshire rebellion, 460. transcriber's notes: passages in italics are indicated by _underscore_. superscripted letters are shown in {brackets}. the following misprints have been corrected: "communiated" corrected to "communicated" (page 37) "thoughout" corrected to "throughout" (page 39) "resource" corrected to "recourse" (page 51) "againt" corrected to "against" (page 84) "been" corrected to "be" (page 291) "as sure" corrected to "assure" (page 302) "longed" corrected to "longer" (page 451) "nuanimons" corrected to "unanimous" (index) "cramer" corrected to "cranmer" (index) "winton" corrected to "wilton" (index) other than the corrections listed above, printer's inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation usage have been retained. punctuation has been corrected without note. ..[transcriber's note: obvious printer's errors have been corrected. the original spelling has been retained.] henry viii. _by the same author._ from the accession of edward vi. to the death of elizabeth (1547-1603). (political history of england, vol. vi.). with 2 maps. the commonwealth at war. 8vo. the war: its history and morals. 8vo. the reign of henry vii. from contemporary sources. selected and arranged with an introduction. crown 8vo. vol. i. narrative extracts. vol. ii. constitutional, social, and economic history. vol. iii. diplomacy, ecclesiastical affairs and ireland. * * * * * university of london intermediate source-books of history. illustrations of chaucer's england. edited by miss dorothy hughes. with a preface by a.f. pollard, m.a., litt.d., fellow of all souls, and professor of english history in the university of london. crown 8vo. england under the yorkists. 1460-1485. illustrated from contemporary sources by isobel d. thornley, m.a., assistant in the department of history, university college, london. with a preface by a.f. pollard, m.a., litt.d. crown 8vo. longmans, green and co., london, new york, bombay, calcutta, and madras. henry viii. by a.f. pollard, m.a. professor of constitutional history at university college, london; examiner in modern history in the universities of oxford and london; author of "a life of cranmer," "england under protector somerset," etc., etc. _new impression_ longmans, green and co 39 paternoster row, london fourth avenue & 30th street, new york bombay, calcutta, and madras 1919 _first published by messrs. goupil & co. in june, 1902, with numerous illustrations._ _new edition, may, 1905._ _reprinted, january, 1913, and october, 1919._ preface. (p. v) it is perhaps a matter rather for regret than for surprise that so few attempts have been made to describe, as a whole, the life and character of henry viii. no ruler has left a deeper impress on the history of his country, or done work which has been the subject of more keen and lasting contention. courts of law are still debating the intention of statutes, the tenor of which he dictated; and the moral, political, and religious, are as much in dispute as the legal, results of his reign. he is still the great erastian, the protagonist of laity against clergy. his policy is inextricably interwoven with the high and eternal dilemma of church and state; and it is well-nigh impossible for one who feels keenly on these questions to treat the reign of henry viii. in a reasonably judicial spirit. no period illustrates more vividly the contradiction between morals and politics. in our desire to reprobate the immorality of henry's methods, we are led to deny their success; or, in our appreciation of the greatness of the ends he achieved, we seek to excuse the means he took to achieve them. as with his policy, so with his character. (p. vi) there was nothing commonplace about him; his good and his bad qualities alike were exceptional. it is easy, by suppressing the one or the other, to paint him a hero or a villain. he lends himself readily to polemic; but to depict his character in all its varied aspects, extenuating nothing nor setting down aught in malice, is a task of no little difficulty. it is two centuries and a half since lord herbert produced his _life and reign of henry viii_.[1] the late mr. brewer, in his prefaces to the first four volumes of the _letters and papers of the reign of henry viii._, published under the direction of the master of the rolls, dealt adequately with the earlier portion of henry's career. but mr. brewer died when his work reached the year 1530; his successor, dr. james gairdner, was directed to confine his prefaces to the later volumes within the narrowest possible limits; and students of history were deprived of the prospect of a satisfactory account of henry's later years from a writer of unrivalled learning. [footnote 1: the edition cited in the text is that of 1672.] henry's reign, from 1530 onwards, has been described by the late mr. froude in one of the most brilliant and fascinating masterpieces of historical literature, a work which still holds the field in popular, if not in scholarly, estimation. but mr. froude does not begin until henry's reign was half over, until his character had been determined by influences and events which lie outside the scope of mr. (p. vii) froude's inquiry. moreover, since mr. froude wrote, a flood of light has been thrown on the period by the publication of the above-mentioned _letters and papers_;[2] they already comprise a summary of between thirty and forty thousand documents in twenty thousand closely printed pages, and, when completed, will constitute the most magnificent body of materials for the history of any reign, ancient or modern, english or foreign. simultaneously there have appeared a dozen volumes containing the state papers preserved at simancas,[3] vienna and brussels and similar series comprising the correspondence relating to venice,[4] scotland[5] and ireland;[6] while the despatches of french ambassadors have been published under the auspices of the ministry for foreign affairs at paris.[7] still further information has been (p. viii) provided by the labours of the historical manuscripts commission,[8] the camden,[9] the royal historical,[10] and other learned societies. [footnote 2: this series, unlike the _calendars of state papers_, includes documents not preserved at the record office; it is often inaccurately cited as _calendar of state papers_, but the word "calendar" does not appear in the title and it includes much besides state papers; such a description also tends to confuse it with the eleven volumes of henry viii.'s state papers published _in extenso_ in 1830-51. the series now extends to dec., 1544, and is cited in the text as _l. and p._.] [footnote 3: cited as _spanish calendar_; the volume completing henry's reign was published in 1904.] [footnote 4: cited as _ven. cal._; this correspondence diminishes in importance as the reign proceeds, and also, after 1530, the documents are epitomised afresh in _l. and p._.] [footnote 5: three series, _viz._, that edited by thorp (2 vols., 1858), a second edited by bain (2 vols., 1898) and the _hamilton papers_ (2 vols., 1890-92).] [footnote 6: vol. i. of the _irish calendar_, and also of the _carew mss._; see also the _calendar of fiants_ published by the deputy-keeper of records for ireland.] [footnote 7: _correspondance de mm. castillon et marillac_, edited by kaulek, and of _odet de selve_, 1888.] [footnote 8: the most important of these is vol. i. of lord salisbury's mss.; other papers of henry viii.'s reign are scattered up and down the appendices to a score and more of reports.] [footnote 9: _e.g._, wriothesley's _chronicle_, _chron. of calais_, and _greyfriars chron_.] [footnote 10: _e.g._, leadam, _domesday of inclosures_, and _transactions_, _passim_.] these sources probably contain at least a million definite facts relating to the reign of henry viii.; and it is obvious that the task of selection has become heavy as well as invidious. mr. froude has expressed his concurrence in the dictum that the facts of history are like the letters of the alphabet; by selection and arrangement they can be made to spell anything, and nothing can be arranged so easily as facts. _experto crede_. yet selection is inevitable, and arrangement essential. the historian has no option if he wishes to be intelligible. he will naturally arrange his facts so that they spell what he believes to be the truth; and he must of necessity suppress those facts which he judges to be immaterial or inconsistent with the scale on which he is writing. but if the superabundance of facts compels both selection and suppression, it counsels no less a restraint of judgment. a case in a court of law is not simplified by a cloud of witnesses; and the new wealth of contemporary evidence (p. ix) does not solve the problems of henry's reign. it elucidates some points hitherto obscure, but it raises a host of others never before suggested. in ancient history we often accept statements written hundreds of years after the event, simply because we know no better; in modern history we frequently have half a dozen witnesses giving inconsistent accounts of what they have seen with their own eyes. dogmatism is merely the result of ignorance; and no honest historian will pretend to have mastered all the facts, accurately weighed all the evidence, or pronounced a final judgment. the present volume does not profess to do more than roughly sketch henry viii.'s more prominent characteristics, outline the chief features of his policy, and suggest some reasons for the measure of success he attained. episodes such as the divorce of catherine of aragon, the dissolution of the monasteries, and the determination of the relations between church and state, would severally demand for adequate treatment works of much greater bulk than the present. on the divorce valuable light has recently been thrown by dr. stephan ehses in his _römische dokumente_.[11] the dissolution of the monasteries has been exhaustively treated from one point of view by dr. gasquet;[12] but an adequate and impartial history of what is called the reformation still remains to be written. here it is possible to deal with (p. x) these questions only in the briefest outline, and in so far as they were affected by henry's personal action. for my facts i have relied entirely on contemporary records, and my deductions from these facts are my own. i have depended as little as possible even on contemporary historians,[13] and scarcely at all on later writers.[14] i have, however, made frequent use of dr. gairdner's articles in the _dictionary of national biography_, particularly of that on henry viii., the best summary extant of his career; and i owe not a little to bishop stubbs's two lectures on henry viii., which contain some fruitful suggestions as to his character.[15] a.f. pollard. putney, _11th january, 1905_. [footnote 11: paderborn, 1893; _cf. engl. hist. rev._, xix., 632-45.] [footnote 12: _henry viii. and the english monasteries_, 2 vols., 1888.] [footnote 13: of these the most important are polydore vergil (basel, 1534), hall's _chronicle_ (1548) and fabyan's _chronicle_ (edited by ellis, 1811). holinshed and stow are not quite contemporary, but they occasionally add to earlier writers on apparently good authority.] [footnote 14: i have in this edition added references to those which seem most important; for a collected bibliography see dr. gairdner in _cambridge modern history_, ii., 789-94. i have also for the purpose of this edition added references to the original sources--a task of some labour when nearly every fact is taken from a different document. the text has been revised, some errors removed, and notes added on special points, especially those on which fresh light has recently been thrown.] [footnote 15: in _lectures on mediæval and modern history_, 1887.] contents. (p. xi) chapter i. page the early tudors 1 chapter ii. prince henry and his environment 15 chapter iii. the apprenticeship of henry viii. 43 chapter iv. the three rivals 78 chapter v. king and cardinal 108 chapter vi. from calais to rome 136 chapter vii. the origin of the divorce 173 chapter viii. the pope's dilemma 195 chapter ix. (p. xii) the cardinal's fall 228 chapter x. the king and his parliament 249 chapter xi. "down with the church" 278 chapter xii. "the prevailing of the gates of hell" 302 chapter xiii. the crisis 331 chapter xiv. rex et imperator 362 chapter xv. the final struggle 397 chapter xvi. conclusion 427 index 441 chapter i. (p. 001) the early tudors. in the whole range of english history there is no monarch whose character has been more variously depicted by contemporaries or more strenuously debated by posterity than the "majestic lord who broke the bonds of rome". to one historian an inhuman embodiment of cruelty and vice, to another a superhuman incarnation of courage, wisdom and strength of will, henry viii. has, by an almost universal consent, been placed above or below the grade of humanity. so unique was his personality, so singular his achievements, that he appears in the light of a special dispensation sent like another attila to be the scourge of mankind, or like a second hercules to cleanse, or at least to demolish, augean stables. the dictates of his will seemed as inexorable as the decrees of fate, and the history of his reign is strewn with records of the ruin of those who failed to placate his wrath. of the six queens he married, two he divorced, and two he beheaded. four english cardinals[16] lived in his reign; one perished by the executioner's axe, one escaped it by absence, and a third (p. 002) by a timely but natural death. of a similar number of dukes[17] half were condemned by attainder; and the same method of speedy despatch accounted for six or seven earls and viscounts and for scores of lesser degree. he began his reign by executing the ministers of his father,[18] he continued it by sending his own to the scaffold. the tower of london was both palace and prison, and statesmen passed swiftly from one to the other; in silent obscurity alone lay salvation. religion and politics, rank and profession made little difference; priest and layman, cardinal-archbishop and "hammer of the monks," men whom henry had raised from the mire, and peers, over whose heads they were placed, were joined in a common fate. wolsey and more, cromwell and norfolk, trod the same dizzy path to the same fatal end; and the english people looked on powerless or unmoved. they sent their burgesses and knights of the shire to westminster without let or hindrance, and parliament met with a regularity that grew with the rigour of henry's rule; but it seemed to assemble only to register the royal edicts and clothe with a legal cloak the naked violence of henry's acts. it remembered its privileges only to lay them at henry's feet, it cancelled his debts, endowed his proclamations with the force of laws, and authorised him to repeal acts of attainder and dispose of his crown at will. secure of its support henry turned and rent the spiritual unity of western christendom, and settled at a blow that perennial struggle between church and state, in which kings and (p. 003) emperors had bitten the dust. with every epithet of contumely and scorn he trampled under foot the jurisdiction of him who was believed to hold the keys of heaven and hell. borrowing in practice the old maxim of roman law, _cujus regio, ejus religio_,[19] he placed himself in the seat of authority in religion and presumed to define the faith of which leo had styled him defender. others have made themselves despots by their mastery of many legions, through the agency of a secret police, or by means of an organised bureaucracy. yet henry's standing army consisted of a few gentlemen pensioners and yeomen of the guard; he had neither secret police nor organised bureaucracy. even then englishmen boasted that they were not slaves like the french,[20] and foreigners pointed a finger of scorn at their turbulence. had they not permanently or temporarily deprived of power nearly half their kings who had reigned since william the conqueror? yet henry viii. not only left them their arms, but repeatedly urged them to keep those arms ready for use.[21] he eschewed that air of mystery with which tyrants have usually sought to impose on the mind of the people. all his life he moved familiarly and almost unguarded in the midst of his subjects, and he died in his bed, full of years, with the spell of his power unbroken and the terror of his name unimpaired. [footnote 16: bainbridge, wolsey, fisher, pole. bainbridge was a cardinal after julius ii's own heart, and he received the red hat for military services rendered to that warlike pope (_ven. cal._, ii., 104).] [footnote 17: there were two dukes of norfolk, the second of whom was attainted, as was the duke of buckingham; the fourth duke was henry's brother-in-law, suffolk.] [footnote 18: empson and dudley.] [footnote 19: "sua cuique civitati religio est, nostra nobis." cicero, _pro flacco_, 28; _cf._ e. bourre, _des inequalités de condition resultant de la religion en droit romain_, paris, 1895.] [footnote 20: _cf._ bishop scory to edward vi. in strype, _eccl. mem._, ii., ii., 482; fortescue, ed. plummer, pp. 137-142.] [footnote 21: _e.g._, _l. and p._, i., 679.] what manner of man was this, and wherein lay the secret of his (p. 004) strength? is recourse necessary to a theory of supernatural agency, or is there another and adequate solution? was henry's individual will of such miraculous force that he could ride roughshod in insolent pride over public opinion at home and abroad? or did his personal ends, dictated perhaps by selfish motives and ignoble passions, so far coincide with the interests and prejudices of the politically effective portion of his people, that they were willing to condone a violence and tyranny, the brunt of which fell after all on the few? such is the riddle which propounds itself to every student of tudor history. it cannot be answered by pæans in honour of henry's intensity of will and force of character, nor by invectives against his vices and lamentations over the woes of his victims. the miraculous interpretation of history is as obsolete as the catastrophic theory of geology, and the explanation of henry's career must be sought not so much in the study of his character as in the study of his environment, of the conditions which made things possible to him that were not possible before or since and are not likely to be so again. * * * * * it is a singular circumstance that the king who raised the personal power of english monarchy to a height to which it had never before attained, should have come of humble race and belonged to an upstart dynasty. for three centuries and a half before the battle of bosworth one family had occupied the english throne. even the usurpers, henry of bolingbroke and richard of york, were directly descended in unbroken male line from henry ii., and from 1154 to 1485 all the sovereigns of england were plantagenets. but who were the tudors? they were a (p. 005) welsh family of modest means and doubtful antecedents.[22] they claimed, it is true, descent from cadwallader, and their pedigree was as long and quite as veracious as most welsh genealogies; but henry vii.'s great-grandfather was steward or butler to the bishop of bangor. his son, owen tudor, came as a young man to seek his fortune at the court of henry v., and obtained a clerkship of the wardrobe to henry's queen, catherine of france. so skilfully did he use or abuse this position of trust, that he won the heart of his mistress; and within a few years of henry's death his widowed queen and her clerk of the wardrobe were secretly, and possibly without legal sanction, living together as man and wife. the discovery of their relations resulted in catherine's retirement to bermondsey abbey, and owen's to newgate prison. the queen died in the following year, but owen survived many romantic adventures. twice he escaped from prison, twice he was recaptured. once he took sanctuary in the precincts of westminster abbey, and various attempts to entrap him were made by enticing him to revels in a neighbouring tavern. finally, on the outbreak of the wars of the roses, he espoused the lancastrian cause, and was beheaded by order of edward iv. after the battle of mortimer's cross. two sons, edmund and jasper, were born of this singular match between queen and clerk of her wardrobe. both enjoyed the favour of their royal half-brother, henry vi. edmund, the elder, was first knighted and then created earl of richmond. in the parliament of 1453, he was formally declared legitimate; he was enriched by the grant of broad estates and enrolled among the members of henry's council. (p. 006) but the climax of his fortunes was reached when, in 1455, he married the lady margaret beaufort. owen tudor had taken the first step which led to his family's greatness; edmund took the second. the blood-royal of france flowed in his veins, the blood-royal of england was to flow in his children's; and the union between edmund tudor and margaret beaufort gave henry vii. such claim as he had by descent to the english throne. [footnote 22: _archæologia cambrensis_, 1st ser., iv., 267; 3rd ser., xv., 278, 379.] the beauforts were descended from edward iii., but a bar sinister marred their royal pedigree. john of gaunt had three sons by catherine swynford before she became his wife. that marriage would, by canon law, have made legitimate the children, but the barons had, on a famous occasion, refused to assimilate in this respect the laws of england to the canons of the church; and it required a special act of parliament to confer on the beauforts the status of legitimacy. when henry iv. confirmed this act, he introduced a clause specifically barring their contingent claim to the english throne. this limitation could not legally abate the force of a statute; but it sufficed to cast a doubt upon the beaufort title, and has been considered a sufficient explanation of henry vii.'s reluctance to base his claim upon hereditary right. however that may be, the beauforts played no little part in the english history of the fifteenth century; their influence was potent for peace or war in the councils of their royal half-brother, henry iv., and of the later sovereigns of the house of lancaster. one was cardinal-bishop of winchester, another was duke of exeter, and a third was earl of somerset. two of the sons of the earl became dukes of somerset; the younger fell at st. albans, the (p. 007) earliest victim of the wars of the roses, which proved so fatal to his house; and the male line of the beauforts failed in the third generation. the sole heir to their claims was the daughter of the first duke of somerset, margaret, now widow of edmund tudor; for, after a year of wedded life, edmund had died in november, 1456. two months later his widow gave birth to a boy, the future henry vii.; and, incredible as the fact may seem, the youthful mother was not quite fourteen years old. when fifteen more years had passed, the murder of henry vi. and his son left margaret beaufort and henry tudor in undisputed possession of the lancastrian title. a barren honour it seemed. edward iv. was firmly seated on the english throne. his right to it, by every test, was immeasurably superior to the tudor claim, and henry showed no inclination and possessed not the means to dispute it. the usurpation by richard iii., and the crimes which polluted his reign, put a different aspect on the situation, and set men seeking for an alternative to the blood-stained tyrant. the battle of bosworth followed, and the last of the plantagenets gave way to the first of the tudors. for the first time, since the norman conquest, a king of decisively british blood sat on the english throne. his lineage was, indeed, english in only a minor degree; but england might seem to have lost at the battle of hastings her right to native kings; and norman were succeeded by angevin, angevin by welsh, welsh by scots, and scots by hanoverian sovereigns. the tudors were probably more at home on the english throne than most of england's kings; and their humble and british origin may have contributed to their unique capacity for (p. 008) understanding the needs, and expressing the mind, of the english nation. it was well for them that they established their throne in the hearts of their people, for no dynasty grasped the sceptre with less of hereditary right. judged by that criterion, there were many claimants whose titles must have been preferred to henry's. there were the daughters of edward iv. and the children of george, duke of clarence; and their existence may account for henry's neglect to press his hereditary claim. but there was a still better reason. supposing the lancastrian case to be valid and the beauforts to be the true lancastrian heirs, even so the rightful occupant of the throne was not henry vii., but his mother, margaret beaufort. england had never recognised a salic law at home; on occasion she had disputed its validity abroad. but henry vii. was not disposed to let his mother rule; she could not unite the yorkist and lancastrian claims by marriage, and, in addition to other disabilities, she had a second husband in lord stanley, who might demand the crown matrimonial. so henry vii.'s hereditary title was judiciously veiled in vague obscurity. parliament wisely admitted the accomplished fact and recognised that the crown was vested in him, without rashly venturing upon the why or the wherefore. he had in truth been raised to the throne because men were weary of richard. he was chosen to vindicate no theory of hereditary or other abstract right, but to govern with a firm hand, to establish peace within his gates and give prosperity to his people. that was the true tudor title, and, as a rule, they remembered the fact; they were _de facto_ kings, and they left the _de jure_ arguments to the stuarts. peace, however, could not be obtained at once, nor the embers of (p. 009) thirty years' strife stamped out in a moment. for fifteen years open revolt and whispered sedition troubled the rest of the realm and threatened the stability of henry's throne. ireland remained a hot-bed of yorkist sympathies, and ireland was zealously aided by edward iv.'s sister, margaret of burgundy; she pursued, like a vendetta, the family quarrel with henry vii., and earned the title of henry's juno by harassing him as vindictively as the queen of heaven vexed the pious æneas. other rulers, with no yorkist bias, were slow to recognise the _parvenu_ king and quick to profit by his difficulties. pretenders to their rivals' thrones were useful pawns on the royal chess-board; and though the princes of europe had no reason to desire a yorkist restoration, they thought that a little judicious backing of yorkist claimants would be amply repaid by the restriction of henry's energies to domestic affairs. seven months after the battle of bosworth there was a rising in the west under the staffords, and in the north under lovell; and henry himself was nearly captured while celebrating at york the feast of st. george. a year later a youth of obscure origin, lambert simnel,[23] claimed to be first the duke of york and then the earl of warwick. the former was son, and the latter was nephew, of edward iv. lambert was crowned king at dublin amid the acclamations of the irish people. not a voice was raised in henry's favour; kildare, the practical ruler of ireland, earls and archbishops, bishops and barons, and great officers of state, from lord chancellor downwards, swore fealty to the reputed son of an oxford tradesman. ireland was only the volcano which gave vent to the subterranean flood; (p. 010) treason in england and intrigue abroad were working in secret concert with open rebellion across st. george's channel. the queen dowager was secluded in bermondsey abbey and deprived of her jointure lands. john de la pole, who, as eldest son of edward iv.'s sister, had been named his successor by richard iii., fled to burgundy; thence his aunt margaret sent martin schwartz and two thousand mercenaries to co-operate with the irish invasion. but, at east stoke, de la pole and lovell, martin schwartz and his merry men were slain; and the most serious of the revolts against henry ended in the consignment of simnel to the royal scullery and of his tutor to the tower. [footnote 23: see the present writer in _d.n.b._, lii., 261.] lambert, however, was barely initiated in his new duties when the son of a boatman of tournay started on a similar errand with a less congenial end. an unwilling puppet at first, perkin warbeck was on a trading visit to ireland, when the irish, who saw a yorkist prince in every likely face, insisted that perkin was earl of warwick. this he denied on oath before the mayor of cork. nothing deterred, they suggested that he was richard iii.'s bastard; but the bastard was safe in henry's keeping, and the imaginative irish finally took refuge in the theory that perkin was duke of york. lambert's old friends rallied round perkin; the re-animated duke was promptly summoned to the court of france and treated with princely honours. when charles viii. had used him to beat down henry's terms, perkin found a home with margaret, aunt to all the pretenders. as usual, there were traitors in high places in england. sir william stanley, whose brother had married henry's mother, and to whom henry himself owed his victory at (p. 011) bosworth, was implicated. his sudden arrest disconcerted the plot, and when perkin's fleet appeared off the coast of kent, the rustics made short work of the few who were rash enough to land. perkin sailed away to the yorkist refuge in ireland, but kildare was no longer deputy. waterford, to which he laid siege, was relieved, and the pretender sought in scotland a third basis of operations. an abortive raid on the borders and a high-born scottish wife[24] were all that he obtained of james iv., and in 1497, after a second attempt in ireland, he landed in cornwall. the cornishmen had just risen against henry's extortions, marched on london and been defeated at blackheath; but henry's lenience encouraged a fresh revolt, and three thousand men flocked to perkin's standard. they failed to take exeter; perkin was seized at beaulieu and sent up to london to be paraded through the streets amid the jeers and taunts of the people. two years later a foolish attempt at escape and a fresh personation of the earl of warwick by one ralf wulford[25] led to the execution of all three, perkin, wulford, and the real earl of warwick, who had been a prisoner and probably the innocent centre of so many plots since the accession of henry vii. warwick's death may have been due to the instigation of ferdinand and isabella of spain, who were negotiating for the marriage of catherine of aragon with prince arthur. they were naturally anxious for the security of the throne their daughter was to share with (p. 012) henry's son; and now their ambassador wrote triumphantly that there remained in england not a doubtful drop of royal blood.[26] there were no more pretenders, and for the rest of henry's reign england enjoyed such peace as it had not known for nearly a century. the end which henry had sought by fair means and foul was attained, and there was no practical alternative to his children in the succession to the english throne. [footnote 24: perkin was the first of lady catherine gordon's four husbands; her second was james strangways, gentleman-usher to henry viii., her third sir matthew cradock (d. 1531), and her fourth christopher ashton, also gentleman-usher; she died in 1537 and was buried in fyfield church (_l. and p._, ii., 3512).] [footnote 25: see the present writer in _dict. nat. biog._, lxiii., 172.] [footnote 26: _sp. cal._, i., no. 249; see below, p. 179.] but all his statecraft, his patience and labour would have been writ in water without children to succeed him and carry on the work which he had begun; and at times it seemed probable that this necessary condition would remain unfulfilled. for the tudors were singularly luckless in the matter of children. they were scarcely a sterile race, but their offspring had an unfortunate habit of dying in childhood. it was the desire for a male heir that involved henry viii. in his breach with rome, and led mary into a marriage which raised a revolt; the last of the tudors perceived that heirs might be purchased at too great a cost, and solved the difficulty by admitting its insolubility. henry viii. had six wives, but only three children who survived infancy; of these, edward vi. withered away at the age of fifteen, and mary died childless at forty-two. by his two[27] mistresses he seems to have had only one son, who died at the age of eleven, and as far as we know, he had not a single grandchild, legitimate or other. his sisters were hardly more fortunate. margaret's eldest son by james iv. died a year after his birth; her eldest daughter died at birth; her second son lived only nine months; her second daughter died at (p. 013) birth; her third son lived to be james v., but her fourth found an early grave. mary, the other sister of henry viii., lost her only son in his teens. the appalling death-rate among tudor infants cannot be attributed solely to medical ignorance, for yorkist babies clung to life with a tenacity which was quite as inconvenient as the readiness with which tudor infants relinquished it; and richard iii., henry vii. and henry viii. all found it necessary to accelerate, by artificial means, the exit from the world of the superfluous children of other pretenders. this drastic process smoothed their path, but could not completely solve the problem; and the characteristic tudor infirmity was already apparent in the reign of henry vii. he had three sons; two predeceased him, one at the age of fifteen years, the other at fifteen months. of his four daughters, two died in infancy, and the youngest cost the mother her life.[28] the fruit of that union between the red rose and the white, upon which so much store had been set,[29] seemed doomed to fail. [footnote 27: there is no definite evidence that he had more.] [footnote 28: _ven. cal._, i., 833.] [footnote 29: _cf._ skelton, _works_, ed. dyce. vol. i., pp. ix-xi.] the hopes built upon it had largely contributed to the success of henry's raid upon the english throne, and before he started on his quest he had solemnly promised to marry elizabeth, eldest daughter of edward iv., and heiress of the house of york. but he was resolute to avoid all appearance of ruling in her right; his title had been recognised by parliament, and he had been five months _de facto_ king before he wedded his yorkist wife (18th january, 1486). eight months and two days later, the queen gave birth, in the priory of st. swithin's, at winchester, to her first-born son. four days later, on sunday, (p. 014) 24th september, the child was christened in the minster of the old west saxon capital, and given in baptism the name of arthur, the old british king. it was neither yorkist nor lancastrian, it evoked no bitter memories of civil strife, and it recalled the fact that the tudors claimed a pedigree and boasted a title to british sovereignty, beside the antiquity of which yorkist pretentions were a mushroom growth. duke of cornwall from his birth, prince arthur was, when three years old, created prince of wales. already negotiations had been begun for his marriage with catherine, the daughter of ferdinand of aragon and isabella of castile. both were cautious sovereigns, and many a rebellion had to be put down and many a pretender put away, before they would consent to entrust their daughter to the care of an english king. it was not till 2nd october, 1501, that catherine landed at plymouth. at her formal reception into england, and at her marriage, six weeks later, in st. paul's, she was led by the hand of her little brother-in-law, prince henry, then ten years old.[30] against the advice of his council, henry vii. sent the youthful bride and bridegroom to live as man and wife at ludlow castle, and there, five and a half months later, their married life came to a sudden end. prince arthur died on 2nd april, 1502, and was buried in princely state in worcester cathedral. [footnote 30: _l. and p._, _henry vii._, i., 413-415; _l. and p._, _henry viii._, iv., 5791.] chapter ii. (p. 015) prince henry and his environment. the prince, who now succeeded to the position of heir-apparent, was nearly five years younger than his brother. the third child and second son of his parents, he was born on 28th june, 1491, at greenwich, a palace henceforth intimately associated with the history of tudor sovereigns. the manor of greenwich had belonged to the alien priory of lewisham, and, on the dissolution of those houses, had passed into the hands of henry iv. then it was granted to humphrey, duke of gloucester, who began to enclose the palace grounds; on his death it reverted to the crown; and edward iv., many of whose tastes and characteristics were inherited by his grandson, henry viii., took great delight in beautifying and extending the palace. he gave it to his queen, elizabeth, and in her possession it remained until her sympathy with yorkist plots was punished by the forfeiture of her lands. henry vii. then bestowed it on his wife, the dowager's daughter, and thus it became the birthplace of her younger children. here was the scene of many a joust and tournament, of many a masque and revel; here the young henry, as soon as he came to the throne, was wedded to catherine of aragon; here henry's sister was married to the duke of suffolk; and here were born all future tudor sovereigns, edward vi., mary, (p. 016) and elizabeth. at greenwich, then, through the forfeit of his grandmother, henry was born; he was baptised in the church of the observant friars, an order, the object first of his special favour,[31] and then of an equally marked dislike; the ceremony was performed by richard fox,[32] then bishop of exeter, and afterwards one of the child's chief advisers. his nurse was named ann luke, and years afterwards, when henry was king, he allowed her the annual pension of twenty pounds, equivalent to about three hundred in modern currency. the details of his early life are few and far between. lord herbert, who wrote his _life and reign_ a century later, records that the young prince was destined by his father for the see of canterbury,[33] and provided with an education more suited to a clerical than to a lay career. the motive ascribed to henry vii. is typical of his character; it was more economical to provide for younger sons out of ecclesiastical, than royal, revenues. but the story is probably a mere inference from the excellence of the boy's education, and from his father's thrift. if the idea of an ecclesiastical career for young henry was ever entertained, it was soon abandoned for secular preferment. on 5th april, 1492, before the child was ten months old, he was appointed to the ancient and important posts of warden of the cinque ports and constable of dover castle.[34] a little later he received the still more honourable office of earl marshal; the duties were performed by deputy, but a goodly portion of the fees was doubtless (p. 017) appropriated for the expenses of the boy's establishment, or found its way into the royal coffers. further promotion awaited him at the mature age of three. on 12th september, 1494, he became lord-lieutenant of ireland;[35] six weeks later he was created duke of york, and dubbed, with the usual quaint and formal ceremonies,[36] a knight of the bath. in december, he was made warden of the scottish marches, and he was invested with the garter in the following may.[37] [footnote 31: _l. and p._, i., 4871.] [footnote 32: fox's own statement, _l. and p._, iv., 5791.] [footnote 33: herbert gives paolo sarpi as his authority.] [footnote 34: g.e.c [okayne], _complete peerage_, _s.v._ cornwall.] [footnote 35: _l. and p._, _henry vii._, rolls ser., ii., 374.] [footnote 36: _ib._, i., 388-404; _paston letters_, iii., 384-85.] [footnote 37: _l. and p._, _henry vii._, ii., 57.] the accumulation of these great offices of state, any one of which might have taxed the powers of a tried administrator, in the feeble hands of a child appears at first sight a trifle irrational; but there was always method in henry's madness. in bestowing these administrative posts upon his children he was really concentrating them in his own person and bringing them directly under his own supervision. it was the policy whereby the early roman emperors imposed upon republican rome the substance, without the form, of despotism. it limited the powers of mischief which henry's nobles might otherwise have enjoyed, and provided incomes for his children without increasing taxation or diminishing the privy purse. the work of administration could be done at least as effectively, much more economically, and with far less danger to internal peace by deputies of lower rank than the dukes and earls and barons who had been wont to abuse these high positions for the furtherance of private ends, and often for the levying of (p. 018) private war. nowhere were the advantages of henry's policy more conspicuous than in his arrangements for the government of ireland. ever since richard, duke of york, and george, duke of clarence, had ruled as irish viceroys, ireland had been a yorkist stronghold. there simnel had been crowned king, and there peers and peasants had fought for perkin warbeck. something must be done to heal the running sore. possibly henry thought that some of ireland's loyalty might be diverted from yorkist channels by the selection of a tudor prince as its viceroy; but he put his trust in more solid measures. as deputy to his infant son he nominated one who, though but a knight, was perhaps the ablest man among his privy council. it was in this capacity that sir edward poynings[38] crossed to ireland about the close of 1494, and called the parliament of drogheda. judged by the durability of its legislation, it was one of the most memorable of parliaments; and for nearly three hundred years poynings' laws remained the foundation upon which rested the constitutional relations between the sister kingdoms. even more lasting was the precedent set by prince henry's creation as duke of york; from that day to this, from henry viii. to the present prince of wales, the second son of the sovereign or of the heir-apparent has almost invariably been invested with that dukedom.[39] the original selection of the title was due to substantial reasons. henry's name was distinctively lancastrian, his title was no less distinctively yorkist; it was adopted as a concession to yorkist prejudice. (p. 019) it was a practical reminder of the fact which the tudor laureate, skelton, celebrated in song: "the rose both red and white, in one rose now doth grow". it was also a tacit assertion of the death of the last duke of york in the tower and of the imposture of perkin warbeck, now pretending to the title. [footnote 38: see the present writer in _d.n.b._, xlvi., 271.] [footnote 39: an exception was made in the case of the late duke of edinburgh. it was designed if henry viii. had a second son, to make him duke of york (_l. and p._, vii., 1364).] but thoughts of the coercion of ireland and conciliation of yorkists were as yet far from the mind of the child, round whose person these measures were made to centre. precocious he must have been, if the phenomenal development of brow and the curiously mature expression attributed to him in his portrait[40] are any indication of his intellectual powers at the age at which he is represented. without the childish lips and nose, the face might well be that of a man of fifty; and with the addition of a beard, the portrait would be an unmistakable likeness of henry himself in his later years. when the prince was no more than a child, says erasmus, he was set to study.[41] he had, we are told, a vivid and active mind, above measure able to execute whatever tasks he undertook; and he never attempted anything in which he did not succeed.[42] the tudors had no modern dread of educational over-pressure when applied to their children, and the young henry was probably as forward a pupil as his son, edward vi., his daughter, elizabeth, or his grand-niece, lady jane grey. but, fortunately for henry, a physical exuberance corrected his mental precocity; and, (p. 020) as he grew older, any excessive devotion to the muses was checked by an unwearied pursuit of bodily culture. he was the first of english sovereigns to be educated under the new influence of the renaissance. scholars, divines and poets thronged the court of henry vii. margaret beaufort, who ruled in henry's household, was a signal benefactor to the cause of english learning. lady margaret professors commemorate her name in both our ancient universities, and in their bidding prayers she is to this day remembered. two colleges at cambridge revere her as their foundress; caxton, the greatest of english printers, owed much to her munificence, and she herself translated into english books from both latin and french. henry vii., though less accomplished that the later tudors, evinced an intelligent interest in art and letters, and provided for his children efficient instructors; while his queen, elizabeth of york, is described by erasmus as possessing the soundest judgment and as being remarkable for her prudence as well as for her piety. bernard andré,[43] historian and poet, who had been tutor to prince arthur, probably took no small part in the education of his younger brother; to him he dedicated, after arthur's death, two of the annual summaries of events which he was in the habit of compiling. giles d'ewes,[44] apparently a frenchman and the author of a notable french grammar, taught that language to prince henry, as many (p. 021) years later he did to his daughter, queen mary; probably either d'ewes or andré trained his handwriting, which is a curious compromise between the clear and bold italian style, soon to be adopted by well-instructed englishmen, and the old english hieroglyphics in which more humbly educated individuals, including shakespeare, concealed the meaning of their words. but the most famous of henry's teachers was the poet skelton, the greatest name in english verse from lydgate down to surrey. skelton was poet laureate to henry vii. court, and refers in his poems to his wearing of the white and green of tudor liveries.[45] he celebrated in verse arthur's creation as prince of wales and henry's as duke of york;[46] and before the younger prince was nine years old, this "incomparable light and ornament of british letters," as erasmus styles him, was directing henry's studies. skelton himself writes.- the honor of england i learned to spell, i gave him drink of the sugred well of helicon's waters crystalline, acquainting him with the muses nine. [footnote 40: this is an anonymous portrait of henry at the age of eighteen months or two years belonging to sir edmund and lady verney.] [footnote 41: erasmus, _epist._, p. 1182; _l. and p._, iv., 5412.] [footnote 42: this testimonial was written in 1528 before henry viii. had given the most striking demonstrations of its truth.] [footnote 43: see _d.n.b._, i., 398. erasmus, however, described andré as being "of mean abilities" (_l. and p._, iv., 626).] [footnote 44: _d.n.b._, xiv., 449; _cf._ _l. and p._, i., 513. on henry viii's accession d'ewes was appointed keeper of the king's library at richmond with a salary of £10 per year.] [footnote 45: skelton, _works_, ed. dyce, vol. i., p. xiii.; the white and green still survive as the colours of jesus college, oxford, founded by queen elizabeth.] [footnote 46: _ib._, p. xxi.; a copy of the latter, which dyce could not find, is in _brit. mus. addit. ms. 26787_.] the coarseness of skelton's satires and his open disregard of the clerical vows of chastity may justify some doubt of the value of the poet's influence on henry's character; but he so far observed the conventional duties of his post as to dedicate to his royal pupil, in 1501, a moral treatise in latin of no particular worth.[47] more deserving of henry's study were two books inscribed to him a (p. 022) little later by young boerio, son of the king's genoese physician and a pupil of erasmus, who, according to his own account, suffered untold afflictions from the father's temper. one was a translation of isocrates' _de regno_, the other of lucian's tract against believing calumnies.[48] the latter was, to judge from the tale of henry's victims, a precept which he scarcely laid to heart in youth. in other respects he was apt enough to learn. he showed "remarkable docility for mathematics," became proficient in latin, spoke french with ease, understood italian, and, later on, possibly from catherine of aragon, acquired a knowledge of spanish. in 1499 erasmus himself, the greatest of the humanists, visited his friend, lord mountjoy, near greenwich, and made young henry's acquaintance. "i was staying," he writes,[49] "at lord mountjoy's country house when thomas more came to see me, and took me out with him for a walk as far as the next village, where all the king's children, except prince arthur, who was then the eldest son, were being educated. when we came into the hall, the attendants not only of the palace, but also of mountjoy's household, were all assembled. in the midst stood prince henry, now nine years old, and having already something of royalty in his demeanour in which there was a certain dignity combined with singular courtesy. on his right was margaret, about eleven years of age, afterwards married to james, king of scots; and on his left played mary, a child of four. edmund was an infant in arms. more, with his companion arnold, after (p. 023) paying his respects to the boy henry, the same that is now king of england, presented him with some writing. for my part, not having expected anything of the sort, i had nothing to offer, but promised that, on another occasion, i would in some way declare my duty towards him. meantime, i was angry with more for not having warned me, especially as the boy sent me a little note, while we were at dinner, to challenge something from my pen. i went home, and in the muses' spite, from whom i had been so long divorced, finished the poem within three days." the poem,[50] in which britain speaks her own praise and that of her princes, henry vii. and his children, was dedicated to the duke of york and accompanied by a letter in which erasmus commended henry's devotion to learning. seven years later erasmus again wrote to henry, now prince of wales, condoling with him upon the death of his brother-in-law, philip of burgundy, king of castile. henry replied in cordial manner, inviting the great scholar to continue the correspondence. the style of his letter so impressed erasmus that he suspected, as he says,[51] "some help from others in the ideas and expressions. in a conversation i afterwards had with william, lord mountjoy, he tried by various arguments to dispel that suspicion, and when he found he could not do so he gave up the point and let it pass until he was sufficiently instructed in the case. on another occasion, when we were talking alone together, he brought out a number of the prince's letters, some to other people and some to himself, and among them one which answered to mine: in these letters were manifest signs of (p. 024) comment, addition, suppression, correction and alteration--you might recognise the first drafting of a letter, and you might make out the second and third, and sometimes even the fourth correction; but whatever was revised or added was in the same handwriting. i had then no further grounds for hesitation, and, overcome by the facts, i laid aside all suspicion." neither, he adds, would his correspondent doubt henry viii's authorship of the book against luther if he knew that king's "happy genius". that famous book is sufficient proof that theological studies held no small place in henry's education. they were cast in the traditional mould, for the lancastrians were very orthodox, and the early tudors followed in their steps. margaret beaufort left her husband to devote herself to good works and a semi-monastic life; henry vii. converted a heretic at the stake and left him to burn;[52] and the theological conservatism, which henry viii. imbibed in youth, clung to him to the end of his days. [footnote 47: _brit. mus. add. ms. 26787._] [footnote 48: _brit. mus. add. ms. 19553._] [footnote 49: f.m. nichols, _epistles of erasmus_, i., 201.] [footnote 50: printed in 1500 at the end of erasmus's _adagia_.] [footnote 51: f.m. nichols, pp. 423-24; _l. and p._, iv., 5412.] [footnote 52: _cotton ms._, vitellius, a., xvi., f. 172.] nor were the arts neglected, and in his early years henry acquired a passionate and lifelong devotion to music. even as duke of york he had a band of minstrels apart from those of the king and prince arthur;[53] and when he was king his minstrels formed an indispensable part of his retinue, whether he went on progress through his kingdom, or crossed the seas on errands of peace or war.[54] he became an expert performer on the lute, the organ and the harpsichord, and all the cares of state could not divert him from practising on those instruments both day (p. 025) and night. he sent all over england in search of singing men and boys for the chapel royal, and sometimes appropriated choristers from wolsey's chapel, which he thought better provided than his own.[55] from venice he enticed to england the organist of st. mark's, dionysius memo, and on occasion henry and his court listened four hours at a stretch to memo's organ recitals.[56] not only did he take delight in the practice of music by himself and others; he also studied its theory and wrote with the skill of an expert. vocal and instrumental pieces of his own composition, preserved among the manuscripts at the british museum,[57] rank among the best productions of the time; and one of his anthems, "o lorde, the maker of all thyng," is of the highest order of merit, and still remains a favourite in english cathedrals. [footnote 53: _hist. mss. comm._, 5th rep., app., p. 549.] [footnote 54: _l. and p._, i., 4314.] [footnote 55: _l. and p._, ii., 410, 4024.] [footnote 56: _ven. cal._, ii., 780; _l. and p._, ii., 2401, 3455.] [footnote 57: _e.g._, _add. ms. 31922_.] in april, 1502, at the age of ten, henry became the heir-apparent to the english throne. he succeeded at once to the dukedom of cornwall, but again a precedent was set which was followed but yesterday; and ten months were allowed to elapse before he was, on 18th february, 1503, created prince of wales and earl of chester, the dukedom of york becoming void until a king or an heir apparent should again have a second son.[58] the first sign of his increased importance was his implication in the maze of matrimonial intrigues which formed so large a part of sixteenth-century diplomacy. the last thing kings (p. 026) considered was the domestic felicity of their children; their marriages were pieces in the diplomatic game and sometimes the means by which states were built up. while duke of york, henry had been proposed as a husband for eleanor,[59] daughter of the archduke philip; and his sister mary as the bride of philip's son charles, who, as the heir of the houses of castile and of aragon, of burgundy and of austria, was from the cradle destined to wield the imperial sceptre of cæsar. no further steps were taken at the time, and prince arthur's death brought other projects to the front. [footnote 58: the next prince to hold the title was charles, afterwards charles i., who was created duke of york on 6th jan., 1605.] [footnote 59: afterwards queen of portugal and then of france. _l. and p._, _henry vii._, i., 285, 425.] immediately on receiving the news, and two days before they dated their letter of condolence to henry vii., ferdinand and isabella commissioned the duke of estrada to negotiate a marriage between the widowed catherine and her youthful brother-in-law.[60] no doubt was entertained but that the pope would grant the necessary dispensation, for the spiritual head of christendom was apt to look tenderly on the petitions of the powerful princes of this world. a more serious difficulty was the question of the widow's dower. part only had been paid, and ferdinand not merely refused to hand over the rest, but demanded the return of his previous instalments. henry, on the other hand, considered himself entitled to the whole, refused to refund a penny, and gave a cold reception to the proposed marriage between catherine and his sole surviving son. he was, however, by no means blind to the advantages of the spanish matrimonial and political alliance, and still less to the attractions of catherine's dower; (p. 027) he declined to send back the princess, when isabella, shocked at henry vii.'s proposal to marry his daughter-in-law himself, demanded her return; and eventually, when ferdinand reduced his terms, he suffered the marriage treaty to be signed. on 25th june, 1503, prince henry and catherine were solemnly betrothed in the bishop of salisbury's house, in fleet street. [footnote 60: _sp. cal._, i., 267.] the papal dispensation arrived in time to solace isabella on her death-bed in november, 1504; but that event once more involved in doubt the prospects of the marriage. the crown of castile passed from isabella to her daughter juaña; the government of the kingdom was claimed by ferdinand and by juaña's husband, philip of burgundy. on their way from the netherlands to claim their inheritance, philip and juaña were driven on english shores. henry vii. treated them with all possible courtesy, and made philip a knight of the garter, while philip repaid the compliment by investing prince henry with the order of the golden fleece.[61] but advantage was taken of philip's plight to extort from him the surrender of the earl of suffolk, styled the white rose, and a commercial treaty with the netherlands, which the flemings named the malus intercursus. three months after his arrival in castile, philip died, and henry began to fish in the troubled waters for a share in his dominions. two marriage schemes occurred to him; he might win the hand of philip's sister margaret, now regent of the netherlands, and with her hand the control of those provinces; or he might marry juaña and claim in her right to administer castile. on the acquisition of castile he set his mind. if he could not gain (p. 028) it by marriage with juaña, he thought he could do so by marrying her son and heir, the infant charles, to his daughter mary. whichever means he took to further his design, it would naturally irritate ferdinand and make him less anxious for the completion of the marriage between catherine and prince henry. henry vii. was equally averse from the consummation of the match. now that he was scheming with charles's other grandfather, the emperor maximilian, to wrest the government of castile from ferdinand's grasp, the alliance of the king of aragon had lost its attraction, and it was possible that the prince of wales might find elsewhere a more desirable bride. henry's marriage with catherine was to have been accomplished when he completed the age of fourteen; but on the eve of his fifteenth birthday he made a solemn protestation that the contract was null and void, and that he would not carry out his engagements.[62] this protest left him free to consider other proposals, and enhanced his value as a negotiable asset. more than once negotiations were started for marrying him to marguerite de valois, sister of the duke of angoulême, afterwards famous as francis i.;[63] and in the last months of his father's reign, the prince of wales was giving audience to ambassadors from maximilian, who came to suggest matrimonial alliances between the prince and a daughter of duke albert of bavaria, and between henry vii. and the lady margaret of savoy, regent of the netherlands.[64] meanwhile, ferdinand, threatened on all sides, first came to terms (p. 029) with france; he married a french princess, germaine de foix, abandoned his claim to navarre, and bought the security of naples by giving louis xii. a free hand in the north of italy. he then diverted maximilian from his designs on castile by humouring his hostility to venice. by that bait he succeeded in drawing off his enemies, and the league of cambrai united them all, ferdinand and louis, emperor and pope, in an iniquitous attack on the italian republic. henry vii., fortunately for his reputation, was left out of the compact. he was still cherishing his design on castile, and in december, 1508, the treaty of marriage between mary and charles was formally signed. it was the last of his worldly triumphs; the days of his life were numbered, and in the early months of 1509 he was engaged in making a peace with his conscience. [footnote 61: _l. and p._, _henry vii._, ii., 158; _ven. cal._, i., 867.] [footnote 62: _sp. cal._, i., 458; _l. and p._, iv., 5791.] [footnote 63: _l. and p._, _henry vii._, i., 241-47; ii. 342-43.] [footnote 64: _sp. cal._, suppl., p. 23.] * * * * * the twenty-four years during which henry vii. had guided the destinies of england were a momentous epoch in the development of western civilisation. it was the dawn of modern history, of the history of europe in the form in which we know it to-day. the old order was in a state of liquidation. the mediæval ideal, described by dante, of a universal monarchy with two aspects, spiritual and temporal, and two heads, emperor and pope, was passing away. its place was taken by the modern but narrower ideal of separate polities, each pursuing its own course, independent of, and often in conflict with, other societies. unity gave way to diversity of tongues, of churches, of states; and the cosmopolitan became nationalist, patriot, separatist. imperial monarchy shrank to a shadow; and kings divided the emperor's power (p. 030) at the same time that they consolidated their own. they extended their authority on both sides, at the expense of their superior, the emperor, and at the expense of their subordinate feudal lords. the struggle between the disruptive forces of feudalism and the central power of monarchy ended at last in monarchical triumph; and internal unity prepared the way for external expansion. france under louis xi. was first in the field. she had surmounted her civil troubles half a century earlier than england. she then expelled her foreign foes, crushed the remnants of feudal independence, and began to expand at the cost of weaker states. parts of burgundy, provence, and brittany became merged in france; the exuberant strength of the new-formed nation burst the barriers of the alps and overflowed into the plains of italy. the time of universal monarchy was past, but the dread of it remained; and from charles viii.'s invasion of italy in 1494 to francis i.'s defeat at pavia in 1525, french dreams of world-wide sovereignty were the nightmare of other kings. those dreams might, as europe feared, have been realised, had not other states followed france in the path of internal consolidation. ferdinand of aragon married isabella of castile, drove out the moors, and founded the modern spanish kingdom. maximilian married mary, the daughter of charles the bold, and joined the netherlands to austria. united france found herself face to face with other united states, and the political system of modern europe was roughly sketched out. the boundaries of the various kingdoms were fluctuating. there still remained minor principalities and powers, chiefly in italy and germany, which offered an easy prey to their ambitious neighbours; for both nations had (p. 031) sacrificed internal unity to the shadow of universal dominion, germany in temporal, and italy in spiritual, things. mutual jealousy of each other's growth at the expense of these states gave rise to the theory of the balance of power; mutual adjustment of each other's disputes produced international law; and the necessity of watching each other's designs begat modern diplomacy.[65] [footnote 65: _cf._ a.o. meyer, _die englische diplomatie_, breslau, 1901.] parallel with these developments in the relations between one state and another marched a no less momentous revolution in the domestic position of their sovereigns. national expansion abroad was marked by a corresponding growth in royal authority at home. the process was not new in england; every step in the path of the tribal chief of saxon pirates to the throne of a united england denoted an advance in the nature of kingly power. each extension of his sway intensified his authority, and his power grew in degree as it increased in area. so with fifteenth-century sovereigns. local liberties and feudal rights which had checked a duke of brittany or a king of aragon were powerless to restrain the king of france or of spain. the sphere of royal authority encroached upon all others; all functions and all powers tended to concentrate in royal hands. the king was the emblem of national unity, the centre of national aspirations, and the object of national reverence. the renaissance gave fresh impetus to the movement. men turned not only to the theology, literature, and art of the early christian era; they began to study anew its political organisation and its system of law and jurisprudence. the code of justinian was as much a revelation as the original greek of the (p. 032) new testament. roman imperial law seemed as superior to the barbarities of common law as classical was to mediæval latin; and roman law supplanted indigenous systems in france and in germany, in spain and in scotland. both the roman imperial law and the roman imperial constitution were useful models for kings of the new monarchy; the roman empire was a despotism; _quod principi placuit legis habet vigorem_ ran the fundamental principle of roman empire.[66] nor was this all; roman emperors were habitually deified, and men in the sixteenth century seemed to pay to their kings while alive the divine honours which romans paid to their emperors when dead. "le nouveau messie," says michelet, "est le roi."[67] [footnote 66: the conclusion of the maxim _utpote cum lege regia quae de imperio ejus lata est, populus ei et in eum omne suum imperium et potestatem conferat_ (ulpian, _digest_, i., iv., 1), was conveniently forgotten by apologists for absolutism, though the tudors respected it in practice.] [footnote 67: _hist. de france_, ed. 1879, ix., 301.] nowhere was the king more emphatically the saviour of society than in england. the sixty years of lancastrian rule were in the seventeenth century represented as the golden age of parliamentary government, a sort of time before the fall to which popular orators appealed when they wished to paint in vivid colours the evils of stuart tyranny. but to keen observers of the time the pre-eminent characteristic of lancastrian rule appeared to be its "lack of governance" or, in modern phrase, administrative anarchy.[68] there was no subordination in the state. the weakness of the lancastrian title left the king at the mercy of parliament, and the limitations of parliament were never (p. 033) more apparent than when its powers stood highest. even in the realm of legislation, the statute book has seldom been so barren. its principal acts were to narrow the county electorate to an oligarchy, to restrict the choice of constituencies to resident knights and burgesses, and to impair its own influence as a focus of public opinion. it was not content with legislative authority; it interfered with an executive which it could hamper but could not control. it was possessed by the inveterate fallacy that freedom and strong government are things incompatible; that the executive is the natural enemy of the legislature; that if one is strong, the other must be weak; and of the two alternatives it vastly preferred a weak executive. so, to limit the king's power, it sought to make him "live of his own," when "his own" was absolutely inadequate to meet the barest necessities of government. parliament was in fact irresponsible; the connecting link between it and the executive had yet to be found. hence the lancastrian "lack of governance"; it ended in a generation of civil war, and the memory of that anarchy explains much in tudor history. [footnote 68: fortescue, _governance of england_, ed. plummer, 1885.] the problems of henry viii.'s reign can indeed only be solved by realising the misrule of the preceding century, the failure of parliamentary government, and the strength of the popular demand for a firm and masterful hand. it is a modern myth that englishmen have always been consumed with enthusiasm for parliamentary government and with a thirst for a parliamentary vote. the interpretation of history, like that of the scriptures, varies from age to age; and present political theories colour our views of the past. the political development of the nineteenth century created a parliamentary legend; and civil and religious liberty became the inseparable stage (p. 034) properties of the englishman. whenever he appeared on the boards, he was made to declaim about the rights of the subject and the privileges of parliament. it was assumed that the desire for a voice in the management of his own affairs had at all times and all seasons been the mainspring of his actions; and so the story of henry's rule was made into a political mystery. in reality, love of freedom has not always been, nor will it always remain, the predominant note in the english mind. at times the english people have pursued it through battle and murder with grim determination, but other times have seen other ideals. on occasion the demand has been for strong government irrespective of its methods, and good government has been preferred to self-government. wars of expansion and wars of defence have often cooled the love of liberty and impaired the faith in parliaments; and generally english ideals have been strictly subordinated to a passion for material prosperity. never was this more apparent than under the tudors. the parliamentary experiment of the lancastrians was premature and had failed. parliamentary institutions were discredited and people were indifferent to parliamentary rights and privileges: "a plague on both your houses," was the popular feeling, "give us peace, above all peace at home to pursue new avenues of wealth, new phases of commercial development, peace to study new problems of literature, religion, and art"; and both houses passed out of the range of popular imagination, and almost out of the sphere of independent political action. parliament played during the sixteenth century a modester part than it had played since its creation. towards the close of the period (p. 035) shakespeare wrote his play of _king john_, and in that play there is not the faintest allusion to magna carta.[69] such an omission would be inconceivable now or at any time since the death of elizabeth; for the great charter is enshrined in popular imagination as the palladium of the british constitution. it was the fetish to which parliament appealed against the stuarts. but no such appeal would have touched a tudor audience. it needed and desired no weapon against a sovereign who embodied national desires, and ruled in accord with the national will. references to the charter are as rare in parliamentary debates as they are in the pages of shakespeare. the best hated instruments of stuart tyranny were popular institutions under the tudors; and the star chamber itself found its main difficulty in the number of suitors which flocked to a court where the king was judge, the law's delays minimised, counsel's fees moderate, and justice rarely denied merely because it might happen to be illegal. england in the sixteenth century put its trust in its princes far more than it did in its parliaments; it invested them with attributes almost divine. by tudor majesty the poet was inspired with thoughts of the divinity that doth hedge a king. "love for the king," wrote a venetian of henry viii. in the early years of his reign, "is universal with all who see him, for his highness does not seem a person of this world, but one (p. 036) descended from heaven."[70] _le nouveau messie est le roi._ [footnote 69: magna carta may almost be said to have been "discovered" by the parliamentary opponents of the stuarts; and in discovering it, they misinterpreted several of its clauses such as the _judicium parium_. allusion was, however, made to magna carta in the proceedings against wolsey for _præmunire_ (fox, vi., 43).] [footnote 70: _ven cal._, ii., 336.] such were the tendencies which henry vii. and henry viii. crystallised into practical weapons of absolute government. few kings have attained a greater measure of permanent success than the first of the tudors; it was he who laid the unseen foundations upon which henry viii. erected the imposing edifice of his personal authority. an orphan from birth and an exile from childhood, he stood near enough to the throne to invite yorkist proscription, but too far off to unite in his favour lancastrian support. he owed his elevation to the mistakes of his enemies and to the cool, calculating craft which enabled him to use those mistakes without making mistakes of his own. he ran the great risk of his life in his invasion of england, but henceforth he left nothing to chance. he was never betrayed by passion or enthusiasm into rash adventures, and he loved the substance, rather than the pomp and circumstance of power. untrammelled by scruples, unimpeded by principles, he pursued with constant fidelity the task of his life, to secure the throne for himself and his children, to pacify his country, and to repair the waste of the civil wars. folly easily glides into war, but to establish a permanent peace required all henry's patience, clear sight and far sight, caution and tenacity. a full exchequer, not empty glory, was his first requisite, and he found in his foreign wars a mine of money. treason at home was turned to like profit, and the forfeited estates of rebellious lords accumulated in the hands of the royal family and filled the national coffers. attainder, the characteristic instrument of tudor policy, was employed to (p. 037) complete the ruin of the old english peerage which the wars of the roses began: and by 1509 there was only one duke and one marquis left in the whole of england.[71] attainder not only removed the particular traitor, but disqualified his family for place and power; and the process of eliminating feudalism from the region of government, started by edward i., was finished by henry vii. feudal society has been described as a pyramid; the upper slopes were now washed away leaving an impassable precipice, with the tudor monarch alone in his glory at its summit. royalty had become a caste apart. marriages between royal children and english peers had hitherto been no uncommon thing; since henry vii.'s accession there have been but four, two of them in our own day. only one took place in the sixteenth century, and the duke of suffolk was by some thought worthy of death for his presumption in marrying the sister of henry viii. the peerage was weakened not only by diminishing numbers, but by the systematic depression of those who remained. henry vii., like ferdinand of aragon,[72] preferred to govern by means of lawyers and churchmen; they could be rewarded by judgeships and bishoprics, and required no grants from the royal estates. their occupancy of office kept out territorial magnates who abused it for private ends. of the sixteen regents nominated by henry viii. in his will, not one could boast a peerage of twelve years' standing;[73] and all the great tudor ministers, wolsey and (p. 038) cromwell, cecil and walsingham, were men of comparatively humble birth. with similar objects henry vii. passed laws limiting the number of retainers and forbidding the practice of maintenance. the courts of star chamber and requests were developed to keep in order his powerful subjects and give poor men protection against them. their civil law procedure, influenced by roman imperial maxims, served to enhance the royal power and dignity, and helped to build up the tudor autocracy. [footnote 71: the duke was buckingham, and the marquis was dorset.] [footnote 72: see a description of ferdinand's court by john stile, the english envoy, in _l. and p._, i., 490.] [footnote 73: see the present writer's _england under protector somerset_, p. 38.] * * * * * to the office of king thus developed and magnified, the young prince who stood upon the steps of the throne brought personal qualities of the highest order, and advantages to which his father was completely a stranger. his title was secure, his treasury overflowed, and he enjoyed the undivided affections of his people. there was no alternative claimant. the white rose, indeed, had languished in the tower since his surrender by philip, and the duke of buckingham had some years before been mentioned as a possible successor to the throne;[74] but their claims only served to remind men that nothing but henry's life stood between them and anarchy, for his young brother edmund, duke of somerset, had preceded arthur to an early grave. upon the single thread of henry's life hung the peace of the realm; no other could have secured the throne without a second civil war. it was small wonder if england regarded henry with a somewhat extravagant loyalty. never had king ascended the throne more richly endowed with mental and physical gifts. he was ten weeks short of his eighteenth year. (p. 039) from both his parents he inherited grace of mind and of person. his father in later years was broken in health and soured in spirit, but in the early days of his reign he had charmed the citizens of york with his winning smile. his mother is described by the venetian ambassador as a woman of great beauty and ability. she transmitted to henry many of the popular characteristics of her father, edward iv., though little of the military genius of that consummate commander who fought thirteen pitched battles and lost not one. unless eye-witnesses sadly belied themselves, henry viii. must have been the desire of all eyes. "his majesty," wrote one a year or two later,[75] "is the handsomest potentate i ever set eyes on; above the usual height, with an extremely fine calf to his leg; his complexion fair and bright, with auburn hair combed straight and short in the french fashion, and a round face so very beautiful that it would become a pretty woman, his throat being rather long and thick.... he speaks french, english, latin, and a little italian; plays well on the lute and harpsichord, sings from the book at sight, draws the bow with greater strength than any man in england, and jousts marvellously." another foreign resident in 1519[76] described him as "extremely handsome. nature could not have done more for him. he is much handsomer than any other sovereign in christendom; a great deal handsomer than the king of france; very fair and his whole frame admirably proportioned. on hearing that francis i. wore a beard, he allowed his own to grow, and as it is (p. 040) reddish, he has now got a beard that looks like gold. he is very accomplished, a good musician, composes well, is a capital horseman, a fine jouster, speaks french, latin, and spanish.... he is very fond of hunting, and never takes his diversion without tiring eight or ten horses which he causes to be stationed beforehand along the line of country he means to take, and when one is tired he mounts another, and before he gets home they are all exhausted. he is extremely fond of tennis, at which game it is the prettiest thing in the world to see him play, his fair skin glowing through a shirt of the finest texture." [footnote 74: _l. and p., henry vii._, i., 180, 233, 319.] [footnote 75:_l. and p._, ii., 395.] [footnote 76: giustinian, _despatches_, ii., 312; _ven. cal._, ii., 1287; _l. and p._, iii., 402.] the change from the cold suspicious henry vii. to such a king as this was inevitably greeted with a burst of rapturous enthusiasm. "i have no fear," wrote mountjoy to erasmus,[77] "but when you heard that our prince, now henry the eighth, whom we may well call our octavius, had succeeded to his father's throne, all your melancholy left you at once. for what may you not promise yourself from a prince, with whose extraordinary and almost divine character you are well acquainted.... but when you know what a hero he now shows himself, how wisely he behaves, what a lover he is of justice and goodness, what affection he bears to the learned, i will venture to swear that you will need no wings to make you fly to behold this new and auspicious star. if you could see how all the world here is rejoicing in the possession of so great a prince, how his life is all their desire, you could not contain your tears for joy. the heavens laugh, the earth exults, all things are full of milk, of honey, of nectar! avarice is expelled the country. liberality scatters wealth with a bounteous hand. our (p. 041) king does not desire gold or gems or precious metals, but virtue, glory, immortality." the picture is overdrawn for modern taste, but making due allowance for mountjoy's turgid efforts to emulate his master's eloquence, enough remains to indicate the impression made by henry on a peer of liberal education. his unrivalled skill in national sports and martial exercises appealed at least as powerfully to the mass of his people. in archery, in wrestling, in joust and in tourney, as well as in the tennis court or on the hunting field, henry was a match for the best in his kingdom. none could draw a bow, tame a steed, or shiver a lance more deftly than he, and his single-handed tournaments on horse and foot with his brother-in-law, the duke of suffolk, are likened by one who watched them to the combats of achilles and hector. these are no mere trifles below the dignity of history; they help to explain the extraordinary hold henry obtained over popular imagination. suppose there ascended the throne to-day a young prince, the hero of the athletic world, the finest oar, the best bat, the crack marksman of his day, it is easy to imagine the enthusiastic support he would receive from thousands of his people who care much for sport, and nothing at all for politics. suppose also that that prince were endowed with the iron will, the instinctive insight into the hearts of his people, the profound aptitude for government that henry viii. displayed, he would be a rash man who would guarantee even now the integrity of parliamentary power or the continuance of cabinet rule. in those days, with thirty years of civil war and fifteen more of conspiracy fresh in men's minds, with no alternative to anarchy save henry viii., with a peerage fallen (p. 042) from its high estate, and a parliament almost lost to respect, royal autocracy was not a thing to dread or distrust. "if a lion knew his strength," said sir thomas more of his master to cromwell, "it were hard for any man to rule him." henry viii. had the strength of a lion; it remains to be seen how soon he learnt it, and what use he made of that strength when he discovered the secret. [footnote 77: f.m. nichols, _epistles of erasmus_, i., 457.] chapter iii. (p. 043) the apprenticeship of henry viii. quietly and peacefully, without a threat from abroad or a murmur at home, the crown, which his father had won amid the storm and stress of the field of battle, devolved upon henry viii. with an eager profusion of zeal ferdinand of aragon placed at henry's disposal his army, his fleet, his personal services.[78] there was no call for this sacrifice. for generations there had been no such tranquil demise of the crown. not a ripple disturbed the surface of affairs as the old king lay sick in april, 1509, in richmond palace at sheen. by his bedside stood his only surviving son; and to him the dying monarch addressed his last words of advice. he desired him to complete his marriage with catherine, he exhorted him to defend the church, and to make war on the infidel; he commended to him his faithful councillors, and is believed to have urged upon him the execution of de la pole, earl of suffolk, the white rose of england. on the 22nd he was dead. a fortnight later the funeral procession wended its way from sheen to st. paul's, where the illustrious john fisher, cardinal and martyr, preached the _éloge_. thence it (p. 044) passed down the strand, between hedges and willows clad in the fresh green of spring, to that acre sown indeed with the richest, royallest seed that the earth did e'er drink in. there, in the vault beneath the chapel in westminster abbey, which bears his name and testifies to his magnificence in building, henry vii. was laid to rest beside his queen; dwelling, says bacon, "more richly dead in the monument of his tomb than he did alive in richmond or any of his palaces". for years before and after, torrigiano, the rival of buonarotti, wrought at its "matchless altar," not a stone of which survived the puritan fury of the civil war. [footnote 78: _sp. cal._, ii., 4.] on the day of his father's death, or the next, the new king removed from richmond palace to the tower, whence, on 23rd april, was dated the first official act of his reign. he confirmed in ampler form the general pardon granted a few days before by henry vii.; but the ampler form was no bar to the exemption of fourscore offenders from the act of grace.[79] foremost among them were the three brothers de la pole, sir richard empson and edmund dudley. the exclusion of empson and dudley from the pardon was more popular than the pardon itself. if anything could have enhanced henry's favour with his subjects, it was the condign punishment of the tools of his father's extortion. their death was none the less welcome for being unjust. they were not merely refused pardon and brought to the block; a more costly concession was made when their bonds for the payment of loans were cancelled.[80] their victims, so runs the official record, had been "without (p. 045) any ground or matter of truth, by the undue means of certain of the council of our said late father, thereunto driven contrary to law, reason and good conscience, to the manifest charge and peril of the soul of our said late father". [footnote 79: _l. and p._, i., 2, 12.] [footnote 80: _cf. l. and p._, i., 1004.] if filial piety demanded the delivery of his father's soul from peril, it counselled no less the fulfilment of his dying requests, and the arrangements for catherine's marriage were hurried on with an almost indecent haste. the instant he heard rumours of henry vii.'s death, ferdinand sent warning to his envoy in england that louis of france and others would seek by all possible means to break off the match.[81] to further it, he would withdraw his objections to the union of charles and mary; and a few days later he wrote again to remove any scruples henry might entertain about marrying his deceased brother's wife; while to catherine herself he declared with brutal frankness that she would get no other husband than henry.[82] all his paternal anxiety might have been spared. long before ferdinand's persuasions could reach henry's ears, he had made up his mind to consummate the marriage. he would not, he wrote to margaret of savoy,[83] disobey his father's commands, reinforced as they were by the dispensation of the pope and by the friendship between the two families contracted by his sister mary's betrothal to catherine's nephew charles. there were other reasons besides those he alleged. a council trained by henry vii. was loth to lose the gold of catherine's dower; it was of the utmost importance to strengthen at once the royal line; and a full-blooded youth of henry's temperament was not likely to repel a comely (p. 046) wife ready to his hand, when the dictates of his father's policy no longer stood between them. so on 11th june, barely a month after henry vii.'s obsequies, the marriage, big with destinies, of henry viii. and catherine of aragon was privately solemnised by archbishop warham "in the queen's closet" at greenwich.[84] on the same day the commission of claims was appointed for the king's and queen's coronation. a week then sufficed for its business, and on sunday, 24th june, the abbey was the scene of a second state function within three months. its splendour and display were emblematic of the coming reign. warham placed the crown on the king's head; the people cried, "yea, yea!" in a loud voice when asked if they would have henry as king; sir robert dymock performed the office of champion; and a banquet, jousts and tourneys concluded the ceremonies. [footnote 81: _sp. cal._, ii., 3.] [footnote 82: _ibid._, ii., 8, 15.] [footnote 83: _l. and p._, i., 224.] [footnote 84: _l. and p._, iv., 5774.] * * * * * though he had wedded a wife and been crowned a king, henry was as yet little more than a boy. a powerful mind ripens slowly in a vigorous frame, and henry's childish precocity had given way before a youthful devotion to physical sports. he was no prodigy of early development. his intellect, will and character were of a gradual, healthier growth; they were not matured for many years after he came to the throne. he was still in his eighteenth year; and like most young englishmen of means and muscle, his interests centred rather in the field than in the study. youth sat on the prow and pleasure at the helm. "continual feasting" was the phrase in which catherine described their early married life. in the winter evenings there were masks and comedies, romps (p. 047) and revels, in which henry himself, bessie blount and other young ladies of his court played parts.[85] in the spring and summer there were archery and tennis. music, we are told, was practised day and night. two months after his accession henry wrote to ferdinand that he diverted himself with jousts, birding, hunting, and other innocent and honest pastimes, in visiting various parts of his kingdom, but that he did not therefore neglect affairs of state.[86] possibly he was as assiduous in his duties as modern university athletes in their studies; the neglect was merely comparative. but ferdinand's ambassador remarked on henry's aversion to business, and his councillors complained that he cared only for the pleasures of his age. two days a week, said the spaniard, were devoted to single combats on foot, initiated in imitation of the heroes of romance, amadis and lancelot;[87] and if henry's other innocent and honest pastimes were equally exacting, his view of the requirements of state may well have been modest. from the earliest days of his reign the general outline of policy was framed in accord with his sentiments, and he was probably consulted on most questions of importance. but it was not always so; in august, 1509, louis xii. acknowledged a letter purporting to come from the english king with a request for friendship and peace. "who wrote this letter?" burst out henry. "i ask peace of the king of france, who dare not look me in the face, still less make war on me!"[88] his pride at the age of eighteen was not less than his ignorance of what passed in his name. he had (p. 048) yet to learn the secret that painful and laborious mastery of detail is essential to him who aspires not merely to reign but to rule; and matters of detail in administration and diplomacy were still left in his ministers' hands. [footnote 85: _l. and p._, vol. ii., p. 1461.] [footnote 86: _sp. cal._, ii., 19.] [footnote 87: _ibid._, ii., 44, 45.] [footnote 88: _ven. cal._, ii., 11.] with the exception of empson and dudley, henry made little or no change in the council his father bequeathed him. official precedence appertained to his chancellor, warham, archbishop of canterbury. like most of henry vii.'s prelates, he received his preferment in the church as a reward for services to the state. much of the diplomatic work of the previous reign had passed through his hands; he helped to arrange the marriage of arthur and catherine, and was employed in the vain attempt to obtain margaret of savoy as a bride for henry vii. as archbishop he crowned and married henry viii., and as chancellor he delivered orations at the opening of the young king's first three parliaments.[89] they are said to have given general satisfaction, but apart from them, warham, for some unknown reason, took little part in political business. so far as henry can be said at this time to have had a prime minister, that title belongs to fox, his lord privy seal and bishop of winchester. fox had been even more active than warham in politics, and more closely linked with the personal fortunes of the two tudor kings. he had shared the exile of henry of richmond; the treaty of étaples, the intercursus magnus, the marriage of henry's elder daughter to james iv., and the betrothal of his younger to charles, were largely the work of his hands. malicious gossip described him as willing to consent to his own father's death to serve the turn of his king, (p. 049) and a better founded belief ascribed to his wit the invention of "morton's fork".[90] he was chancellor of cambridge in 1500, as warham was of oxford, but won more enduring fame by founding the college of corpus christi in the university over which the archbishop presided. he had baptised henry viii. and advocated his marriage to catherine; and to him the king extended the largest share in his confidence. badoer, the venetian ambassador, called him "alter rex,"[91] and carroz, the spaniard, said henry trusted him most; but henry was not blind to the failings of his most intimate councillors, and he warned carroz that the bishop of winchester was, as his name implied, a fox indeed.[92] a third prelate, ruthal of durham, divided with fox the chief business of state; and these clerical advisers were supposed to be eager to guide henry's footsteps in the paths of peace, and counteract the more adventurous tendencies of their lay colleagues. [footnote 89: _l. and p._, i., 811, 2082; ii., 114.] [footnote 90: _d.n.b._, xx., 152.] [footnote 91: _ven. cal._, ii., 63.] [footnote 92: _sp. cal._, ii., 44.] at the head of the latter stood thomas howard, earl of surrey, soon to be rewarded for his victory at flodden by his restoration to the dukedom of norfolk. he and his son, the third duke, were lord high treasurers throughout henry's reign; but jealousy of their past, tudor distrust of their rank, or personal limitations, impaired the authority that would otherwise have attached to their official position; and henry never trusted them as he did ministers whom he himself had raised from the dust. surrey had served under edward iv. and richard iii.; he had fought against henry at bosworth, been attainted and sent to the tower. reflecting that it was better to (p. 050) be a tudor official at court than a baronial magnate in prison, he submitted to the king and was set up as a beacon to draw his peers from their feudal ways. the rest of the council were men of little distinction. shrewsbury, the lord high steward, was a pale reflex of surrey, and illustrious in nought but descent. charles somerset, lord herbert, who was chamberlain and afterwards earl of worcester, was a beaufort bastard,[93] and may have derived some little influence from his harmless kinship with henry viii. lovell, the treasurer, poynings the controller of the household, and harry marney, chancellor of the duchy of lancaster, were tried and trusty officials. bishop fisher was great as a churchman, a scholar, a patron of learning, but not as a man of affairs; while buckingham, the only duke in england, and his brother, the earl of wiltshire, were rigidly excluded by dynastic jealousy from all share in political authority. [footnote 93: he is a link in the hereditary chain which began with beauforts, dukes of somerset and ended in somersets, dukes of beaufort.] the most persistent of henry's advisers was none of his council. he was ferdinand the catholic, king of aragon; and to his inspiration has been ascribed[94] the course of foreign policy during the first five years of his son-in-law's reign. he worked through his daughter; the only thing she valued in life, wrote catherine a month after her marriage, was her father's confidence. when membrilla was recalled because he failed to satisfy catherine's somewhat exacting temper, she was herself formally commissioned to act in his place as (p. 051) ferdinand's ambassador at henry's court; henry was begged to give her implicit credence and communicate with spain through her mediation! "these kingdoms of _your_ highness," she wrote to her father, "are in great tranquillity."[95] well might ferdinand congratulate himself on the result of her marriage, and the addition of fresh, to his already extensive, domains. he needed them all to ensure the success of his far-reaching schemes. his eldest grandson, charles, was heir not only to castile and aragon, naples and the indies, which were to come to him from his mother, ferdinand's imbecile daughter, juaña, but to burgundy and austria, the lands of his father, philip, and of philip's father, the emperor maximilian. this did not satisfy ferdinand's grasping ambition; he sought to carve out for his second grandson, named after himself, a kingdom in northern italy.[96] on the duchy of milan, the republics of venice, genoa and florence, his greedy eyes were fixed. once conquered, they would bar the path of france to naples; compensated by these possessions, the younger ferdinand might resign his share in the austrian inheritance to charles; while charles himself was to marry the only daughter of the king of hungary, add that to his other dominions, and revive the empire of charlemagne. (p. 052) partly with these objects in view, partly to draw off the scent from his own track, ferdinand had, in 1508, raised the hue and cry after venice. pope and emperor, france and spain, joined in the chase, but of all the parties to the league of cambrai, louis xii. was in a position to profit the most. his victory over venice at agnadello (14th may, 1509), secured him milan and venetian territory as far as the mincio; it also dimmed the prospects of ferdinand's italian scheme and threatened his hold on naples; but the spanish king was restrained from open opposition to france by the fact that louis was still mediating between him and maximilian on their claims to the administration of castile, the realm of their daughter and daughter-in-law, juaña. [footnote 94: by bergenroth in his prefaces to the _calendar of spanish state papers_. he greatly exaggerates ferdinand's influence.] [footnote 95: _sp. cal._, ii., 12, 21; _l. and p._, i., 368.] [footnote 96: _ibid._, ii., 153, 159. the following pedigree may be useful for reference:- charles = margaret the bold of york, "aunt to all the pretenders" | | mary = emperor ferdinand = isabella maximilian of aragon | of castile | (_d._ 1519) | | +---------------------+ | | | archduke = juaña catherine philip | of (_d._ 1506) | aragon | +----------------------+ | | charles v., emperor ferdinand, emperor 1519-1556 1556-1564] * * * * * such was the situation with which henry viii. and his council were required to deal. the young king entered the arena of europe, a child of generous impulse in a throng of hoary intriguers--ferdinand, maximilian, louis xii., julius ii.--each of whom was nearly three times his age. he was shocked to see them leagued to spoil a petty republic, a republic, too, which had been for ages the bulwark of christendom against the turk and from time immemorial the ally of england. venice had played no small part in the revival of letters which appealed so strongly to henry's intellectual sympathies. scholars and physicians from venice, or from equally threatened italian republics, frequented his court and cabinet. venetian merchants developed the commerce of london; venetian galleys called twice a year at southampton on their way to and from flanders, and their trade (p. 053) was a source of profit to both nations. inevitably henry's sympathies went out to the sore-pressed republic. they were none the less strong because the chief of the spoilers was france, for henry and his people were imbued with an inborn antipathy to everything french.[97] before he came to the throne he was reported to be france's enemy; and speculations were rife as to the chances of his invading it and imitating the exploits of his ancestor henry v. it needed no persuasion from ferdinand to induce him to intervene in favour of venice. within a few weeks of his accession he refused to publish the papal bull which cast the halo of crusaders over the bandits of cambrai. the day after his coronation he deplored to badoer louis' victory at agnadello, and a week later he wrote to the sovereigns of europe urging the injustice of their venetian crusade. in september he sent bainbridge, cardinal-archbishop of york, to reside at the papal court, and watch over the interests of venice as well as of england. "italy," wrote badoer, "was entirely rescued from the barbarians by the movements of the english king; and, but for that, ferdinand would have done nothing."[98] henry vainly endeavoured to persuade maximilian, the venetian's lifelong foe, to accept arbitration; but he succeeded in inducing the doge to make his peace with the pope, and julius to remove his ecclesiastical censures. to ferdinand he declared that venice must be preserved as a wall against the turk, and he hinted that ferdinand's own dominions in italy would, if venice were destroyed, "be unable to resist the ambitious designs of certain (p. 054) christian princes".[99] the danger was as patent to julius and ferdinand as it was to henry; and as soon as ferdinand had induced louis to give a favourable verdict in his suit with the emperor, the catholic king was ready to join henry and the pope in a league of defence. [footnote 97: _ven. cal._, i., 941, 942, 945; ii., 1.] [footnote 98: _l. and p._, i., 922, 932, 3333; _ven. cal._, ii., 5, 7, 9, 19-22, 28, 33, 39, 40, 45, 51.] [footnote 99: _sp. cal._, ii., 23.] but, in spite of venetian, spanish and papal instigations to "recover his noble inheritance in france," in spite of his own indignation at the treatment of venice, and the orders issued in the first year of his reign to his subjects to furnish themselves with weapons of war, for which the long peace had left them unprepared,[100] henry, or the peace party in his council, was unwilling to resort to the arbitrament of arms. he renewed his father's treaties not only with other powers, but, much to the disgust of ferdinand, venice and the pope, with louis himself. his first martial exploit, apart from 1,500 archers whom he was bound by treaty to send to aid the netherlands against the duke of guelders,[101] was an expedition for the destruction of the enemies of the faith.[102] such an expedition, he once said, he owed to god for his peaceful accession; at another time he declared[103] that he cherished, like an heirloom, the ardour against the infidel which he inherited from his father. he repressed that ardour, it must be added, with as much success as henry vii.; and apart from this one youthful indiscretion, he did not suffer his ancestral zeal to escape into action. his generous illusions soon vanished before the sordid realities of european statecraft; and the defence of christendom (p. 055) became with him, as with others, a hollow pretence, a diplomatic fiction, the infinite varieties of which age could not wither nor custom stale. did a monarch wish for peace? peace at once was imperative to enable christian princes to combine against the turk. did he desire war? war became a disagreeable necessity to restrain the ambition of christian princes who, "worse than the infidel," disturbed the peace of christendom and opened a door for the enemies of the church. nor did the success of henry's first crusade encourage him to persist in similar efforts. it sailed from plymouth in may, 1511, to join in ferdinand's attack on the moors, but it had scarcely landed when bickerings broke out between the christian allies, and ferdinand informed the english commanders that he had made peace with the infidel, to gird his loins for war with the most christian king. [footnote 100: _l. and p._, i., 679.] [footnote 101: _ven. cal._, ii., 16; _l. and p._, i., 1740.] [footnote 102: _l. and p._, i., 1531.] [footnote 103: _ibid._, ii., 4688; _ven. cal._, ii., 178.] in the midst of their preparation against infidels, so runs the preamble to the treaty in which henry and ferdinand signified their adhesion to the holy league, they heard that louis was besieging the pope in bologna.[104] the thought of violent hands being laid on the vicar of christ stirred henry to a depth of indignation which no injuries practised against a temporal power could rouse. his ingenuous deference to the papacy was in singular contrast to the contempt with which it was treated by more experienced sovereigns, and they traded on the weight which henry always attached to the words of the pope. he had read maximilian grave lectures on his conduct in countenancing the schismatic _conciliabulum_ assembled by louis at pisa.[105] he wrote to bainbridge at the papal court that he was ready to sacrifice goods, life and kingdom for the pope and the church;[106] and to the (p. 056) emperor that at the beginning of his reign he thought of nothing else than an expedition against the infidel. but now he was called by the pope and the danger of the church in another direction; and he proceeded to denounce the impiety and schism of the french and their atrocious deeds in italy. he joined ferdinand in requiring louis to desist from his impious work. louis turned a deaf ear to their demands; and in november, 1511, they bound themselves to defend the church against all aggression and make war upon the aggressor. [footnote 104: _sp. cal._, ii., 59.] [footnote 105: _l. and p._, i., 1828.] [footnote 106: _ven. cal._, ii., 177.] * * * * * this reversal of the pacific policy which had marked the first two and a half years of henry's reign was not exclusively due to the king's zeal for the church. the clerical party of peace in his council was now divided by the appearance of an ecclesiastic who was far more remarkable than any of his colleagues, and to whose turbulence and energy the boldness of english policy must, henceforth, for many years be mainly ascribed. thomas wolsey had been appointed henry's almoner at the beginning of his reign, but he exercised no apparent influence in public affairs. it was not till 1511 that he joined the council, though during the interval he must have been gradually building up his ascendancy over the king's mind. to wolsey, restlessly ambitious for himself, for henry, and england, was attributed the responsibility for the sudden adoption of a spirited foreign policy; and it was in the preparations for the war of 1512 that his marvellous industry and grasp of detail first found full scope. the main attack of the english and spanish monarchs was to be on (p. 057) guienne,[107] and in may, 1512, henry went down to southampton to speed the departing fleet.[108] it sailed from cowes under dorset's command on 3rd june, and a week later the army disembarked on the coast of guipuscoa.[109] there it remained throughout the torrid summer, awaiting the spanish king's forces to co-operate in the invasion of france. but ferdinand was otherwise occupied. navarre was not mentioned in the treaty with henry, but navarre was what ferdinand had in his mind. it was then an independent kingdom, surrounded on three sides by spanish territory, and an easy prey which would serve to unite all spain beyond the pyrenees under ferdinand's rule. under pretence of restoring guienne to the english crown, dorset's army had been enticed to passages, and there it was used as a screen against the french, behind which ferdinand calmly proceeded to conquer navarre. it was, he said, impossible to march into france with navarre unsubdued in his rear. navarre was at peace, but it might join the french, and he invited dorset to help in securing the prey. dorset refused to exceed his commission, but the presence of his army at passages was admitted by the spaniards to be "quite providential,"[110] as it prevented the french from assisting navarre. english indignation was loud and deep; men and officers vowed that, but for henry's displeasure, they would have called to account the perfidious king. condemned to inactivity, the troops almost mutinied; they found it impossible to live on their wages of sixpence a day (equivalent now to at least six shillings), drank spanish wine as if it were english (p. 058) beer, and died of dysentery like flies in the autumn. discipline relaxed; drill was neglected. still ferdinand tarried, and in october, seeing no hope of an attempt on guienne that year, the army took matters into its own hands and embarked for england.[111] [footnote 107: _l. and p._, i., 1980; _sp. cal._, ii., 59; _ven. cal._, ii., 122.] [footnote 108: _ibid._, ii., 159.] [footnote 109: _l. and p._, i., 3243.] [footnote 110: _ibid._, i., 3352.] [footnote 111: _l. and p._, i., 3298, 3355; _ven. cal._, ii., 198, 205. the financial accounts for the expedition are in _l. and p._, i., 3762.] henry's first military enterprise had ended in disgrace and disaster. the repute of english soldiers, dimmed by long peace, was now further tarnished. henry's own envoys complained of the army's insubordination, its impatience of the toils, and inexperience of the feats, of war; and its ignominious return exposed him to the taunts of both friends and foes. he had been on the point of ordering it home, when it came of its own accord; but the blow to his authority was not, on that account, less severe. his irritation was not likely to be soothed when he realised the extent to which he had been duped by his father-in-law. ferdinand was loud in complaints and excuses.[112] september and october were, he said, the proper months for a campaign in guienne, and he was marching to join the english army at the moment of its desertion. in reality, it had served his purpose to perfection. its presence had diverted french levies from italy, and enabled him, unmolested, to conquer navarre. with that he was content. why should he wish to see henry in guienne? he was too shrewd to involve his own forces in that hopeless adventure, and the departure of the english furnished him with an excuse for entering into secret negotiations with louis. his methods were eloquent of sixteenth-century (p. 059) diplomacy. he was, he ordered carroz to tell henry many months later,[113] when concealment was no longer possible or necessary, sending a holy friar to his daughter in england; the friar's health did not permit of his going by sea; so he went through france, and was taken prisoner. hearing of his fame for piety, the french queen desired his ghostly advice, and took the opportunity of the interview to persuade the friar to return to spain with proposals of peace. ferdinand was suddenly convinced that death was at hand; his confessor exhorted him to forgive and make peace with his enemies. this work of piety he could not in conscience neglect. so he agreed to a twelvemonth's truce, which secured navarre. in spite of his conscience he would never have consented, had he not felt that the truce was really in henry's interests. but what weighed with him most was, he said, the reformation of the church. that should be henry's first and noblest work; he could render no greater service to god. no reformation was possible without peace, and so long as the church was unreformed, wars among princes would never cease. [footnote 112: _sp. cal._, ii., 68, 70, 72; _cf._ _l. and p._, i., 3350, 3356.] [footnote 113: _sp. cal._, ii., 89, 118; _l. and p._, i., 3839.] such reasoning, he thought, would appeal to the pious and unsophisticated henry. to other sovereigns he used arguments more suited to their experience of his diplomacy. he told maximilian[114] that his main desire was to serve the emperor's interests, to put a curb on the italians, and to frustrate their design of driving himself, louis and maximilian across the alps. but the most monumental falsehood he reserved for the pope; his ambassador at the papal court was to (p. 060) assure julius that he had failed in his efforts to concert with henry a joint invasion of france, that henry was not in earnest over the war and that he had actually made a truce[115] with france. this had enabled louis to pour fresh troops into italy, and compelled him, ferdinand, to consult his own interests and make peace! two days later he was complaining to louis that henry refused to join in the truce.[116] to punish henry for his refusal he was willing to aid louis against him, but he would prefer to settle the differences between the french and the english kings by a still more treacherous expedient. julius was to be induced to give a written promise that, if the points at issue were submitted to his arbitration, he would pronounce no verdict till it had been secretly sanctioned by ferdinand and louis. this promise obtained, louis was publicly to appeal to the pope; henry's devotion to the church would prevent his refusing the supreme pontiff's mediation; if he did, ecclesiastical censures could be invoked against him.[117] such was the plot ferdinand was hatching for the benefit of his daughter's husband. the catholic king had ever deceit in his heart and the name of god on his lips. he was accused by a rival of having cheated him twice; the charge was repeated to ferdinand. "he lies," he broke out, "i cheated him three times." he was faithful to one principle only, self-aggrandisement by fair means or foul. his favourite scheme was a kingdom in northern italy; but in the way of its realisation his own overreaching ambition placed an insuperable bar. italy had been excluded from his truce with france to leave him free to pursue that design;[118] but in july, 1512, the (p. 061) italians already suspected his motives, and a papal legate declared that they no more wished to see milan spanish than french.[119] in the following november, spanish troops in the pay and alliance of venice drove the french out of brescia. by the terms of the holy league, it should have been restored to its owner, the venetian republic. ferdinand kept it himself; it was to form the nucleus of his north italian dominion. venice at once took alarm and made a compact with france which kept the spaniards at bay until after ferdinand's death.[120] the friendship between venice and france severed that between france and the emperor; and, in 1513, the war went on with a rearrangement of partners, henry and maximilian on one side,[121] against france and venice on the other, with ferdinand secretly trying to trick them all. [footnote 114: _ibid._, ii., 96, 101.] [footnote 115: _sp. cal._, ii., 106.] [footnote 116: _ibid._, ii., 107.] [footnote 117: _ibid._, ii., 104.] [footnote 118: _sp. cal._, ii., 70.] [footnote 119: _l. and p._, i., 3325.] [footnote 120: _ven. cal._, ii., 208, 234, 254, 283, 298. bergenroth, in his zeal for ferdinand, represents the pope and not ferdinand as being responsible for driving venice into the arms of france.] [footnote 121: _l. and p._, i., 3649, 3859-61. the league between henry and maximilian was concluded 5th april, 1513; carroz ratified it on ferdinand's behalf on 25th april, though ferdinand had already signed a truce with france. a good instance of ferdinand's duplicity may be found in _sp. cal._, ii., 104, 207; in the former he is asking for the hand of renée for his grandson ferdinand, in the latter he tells the pope that the report that he had made this request was pure invention.] * * * * * for many months henry knew not, or refused to credit, his father-in-law's perfidy. to outward appearance, the spanish king was as eager as ever for the war in guienne. he was urging henry to levy 6,000 germans (p. 062) to serve for that purpose in conjunction with spanish forces; and, in april, carroz, in ignorance of his master's real intentions, signed on his behalf a treaty for the joint invasion of france.[122] this forced the catholic king to reveal his hand. he refused his ratification;[123] now he declared the conquest of guienne to be a task of such magnitude that preparations must be complete before april, a date already past; and he recommended henry to come into the truce with louis, the existence of which he had now to confess. henry had not yet fathomed the depths; he even appealed to ferdinand's feelings and pathetically besought him, as a good father, not to forsake him entirely.[124] but in vain; his father-in-law deserted him at his sorest hour of need. to make peace was out of the question. england's honour had suffered a stain that must at all costs be removed. no king with an atom of spirit would let the dawn of his reign be clouded by such an admission of failure. wolsey was there to stiffen his temper in case of need; with him it was almost a matter of life and death to retrieve the disaster. his credit was pledged in the war. in their moments of anger under the spanish sun, the english commanders had loudly imputed to wolsey the origin of the war and the cause of all the mischief.[125] surrey, for whose banishment from court the new favourite had expressed to fox a wish, and other "great men" at home, repeated the charge.[126] had wolsey failed to bring honour with peace, his name would not have been numbered among the greatest of england's statesmen. [footnote 122: _sp. cal._, ii., 101.] [footnote 123: _ib._, ii., 118, 122.] [footnote 124: _ib._, ii., 125.] [footnote 125: _l. and p._, i., 3356, 3451.] [footnote 126: _ib._, i., 3443.] henry's temper required no spur. tudors never flinched in the face (p. 063) of danger, and nothing could have made henry so resolved to go on as ferdinand's desertion and advice to desist. he was prepared to avenge his army in person. there were to be no expeditions to distant shores; there was to be war in the channel, where englishmen were at home on the sea; and calais was to be the base of an invasion of france over soil worn by the tramp of english troops. in march, 1513, henry, to whom the navy was a weapon, a plaything, a passion, watched his fleet sail down the thames; its further progress was told him in letters from its gallant admiral, sir edmund howard, who had been strictly charged to inform the king of the minutest details in the behaviour of every one of the ships.[127] never had such a display of naval force left the english shores; twenty-four ships ranging downwards from the 1,600 tons of the _henry imperial_, bore nearly 5,000 marines and 3,000 mariners.[128] the french dared not venture out, while howard swept the channel, and sought them in their ports. brest was blockaded. a squadron of mediterranean galleys coming to its relief anchored in the shallow water off conquêt. howard determined to cut them out; he grappled and boarded their admiral's galley. the grappling was cut away, his boat swept out in the tide, and howard, left unsupported, was thrust overboard by the frenchmen's pikes.[129] his death was regarded as a national disaster, but he had retrieved england's reputation for foolhardy valour. [footnote 127: _l. and p._, i., 3809, 3820.] [footnote 128: _ib._, i., 3977.] [footnote 129: _ib._, i., 4005; see also _the war of 1512-13_ (navy records society) where the documents are printed in full.] meanwhile, henry's army was gathering at calais.[130] on 30th (p. 064) june, at 7 p.m., the king himself landed. before his departure, the unfortunate edmund de la pole, earl of suffolk, was brought to the block for an alleged correspondence with his brother in louis' service, but really because rumours were rife of louis' intention to proclaim the white rose as king of england.[131] on 21st july, henry left calais to join his army, which had already advanced into french territory. heavy rains impeded its march and added to its discomfort. henry, we are told, did not put off his clothes, but rode round the camp at three in the morning, cheering his men with the remark, "well, comrades, now that we have suffered in the beginning, fortune promises us better things, god willing".[132] near ardres some german mercenaries, of whom there were 8,000 with henry's forces, pillaged the church; henry promptly had three of them hanged. on 1st august the army sat down before thérouanne; on the 10th, the emperor arrived to serve as a private at a hundred crowns a day under the english banners. three days later a large french force arrived at guinegate to raise the siege; a panic seized it, and the bloodless rout that followed was named the battle of spurs. louis d'orléans, duc de longueville, the famous chevalier bayard, and others of the noblest blood in france, were among the captives.[133] ten days after this defeat thérouanne surrendered; and on the 24th henry made his (p. 065) triumphal entry into the first town captured by english arms since the days of jeanne darc. on the 26th he removed to guinegate, where he remained a week, "according," says a curious document, "to the laws of arms, for in case any man would bid battle for the besieging and getting of any city or town, then the winner (has) to give battle, and to abide the same certain days".[134] no challenge was forthcoming, and on 15th september henry besieged tournay, then said to be the richest city north of paris. during the progress of the siege the lady margaret of savoy, the regent of the netherlands, joined her father, the emperor, and henry, at lille. they discussed plans for renewing the war next year and for the marriage of charles and mary. to please the lady margaret and to exhibit his skill henry played the gitteron, the lute and the cornet, and danced and jousted before her.[135] he "excelled every one as much in agility in breaking spears as in nobleness of stature". within a week tournay fell; on 13th october henry commenced his return, and on the 21st he re-embarked at calais. [footnote 130: _l. and p._, i., 3885, 3915. there are three detailed diaries of the campaign in _l. and p._, two anonymous (nos. 4253, and 4306), and the other (no. 4284) by john taylor, afterwards master of the rolls, for whom see the present writer in _d.n.b_., lv., 429; the original of his diary is in _cotton ms._, cleopatra, c., v. 64.] [footnote 131: _ib._, i., 4324, 4328-29.] [footnote 132: taylor's _diary_.] [footnote 133: besides the english accounts referred to, see _l. and p._, i., 4401.] [footnote 134: _l. and p._, i., 4431.] [footnote 135: _ven. cal_., ii., 328.] thérouanne, the battle of spurs, and tournay were not the only, or the most striking, successes in this year of war. in july, catherine, whom henry had left as regent in england, wrote that she was "horribly busy with making standards, banners, and badges"[136] for the army in the north; for war with france had brought, as usual, the scots upon the english backs. james iv., though henry's brother-in-law, preferred to be the cat's paw of the king of france; and in august the scots forces poured over the border under the command of james himself. (p. 066) england was prepared; and on 9th september, "at flodden hills," sang skelton, "our bows and bills slew all the flower of their honour". james iv. was left a mutilated corpse upon the field of battle.[137] "he has paid," wrote henry, "a heavier penalty for his perfidy than we would have wished." there was some justice in the charge. james was bound by treaty not to go to war with england; he had not even waited for the pope's answer to his request for absolution from his oath; and his challenge to henry, when he was in france and could not meet it, was not a knightly deed. henry wrote to leo for permission to bury the excommunicated scottish king with royal honours in st. paul's.[138] the permission was granted, but the interment did not take place. in italy, louis fared no better; at novara, on 6th june, the swiss infantry broke in pieces the grand army of france, drove the fragments across the alps, and restored the duchy of milan to the native house of sforza. [footnote 136: _l. and p._, i., 4398; ellis, _original letters_, 1st ser., i., 83.] [footnote 137: _l. and p._, i., 4439, 4441, 4461; _cf._ popular ballads in weber's _flodden field_, and _la rotta de scocese_ (bannatyne club).] [footnote 138: _ven. cal._, ii., 909; _sp. cal._, i., 137; _l. and p._, i., 4502, 4582.] * * * * * the results of the campaign of 1513 were a striking vindication of the refusal of henry viii. and wolsey to rest under the stigma of their spanish expedition of 1512. english prestige was not only restored, but raised higher than it had stood since the death of henry v., whose "name," said pasqualigo, a venetian in london, "henry viii. would now renew". he styled him "our great king".[139] peter martyr, a resident at ferdinand's court, declared that the spanish king was "afraid (p. 067) of the over-growing power of england".[140] another venetian in london reported that "were henry ambitious of dominion like others, he would soon give law to the world". but, he added, "he is good and has a good council. his quarrel was a just one, he marched to free the church, to obtain his own, and to liberate italy from the french."[141] the pomp and parade of henry's wars have, indeed, somewhat obscured the fundamentally pacific character of his reign. the correspondence of the time bears constant witness to the peaceful tendencies of henry and his council. "i content myself," he once said to giustinian, "with my own, i only wish to command my own subjects; but, on the other hand, i do not choose that any one shall have it in his power to command me."[142] on another occasion he said: "we want all potentates to content themselves with their own territories; we are content with this island of ours"; and giustinian, after four years' residence at henry's court, gave it as his deliberate opinion to his government, that henry did not covet his neighbours' goods, was satisfied with his own dominions, and "extremely desirous of peace".[143] ferdinand said, in 1513, that his pensions from france and a free hand in scotland were all that henry really desired;[144] and carroz, his ambassador, reported that henry's councillors did not like to be at war with any one.[145] peace, they told badoer, suited england better than war.[146] [footnote 139: _ven. cal._, ii., 340.] [footnote 140: _l. and p._, i., 4864.] [footnote 141: _ven. cal._, ii., 362.] [footnote 142: _l. and p._, ii., 1991.] [footnote 143: _ven. cal._, ii., 1287; giustinian, _desp._, app., ii., 309.] [footnote 144: _sp. cal._, ii., 142.] [footnote 145: _ib._, ii., 201.] [footnote 146: _ven. cal._, ii., 298; _cf. l. and p._, i., 3081.] but henry's actions proclaimed louder than the words of himself (p. 068) or of others that he believed peace to be the first of english interests. he waged no wars on the continent except against france; and though he reigned thirty-eight years, his hostilities with france were compressed into as many months. the campaigns of 1512-13, surrey's and suffolk's inroads of 1522 and 1523, and henry's invasion of 1544, represent the sum of his military operations outside great britain and ireland. he acquired tournay in 1513 and boulogne in 1544, but the one was restored in five years for an indemnity, and the other was to be given back in eight for a similar consideration. these facts are in curious contrast with the high-sounding schemes of recovering the crown of france, which others were always suggesting to henry, and which he, for merely conventional reasons, was in the habit of enunciating before going to war; and in view of the tenacity which henry exhibited in other respects, and the readiness with which he relinquished his regal pretensions to france, it is difficult to believe that they were any real expression of settled policy. they were, indeed, impossible of achievement, and henry saw the fact clearly enough.[147] modern phenomena such as huge armies sweeping over europe, and capitals from berlin to moscow, paris to madrid, falling before them, were quite beyond military science of the sixteenth century. armies fought, as a rule, only in the five summer months; it was difficult enough to victual them for even that time; and lack of commissariat or transport crippled all the invasions of scotland. hertford sacked edinburgh, (p. 069) but he went by sea. no other capital except rome saw an invading army. neither henry nor maximilian, ferdinand nor charles, ever penetrated more than a few miles into france, and french armies got no further into spain, the netherlands, or germany. machiavelli points out that the chief safeguard of france against the spaniards was that the latter could not victual their army sufficiently to pass the pyrenees.[148] if in italy it was different, it was because italy herself invited the invaders, and was mainly under foreign dominion. henry knew that with the means at his disposal he could never conquer france; his claims to the crown were transparent conventions, and he was always ready for peace in return for the _status quo_ and a money indemnity, with a town or so for security. [footnote 147: in 1520 he described his title "king of france" as a title given him by others which was "good for nothing" (_ven. cal._, iii., 45). its value consisted in the pensions he received as a sort of commutation.] [footnote 148: machiavelli, _opera_, iv., 139.] the fact that he had only achieved a small part of the conquest he professed to set out to accomplish was, therefore, no bar to negotiations for peace. there were many reasons for ending the war; the rapid diminution of his father's treasures; the accession to the papal throne of the pacific leo in place of the warlike julius; the absolution of louis as a reward for renouncing the council of pisa; the interruption of the trade with venice; the attention required by scotland now that her king was henry's infant nephew; and lastly, his betrayal first by ferdinand and now by the emperor. in october, 1513, at lille, a treaty had been drawn up binding henry, maximilian and ferdinand to a combined invasion of france before the following june.[149] on 6th december, ferdinand wrote to henry to say he (p. 070) had signed the treaty. he pointed out the sacrifices he was making in so doing; he was induced to make them by considering that the war was to be waged in the interests of the holy church, of maximilian, henry, and catherine, and by his wish and hope to live and die in friendship with the emperor and the king of england. he thought, however, that to make sure of the assistance of god, the allies ought to bind themselves, if he gave them the victory, to undertake a general war on the infidel.[150] ferdinand seems to have imagined that he could dupe the almighty as easily as he hoped to cheat his allies, by a pledge which he never meant to fulfil. a fortnight after this despatch he ordered carroz not to ratify the treaty he himself had already signed.[151] the reason was not far to seek. he was deluding himself with the hope, which louis shrewdly encouraged, that the french king would, after his recent reverses, fall in with the spaniard's italian plans.[152] louis might even, he thought, of his own accord cede milan and genoa, which would annihilate the french king's influence in italy, and greatly facilitate the attack on venice. [footnote 149: _sp. cal._, ii., 138, 143; _l. and p._, i., 4511, 4560.] [footnote 150: _sp. cal._, ii., 132.] [footnote 151: _ibid._, ii., 159.] [footnote 152: _ibid._, ii., 158, 163.] that design had occupied him throughout the summer, before louis had become so amenable; then he was urging maximilian that the pope must be kept on their side and persuaded "not to forgive the great sins committed by the king of france"; for if he removed his ecclesiastical censures, ferdinand and maximilian "would be deprived of a plausible excuse for confiscating the territories they intended to conquer".[153] providence was, as usual, to be bribed into assisting in the (p. 071) robbery of venice by a promise to make war on the turk. but now that louis was prepared to give his daughter renée in marriage to young ferdinand and to endow the couple with milan and genoa and his claims on naples, his sins might be forgiven. the two monarchs would not be justified in making war upon france in face of these offers. venice remained a difficulty, for louis was not likely to help to despoil his faithful ally; but ferdinand had a suggestion. they could all make peace publicly guaranteeing the republic's possessions, but maximilian and he could make a "mental reservation" enabling them to partition venice, when france could no longer prevent it.[154] [footnote 153: _ibid._, ii., 131.] [footnote 154: _sp. cal._, ii., 153.] so on 13th march, 1514, ferdinand renewed his truce with france, and maximilian joined it soon after.[155] the old excuses about the reformation of the church, his death-bed desire to make peace with his enemies, could scarcely be used again; so ferdinand instructed his agent to say, if henry asked for an explanation, that there was a secret conspiracy in italy.[156] if he had said no more, it would have been literally true, for the conspiracy was his own; but he went on to relate that the conspiracy was being hatched by the italians to drive him and the emperor out of the peninsula. the two were alike in their treachery; both secretly entered the truce with france and broke their promise to henry. another engagement of longer standing was ruptured. since 1508, henry's sister mary had been betrothed to maximilian's grandson charles. the marriage was to take place when charles was (p. 072) fourteen; the pledge had been renewed at lille, and the nuptials fixed not later than 15th may, 1514.[157] charles wrote to mary signing himself _votre mari_, while mary was styled princess of castile, carried about a bad portrait of charles,[158] and diplomatically sighed for his presence ten times a day. but winter wore on and turned to spring; no sign was forthcoming of maximilian's intention to keep his grandson's engagement, and charles was reported as having said that he wanted a wife and not a mother.[159] all henry's inquiries were met by excuses; the ides of may came and went, but they brought no wedding between mary and charles. [footnote 155: _ibid._, ii., 164; _ven. cal._, ii., 389, 391, 401, 405.] [footnote 156: _sp. cal._, ii., 167.] [footnote 157: _l. and p._, i., 4560.] [footnote 158: _ibid._, i., 5203.] [footnote 159: _ven. cal_., ii., 295. charles was fourteen, mary eighteen years of age.] henry was learning by bitter experience. not only was he left to face single-handed the might of louis; but ferdinand and maximilian had secretly bound themselves to make war on him, if he carried out the treaty to which they had all three publicly agreed. the man whom he said he loved as a natural father, and the titular sovereign of christendom, had combined to cheat the boy-king who had come to the throne with youthful enthusiasms and natural, generous instincts. "nor do i see," said henry to giustinian, "any faith in the world save in me, and therefore god almighty, who knows this, prospers my affairs."[160] this absorbing belief in himself and his righteousness led to strange aberrations in later years, but in 1514 it had some justification. "je vous assure," wrote margaret of savoy to her father, the emperor, (p. 073) "qu'en lui n'a nulle faintise." "at any rate," said pasqualigo, "king henry has done himself great honour, and kept faith single-handed."[161] a more striking testimony was forthcoming a year or two later. when charles succeeded ferdinand, the bishop of badajos drew up for cardinal ximenes a report on the state of the prince's affairs. in it he says: "the king of england has been truer to his engagements towards the house of austria than any other prince. the marriage of the prince with the princess mary, it must be confessed, did not take place, but it may be questioned whether it was the fault of the king of england or of the prince and his advisers. however that may be, with the exception of the marriage, the king of england has generally fulfilled his obligations towards the prince, and has behaved as a trusty friend. an alliance with the english can be trusted most of all."[162] [footnote 160: _l. and p._, ii., 3163.] [footnote 161: _ven. cal._, ii., 406.] [footnote 162: _sp. cal._, ii., 246.] but the meekest and saintliest monarch could scarce pass unscathed through the baptism of fraud practised on henry; and henry was at no time saintly or meek. ferdinand, he complained, induced him to enter upon the war, and urged the pope to use his influence with him for that purpose; he had been at great expense, had assisted maximilian, taken tournay, and reduced france to extremities; and now, when his enemy was at his feet, ferdinand talked of truce: he would never trust any one again.[163] "had the king of spain," wrote a venetian attaché, "kept his promise to the king of england, the latter would never have made peace with france; and the promises of the emperor were equally false, for he had received many thousands of pounds from king (p. 074) henry, on condition that he was to be in person at calais in the month of may, with a considerable force in the king's pay; but the emperor pocketed the money and never came. his failure was the cause of all that took place, for, as king henry was deceived in every direction, he thought fit to take this other course."[164] he discovered that he, too, could play at the game of making peace behind the backs of his nominal friends; and when once he had made up his mind, he played the game with vastly more effect than maximilian or ferdinand. it was he who had been really formidable to louis, and louis was therefore prepared to pay him a higher price than to either of the others. in february henry had got wind of his allies' practices with france. in the same month a nuncio started from rome to mediate peace between henry and louis;[165] but, before his arrival, informal advances had probably been made through the duc de longueville, a prisoner in england since the battle of spurs.[166] in january louis' wife, anne of brittany, had died. louis was fifty-two years old, worn out and decrepit; but at least half a dozen brides were proposed for his hand. in march it was rumoured in rome that he would choose henry's sister mary, the rejected of charles.[167] but henry waited till may had passed, and maximilian had proclaimed to the world his breach of promise. negotiations for the alliance and marriage with louis then proceeded apace. treaties for both were signed in august. tournay remained in henry's hands, louis increased the pensions paid by france to england since the treaty of étaples, and both kings (p. 075) bound themselves to render mutual aid against their common foes.[168] [footnote 163: _l. and p._, i., 4864.] [footnote 164: _ven. cal._, ii., 505.] [footnote 165: _ibid._, ii., 372.] [footnote 166: _ibid._, ii., 505; _l. and p._, i., 5173, 5278.] [footnote 167: _ven. cal._, ii., 383.] [footnote 168: _l. and p._, i., 5305; _ven. cal._, ii., 482, 483.] maximilian and ferdinand were left out in the cold. louis not only broke off his negotiations with them, but prepared to regain milan and discussed with henry the revival of his father's schemes for the conquest of castile. henry was to claim part of that kingdom in right of his wife, the late queen's daughter; later on a still more shadowy title by descent was suggested. as early as 5th october, the venetian government wrote to its ambassador in france, "commending extremely the most sage proceeding of louis in exhorting the king of england to attack castile".[169] towards the end of the year it declared that louis had wished to attack spain, and sought to arrange details in an interview with henry; but the english king would not consent, delayed the interview, and refused the six thousand infantry required for the purpose.[170] but henry had certainly urged louis to reconquer navarre,[171] and from the tenor of louis' reply to henry, late in november, it would be inferred that the proposed conquest of castile also emanated from the english king or his ministers. louis professed not to know the laws of succession in spain, but he was willing to join the attack, apart from the merits of the case on which it was based. whether the suggestion originated in france or in england, whether henry eventually refused it or not, its serious discussion shows how far henry had travelled in his resentment at the double dealing of ferdinand. carroz complained that he was treated by (p. 076) the english "like a bull at whom every one throws darts,"[172] and that henry himself behaved in a most offensive manner whenever ferdinand's name was mentioned. "if," he added, "ferdinand did not put a bridle on this young colt," it would afterwards become impossible to control him. the young colt was, indeed, already meditating a project, to attain which he, in later years, took the bit in his teeth and broke loose from control. he was not only betrayed into casting in catherine's teeth her father's ill faith, but threatening her with divorce.[173] [footnote 169: _ven. cal._, ii., 495.] [footnote 170: _ibid._, ii., 532, 542.] [footnote 171: _sp. cal._, ii., 192; _l. and p._, i., 5637.] [footnote 172: _sp. cal._, ii., 201. a venetian reports that the english were so enraged that they would have killed carroz had it not been for henry (_ven. cal._, ii., 248), and carroz was actually placed in confinement.] [footnote 173: _l. and p._, i., 5718; _ven. cal._, ii., 464.] henry had struck back with a vengeance. his blow shivered to fragments the airy castles which maximilian and ferdinand were busy constructing. their plans for reviving the empire of charlemagne, creating a new kingdom in italy, inducing louis to cede milan and genoa and assist in the conquest of venice, disappeared like empty dreams. the younger ferdinand found no provision in italy; he was compelled to retain his austrian inheritance, and thus to impair the power of the future charles v.; while the children's grandparents were left sadly reflecting on means of defence against the kings of england and france. the blot on the triumph was henry's desertion of sforza,[174] who, having gratefully acknowledged that to henry he owed his restoration of milan,[175] was now left to the uncovenanted mercies of louis. but neither the credit nor discredit is due mainly to (p. 077) henry. he had learnt much, but his powers were not yet developed enough to make him a match for the craft and guile of his rivals. the consciousness of the fact made him rely more and more upon wolsey, who could easily beat both maximilian and ferdinand at their own game. he was not more deceitful than they, but in grasp of detail, in boldness and assiduity, he was vastly superior. while ferdinand hawked, and maximilian hunted the chamois, wolsey worked often for twelve hours together at the cares of the state. possibly, too, his clerical profession and the cardinalate which he was soon to hold gave him an advantage which they did not possess; for, whenever he wanted to obtain credence for a more than usually monstrous perversion of truth, he swore "as became a cardinal and on the honour of the cardinalate".[176] his services were richly rewarded; besides livings, prebends, deaneries and the chancellorship of cambridge university, he received the bishoprics of lincoln and of tournay, the archbishopric of york, and finally, in 1515, cardinalate. this dignity he had already, in may of the previous year, sent polydore vergil to claim from the pope; vergil's mission was unknown to henry, to whom the grant of the cardinal's hat was to be represented as leo's own idea.[177] [footnote 174: _l. and p._, i., 5319.] [footnote 175: _ibid._, i., 4499, 4921.] [footnote 176: _cf._ _ven. cal._, ii., 695; _l. and p._, ii., 1380. giustinian complains that wolsey "never said what he meant but the reverse of what he intended to do" (_ibid._, ii., 3081). this perhaps is no great crime in a diplomatist.] [footnote 177: _l. and p._, i., 5110, 5121. henry's request that leo should make wolsey a cardinal was not made till 12th aug., 1514 (_l. and p._, i., 5318), at least six months after wolsey had instructed pace to negotiate for that honour.] chapter iv. (p. 078) the three rivals. the edifice which wolsey had so laboriously built up was, however, based on no surer foundation than the feeble life of a sickly monarch already tottering to his grave. in the midst of his preparations for the conquest of milan and his negotiations for an attack upon spain, louis xii. died on 1st january, 1515; and the stone which wolsey had barely rolled up the hill came down with a rush. the bourgeois louis was succeeded by the brilliant, ambitious and warlike francis i., a monarch who concealed under the mask of chivalry and the culture of arts and letters a libertinism beside which the peccadilloes of henry or charles seem virtue itself; whose person was tall and whose features were described as handsome; but of whom an observer wrote with unwonted candour that he "looked like the devil".[178] the first result of the change was an episode of genuine romance. the old king's widow, "la reine blanche," was one of the most fascinating women of the tudor epoch. "i think," said a fleming, "never man saw a more beautiful creature, nor one having so much grace and sweetness."[179] "he had never seen so beautiful a lady," repeated maximilian's ambassador, "her deportment is exquisite, both in conversation (p. 079) and in dancing, and she is very lovely."[180] "she is very beautiful," echoed the staid old venetian, pasqualigo, "and has not her match in england; she is tall, fair, of a light complexion with a colour, and most affable and graceful"; he was warranted, he said, in describing her as "a nymph from heaven".[181] a more critical observer of feminine beauty thought her eyes and eyebrows too light,[182] but, as an italian, he may have been biassed in favour of brunettes, and even he wound up by calling mary "a paradise". she was eighteen at the time; her marriage with a dotard like louis had shocked public opinion;[183] and if, as was hinted, the gaieties in which his youthful bride involved him, hastened the french king's end, there was some poetic justice in the retribution. she had, as she reminded henry herself, only consented to marry the "very aged and sickly" monarch on condition that, if she survived him, she should be allowed to choose her second husband herself. and she went on to declare, that "remembering the great virtue" in him, she had, as henry himself was aware, "always been of good mind to my lord of suffolk".[184] [footnote 178: _ven. cal._, ii., 582.] [footnote 179: _l. and p._, i., 4953.] [footnote 180: _l. and p._, i., 5203.] [footnote 181: _ven. cal._, ii., 499, 500.] [footnote 182: _ibid._, ii., 511.] [footnote 183: _l. and p._, i., 5470.] [footnote 184: _ibid._, ii., 227.] she was probably fascinated less by suffolk's virtue than by his bold and handsome bearing. a bluff englishman after the king's own heart, he shared, as none else did, in henry's love of the joust and tourney, in his skill with the lance and the sword; he was the hector of combat, on foot and on horse, to henry's achilles. his father, plain william brandon, was henry of richmond's standard-bearer on bosworth field; and as such he had been singled out and killed in personal (p. 080) encounter by richard iii. his death gave his son a claim on the gratitude of henry vii. and henry viii.; and similarity of tastes secured him rapid promotion at the young king's court. created viscount lisle, he served in 1513 as marshal of henry's army throughout his campaign in france. with the king there were said to be "two obstinate men who governed everything";[185] one was wolsey, the other was brandon. in july he was offering his hand to margaret of savoy, who was informed that brandon was "a second king," and that it would be well to write him "a kind letter, for it is he who does and undoes".[186] at lille, in october, he continued his assault on margaret as a relief from the siege of tournay; henry favoured his suit, and when margaret called brandon a _larron_ for stealing a ring from her finger, the king was called in to help brandon out with his french. possibly it was to smooth the course of his wooing that brandon, early in 1514, received an extraordinary advancement in rank. there was as yet only one duke in england, but now brandon was made duke of suffolk, at the same time that the dukedom of norfolk was restored to surrey for his victory at flodden. even a dukedom could barely make the son of a simple esquire a match for an emperor's daughter, and the suit did not prosper. political reasons may have interfered. suffolk, too, is accused by the venetian ambassador of having already had three wives.[187] this seems to be an exaggeration, but the intricacy (p. 081) of the duke's marital relationships, and the facility with which he renounced them might well have served as a precedent to his master in later years. [footnote 185: _l. and p._, i., 4386.] [footnote 186: _ibid._, i., 4405.] [footnote 187: _ven. cal._, ii., 464. he had made contracts with three different ladies, but had not actually married them all. see below, p. 199 and _d.n.b._, _s.v._ "brandon".] in january, 1515, the duke was sent to paris to condole with francis on louis' death, to congratulate him on his own accession, and renew the league with england. before he set out, henry made him promise that he would not marry mary until their return. but suffolk was not the man to resist the tears of a beautiful woman in trouble, and he found mary in sore distress. no sooner was louis dead than his lascivious successor became, as mary said, "importunate with her in divers matters not to her honour," in suits "the which," wrote suffolk, "i and the queen had rather be out of the world than abide".[188] every evening francis forced his attentions upon the beautiful widow.[189] nor was this the only trouble which threatened the lovers. there were reports that the french would not let mary go, but marry her somewhere to serve their own political purposes.[190] henry, too, might want to betroth her again to charles; maximilian was urging this course, and telling margaret that mary must be recovered for charles, even at the point of the sword.[191] early in january, wolsey had written to her, warning her not to make any fresh promise of marriage. two friars from england, sent apparently by suffolk's secret enemies, told mary the same tale, that if she returned to england she would never be suffered to marry the duke, but made to take charles for her husband, "than which," she declared, "i would rather be torn in (p. 082) pieces".[192] suffolk tried in vain to soothe her fears. she refused to listen, and brought him to his knees with the announcement that unless he would wed her there and then, she would continue to believe that he had come only to entice her back to england and force her into marriage with charles. what was the poor duke to do, between his promise to henry and the pleading of mary? he did what every other man with a heart in his breast and warm blood in his veins would have done, he cast prudence to the winds and secretly married the woman he loved. [footnote 188: _l. and p._, ii., 134, 138, 163.] [footnote 189: _ven. cal._, ii., 574.] [footnote 190: _l. and p._, ii., 70, 85, 114.] [footnote 191: _ven. cal._, ii., 594; _l. and p._, ii., 124.] [footnote 192: _l. and p._, ii., 80, suffolk to henry viii. this letter is placed under january in the _calendar_, but it was obviously written about 6th march, 1514-15.] the news could not be long concealed, but unfortunately we have only wolsey's account of how it was received by henry. he took it, wrote the cardinal to suffolk, "grievously and displeasantly," not only on account of the duke's presumption, but of the breach of his promise to henry.[193] "you are," he added, "in the greatest danger man was ever in;" the council were calling for his ruin. to appease henry and enable the king to satisfy his council, suffolk must induce francis to intervene in his favour, to pay henry two hundred thousand crowns as mary's dowry, and to restore the plate and jewels she had received; the duke himself was to return the fortune with which henry had endowed his sister and pay twenty-four thousand pounds in yearly instalments for the expenses of her marriage. francis proved unexpectedly willing; perhaps his better nature was touched by the lovers' distress. he also saw that mary's marriage with suffolk prevented her being used as (p. 083) a link to bind charles to henry; and he may have thought that a service to suffolk would secure him a powerful friend at the english court, a calculation that was partly justified by the suspicion under which suffolk henceforth laboured, of being too partial to francis. yet it was with heavy hearts that the couple left paris in april and wended their way towards calais. henry had given no sign; from calais, mary wrote to him saying she would go to a nunnery rather than marry against her desire.[194] suffolk threw himself on the king's mercy; all the council, he said, except wolsey, were determined to put him to death.[195] secretly, against his promise, and without henry's consent, he had married the king's sister, an act the temerity of which no one has since ventured to rival. he saw the executioner's axe gleam before his eyes, and he trembled. [footnote 193: _l. and p._, ii., 224.] [footnote 194: _l. and p._, ii., 228.] [footnote 195: _ibid._, ii., 367.] at calais, mary said she would stay until she heard from the king.[196] his message has not been preserved, but fears were never more strangely belied than when the pair crossed their rubicon. so far from any attempt being made to separate them, their marriage was publicly solemnised before henry and all his court on 13th may, at greenwich.[197] in spite of all that happened, wrote the venetian ambassador, henry retained his friendship for suffolk;[198] and a few months later he asserted, with some exaggeration, that the duke's authority was scarcely less than the king's.[199] he and mary were indeed (p. 084) required to return all the endowment, whether in money, plate, jewels or furniture, that she received on her marriage. but both she and the duke had agreed to these terms before their offence.[200] they were not unreasonable. henry's money had been laid out for political purposes which could no longer be served; and mary did not expect the splendour, as duchess of suffolk, which she had enjoyed as queen of france. the only stipulation that looks like a punishment was the bond to repay the cost of her journey to france; though not only was this modified later on, but the duke received numerous grants of land to help to defray the charge. they were indeed required to live in the country; but the duke still came up to joust as of old with henry on great occasions, and mary remained his favourite sister, to whose issue, in preference to that of margaret, he left the crown by will. the vindictive suspicions which afterwards grew to rank luxuriance in henry's mind were scarcely budding as yet; his favour to suffolk and affection for mary were proof against the intrigues in his court. the contrast was marked between the event and the terrors which wolsey had painted; and it is hard to believe that the cardinal played an entirely disinterested part in the matter.[201] it was obviously his cue to exaggerate the king's anger, and to represent to the duke that its mitigation was due to the cardinal's influence; and it is more than possible that wolsey found in suffolk's indiscretion the means of removing a dangerous rival. the "two obstinate men" who had ruled (p. 085) in henry's camp were not likely to remain long united; wolsey could hardly approve of any "second king" but himself, especially a "second king" who had acquired a family bond with the first. the venetian ambassador plainly hints that it was through wolsey that suffolk lost favour.[202] in the occasional notices of him during the next few years it is wolsey, and not henry, whom suffolk is trying to appease; and we even find the cardinal secretly warning the king against some designs of the duke that probably existed only in his own imagination.[203] [footnote 196: _ibid._, ii., 367, 226. the letters relating to this episode in _l. and p._ are often undated and sometimes misplaced; _e.g._, this last is placed under march, although from nos. 295, 296, 319, 327, 331, we find that mary did not leave paris till 16th april.] [footnote 197: _l. and p._, ii., 468.] [footnote 198: _ven. cal._, ii., 618.] [footnote 199: _ven. cal._, ii., 638.] [footnote 200: _l. and p._, ii., 436.] [footnote 201: brewer's view is that wolsey saved suffolk from ruin on this occasion.] [footnote 202: _ven. cal._, ii., 919.] [footnote 203: _l. and p._, ii., 4057, 4308; iii., 1.] * * * * * this episode threw into the shade the main purpose of suffolk's embassy to france. it was to renew the treaty concluded the year before, and apparently also the discussions for war upon spain. francis was ready enough to confirm the treaty, particularly as it left him free to pursue his designs on milan. with a similar object he made terms with the archduke charles, who this year assumed the government of the netherlands, but was completely under the control of chièvres, a frenchman by birth and sympathy, who signed his letters to francis "your humble servant and vassal".[204] charles bound himself to marry louis xii.'s daughter renée, and to give his grandfather ferdinand no aid unless he restored navarre to jean d'albret. thus safeguarded from attack on his rear, francis set out for milan. the swiss had locked all the passes they thought practicable; but the french generals, guided by chamois hunters and overcoming almost insuperable obstacles, transported their artillery over the alps (p. 086) near embrun; and on 13th september, at marignano, the great "battle of the giants" laid the whole of northern italy at the french king's feet. at bologna he met leo x., whose lifelong endeavour was to be found on both sides at once, or at least on the side of the bigger battalions; the pope recognised francis's claim to milan, while francis undertook to support the medici in florence, and to countenance leo's project for securing the duchy of urbino to his nephew lorenzo. [footnote 204: _sp. cal_., ii., 246.] henry watched with ill-concealed jealousy his rival's victorious progress; his envy was personal, as well as political. "francis," wrote the bishop of worcester in describing the interview between the french king and the pope at bologna, "is tall in stature, broad-shouldered, oval and handsome in face, very slender in the legs and much inclined to corpulence."[205] his appearance was the subject of critical inquiry by henry himself. on may day, 1515, pasqualigo[206] was summoned to greenwich by the king, whom he found dressed in green, "shoes and all," and mounted on a bay frieslander sent him by the marquis of mantua; his guard were also dressed in green and armed with bows and arrows for the usual may day sports. they breakfasted in green bowers some distance from the palace. "his majesty," continues pasqualigo, "came into our arbor, and addressing me in french, said: 'talk with me awhile. the king of france, is he as tall as i am?' i told him there was but little difference. he continued, 'is he as stout?' i said he was not; and he then inquired, 'what sort of legs has he?' i replied 'spare'. whereupon he opened the front of his (p. 087) doublet, and placing his hand on his thigh, said: 'look here; and i also have a good calf to my leg'. he then told me he was very fond of this king of france, and that on more than three occasions he was very near him with his army, but that he would never allow himself to be seen, and always retreated, which his majesty attributed to deference for king louis, who did not choose an engagement to take place." after dinner, by way of showing his prowess, henry "armed himself _cap-à-pie_ and ran thirty courses, capsizing his opponent, horse and all". two months later, he said to giustinian: "i am aware that king louis, although my brother-in-law, was a bad man. i know not what this youth may be; he is, however, a frenchman, nor can i say how far you should trust him;"[207] and giustinian says he at once perceived the great rivalry for glory between the two young kings. [footnote 205: _l. and p._, ii., 1281.] [footnote 206: _ibid._, ii., 411; giustinian, _desp._, i., 90; _ven. cal._, ii., 624.] [footnote 207: _ven. cal_., ii., 652] henry now complained that francis had concealed his italian enterprise from him, that he was ill-treating english subjects, and interfering with matters in scotland. the last was his real and chief ground for resentment. francis had no great belief that henry would keep the peace, and resist the temptation to attack him, if a suitable opportunity were to arise. so he had sent the duke of albany to provide henry with an absorbing disturbance in scotland. since the death of james iv. at flodden, english influence had, in margaret's hands, been largely increased. henry took upon himself to demand a voice in scotland's internal affairs. he claimed the title of "protector of scotland"; and wrote to the pope asking him to (p. 088) appoint no scottish bishops without his consent, and to reduce the archbishopric of st. andrews to its ancient dependence on york.[208] many urged him to complete the conquest of scotland, but this apparently he refused on the ground that his own sister was really its ruler and his own infant nephew its king. margaret, however, as an englishwoman, was hated in scotland, and she destroyed much of her influence by marrying the earl of angus. so the scots clamoured for albany, who had long been resident at the french court and was heir to the scottish throne, should james iv.'s issue fail. his appearance was the utter discomfiture of the party of england; margaret was besieged in stirling and ultimately forced to give up her children to albany's keeping, and seek safety in flight to her brother's dominions.[209] [footnote 208: _l. and p._, i., 4483, 4502; ii., 654.] [footnote 209: it was said by the scots estates that she had forfeited her claim to their custody by her marriage with angus (_ibid._, ii., 1011).] technically, francis had not broken his treaty with england, but he had scarcely acted the part of a friend; and if henry could retaliate without breaking the peace, he would eagerly seize any opportunity that offered. the alliance with ferdinand and maximilian was renewed, and a new holy league formed under leo's auspices. but leo soon afterwards made his peace at bologna with france. charles was under french influence, and henry's council and people were not prepared for war. so he refused, says giustinian, ferdinand's invitations to join in an invasion of france. he did so from no love of francis, and it was probably wolsey's ingenuity which suggested the not very scrupulous means of gratifying henry's wish for revenge. maximilian was (p. 089) still pursuing his endless quarrel with venice; and the seizure of milan by the french and venetian allies was a severe blow to maximilian himself, to the swiss, and to their protégé, sforza. wolsey now sought to animate them all for an attempt to recover the duchy, and sforza promised him 10,000 ducats a year from the date of his restoration. there was nothing but the spirit of his treaty with france to prevent henry spending his money as he thought fit; and it was determined to hire 20,000 swiss mercenaries to serve under the emperor in order to conquer milan and revenge marignano.[210] the negotiation was one of great delicacy; not only was secrecy absolutely essential, but the money must be carefully kept out of maximilian's reach. "whenever," wrote pace, "the king's money passed where the emperor was, he would always get some portion of it by force or false promises of restitution."[211] the accusation was justified by maximilian's order to margaret, his daughter, to seize henry's treasure as soon as he heard it was on the way to the swiss.[212] "the emperor," said julius ii., "is light and inconstant, always begging for other men's money, which he wastes in hunting the chamois."[213] [footnote 210: _l. and p._, ii., 1065.] [footnote 211: _ibid._, ii., 1817.] [footnote 212: _ibid._, ii., 1231.] [footnote 213: _ibid._, ii., 1877.] the envoy selected for this difficult mission was richard pace, scholar and author, and friend of erasmus and more. he had been in bainbridge's service at rome, was then transferred to that of wolsey and henry, and as the king's secretary, was afterwards thought to be treading too close on the cardinal's heels. he set out in october, and arrived in zurich just in time to prevent the swiss from coming (p. 090) to terms with francis. before winter had ended the plans for invasion were settled. maximilian came down with the snows from the mountains in march; on the 23rd he crossed the adda;[214] on the 25th he was within nine miles of milan, and almost in sight of the army of france. on the 26th he turned and fled without striking a blow. back he went over the adda, over the oglio, up into tyrol, leaving the french and venetians in secure possession of northern italy. a year later they had recovered for venice the last of the places of which it had been robbed by the league of cambrai. [footnote 214: _l. and p._, ii., 1697, 1699, 1721, 1729, 1736, 1754, 1831, 2011, 2034, 2114.] maximilian retreated, said pace, voluntarily and shamefully, and was now so degraded that it signified little whether he was a friend or an enemy.[215] the cause of his ignominious flight still remains a mystery; countless excuses were made by maximilian and his friends. he had heard that france and england had come to terms; 6,000 of the swiss infantry deserted to the french on the eve of the battle. ladislaus of hungary had died, leaving him guardian of his son, and he must go to arrange matters there. he had no money to pay his troops. the last has an appearance of verisimilitude. money was at the bottom of all his difficulties, and drove him to the most ignominious shifts. he had served as a private in henry's army for 100 crowns a day. his councillors robbed him; on one occasion he had not money to pay for his dinner;[216] on another he sent down to pace, who was ill in bed, and extorted a loan by force. he had apparently seized 30,000 (p. 091) crowns of henry's pay for the swiss;[217] the fuggers, welzers and frescobaldi, were also accused of failing to keep their engagements, and only the first month's pay had been received by the swiss when they reached milan. on the emperor's retreat the wretched pace was seized by the swiss and kept in prison as security for the remainder.[218] his task had been rendered all the more difficult by the folly of wingfield, ambassador at maximilian's court, who, said pace, "took the emperor for a god and believed that all his deeds and thoughts proceeded _ex spiritu sancto_".[219] there was no love lost between them; the lively pace nicknamed his colleague "summer shall be green," in illusion perhaps to wingfield's unending platitudes, or to his limitless belief in the emperor's integrity and wisdom.[220] wingfield opened pace's letters and discovered the gibe, which he parried by avowing that he had never known the time when summer was not green.[221] on another occasion he forged pace's signature, with a view of obtaining funds for maximilian;[222] and he had the hardihood to protest against pace's appointment as henry's secretary. at last his conduct brought down a stinging rebuke from henry;[223] but the king's long-suffering was not yet exhausted, and wingfield continued as ambassador to the emperors court. [footnote 215: _ibid._, ii., 1877.] [footnote 216: _ibid._, ii., 2152, 1892, 1896, 2034, 2035.] [footnote 217: _l. and p._, ii., 1231, 1792, 1854.] [footnote 218: _ibid._, ii., 1877.] [footnote 219: _ibid._, ii., 1817.] [footnote 220: _ibid._, ii., 1566, 1567.] [footnote 221: _ibid._, ii., 1775.] [footnote 222: _ibid._, ii., 1813.] [footnote 223: _ibid._, ii., 2177.] * * * * * the failure of the milan expedition taught wolsey and henry a bitter but salutary lesson. it was their first attempt to intervene in a sphere of action so distant from english shores and so remote (p. 092) from english interests as the affairs of italian states. complaints in england were loud against the waste of money; the sagacious tunstall wrote that he did not see why henry should bind himself to maintain other men's causes.[224] all the grandees, wrote giustinian, were opposed to wolsey's policy, and its adoption was followed by what giustinian called a change of ministry in england.[225] warham relinquished the burdens of the chancellorship which he had long unwillingly borne; fox sought to atone for twenty-eight years' neglect of his diocese by spending in it the rest of his days.[226] wolsey succeeded warham as chancellor, and ruthal, who "sang treble to wolsey's bass,"[227] became lord privy seal in place of fox. suffolk was out of favour, and the neglect of his and fox's advice was, according to the venetian, resented by the people, who murmured against the taxes which wolsey's intervention in foreign affairs involved. [footnote 224: _l. and p._, ii., 2270.] [footnote 225: _ibid._, ii., 1814, 2487, 2500.] [footnote 226: _ven. cal._, ii., 750, 798, 801; _l. and p._, ii., 2183.] [footnote 227: _l. and p._, ii., 2205.] but wolsey still hoped that bribes would keep maximilian faithful to england and induce him to counteract the french influences with which his grandson charles was surrounded. ferdinand had died in january, 1516,[228] having, said the english envoy at his court, wilfully shortened his life by hunting and hawking in all weathers, and following the advice of his falconers rather than that of his physicians. charles thus succeeded to castile, aragon and naples;[229] but (p. 093) naples was seriously threatened by the failure of maximilian's expedition and the omnipotence of francis in italy. "the pope is french," wrote an english diplomatist, "and everything from rome to calais."[230] to save naples, charles, in july, 1516, entered into the humiliating treaty of noyon with france.[231] he bound himself to marry francis's infant daughter, charlotte, to do justice to jean d'albret in the matter of navarre, and to surrender naples, navarre, and artois, if he failed to keep his engagement. such a treaty was not likely to stand; but, for the time, it was a great feather in francis's cap, and a further step towards the isolation of england. it was the work of charles's gallicised ministry, and maximilian professed the utmost disgust at their doings. he was eager to come down to the netherlands with a view to breaking the treaty of noyon and removing his grandson's advisers, but of course he must have money from england to pay his expenses. the money accordingly came from the apparently bottomless english purse;[232] and in january, 1517, the emperor marched down to the netherlands, breathing, in his despatches to henry, threatenings and slaughter against charles's misleaders. his descent on flanders eclipsed his march on milan. "mon fils," he said to charles, "vous allez tromper les français, et moi, je vais tromper les anglais."[233] so far from breaking the treaty of noyon, he (p. 094) joined it himself, and at brussels solemnly swore to observe its provisions. he probably thought he had touched the bottom of henry's purse, and that it was time to dip into francis's. seventy-five thousand crowns was his price for betraying henry.[234] [footnote 228: on 23rd jan. (_l. and p._, ii., 1541, 1610). brewer in his introduction to vol. ii. of the _l. and p._ says "in february".] [footnote 229: his mother juaña was rightfully queen, but she was regarded as mad; she thought her husband, the archduke philip, might come to life again, and carried him about in a coffin with her wherever she went (_ven. cal._, ii., 564).] [footnote 230: _l. and p._, ii., 2930.] [footnote 231: _l. and p._, ii., 2303, 2327, 2387; _ven. cal._, ii., 769, 773.] [footnote 232: _l. and p._, ii., 2406, 2573, 2626, 2702.] [footnote 233: _ibid._, ii., 2930.] [footnote 234: _l. and p._, ii., 2891.] in conveying the news to wolsey, tunstall begged him to urge henry "to refrain from his first passions" and "to draw his foot out of the affair as gently as if he perceived it not, giving good words for good words which they yet give us, thinking our heads to be so gross that we perceive not their abuses".[235] their persistent advances to charles had, he thought, done them more harm than good; let the king shut his purse in time, and he would soon have charles and the emperor again at his feet.[236] tunstall was ably seconded by dr. william knight, who thought it would be foolish for england to attempt to undo the treaty of noyon; it contained within itself the seeds of its own dissolution. charles would not wait to marry francis's daughter, and then the breach would come.[237] henry and wolsey had the good sense to act on this sound advice. maximilian, francis and charles formed at cambrai a fresh league for the partition of italy,[238] but they were soon at enmity and too much involved with their own affairs to think of the conquest of others. disaffection was rife in spain, where a party wished ferdinand, charles's brother, to be king.[239] if charles was to retain his spanish kingdoms, he must visit them at once. he could not go unless england provided the means. his request for (p. 095) a loan was graciously accorded and his ambassadors were treated with magnificent courtesy.[240] "one day," says chieregati,[241] the papal envoy in england, "the king sent for these ambassadors, and kept them to dine with him privately in his chamber with the queen, a very unusual proceeding. after dinner he took to singing and playing on every musical instrument, and exhibited a part of his very excellent endowments. at length he commenced dancing," and, continues another narrator, "doing marvellous things, both in dancing and jumping, proving himself, as he is in truth, indefatigable." on another day there was "a most stately joust." henry was magnificently attired in "cloth of silver with a raised pile, and wrought throughout with emblematic letters". when he had made the usual display in the lists, the duke of suffolk entered from the other end, with well-nigh equal array and pomp. he was accompanied by fourteen other jousters. "the king wanted to joust with all of them; but this was forbidden by the council, which, moreover, decided that each jouster was to run six courses and no more, so that the entertainment might be ended on that day.... the competitor assigned to the king was the duke of suffolk; and they bore themselves so bravely that the spectators fancied themselves witnessing a joust between hector and achilles." "they tilted," says sagudino, "eight courses, both shivering their lances at every time, to the great applause of the spectators." chieregati continues: "on arriving in the lists the king presented himself before the queen and the ladies, making a thousand jumps in the air, and (p. 096) after tiring one horse, he entered the tent and mounted another... doing this constantly, and reappearing in the lists until the end of the jousts". dinner was then served, amid a scene of unparalleled splendour, and chieregati avers that the "guests remained at table for seven hours by the clock". the display of costume on the king's part was equally varied and gorgeous. on one occasion he wore "stiff brocade in the hungarian fashion," on another, he "was dressed in white damask in the turkish fashion, the above-mentioned robe all embroidered with roses, made of rubies and diamonds"; on a third, he "wore royal robes down to the ground, of gold brocade lined with ermine"; while "all the rest of the court glittered with jewels and gold and silver, the pomp being unprecedented". [footnote 235: _ibid._, ii., 2923, 2940.] [footnote 236: _ibid._, ii., 2910.] [footnote 237: _ibid._, ii., 2930.] [footnote 238: _ibid._, ii., 2632, 3008; _monumenta habsburgica_, ii., 37.] [footnote 239: _l. and p._, ii., 3076, 3077, 3081.] [footnote 240: _l. and p._, ii., 3402, 3439-41.] [footnote 241: _ven. cal._, ii., 918; _l. and p._, ii., 3455, 3462.] all this riot of wealth would no doubt impress the impecunious charles. in september he landed in spain, so destitute that he was glad to accept the offer of a hobby from the english ambassador.[242] at the first meeting of his cortes, they demanded that he should marry at once, and not wait for francis's daughter; the bride his subjects desired was the daughter of the king of portugal.[243] they were no more willing to part with navarre; and charles was forced to make to francis the feeble excuse that he was not aware, when he was in the netherlands, of his true title to navarre, but had learnt it since his arrival in spain; he also declined the personal interview to which francis invited him.[244] a rupture between francis and charles was only a question of time; and, to prepare for it, both were anxious (p. 097) for england's alliance. throughout the autumn of 1517 and spring of 1518, france and england were feeling their way towards friendship. albany had left scotland, so that source of irritation was gone. henry had now a daughter, mary, and francis a son. "i will unite them," said wolsey;[245] and in october, 1518, not only was a treaty of marriage and alliance signed between england and france, but a general peace for europe. leo x. sent campeggio with blessings of peace from the vicar of christ, though he was kept chafing at calais for three months, till he could bring with him leo's appointment of wolsey as legate and the deposition of wolsey's enemy, hadrian, from the bishopric of bath and wells.[246] the ceremonies exceeded in splendour even those of the year before. they included, says giustinian, a "most sumptuous supper" at wolsey's house, "the like of which, i fancy, was never given by cleopatra or caligula; the whole banqueting hall being so decorated with huge vases of gold and silver, that i fancied myself in the tower of chosroes,[247] when that monarch caused divine honours to be paid him. after supper... twelve male and twelve female dancers made their appearance in the richest and most sumptuous array possible, being all dressed alike.... they were disguised in one suit of fine green satin, all over covered with cloth of gold, undertied together with laces of gold, and had masking hoods on their heads; the ladies had tires made of braids of damask gold, with long hairs of white gold. all these maskers danced at one time, and after they had danced they put off their visors, and then they were all known.... the (p. 098) two leaders were the king and the queen dowager of france, and all the others were lords and ladies."[248] these festivities were followed by the formal ratification of peace.[249] approval of it was general, and the old councillors who had been alienated by wolsey's milan expedition, hastened to applaud. "it was the best deed," wrote fox to wolsey, "that ever was done for england, and, next to the king, the praise of it is due to you."[250] once more the wheel had come round, and the stone of sisyphus was lodged more secure than before some way up the side of the hill. [footnote 242: _l. and p._, ii., 3705.] [footnote 243: _ibid._, ii., 4022.] [footnote 244: _ibid._, ii., 4164, 4188.] [footnote 245: _l. and p._, ii., 4047.] [footnote 246: _ibid._, ii., 4348.] [footnote 247: chosroes i. (nushirvan) of persia.] [footnote 248: _ven. cal._, ii., 1085, 1088; _cf._ shakespeare, _henry viii_.] [footnote 249: _l. and p._, ii., 4468, 4483, 4564, 4669.] [footnote 250: _ibid._, ii., 4540.] * * * * * this general peace, which closed the wars begun ten years before by the league of cambrai, was not entirely due to a universal desire to beat swords into ploughshares or to even turn them against the turk. that was the everlasting pretence, but eighteen months before, maximilian had suffered a stroke of apoplexy; men, said giustinian, commenting on the fact, did not usually survive such strokes a year, and rivals were preparing to enter the lists for the empire. maximilian himself, faithful to the end to his guiding principle, found a last inspiration in the idea of disposing of his succession for ready money. he was writing to charles that it was useless to expect the empire unless he would spend at least as much as the french.[251] "it would be lamentable," he said, "if we should now lose all through some pitiful omission or penurious neglect;" and francis was "going about covertly and laying many baits,"[252] to attain (p. 099) the imperial crown. to henry himself maximilian had more than once offered the prize, and pace had declared that the offer was only another design for extracting henry's gold "for the electors would never allow the crown to go out of their nation".[253] the emperor had first proposed it while serving under henry's banners in france.[254] he renewed the suggestion in 1516, inviting henry to meet him at coire. the brothers in arms were thence to cross the alps to milan, where the emperor would invest the english king with the duchy; he would then take him on to rome, resign the empire himself, and have henry crowned. not that maximilian desired to forsake all earthly authority; he sought to combine a spiritual with a temporal glory; he was to lay down the imperial crown and place on his brows the papal tiara.[255] nothing was too fantastic for the emperor maximilian; the man who could not wrest a few towns from venice was always deluding himself with the hope of leading victorious hosts to the seat of the turkish empire and the holy city of christendom; the sovereign whose main incentive in life was gold, informed his daughter that he intended to get himself canonised, and that after his death she would have to adore him. he died at welz on 12th january, 1519, neither pope nor saint, with jerusalem still in the hands of the turk, and the succession to the empire still undecided. [footnote 251: _ibid._, ii., 4172.] [footnote 252: _l. and p._, ii., 4159.] [footnote 253: _ibid._, ii., 1923.] [footnote 254: _ibid._, ii., 1398, 1878, 1902, 2218, 2911, 4257.] [footnote 255: _cf._ w. boehm, _hat kaiser maximilian i. im jahre 1511 papst werden wollen?_ 1873.] the contest now broke out in earnest, and the electors prepared (p. 100) to garner their harvest of gold. the price of a vote was a hundredfold more than the most corrupt parliamentary elector could conceive in his wildest dreams of avarice. there were only seven electors and the prize was the greatest on earth. francis i. said he was ready to spend 3,000,000 crowns, and charles could not afford to lag far behind.[256] the margrave of brandenburg, "the father of all greediness," as the austrians called him, was particularly influential because his brother, the archbishop of mainz, was also an elector and he required an especially exorbitant bribe. he was ambitious as well as covetous, and the rivals endeavoured to satisfy his ambitions with matrimonial prizes. he was promised ferdinand's widow, germaine de foix; francis sought to parry this blow by offering to the margrave's son the french princess renée; charles bid higher by offering his sister catherine.[257] francis relied much on his personal graces, the military renown he had won by the conquest of northern italy, and the assistance of leo. with the pope he concluded a fresh treaty that year for the conquest of ferrara, the extension of the papal states, and the settlement of naples on francis's second son, on condition that it was meanwhile to be administered by papal legates,[258] and that its king was to abstain from all interference in spiritual matters. charles, on the other hand, owed his advantages to his position and not to his person. cold, reserved and formal, he possessed none of the physical or intellectual graces of francis i. and henry viii. he excelled in (p. 101) no sport, was unpleasant in features and repellent in manners. no gleam of magnanimity or chivalry lightened his character, no deeds in war or statecraft yet sounded his fame. he was none the less heir of the austrian house, which for generations had worn the imperial crown; as such, too, he was a german prince, and the germanic constitution forbade any other the sovereignty of the holy roman empire. against this was the fact that his enormous dominions, including naples and spain, would preclude his continued residence in germany and might threaten the liberties of the german people. [footnote 256: for details of the sums promised to the various german princes see _l. and p._, iii., 36, etc.; it has been said that there was really little or no bribery at this election.] [footnote 257: _ven. cal._, ii., 1165, 1187; _l. and p._, ii., 4159; iii., 130.] [footnote 258: _sp. cal._, ii., 267.] but was there no third candidate? leo at heart regarded the election of either as an absolute evil.[259] he had always dreaded maximilian's claims to the temporal power of the church, though maximilian held not a foot of italian soil. how much more would he dread those claims in the hands of francis or charles! one threatened the papal states from milan, and the other from naples. of the two, he feared francis the less;[260] for the union of naples with the empire had been such a terror to the popes, that before granting the investiture of that kingdom, they bound its king by oath not to compete for the empire.[261] but a third candidate would offer an escape from between the upper and the nether mill-stone; and leo suggested at one time charles's brother ferdinand,[262] at another a german elector. precisely the same recommendations had been secretly made by henry viii. in public he followed the course he commended to leo; he advocated the claims (p. 102) of both charles and francis, when asked so to do, but sent trusty envoys with his testimonials to explain that no credence was to be given them.[263] he told the french king that he favoured the election of francis, and the spanish king the election of charles, but like leo he desired in truth the election of neither. why should he not come forward himself? his dominions were not so extensive that, when combined with the imperial dignity, they would threaten to dominate europe; and his election might seem to provide a useful check in the balance of power. in march he had already told francis that his claims were favoured by some of the electors, though he professed a wish to promote the french king's pretensions. in may, pace was sent to germany with secret instructions to endeavour to balance the parties and force the electors into a deadlock, from which the only escape would be the election of a third candidate, either henry himself or some german prince. it is difficult to believe that henry really thought his election possible or was seriously pushing his claim. he had repeatedly declined maximilian's offers; he had been as often warned by trusty advisers that no non-german prince stood a chance of election; he had expressed his content with his own islands, which, tunstall told him with truth, were an empire worth more than the barren imperial crown.[264] pace went far too late to secure a party for henry, and, what was even more fatal, he went without the persuasive of money. norfolk told giustinian, after pace's departure, that the election would fall on a german prince, and such, said the venetian, was the universal belief and desire in england.[265] (p. 103) after the election, leo expressed his "regret that henry gave no attention to a project which would have made him a near, instead of a distant, neighbour of the papal states". under the circumstances, it seems more probable that the first alternative in pace's instructions no more represented a settled design in henry's mind than his often-professed intention of conquering france, and that the real purport of his mission was to promote the election of the duke of saxony or another german prince.[266] [footnote 259: _l. and p._, iii., 149.] [footnote 260: _ven. cal._, ii., 1227.] [footnote 261: _ibid._, ii., 1246.] [footnote 262: _ibid._, ii., 1163.] [footnote 263: _l. and p._, iii., 137.] [footnote 264: _ibid._, ii., 2911.] [footnote 265: _ven. cal._, ii., 1220.] [footnote 266: _l. and p._, ii., 241.] whether that was its object or not the mission was foredoomed to failure. the conclusion was never really in doubt. electors might trouble the waters in order to fish with more success. they might pretend to francis that if he was free with his money he might be elected, and to charles that unless he was free with his money he would not, but no sufficient reason had been shown why they should violate national prejudices, the laws of the empire, and prescriptive hereditary right, in order to place henry or francis instead of a german upon the imperial throne. neither people nor princes nor barons, wrote leo's envoys, would permit the election of the most christian king;[267] and even if the electors wished to elect him, it was not in their power to do so. the whole of the nation, said pace, was in arms and furious for charles; and had henry been elected, they would in their indignation have killed pace and all his servants.[268] the voice of the german people spoke in no uncertain tones; they would have charles and no other to be their ruler. leo himself saw the (p. 104) futility of resistance, and making a virtue of necessity, he sent charles an absolution from his oath as king of naples. as soon as it arrived, the electors unanimously declared charles their emperor on 28th june.[269] [footnote 267: _ven. cal._, ii., 1227.] [footnote 268: _l. and p._, iii., 326.] [footnote 269: _l. and p._, iii., 339.] thus was completed the shuffling of the cards for the struggle which lasted till henry's death. francis had now succeeded to louis, charles to both his grandfathers, and henry at twenty-eight was the _doyen_ of the princes of europe. he was two years older than francis and eight years older than charles. europe had passed under the rule of youthful triumvirs whose rivalry troubled its peace and guided its destinies for nearly thirty years. the youngest of all was the greatest in power. his dominions, it is true, were disjointed, and funds were often to seek, but these defects have been overrated. it was neither of these which proved his greatest embarrassment. it was a cloud in germany, as yet no bigger than a man's hand, but soon to darken the face of europe. ferdinand and maximilian had at times been dangerous; charles wielded the power of both. he ruled over castile and aragon, the netherlands and naples, burgundy and austria; he could command the finest military forces in europe; the infantry of spain, the science of italy, the lance-knights of germany, for which ferdinand sighed, were at his disposal; and the wealth of the indies was poured out at his feet. he bestrode the narrow world like a colossus, and the only hope of lesser men lay in the maintenance of francis's power. were that to fail, charles would become arbiter of christendom, italy a spanish kingdom, and the pope little more than the emperor's (p. 105) chaplain. "great masters," said tunstall, with reference to a papal brief urged by charles in excuse for his action in 1517, "could get great clerks to say what they liked."[270] the mastery of charles in 1517 was but the shadow of what it became ten years later; and if under its dominance "the great clerk" were called upon to decide between "the great master" and henry, it was obvious already that all henry's services to the papacy would count for nothing. [footnote 270: _l. and p._, ii., 3054.] * * * * * for the present, those services were to be remembered. they were not, indeed, inconsiderable. it would be absurd to maintain that, since his accession, henry had been actuated by respect for the papacy more than by another motive; but it is indisputable that that motive had entered more largely into his conduct than into that of any other monarch. james iv. and louis had been excommunicated, maximilian had obstinately countenanced a schismatic council and wished to arrogate to himself the pope's temporal power. ferdinand's zeal for his house had eaten him up and left little room for less selfish impulses; his anxiety for war with the moor or the turk was but a cloak; and the value of his frequent demands for a reformation may be gauged by his opinion that never was there more need for the inquisition, and by his anger with leo for refusing the inquisitors the preferments he asked.[271] from hypocrisy like ferdinand's henry was, in his early years, singularly free, and the devotion to the holy see, which he inherited, was of a more than conventional type. "he is very religious," wrote (p. 106) giustinian, "and hears three masses daily when he hunts, and sometimes five on other days. he hears the office every day in the queen's chamber, that is to say, vesper and compline."[272] the best theologians and doctors in his kingdom were regularly required to preach at his court, when their fee for each sermon was equivalent to ten or twelve pounds. he was generous in his almsgiving, and his usual offering on sundays and saints' days was six shillings and eightpence or, in modern currency, nearly four pounds; often it was double that amount, and there were special offerings besides, such as the twenty shillings he sent every year to the shrine of st. thomas at canterbury. in january, 1511, the gentlemen of the king's chapel were paid what would now be seventy-five pounds for praying for the queen's safe delivery, and similar sums were no doubt paid on other occasions.[273] in 1513, catherine thought henry's success was all due to his zeal for religion,[274] and a year or two later erasmus wrote that henry's court was an example to all christendom for learning and piety.[275] [footnote 271: _sp. cal._, ii., 80, 89, 167, 175.] [footnote 272: _ven. cal._, ii., 1287; giustinian, _desp._, ii., app., 309; _l. and p._, iii., 402.] [footnote 273: these details are from the king's "book of payments" calendared at the end of _l. and p._, vol. ii.] [footnote 274: _l. and p._, i., 4417.] [footnote 275: _ibid._, ii., 4115.] piety went hand in hand with a filial respect for the head of the church. not once in the ten years is there to be found any expression from henry of contempt for the pope, whether he was julius ii. or leo x. there had been no occasion on which pope and king had been brought into conflict, and almost throughout they had acted in perfect harmony. it was the siege of julius by louis that drew henry from his peaceful policy to intervene as the champion of the papal see, and it was (p. 107) as the executor of papal censures that he made war on france.[276] if he had ulterior views on that kingdom, he could plead the justification of a brief, drawn up if not published, by julius ii., investing him with the french crown.[277] a papal envoy came to urge peace in 1514, and a pope claimed first to have suggested the marriage between mary and louis.[278] the milan expedition of 1516 was made under cover of a new holy league concluded in the spring of the previous year, and the peace of 1518 was made with the full approval and blessings of leo. henry's devotion had been often acknowledged in words, and twice by tangible tokens of gratitude, in the gift of the golden rose in 1510 and of the sword and cap in 1513.[279] but did not his services merit some more signal mark of favour? if ferdinand was "catholic," and louis "most christian," might not some title be found for a genuine friend? and, as early as 1515, henry was pressing the pope for "some title as protector of the holy see".[280] various names were suggested, "king apostolic," "king orthodox," and others; and in january, 1516, we find the first mention of "fidei defensor".[281] but the prize was to be won by services more appropriate to the title than even ten years' maintenance of the pope's temporal interests. his championship of the holy see had been the most unselfish part of henry's policy since he came to the throne; and his whole conduct had been an example, which others were slow to follow, and which henry himself was soon to neglect. [footnote 276: _l. and p._, i., 3876, 4283.] [footnote 277: _arch. r. soc. rom._, xix., 3, 4.] [footnote 278: _l. and p._, i., 5543.] [footnote 279: _ven. cal._, ii., 53-54, 361; _l. and p._, i., 976, 4621.] [footnote 280: _ibid._, ii., 887, 967.] [footnote 281: _ibid._, ii., 1456, 1928; iii., 1369.] chapter v. (p. 108) king and cardinal. "nothing," wrote giustinian of wolsey in 1519, "pleases him more than to be called the arbiter of christendom."[282] continental statesmen were inclined to ridicule and resent the cardinal's claim. but the title hardly exaggerates the part which the english minister was enabled to play during the next few years by the rivalry of charles and francis, and by the apparently even balance of their powers. the position which england held in the councils of europe in 1519 was a marvellous advance upon that which it had occupied in 1509. the first ten years of henry's reign had been a period of fluctuating, but continual, progress. the campaign of 1513 had vindicated england's military prowess, and had made it possible for wolsey, at the peace of the following year, to place his country on a level with france and spain and the empire. francis's conquest of milan, and the haste with which maximilian, leo and charles sought to make terms with the victor, caused a temporary isolation of england and a consequent decline in her influence. but the arrangements made between charles and francis contained, in themselves, as acute english diplomatists saw, the seeds of future disruption; and, in 1518, wolsey was able (p. 109) so to play off these mutual jealousies as to reassert england's position. he imposed a general peace, or rather a truce, which raised england even higher than the treaties of 1514 had done, and made her appear as the conservator of the peace of europe. england had almost usurped the place of the pope as mediator between rival christian princes.[283] [footnote 282: _l. and p._, iii., 125; giustinian, _desp._, ii., 256.] [footnote 283: _l. and p._, iii., 125. men were shocked when the pope was styled "comes" instead of "princeps confederationis" of 1518. "the chief author of these proceedings," says giustinian, "is wolsey, whose sole aim is to procure incense for his king and himself" (_desp._ ii., 256).] these brilliant results were achieved with the aid of very moderate military forces and an only respectable navy. they were due partly to the lavish expenditure of henry's treasures, partly to the extravagant faith of other princes in the extent of england's wealth, but mainly to the genius for diplomacy displayed by the great english cardinal. wolsey had now reached the zenith of his power; and the growth of his sense of his own importance is graphically described by the venetian ambassador. when giustinian first arrived in england, wolsey used to say, "his majesty will do so and so". subsequently, by degrees, forgetting himself, he commenced saying, "we shall do so and so". in 1519 he had reached such a pitch that he used to say, "i shall do so and so".[284] fox had been called by badoer "a second king," but wolsey was now "the king himself".[285] "we have to deal," said fox, "with the cardinal, who is not cardinal, but king; and no one in the realm dares attempt aught in opposition to his interests."[286] on another occasion giustinian remarks: "this cardinal is king, nor does his majesty depart in the least from the opinion and counsel of (p. 110) his lordship".[287] sir thomas more, in describing the negotiations for the peace of 1518, reports that only after wolsey had concluded a point did he tell the council, "so that even the king hardly knows in what state matters are".[288] a month or two later there was a curious dispute between the earl of worcester and west, bishop of ely, who were sent to convey the treaty of london to francis. worcester, as a layman, was a partisan of the king, west of the cardinal. worcester insisted that their detailed letters should be addressed to henry, and only general ones to wolsey. west refused; the important letters, he thought, should go to the cardinal, the formal ones to the king; and, eventually, identical despatches were sent to both.[289] in negotiations with england, giustinian told his government, "if it were necessary to neglect either king or cardinal, it would be better to pass over the king; he would therefore make the proposal to both, but to the cardinal first, _lest he should resent the precedence conceded to the king_".[290] the popular charge against wolsey, repeated by shakespeare, of having written _ego et rex meus_, though true in fact,[291] is false in intention, because no latin scholar could put the words in any other order; but the cardinal's mental attitude is faithfully represented in the meaning which the familiar phrase was supposed to convey. [footnote 284: _ven._ cal., ii. 1287.] [footnote 285: _l. and p._, ii., 1380.] [footnote 286: _ibid._, ii., 3558.] [footnote 287: _cf. ven. cal._, ii., 671, 875, 894.] [footnote 288: _l. and p._, ii., 4438.] [footnote 289: _ibid._, ii., 4664. on other occasions wolsey took it upon himself to open letters addressed to the king (_ibid._, iii., 2126).] [footnote 290: _ven. cal._, ii., 1215.] [footnote 291: it will be found in _ven. cal._, iii., p. 43; shakespeare, _henry viii._, act iii., sc. ii.] his arrogance does not rest merely on the testimony of personal (p. 111) enemies like the historian, polydore vergil, and the poet skelton, or of chroniclers like hall, who wrote when vilification of wolsey pleased both king and people, but on the despatches of diplomatists with whom he had to deal, and on the reports of observers who narrowly watched his demeanour. "he is," wrote one, "the proudest prelate that ever breathed."[292] during the festivities of the emperor's visit to england, in 1520, wolsey alone sat down to dinner with the royal party, while peers, like the dukes of suffolk and buckingham, performed menial offices for the cardinal, as well as for emperor, king and queen.[293] when he celebrated mass at the field of cloth of gold, bishops invested him with his robes and put sandals on his feet, and "some of the chief noblemen in england" brought water to wash his hands.[294] a year later, at his meeting with charles at bruges, he treated the emperor as an equal. he did not dismount from his mule, but merely doffed his cap, and embraced as a brother the temporal head of christendom.[295] when, after a dispute with the venetian ambassador, he wished to be friendly, he allowed giustinian, with royal condescension, and as a special mark of favour, to kiss his hand.[296] he never granted audience either to english peers or foreign ambassadors until the third or fourth time of asking.[297] in 1515 it was the custom of ambassadors to dine with wolsey before presentation at court, but four years later they were never served until the viands had been removed from the cardinal's table.[298] a venetian, describing wolsey's (p. 112) embassy to france in 1527, relates that his "attendants served cap in hand, and, when bringing the dishes, knelt before him in the act of presenting them. those who waited on the most christian king, kept their caps on their heads, dispensing with such exaggerated ceremonies."[299] [footnote 292: _ven. cal._, iii., 56.] [footnote 293: _ibid._, iii., 50.] [footnote 294: _ibid._, vol. iii., p. 29.] [footnote 295: _ibid._, iii., 298.] [footnote 296: _l. and p._, ii., 3733.] [footnote 297: giustinian, _desp._, app. ii., 309.] [footnote 298: giustinian, _desp._, app. ii., 309.] [footnote 299: _ven. cal._, iii., p. 84.] pretenders to royal honours seldom acquire the grace of genuine royalty, and the cardinal pursued with vindictive ferocity those who offended his sensitive dignity. in 1515, polydore vergil said, in writing to his friend, cardinal hadrian, that wolsey was so tyrannical towards all men that his influence could not last, and that all england abused him.[300] the letter was copied by wolsey's secretary, vergil was sent to the tower,[301] and only released after many months at the repeated intercession of leo x. his correspondent, cardinal hadrian, was visited with wolsey's undying hatred. a pretext for his ruin was found in his alleged complicity in a plot to poison the pope; the charge was trivial, and leo forgave him.[302] not so wolsey, who procured hadrian's deprivation of the bishopric of bath and wells, appropriated the see for himself, and in 1518 kept campeggio, the pope's legate, chafing at calais until he could bring with him the papal confirmation of these measures.[303] venice had the temerity to intercede with leo on hadrian's behalf; wolsey thereupon overwhelmed giustinian with "rabid and insolent language"; ordered him not to (p. 113) put anything in his despatches without his consent; and revoked the privileges of venetian merchants in england.[304] in these outbursts of fury, he paid little respect to the sacrosanct character of ambassadors. he heard that the papal nuncio, chieregati, was sending to france unfavourable reports of his conduct. the nuncio "was sent for by wolsey, who took him into a private chamber, laid rude hands upon him, fiercely demanding what he had written to the king of france, and what intercourse he had held with giustinian and his son, adding that he should not quit the spot until he had confessed everything, and, if fair means were not sufficient, he should be put upon the rack".[305] nine years later, wolsey nearly precipitated war between england and the emperor by a similar outburst against charles's ambassador, de praet. he intercepted de praet's correspondence, and confined him to his house. it was a flagrant breach of international law. tampering with diplomatic correspondence was usually considered a sufficient cause for war; on this occasion war did not suit charles's purpose, but it was no fault of wolsey's that his fury at an alleged personal slight did not provoke hostilities with the most powerful prince in christendom.[306] [footnote 300: _l. and p._, ii., 215.] [footnote 301: _ibid._, ii., 491, 865, 1229.] [footnote 302: _ibid._, ii., 3581, 3584; _ven. cal._, ii., 902, 951.] [footnote 303: _l. and p._, ii., 4348.] [footnote 304: _ven. cal._, ii., 951, 953, 978; _l. and p._, ii., 3584.] [footnote 305: _l. and p._, ii., 2643.] [footnote 306: _sp. cal._, iii., pp. 50, 76, 78, 92.] englishmen fared no better than others at wolsey's hands. he used the coercive power of the state to revenge his private wrongs as well as to secure the peace of the realm. in july, 1517, sir robert sheffield,[307] who had been speaker in two parliaments, was sent to the tower for complaining of wolsey, and to point the moral of fox's assertion, (p. 114) that none durst do ought in opposition to the cardinal's interests.[308] again, the idea reflected by shakespeare, that wolsey was jealous of pace, has been described as absurd; but it is difficult to draw any other inference from the relations between them after 1521. while wolsey was absent at calais, he accused pace, without ground, of misrepresenting his letters to henry, and of obtaining henry's favour on behalf of a canon of york;[309] he complained that foreign powers were trusting to another influence than his over the king; and, when he returned, he took care that pace should henceforth be employed, not as secretary to henry, but on almost continuous missions to italy. in 1525, when the venetian ambassador was to thank henry for making a treaty with venice, which pace had concluded, he was instructed not to praise him so highly, if the cardinal were present, as if the oration were made to henry alone;[310] and, four years later, wolsey found an occasion for sending pace to the tower--treatment which eventually caused pace's mind to become unhinged.[311] [footnote 307: _l. and p._, ii., 3487.] [footnote 308: _l. and p._, ii., 3558.] [footnote 309: _ibid._, iii., 1713.] [footnote 310: _ven. cal._, iii., 975.] [footnote 311: brewer (henry viii., ii., 388; _l. and p._, vol. iv., introd., p. dxxxv. _n._) is very indignant at this allegation, and when recording chapuys' statement in 1529 that pace had been imprisoned for two years in the tower and elsewhere by wolsey, declares that "pace was never committed to the tower, nor kept in prison by wolsey" but was "placed under the charge of the bishop of bangor," and that chapuys' statement is "an instance how popular rumour exaggerates facts, or how spanish ambassadors were likely to misrepresent them". it is rather an instance of the lengths to which brewer's zeal for wolsey carried him. he had not seen the despatch from mendoza recording pace's committal to the tower on 25th oct., 1527, "for speaking to the king in opposition to wolsey and the divorce" (_sp. cal._, 1527-29, p. 440). it is true that pace was in the charge of the bishop of bangor, but he was not transferred thither until 1528 (ellis, _orig. letters_, 3rd ser., ii., 151); he was released immediately upon wolsey's fall. erasmus, thereupon, congratulating him on the fact, remarked that he was consoled by pace's experience for his own persecution and that god rescued the innocent and cast down the proud (_ibid._, iv., 6283). the _d.n.b._ (xliii., 24), has been misled by brewer. wolsey had long had a grudge against pace, and in 1514 was anxious to make "a fearful example" of him (_l. and p._, i., 5465); and his treatment of pace was one of the charges brought against him in 1529 (_ibid._, iv., p. 2552).] wolsey's pride in himself, and his jealousy of others, were not (p. 115) more conspicuous than his thirst after riches. his fees as chancellor were reckoned by giustinian at five thousand ducats a year. he made thrice that sum by new year's presents, "which he receives like the king".[312] his demand for the bishopric of bath and wells, coupled with the fact that it was he who petitioned for hadrian's deprivation, amazed even the court at rome, and, "to avoid murmurs,"[313] compliance was deferred for a time. but these scruples were allowed no more than ecclesiastical law to stand in the way of wolsey's preferment. one of the small reforms decreed by the lateran council was that no bishoprics should be held _in commendam_; the ink was scarcely dry when wolsey asked _in commendam_ for the see of the recently conquered tournay.[314] tournay was restored to france in 1518, but the cardinal took care that he should not be the loser. a _sine qua non_ of the peace was that francis should pay him an annual pension of twelve thousand livres as compensation for the loss of a bishopric of which he had never obtained possession.[315] he drew other pensions for political services, from both francis and charles; and, from the duke of milan, he obtained the promise of ten thousand ducats a year before pace (p. 116) set out to recover the duchy.[316] it is scarcely a matter for wonder that foreign diplomatists, and englishmen, too, should have accused wolsey of spending the king's money for his own profit, and have thought that the surest way of winning his favour was by means of a bribe.[317] when england, in 1521, sided with charles against francis, the emperor bound himself to make good to wolsey all the sums he would lose by a breach with france; and from that year onwards charles paid--or owed--wolsey eighteen thousand livres a year.[318] it was nine times the pensions considered sufficient for the dukes of norfolk and suffolk; and even so it does not include the revenue wolsey derived from two spanish bishoprics. these were not bribes in the sense that they affected wolsey's policy; they were well enough known to the king; to spoil the egyptians was considered fair game, and henry was generous enough not to keep all the perquisites of peace or war for himself. [footnote 312: giustinian, _desp._, app. ii., 309.] [footnote 313: _ven. cal._, ii., 1045.] [footnote 314: _l. and p._, i., 5457.] [footnote 315: _ibid._, ii., 4354.] [footnote 316: _l. and p._, ii., 1053, 1066.] [footnote 317: _ibid._, ii., 1931; _cf._ shakespeare, _henry viii._, act. i., sc. i.:- thus the cardinal does buy and sell his honour as he pleases and for his own advantage.] [footnote 318: _l. and p._, iii., 709, 2307 (where it is given as nine thousand "crowns of the sun"); _sp. cal._, ii., 273, 600. in 1527 charles instructed his ambassador to offer wolsey in addition to his pension of nine thousand ducats with arrears a further pension of six thousand ducats and a marquisate in milan worth another twelve or fifteen thousand ducats a year (_l. and p._, iv., 3464).] two years after the agreement with charles, ruthal, bishop of durham, died, and wolsey exchanged bath and wells for the richer see formerly held by his political ally and friend. but winchester was richer (p. 117) even than durham; so when fox followed ruthal to the grave, in 1528, wolsey exchanged the northern for the southern see, and begged that durham might go to his natural son, a youth of eighteen.[319] all these were held _in commendam_ with the archbishopric of york, but they did not satisfy wolsey; and, in 1521, he obtained the grant of st. albans, the greatest abbey in england. his palaces outshone in splendour those of henry himself, and few monarchs have been able to display such wealth of plate as loaded the cardinal's table. wolsey is supposed to have conceived vast schemes of ecclesiastical reform, which time and opportunity failed him to effect.[320] if he had ever seriously set about the work, the first thing to be reformed would have been his own ecclesiastical practice. he personified in himself most of the clerical abuses of his age. not merely an "unpreaching prelate," he rarely said mass; his _commendams_ and absenteeism were alike violations of canon law. three of the bishoprics he held he never visited at all; york, which he had obtained fifteen years before, he did not visit till the year of his death, and then through no wish of his own. he was equally negligent of the vow of chastity; he cohabited with the daughter of "one lark," a relative of the lark who is mentioned in the correspondence of the time as "omnipotent" with the cardinal, and as resident in his household.[321] by her (p. 118) he left two children, a son,[322] for whom he obtained a deanery, four archdeaconries, five prebends, and a chancellorship, and sought the bishopric of durham, and a daughter who became a nun. the accusation brought against him by the duke of buckingham and others, of procuring objects for henry's sensual appetite, is a scandal, to which no credence would have been attached but for wolsey's own moral laxity, and the fact that the governor of charles v. performed a similar office.[323] [footnote 319: _l. and p._, iv., 4824.] [footnote 320: there is no doubt about his eagerness for the power which would have enabled him to carry out a reformation. as legate he demanded from the pope authority to visit and reform the secular clergy as well as the monasteries; this was refused on the ground that it would have superseded the proper functions of the episcopate (_l. and p._, ii., 4399; iii., 149).] [footnote 321: _l. and p._, ii., 629, 2637, 4068. lark became prebendary of st. stephen's (_ibid._, iv., _introd._, p. xlvi.).] [footnote 322: called thomas wynter, see the present writer's _life of cranmer_, p. 324 _n._ some writers have affected to doubt wolsey's parentage of wynter, but this son is often referred to in the correspondence of the time, _e.g._, _l. and p._, iv., p. 1407, nos. 4824, 5581, 6026, 6075. art. 27.] [footnote 323: _ibid._, iii., 1284; iv., p. 2558; ii., 2930.] repellent as was wolsey's character in many respects, he was yet the greatest, as he was the last, of the ecclesiastical statesmen who have governed england. as a diplomatist, pure and simple, he has never been surpassed, and as an administrator he has had few equals. "he is," says giustinian, "very handsome, learned, extremely eloquent, of vast ability and indefatigable. he alone transacts the same business as that which occupies all the magistracies, offices, and councils of venice, both civil and criminal; and all state affairs are managed by him, let their nature be what it may. he is thoughtful, and has the reputation of being extremely just; he favours the people exceedingly, and especially the poor, hearing their suits and seeking to despatch them instantly. he also makes the lawyers plead gratis for all poor suitors. he is in very great repute, seven times more so than if (p. 119) he were pope."[324] his sympathy with the poor was no idle sentiment, and his commission of 1517, and decree against enclosures in the following year, were the only steps taken in henry's reign to mitigate that curse of the agricultural population. [footnote 324: _ven. cal._, ii., 1287; giustinian, _d sp._, app. ii., 309; _l. and p._, iii., 402.] the evil may day riots of 1517 alone disturbed the peace of wolsey's internal administration; and they were due merely to anti-foreign prejudice, and to the idea that strangers within the gates monopolised the commerce of england and diverted its profits to their own advantage. "never," wrote wolsey to a bishop at rome in 1518, "was the kingdom in greater harmony and repose than now; such is the effect of my administration of justice and equity."[325] to henry his strain was less arrogant. "and for your realm," he says, "our lord be thanked, it was never in such peace nor tranquillity; for all this summer i have had neither of riot, felony, nor forcible entry, but that your laws be in every place indifferently ministered without leaning of any manner. albeit, there hath lately been a fray betwixt pygot, your serjeant, and sir andrew windsor's servants for the seisin of a ward, whereto they both pretend titles; in the which one man was slain. i trust the next term to learn them the law of the star chamber that they shall ware how from henceforth they shall redress their matter with their hands. they be both learned in the temporal law, and i doubt not good example shall ensue to see them learn the new law of the star chamber, which, god willing, they shall have indifferently administered (p. 120) to them, according to their deserts."[326] [footnote 325: _ibid._, ii., 3973.] [footnote 326: _l. and p._, ii., app. no. 38; for the star chamber see scofield, _star chamber_, 1902, and leadam, _select cases_ (selden soc., 1904).] wolsey's "new law of the star chamber," his stern enforcement of the statutes against livery and maintenance, and his spasmodic attempt to redress the evils of enclosures,[327] probably contributed as much as his arrogance and ostentation to the ill-favour in which he stood with the nobility and landed gentry. from the beginning there were frequent rumours of plots to depose him, and his enemies abroad often talked of the universal hatred which he inspired in england. the classes which benefited by his justice complained bitterly of the impositions required to support his spirited foreign policy. clerics who regarded him as a bulwark on the one hand against heresy, and, on the other, against the extreme view which henry held from the first of his authority over the church, were alienated by the despotism wolsey wielded by means of his legatine powers. even the mild and aged warham felt his lash, and was threatened with _præmunire_ for having wounded wolsey's legatine authority by calling a council at lambeth.[328] peers, spiritual no less than temporal, regarded him as "the great tyrant". parliament he feared and distrusted; he had urged the speedy dissolution of that of 1515; only one sat during the fourteen years of his supremacy, and with that the cardinal quarrelled. he possessed no hold over the nation, but only over the king, in whom alone he put his trust. [footnote 327: _l. and p._, app. no. 53; _cf._ leadam, _domesday of enclosures_ (royal hist. soc.).] [footnote 328: _ibid._, iii., 77, 98; _cf._ ii., 3973; iii. 1142.] for the time he seemed secure enough. no one could touch a hair (p. 121) of his head so long as he was shielded by henry's power, and henry seemed to have given over his royal authority to wolsey's hands with a blind and undoubting confidence. "the king," said one, in 1515, "is a youngling, cares for nothing but girls and hunting, and wastes his father's patrimony."[329] "he gambled," reported giustinian in 1519, "with the french hostages, occasionally, it was said, to the amount of six or eight thousand ducats a day."[330] in the following summer henry rose daily at four or five in the morning and hunted till nine or ten at night; "he spares," said pace, "no pains to convert the sport of hunting into a martyrdom".[331] "he devotes himself," wrote chieregati, "to accomplishments and amusements day and night, is intent on nothing else, and leaves business to wolsey, who rules everything."[332] wolsey, it was remarked by leo x., made henry go hither and thither, just as he liked,[333] and the king signed state papers without knowing their contents. "writing," admitted henry, "is to me somewhat tedious and painful."[334] when wolsey thought it essential that autograph letters in henry's hand should be sent to other crowned heads, he composed the letters and sent them to henry to copy out.[335] could the most constitutional monarch have been more dutiful? but constitutional monarchy was not then invented, and it is not surprising that giustinian, in 1519, found it impossible to (p. 122) say much for henry as a statesman. _agere cum rege_, he said, _est nihil agere_;[336] anything told to the king was either useless or was communicated to wolsey. bishop west was sure that henry would not take the pains to look at his and worcester's despatches; and there was a widespread impression abroad and at home that the english king was a negligible quantity in the domestic and foreign affairs of his own kingdom. [footnote 329: _l. and p._, ii., 1105; _cf. ibid._, ii., 215.] [footnote 330: giustinian, _desp._, app. ii., 309.] [footnote 331: _l. and p._, iii., 950; _cf._ iii., 1160, where fitzwilliam describes henry as a "master" in deer-hunting.] [footnote 332: _ven. cal._, ii., 788.] [footnote 333: _sp. cal._, ii., 281.] [footnote 334: _l. and p._, iii., 1.] [footnote 335: _ibid._, iii., 1453, 3377.] [footnote 336: _ven. cal._, ii., 1110.] for ten years henry had reigned while first his council, and then wolsey, governed. before another decade had passed, henry was king and government in one; and nobody in the kingdom counted for much but the king. he stepped at once into wolsey's place, became his own prime minister, and ruled with a vigour which was assuredly not less than the cardinal's. such transformations are not the work of a moment, and henry's would have been impossible, had he in previous years been so completely the slave of vanity fair, as most people thought. in reality, there are indications that beneath the superficial gaiety of his life, henry was beginning to use his own judgment, form his own conclusions, and take an interest in serious matters. he was only twenty-eight in 1519, and his character was following a normal course of development. from the earliest years of his reign henry had at least two serious preoccupations, the new learning and his navy. we learn from erasmus that henry's court was an example to christendom for learning and piety;[337] that the king sought to promote learning among the clergy; and on one occasion defended "mental and _ex tempore_ prayer" against those who apparently thought laymen should, in their private (p. 123) devotions, confine themselves to formularies prescribed by the clergy.[338] in 1519 there were more men of learning at the english court than at any university;[339] it was more like a museum, says the great humanist, than a court;[340] and in the same year the king endeavoured to stop the outcry against greek, raised by the reactionary "trojans" at oxford. "you would say," continues erasmus, "that henry was a universal genius. he has never neglected his studies; and whenever he has leisure from his political occupations, he reads, or disputes--of which he is very fond--with remarkable courtesy and unruffled temper. he is more of a companion than a king. for these little trials of wit, he prepares himself by reading schoolmen, thomas, scotus or gabriel."[341] his theological studies were encouraged by wolsey, possibly to divert the king's mind from an unwelcome interference in politics, and it was at the cardinal's instigation that henry set to work on his famous book against luther.[342] he seems to have begun it, or some similar treatise, which may afterwards have been adapted to luther's particular case, before the end of the year in which the german reformer published his original theses. in september, 1517, erasmus heard that henry had returned to his studies,[343] and, in the following june, pace writes to wolsey that, with respect to the commendations given by the cardinal to the king's book, though henry does not think it worthy such great praise as it has had from him and from all other "great learned" men, yet he says he is very glad to have "noted in your (p. 124) grace's letters that his reasons be called inevitable, considering that your grace was sometime his adversary herein and of contrary opinion".[344] it is obvious that this "book," whatever it may have been, was the fruit of henry's own mind, and that he adopted a line of argument not entirely relished by wolsey. but, if it was the book against luther, it was laid aside and rewritten before it was given to the world in its final form. nothing more is heard of it for three years. in april, 1521, pace explains to wolsey the delay in sending him on some news-letters from germany "which his grace had not read till this day after his dinner; and thus he commanded me to write unto your grace, declaring he was otherwise occupied; _i.e., in scribendo contra lutherum,_ as i do conjecture".[345] nine days later pace found the king reading a new book of luther's, "which he dispraised"; and he took the opportunity to show henry leo's bull against the reformer. "his grace showed himself well contented with the coming of the same; howbeit, as touching the publication thereof, he said he would have it well examined and diligently looked to afore it were published."[346] even in the height of his fervour against heresy, henry was in no mood to abate one jot or one tittle of his royal authority in ecclesiastical matters. [footnote 337: _l. and p._, ii., 4115.] [footnote 338: _l. and p._, iii., 226.] [footnote 339: _ibid._, iii., 251.] [footnote 340: _ibid._, ii., 4340.] [footnote 341: _ibid._, iv., 5412; for the freedom with which cranmer in later days debated with henry see the present writer's _cranmer_, p. 169.] [footnote 342: _ibid._, iii., 1659, 1772.] [footnote 343: _ibid._, ii., 3673.] [footnote 344: _l. and p._, ii., 4257.] [footnote 345: _ibid._, iii., 1220.] [footnote 346: _ibid._, 1233.] his book was finished before 21st may, 1521, when the king wrote to leo, saying that "ever since he knew luther's heresy in germany, he had made it his study how to extirpate it. he had called the learned of his kingdom to consider these errors and denounce them, and (p. 125) exhort others to do the same. he had urged the emperor and electors, since this pestilent fellow would not return to god, to extirpate him and his heretical books. he thought it right still further to testify his zeal for the faith by his writings, that all might see he was ready to defend the church, not only with his arms, but with the resources of his mind. he dedicated therefore, to the pope, the first offerings of his intellect and his little erudition."[347] the letter had been preceded, on 12th may, by a holocaust of luther's books in st. paul's churchyard. wolsey sat in state on a scaffold at st. paul's cross, with the papal nuncio and the archbishop of canterbury at his feet on the right, and the imperial ambassador and tunstall, bishop of london, at his feet on the left; and while the books were being devoured by the flames, fisher preached a sermon denouncing the errors contained therein.[348] but it was july before the fair copy of henry's book was ready for presentation to leo; possibly the interval was employed by learned men in polishing henry's style, but the substance of the work was undoubtedly of henry's authorship. such is the direct testimony of erasmus, and there is no evidence to indicate the collaboration of others.[349] pace was then the most intimate of henry's counsellors, and pace, by his own confession, was not in the secret. nor is the book so remarkable as to preclude the possibility of henry's authorship. its arguments are respectable and give evidence of an intelligent and fairly extensive acquaintance with the writings of the fathers and schoolmen; but they reveal no profound depth of theological learning nor genius for abstract speculation. it does (p. 126) not rank so high in the realm of theology, as do some of henry's compositions in that of music. in august it was sent to leo, with verses composed by wolsey and copied out in the royal hand.[350] in september the english ambassador at rome presented leo his copy, bound in cloth of gold. the pope read five leaves without interruption, and remarked that "he would not have thought such a book should have come from the king's grace, who hath been occupied, necessarily, in other feats, seeing that other men which hath occupied themselves in study all their lives cannot bring forth the like".[351] on 2nd october it was formally presented in a consistory of cardinals; and, on the 11th, leo promulgated his bull conferring on henry his coveted title, "fidei defensor". [footnote 347: _l. and p._, iii., 1297.] [footnote 348: _ibid._, iii., 1273.] [footnote 349: f.m. nichols, _epistles of erasmus_, p. 424; _l. and p._, iv., 5412.] [footnote 350: _l. and p._, iii., 1450.] [footnote 351: _ibid._, iii., 1574, 1654, 1655, 1659.] proud as he was of his scholastic achievement and its reward at the hands of the pope, henry was doing more for the future of england by his attention to naval affairs than by his pursuit of high-sounding titles. his intuitive perception of england's coming needs in this respect is, perhaps, the most striking illustration of his political foresight. he has been described as the father of the british navy; and, had he not laid the foundations of england's naval power, his daughter's victory over spain and entrance on the path that led to empire would have been impossible. under henry, the navy was first organised as a permanent force; he founded the royal dockyards at woolwich and deptford, and the corporation of trinity house;[352] he encouraged the planting of timber for shipbuilding, enacted laws (p. 127) facilitating inland navigation, dotted the coast with fortifications, and settled the constitution of the naval service upon a plan from which it has ever since steadily developed. he owed his inspiration to none of his councillors, least of all to wolsey, who had not the faintest glimmering of the importance of securing england's naval supremacy, and who, during the war of 1522-23, preferred futile invasions on land to henry's "secret designs" for destroying the navy of france.[353] the king's interest in ships and shipbuilding was strong, even amid the alluring diversions of the first years of his reign. he watched his fleet sail for guienne in 1512, and for france in 1513; he knew the speed, the tonnage and the armament of every ship in his navy; he supervised the minutest details of their construction. in 1520 his ambassador at paris tells him that francis is building a ship, "and reasoneth in this mystery of shipman's craft as one which had understanding in the same. but, sir, he approacheth not your highness in that science."[354] a french envoy records how, in 1515, the whole english court went down to see the launch of the _princess mary_. henry himself "acted as pilot and wore a sailor's coat and trousers, made of cloth of gold, and a gold chain with the inscription, 'dieu _est_ mon droit,' to which was suspended a whistle, which he blew nearly as loud as a trumpet".[355] the launch of a ship was then almost a religious ceremony, and the place of the modern bottle of champagne was taken by a mass, which was said by the bishop of durham. in 1518 giustinian tells how henry went to southampton to see the venetian galleys, and caused some new guns to be "fired again and (p. 128) again, marking their range, as he is very curious about matters of this kind".[356] [footnote 352: _ibid._, i., 3807. in 1513 an english consul was appointed at scio (_ibid._, i., 3854).] [footnote 353: _l. and p._, iii., 1440; _cf. ibid._, 2421.] [footnote 354: _ibid._, iii., 748.] [footnote 355: _ibid._, ii., 1113.] [footnote 356: _l. and p._, ii., 4232.] it was not long before henry developed an active participation in serious matters other than theological disputes and naval affairs. it is not possible to trace its growth with any clearness because no record remains of the verbal communications which were sufficient to indicate his will during the constant attendance of wolsey upon him. but, as soon as monarch and minister were for some cause or another apart, evidence of henry's activity in political matters becomes more available. thus, in 1515, we find wolsey sending the king, at his own request, the act of apparel, just passed by parliament, for henry's "examination and correction".[357] he also desires henry's determination about the visit of the queen of scotland, that he may make the necessary arrangements. in 1518 henry made a prolonged stay at abingdon, partly from fear of the plague, and partly, as he told pace, because at abingdon people were not continually coming to tell him of deaths, as they did daily in london. during this absence from london, henry insisted upon the attendance of sufficient councillors to enable him to transact business; he established a relay of posts every seven hours between himself and wolsey; and we hear of his reading "every word of all the letters" sent by his minister.[358] every week wolsey despatched an account of such state business as he had transacted; and on one occasion, "considering the importance of wolsey's letters," henry paid a secret and flying visit to london.[359] in 1519 there was a sort of revolution at court, obscure enough now, but then a (p. 129) subject of some comment at home and abroad. half a dozen of henry's courtiers were removed from his person and sent into honourable exile, receiving posts at calais, at guisnes, and elsewhere.[360] giustinian thought that henry had been gambling too much and wished to turn over a new leaf. there were also rumours that these courtiers governed henry after their own appetite, to the king's dishonour; and henry, annoyed at the report and jealous as ever of royal prestige, promptly cashiered them, and filled their places with grave and reverend seniors. [footnote 357: _ibid._, ii., 1223.] [footnote 358: _ibid._, ii., 4060, 4061, 4089.] [footnote 359: _l. and p._, ii., 4276.] [footnote 360: _ven. cal._, ii., 1220, 1230; _l. and p._, iii., 246, 247, 249, 250. francis i. thought they were dismissed as being too favourable to him, and as a rule the younger courtiers favoured france and the older spain.] two years later wolsey was abroad at the conference of calais, and again henry's hand in state affairs becomes apparent. pace, defending himself from the cardinal's complaints, tells him that he had done everything "by the king's express commandment, who readeth all your letters with great diligence". one of the letters which angered wolsey was the king's, for pace "had devised it very different"; but the king would not approve of it; "and commanded me to bring your said letters into his privy chamber with pen and ink, and there he would declare unto me what i should write. and when his grace had your said letters, he read the same three times, and marked such places as it pleased him to make answer unto, and commanded me to write and rehearse as liked him, and not further to meddle with that answer; so that i herein nothing did but obeyed the king's commandment, and especially at (p. 130) such time _as he would upon good grounds be obeyed, whosoever spake to the contrary_."[361] wolsey might say in his pride "i shall do so and so," and foreign envoys might think that the cardinal made the king "go hither and thither, just as he liked"; but wolsey knew perfectly well that when he thought fit, henry "would be obeyed, whosoever spake to the contrary". he might delegate much of his authority, but men were under no misapprehension that he could and would revoke it whenever he chose. for the time being, king and cardinal worked together in general harmony, but it was a partnership in which henry could always have the last word, though wolsey did most of the work. as early as 1518 he had nominated standish to the bishopric of st. asaph, disregarding wolsey's candidate and the opposition of the clerical party at court, who detested standish for his advocacy of henry's authority in ecclesiastical matters, and dreaded his promotion as an evil omen for the independence of the church.[362] [footnote 361: _l. and p._, iii., 1713.] [footnote 362: _ibid._, ii., 4074, 4083, 4089.] even in the details of administration, the king was becoming increasingly vigilant. in 1519 he drew up a "remembrance of such things" as he required the cardinal to "put in effectual execution".[363] they were twenty-one in number and ranged over every variety of subject. the household was to be arranged; "views to be made and books kept"; the ordnance seen to; treasurers were to make monthly reports of their receipts and payments, and send counterparts to the king; the surveyor of lands was to make a yearly declaration; and wolsey himself and the judges were to make quarterly reports (p. 131) to henry in person. there were five points "which the king will debate with his council," the administration of justice, reform of the exchequer, ireland, employment of idle people, and maintenance of the frontiers. the general plan of wolsey's negotiations at calais in 1521 was determined by king and cardinal in consultation, and every important detail in them and in the subsequent preparations for war was submitted to henry. not infrequently they differed. wolsey wanted sir william sandys to command the english contingent; henry declared it would be inconsistent with his dignity to send a force out of the realm under the command of any one of lower rank than an earl. wolsey replied that sandys would be cheaper than an earl,[364] but the command was entrusted to the earl of surrey. henry thought it unsafe, considering the imminence of a breach with france, for english wine ships to resort to bordeaux; wolsey thought otherwise, and they disputed the point for a month. honours were divided; the question was settled for the time by twenty ships sailing while the dispute was in progress.[365] apparently they returned in safety, but the seizure of english ships at bordeaux in the following march justified henry's caution.[366] the king was already an adept in statecraft, and there was at least an element of truth in the praise which wolsey bestowed on his pupil. "no man," he wrote, "can more groundly consider the politic governance of your said realm, nor more assuredly look to the preservation thereof, than ye yourself." and again, "surely, if all _your_ whole council had been assembled together, they could not (p. 132) have more deeply perceived or spoken therein".[367] [footnote 363: _ibid._, iii., 576.] [footnote 364: _l. and p._, iii., 1454, 1473, 1474.] [footnote 365: _ibid._, iii., 1629, 1630.] [footnote 366: _ibid._, iii., 2224.] [footnote 367: _l. and p._, iii., 1544, 1762.] the cardinal "could not express the joy and comfort with which he noted the king's prudence"; but he can scarcely have viewed henry's growing interference without some secret misgivings. for he was developing not only wolsey's skill and lack of scruple in politics, but also a choleric and impatient temper akin to the cardinal's own. in 1514 carroz had complained of henry's offensive behaviour, and had urged that it would become impossible to control him, if the "young colt" were not bridled. in the following year henry treated a french envoy with scant civility, and flatly contradicted him twice as he described the battle of marignano. giustinian also records how henry went "pale with anger" at unpleasant news.[368] a few years later his successor describes henry's "very great rage" when detailing francis's injuries; charles made the same complaints against the french king, "but not so angrily, in accordance with his gentler nature".[369] on another occasion henry turned his back upon a diplomatist and walked away in the middle of his speech, an incident, we are told, on which much comment was made in rome.[370] [footnote 368: _ibid._, ii., 1113, 1653.] [footnote 369: _ven. cal._, iii., 493.] [footnote 370: _sp. cal._, ii., 314.] but these outbursts were rare and they grew rarer; in 1527 mendoza, the spanish ambassador, remarks that it was "quite the reverse of the king's ordinary manner" to be more violent than wolsey;[371] and throughout the period of strained relations with the emperor, chapuys constantly refers to the unfailing courtesy and graciousness with (p. 133) which henry received him. he never forgot himself so far as to lay rude hands on an ambassador, as wolsey did; and no provocation betrayed him in his later years, passionate though he was, into a neglect of the outward amenities of diplomatic and official intercourse. outbursts of anger, of course, there were; but they were often like the explosions of counsel in law courts, and were "to a great extent diplomatically controlled".[372] nor can we deny the consideration with which henry habitually treated his councillors, the wide discretion he allowed them in the exercise of their duties, and the toleration he extended to contrary opinions. he was never impatient of advice even when it conflicted with his own views. his long arguments with wolsey, and the freedom with which the cardinal justified his recommendations, even after henry had made up his mind to an opposite course, are a sufficient proof of the fact. in 1517, angered by maximilian's perfidy, henry wrote him some very "displeasant" letters. tunstall thought they would do harm, kept them back, and received no censure for his conduct. in 1522-23 wolsey advised first the siege of boulogne and then its abandonment. "the king," wrote more, "is by no means displeased that you have changed your opinion, as his highness esteemeth nothing in counsel more perilous than one to persevere in the maintenance of his advice because he hath once given it. he therefore commendeth and most affectuously thanketh your faithful diligence and high wisdom in advertising him of the reasons which have moved you to change your opinion."[373] no king knew better than henry how to get good work from his ministers, and his warning against (p. 134) persevering in advice, merely because it has once been given, is a political maxim for all time. [footnote 371: _ibid._, iii., 109.] [footnote 372: _l. and p._, xiii., p. xli.] [footnote 373: _ibid._, iii., 2421, 3346.] a lesson might also be learnt from a story of henry and colet told by erasmus on colet's own authority.[374] in 1513 war fever raged in england. colet's bishop summoned him "into the king's court for asserting, when england was preparing for war against france, that an unjust peace was preferable to the most just war; but the king threatened his persecutor with vengeance. after easter, when the expedition was ready against france, colet preached on whitsunday before the king and the court, exhorting men rather to follow the example of christ their prince than that of cæsar and alexander. the king was afraid that this sermon would have an ill effect upon the soldiers and sent for the dean. colet happened to be dining at the franciscan monastery near greenwich. when the king heard of it, he entered the garden of the monastery, and on colet's appearance dismissed his attendants; then discussed the matter with him, desiring him to explain himself, lest his audience should suppose that no war was justifiable. after the conversation was over he dismissed him before them all, drinking to colet's health and saying 'let every man have his own doctor, this is mine'." the picture is pleasing evidence of henry's superiority to some vulgar passions. another instance of freedom from popular prejudice, which he shared with his father, was his encouragement of foreign scholars, diplomatists and merchants; not a few of the ablest of tudor agents were of alien birth. he was therefore intensely annoyed at the rabid fury against them that broke out in the riots of evil may day; yet he pardoned all the ringleaders but one. tolerance and (p. 135) clemency were no small part of his character in early manhood;[375] and together with his other mental and physical graces, his love of learning and of the society of learned men, his magnificence and display, his supremacy in all the sports that were then considered the peculiar adornment of royalty, they contributed scarcely less than wolsey's genius for diplomacy and administration to england's renown. "in short," wrote chieregati to isabella d'este in 1517, "the wealth and civilisation of the world are here; and those who call the english barbarians appear to me to render themselves such. i here perceive very elegant manners, extreme decorum, and very great politeness. and amongst other things there is this most invincible king, whose accomplishments and qualities are so many and excellent that i consider him to surpass all who ever wore a crown; and blessed and happy may this country call itself in having as its lord so worthy and eminent a sovereign; whose sway is more bland and gentle than the greatest liberty under any other."[376] [footnote 374: _l. and p._, iii., 303.] [footnote 375: for the extraordinary freedom of speech which henry permitted, see _l. and p._, xii., ii., 952, where sir george throckmorton relates how he accused henry to his face of immoral relations with mary boleyn and her mother.] [footnote 376: _ven. cal._, ii., 918.] chapter vi. (p. 136) from calais to rome. the wonderful success that had attended wolsey's policy during his seven years' tenure of power, and the influential position to which he had raised england in the councils of christendom, might well have disturbed the mental balance of a more modest and diffident man than the cardinal; and it is scarcely surprising that he fancied himself, and sought to become, arbiter of the destinies of europe. the condition of continental politics made his ambition seem less than extravagant. power was almost monopolised by two young princes whose rivalry was keen, whose resources were not altogether unevenly matched, and whose disputes were so many and serious that war could only be averted by a pacific determination on both sides which neither possessed. francis had claims on naples, and his dependant, d'albret, on navarre. charles had suzerain rights over milan and a title to burgundy, of which his great-grandfather charles the bold had been despoiled by louis xi. yet the emperor had not the slightest intention of compromising his possession of naples or navarre, and francis was quite as resolute to surrender neither burgundy nor milan. they both became eager competitors for the friendship of england, which, if its resources were inadequate to support the position of arbiter, was at least a most useful (p. 137) makeweight. england's choice of policy was, however, strictly limited. she could not make war upon charles. it was not merely that charles had a staunch ally in his aunt catherine of aragon, who is said to have "made such representations and shown such reasons against" the alliance with francis "as one would not have supposed she would have dared to do, or even to imagine".[377] it was not merely that in this matter catherine was backed by the whole council except wolsey, and by the real inclinations of the king. it was that the english people were firmly imperialist in sympathy. the reason was obvious. charles controlled the wool-market of the netherlands, and among english exports wool was all-important. war with charles meant the ruin of england's export trade, the starvation or impoverishment of thousands of englishmen; and when war was declared against charles eight years later, it more nearly cost henry his throne than all the fulminations of the pope or religious discontents, and after three months it was brought to a summary end. england remained at peace with spain so long as spain controlled its market for wool; when that market passed into the hands of the revolted netherlands, the same motive dictated an alliance with the dutch against philip ii. war with charles in 1520 was out of the question; and for the next two years wolsey and henry were endeavouring to make francis and the emperor bid against each other, in order that england might obtain the maximum of concession from charles when it should declare in his favour, as all along (p. 138) was intended. [footnote 377: _l. and p._, iii., 728. wolsey's opposition is attributed by the imperial ambassador to francis i.'s promise to make him pope, "which we might have done much better".] by the treaty of london henry was bound to assist the aggrieved against the aggressor. but that treaty had been concluded between england and france in the first instance; henry's only daughter was betrothed to the dauphin; and francis was anxious to cement his alliance with henry by a personal interview.[378] it was henry's policy to play the friend for the time; and, as a proof of his desire for the meeting with francis, he announced, in august, 1519, his resolve to wear his beard until the meeting took place.[379] he reckoned without his wife. on 8th november louise of savoy, the queen-mother of france, taxed boleyn, the english ambassador, with a report that henry had put off his beard. "i said," writes boleyn, "that, as i suppose, it hath been by the queen's desire; for i told my lady that i have hereafore time known when the king's grace hath worn long his beard, that the queen hath daily made him great instance, and desired him to put it off for her sake."[380] henry's inconstancy in the matter of his beard not only caused diplomatic inconvenience, but, it may be parenthetically remarked, adds to the difficulty of dating his portraits. francis, however, considered the queen's interference a sufficient excuse, or was not inclined to stick at such trifles; and on 10th january, 1520, he nominated wolsey his proctor to make arrangements for the interview.[381] as wolsey was also agent for henry, the french king saw no further cause for delay. [footnote 378: the interview had been agreed upon as early as october, 1518, when it was proposed that it should take place before the end of july, 1519 (_l. and p._, ii., 4483).] [footnote 379: _ibid._, iii., 416.] [footnote 380: _ibid._, iii., 514.] [footnote 381: _ibid._, iii., 592.] the delay came from england; the meeting with francis would be a (p. 139) one-sided pronouncement without some corresponding favour to charles. some time before henry had sent charles a pressing invitation to visit england on his way from spain to germany; and the emperor, suspicious of the meeting between henry and francis, was only too anxious to come and forestall it. the experienced margaret of savoy admitted that henry's friendship was essential to charles;[382] but spaniards were not to be hurried, and it would be may before the emperor's convoy was ready. so henry endeavoured to postpone his engagement with francis. the french king replied that by the end of may his queen would be in the eighth month of her pregnancy, and that if the meeting were further prorogued she must perforce be absent.[383] henry was nothing if not gallant, at least on the surface. francis's argument clinched the matter. the interview, ungraced by the presence of france's queen, would, said henry, be robbed of most of its charm;[384] and he gave charles to understand that, unless he reached england by the middle of may, his visit would have to be cancelled. this intimation produced an unwonted despatch in the emperor's movements; but fate was against him, and contrary winds rendered his arrival in time a matter of doubt till the last possible moment. henry must cross to calais on the 31st of may, whether charles came or not; and it was the 26th before the emperor's ships appeared off the cliffs of dover. wolsey put out in a small boat to meet him, and conducted charles to the castle where he lodged. during the night henry arrived. early next day, which was (p. 140) whitsunday, the two sovereigns proceeded to canterbury, where the queen and court had come on the way to france to spend their pentecost. five days the emperor remained with his aunt, whom he now saw for the first time; but the days were devoted to business rather than to elaborate ceremonial and show, for which there had been little time to prepare.[385] [footnote 382: _l. and p._, iii., 672; _cf._ iii., 742.] [footnote 383: _ibid._, iii., 681, 725.] [footnote 384: _ibid._, iii., 697.] on the last day of may charles took ship at sandwich for flanders. henry embarked at dover for france. the painting at hampton court depicting the scene has, like almost every other picture of henry's reign, been ascribed to holbein; but six years were to pass before the great artist visited england. the king himself is represented as being on board the four-masted _henry grace à dieu_, commonly called the _great harry_, the finest ship afloat; though the vessel originally fitted out for his passage was the _katherine pleasaunce_.[386] at eleven o'clock he landed at calais. on monday, the 4th of june, henry and all his court proceeded to guisnes. there a temporary palace of art had been erected, the splendour of which is inadequately set forth in pages upon pages of contemporary descriptions. one italian likened it to the palaces described in boiardo's _orlando innamorato_ and ariosto's _orlando furioso_; another declared that it could not have been better designed by leonardo da vinci himself.[387] everything was in harmony with this architectural pomp. wolsey was (p. 141) accompanied, it was said in paris, by two hundred gentlemen clad in crimson velvet, and had a body-guard of two hundred archers. he was himself clothed in crimson satin from head to foot, his mule was covered with crimson velvet, and her trappings were all of gold. henry, "the most goodliest prince that ever reigned over the realm of england," appeared even to frenchmen as a very handsome prince, "honnête, hault et droit,"[388] in manner gentle and gracious, rather fat, and--in spite of his queen--with a red beard, large enough and very becoming. another eye-witness adds the curious remark that, while francis was the taller of the two, henry had the handsomer and more _feminine_ face![389] on the 7th of june the two kings started simultaneously from guisnes and ardres for their personal meeting in the valley mid-way between the two towns, already known as the val doré. the obscure but familiar phrase, field of cloth of gold,[390] is a mistranslation of the french camp du drap d'or. as they came in sight a temporary suspicion of french designs seized the english, but it was overcome. henry and francis rode forward alone, embraced each other first on horseback and then again on foot, and made show of being the closest friends in christendom. on sunday the 10th henry dined with the french queen, and francis with catherine of aragon. the following week was devoted to tourneys, which the two kings opened by holding the field against all comers. the official accounts are naturally silent on the royal wrestling match, recorded in french (p. 142) memoirs and histories.[391] on the 17th francis, as a final effort to win henry's alliance, paid a surprise visit to him at breakfast with only four attendants. the jousts were concluded with a solemn mass said by wolsey in a chapel built on the field. the cardinal of bourbon presented the gospel to francis to kiss; he refused, offering it to henry who was too polite to accept the honour. the same respect for each other's dignity was observed with the _pax_, and the two queens behaved with a similarly courteous punctilio. after a friendly dispute as to who should kiss the _pax_ first, they kissed each other instead.[392] on the 24th henry and francis met to interchange gifts, to make their final professions of friendship, and to bid each other adieu. francis set out for abbeville, and henry returned to calais. [footnote 385: _ven. cal._, iii., 50; _sp. cal._, ii., 274.] [footnote 386: _l. and p._, iii., 558, an account-book headed "expense of making the _kateryn pleasaunce_ for transporting the king to calais 22 may, 10 henry viii.".] [footnote 387: _ven. cal._, iii., 81, 88; _cf. l. and p._, iii., 303-14; hall, _chronicle_, p. 604, etc.] [footnote 388: _l. and p._, iii., 306.] [footnote 389: _ven. cal._, iii., 80.] [footnote 390: erroneously called "field of _the_ cloth of gold"; cloth of gold is a material like velvet, and one does not talk about "a coat of _the_ velvet".] [footnote 391: see michelet, x., 137-38.] [footnote 392: _ibid._, p. 312.] the field of cloth of gold was the last and most gorgeous display of the departing spirit of chivalry; it was also perhaps the most portentous deception on record. "these sovereigns," wrote a venetian, "are not at peace. they adapt themselves to circumstances, but they hate each other very cordially."[393] beneath the profusion of friendly pretences lay rooted suspicions and even deliberate hostile intentions. before henry left england the rumour of ships fitting out in french ports had stopped preparations for the interview; and they were not resumed till a promise under the broad seal of france was given that no french ship should sail before henry's return.[394] on the eve of the meeting henry is said to have discovered that three or four thousand french troops were concealed in the neighbouring country;[395] (p. 143) he insisted on their removal, and francis's unguarded visit to henry was probably designed to disarm the english distrust.[396] no sooner was henry's back turned than the french began the fortification of ardres,[397] while henry on his part went to calais to negotiate a less showy but genuine friendship with charles. no such magnificence adorned their meeting as had been displayed at the field of cloth of gold, but its solid results were far more lasting. on 10th july henry rode to gravelines where the emperor was waiting. on the 11th they returned together to calais, where during a three days' visit the negotiations begun at canterbury were completed. the ostensible purport of the treaty signed on the 14th was to bind henry to proceed no further in the marriage between the princess mary and the dauphin, and charles no further in that between himself and francis's daughter, charlotte.[398] but more topics were discussed than appeared on the surface; and among them was a proposal to marry mary to the emperor himself.[399] the design proves that henry and wolsey had already made up their minds to side with charles, whenever his disputes with francis should develop into open hostilities. [footnote 393: _ven. cal._, iii., 119.] [footnote 394: _l. and p._, iii., 836, 842, 843.] [footnote 395: _ven. cal._, iii., 80.] [footnote 396: _ibid._, iii., 90.] [footnote 397: _ibid._, iii., 121.] [footnote 398: _l. and p._, iii., 914.] [footnote 399: _ibid._, iii., 1149, 1150.] that consummation could not be far off. charles had scarcely turned his back upon spain when murmurs of disaffection were heard through the length and breadth of the land; and while he was discussing with henry at calais the prospects of a war with france, his commons in spain broke out into open revolt.[400] the rising had attained (p. 144) such dimensions by february, 1521, that henry thought charles was likely to lose his spanish dominions. the temptation was too great for france to resist; and in the early spring of 1521 french forces overran navarre, and restored to his kingdom the exile d'albret. francis had many plausible excuses, and sought to prove that he was not really the aggressor. there had been confused fighting between the imperialist nassau and francis's allies, the duke of guelders and robert de la marck, which the imperialists may have begun. but francis revealed his true motive, when he told fitzwilliam that he had many grievances against charles and could not afford to neglect this opportunity for taking his revenge.[401] [footnote 400: _ibid._, iii., 883, 891, 964, 976, 988, 994.] [footnote 401: _l. and p._, iii., 1303, 1310, 1315.] * * * * * war between emperor and king soon spread from navarre to the borders of flanders and to the plains of northern italy. both sovereigns claimed the assistance of england in virtue of the treaty of london. but henry would not be prepared for war till the following year at least; and he proposed that wolsey should go to calais to mediate between the two parties and decide which had been the aggressor. charles, either because he was unprepared or was sure of wolsey's support, readily agreed; but francis was more reluctant, and only the knowledge that, if he refused, henry would at once side with charles, induced him to consent to the conference. so on 2nd august, 1521, the cardinal again crossed the channel.[402] his first interview was with the imperial envoys.[403] they announced that charles had given them no power to treat for a truce. wolsey refused to proceed without this authority; and he obtained the consent of the french chancellor, (p. 145) du prat, to his proposal to visit the emperor at bruges, and secure the requisite powers. he was absent more than a fortnight, and not long after his return fell ill. this served to pass time in september, and the extravagant demands of both parties still further prolonged the proceedings. wolsey was constrained to tell them the story of a courtier who asked his king for the grant of a forest; when his relatives denounced his presumption, he replied that he only wanted in reality eight or nine trees.[404] the french and imperial chancellors not merely demanded their respective forests, but made the reduction of each single tree a matter of lengthy dispute; and as soon as a fresh success in the varying fortune of war was reported, they returned to their early pretensions. wolsey was playing his game with consummate skill; delay was his only desire; his illness had been diplomatic; his objects were to postpone for a few months the breach and to secure the pensions from france due at the end of october.[405] [footnote 402: see his various and ample commissions, _ibid._, iii., 1443.] [footnote 403: _ibid._, iii., 1462.] [footnote 404: _l. and p._, iii., 1622.] [footnote 405: _ibid._, iii., 1507. "the cardinal apologised for not having met them so long on account of his illness, but said he could not otherwise have gained so much time without causing suspicion to the french" (gattinara to charles v., 24th september, 1521, _ibid._, iii., 1605).] the conference at calais was in fact a monument of perfidy worthy of ferdinand the catholic. the plan was wolsey's, but henry had expressed full approval. as early as july the king was full of his secret design for destroying the navy of france, though he did not propose to proceed with the enterprise till wolsey had completed the arrangements with charles.[406] the subterfuge about charles refusing his powers (p. 146) and the cardinal's journey to bruges had been arranged between henry, wolsey and charles before wolsey left england. the object of that visit, so far from being to facilitate an agreement, was to conclude an offensive and defensive alliance against one of the two parties between whom wolsey was pretending to mediate. "henry agrees," wrote charles's ambassador on 6th july, "with wolsey's plan that he should be sent to calais under colour of hearing the grievances of both parties: and when he cannot arrange them, he should withdraw to the emperor to treat of the matters aforesaid".[407] the treaty was concluded at bruges on 25th august[408] before he returned to calais; the emperor promised wolsey the papacy;[409] the details of a joint invasion were settled. charles was to marry mary; and the pope was to dispense the two from the disability of their kinship, and from engagements with others which both had contracted. the cardinal might be profuse in his protestations of friendship for france, of devotion to peace, and of his determination to do justice to the parties before him. but all his painted words could not long conceal the fact that behind the mask of the judge were hidden the features of a conspirator. it was an unpleasant time for fitzwilliam, the english ambassador at the french court. the king's sister, marguerite de valois, taxed fitzwilliam with wolsey's proceedings, hinting that deceit was being practised on francis. the ambassador grew hot, vowed henry was (p. 147) not a dissembler, and that he would prove it on any gentleman who dared to maintain that he was.[410] but he knew nothing of wolsey's intrigues; nor was the cardinal, to whom fitzwilliam denounced the insinuation, likely to blush, though he knew that the charge was true. [footnote 406: _ibid._, iii., 1440.] [footnote 407: _l. and p._, iii., 1395, 1433; _cf._ iii., 1574, where henry viii.'s envoy tells leo x. that the real object of the conference was to gain time for english preparations.] [footnote 408: _ibid._, iii., 1508; _cotton ms_., galba, b, vii., 102; see also an account of the conference in _l. and p._, iii., 1816, 1817.] [footnote 409: _ibid._, iii., 1868, 1876.] [footnote 410: _l. and p._, iii., 1581.] wolsey returned from calais at the end of november, having failed to establish the truce to which the negotiations had latterly been in appearance directed. but the french half-yearly pensions were paid, and england had the winter in which to prepare for war. no attempt had been made to examine impartially the mutual charges of aggression urged by the litigants, though a determination of that point could alone justify england's intervention. the dispute was complicated enough. if, as charles contended, the treaty of london guaranteed the _status quo_, francis, by invading navarre, was undoubtedly the offender. but the french king pleaded the treaty of noyon, by which charles had bound himself to do justice to the exiled king of navarre, to marry the french king's daughter, and to pay tribute for naples. that treaty was not abrogated by the one concluded in london, yet charles had fulfilled none of his promises. moreover, the emperor himself had, long before the invasion of navarre, been planning a war with france, and negotiating with leo to expel the french from milan, and to destroy the predominant french faction in genoa.[411] his (p. 148) ministers were making little secret of charles's warlike intentions, when the spanish revolt placed irresistible temptation in francis's way, and provoked that attack on navarre, which enabled charles to plead, with some colour, that he was not the aggressor. this was the ground alleged by henry for siding with charles, but it was not his real reason for going to war. nearly a year before navarre was invaded, he had discussed the rupture of mary's engagement with the dauphin and the transference of her hand to the emperor. [footnote 411: in july, 1521, gattinara drew out seven reasons for peace and ten for war; the former he playfully termed the seven deadly sins, and the latter the ten commandments (_l. and p._, iii., 1446; _sp. cal._, ii., 337).] the real motives of england's policy do not appear on the surface. "the aim of the king of england," said clement vii. in 1524,[412] "is as incomprehensible as the causes by which he is moved are futile. he may, perhaps, wish to revenge himself for the slights he has received from the king of france and from the scots, or to punish the king of france for his disparaging language; or, seduced by the flattery of the emperor, he may have nothing else in view than to help the emperor; or he may, perhaps, really wish to preserve peace in italy, and therefore declares himself an enemy of any one who disturbs it. it is even not impossible that the king of england expects to be rewarded by the emperor after the victory, and hopes, perhaps, to get normandy." clement three years before, when cardinal de medici, had admitted that he knew little of english politics;[413] and his ignorance may explain his inability to give a more satisfactory reason for henry's conduct than these tentative and far-fetched suggestions. but after the publication of henry's state papers, it is not easy to arrive at any more definite conclusion. the only motive wolsey alleges, besides (p. 149) the _ex post facto_ excuses of francis's conduct, is the recovery of henry's rights to the crown of france; and if this were the real object, it reduces both king and cardinal to the level of political charlatans. to conquer france was a madcap scheme, when henry himself was admitting the impossibility of raising 30,000 foot or 10,000 horse, without hired contingents from charles's domains;[414] when, according to giustinian, it would have been hard to levy 100 men-at-arms or 1000 light cavalry in the whole island;[415] when the only respectable military force was the archers, already an obsolete arm. invading hosts could never be victualled for more than three months, or stand a winter campaign; english troops were ploughmen by profession and soldiers only by chance; henry vii.'s treasure was exhausted, and efforts to raise money for fitful and futile inroads nearly produced a revolt. henry viii. himself was writing that to provide for these inroads would prevent him keeping an army in ireland; and wolsey was declaring that for the same reason english interests in scotland must take care of themselves, that border warfare must be confined to the strictest defensive, and that a "cheap" deputy must be found for ireland, who would rule it, like kildare, without english aid.[416] it is usual to lay the folly of the pretence to the crown of france at henry's door. but it is a curious fact that when wolsey was gone, and henry was his own prime minister, this spirited foreign policy took a very subordinate place, and henry turned his attention to the cultivation of his own garden instead of seeking to annex his neighbour's. it is possible that he was (p. 150) better employed in wasting his people's blood and treasure in the futile devastation of france, than in placing his heel on the church and sending fisher and more to the scaffold; but his attempts to reduce ireland to order, and to unite england and scotland, violent though his methods may have been, were at least more sane than the quest for the crown of france, or even for the possession of normandy.[417] [footnote 412: _sp. cal._, ii., 626.] [footnote 413: _l. and p._, iii., 853.] [footnote 414: _l. and p._, iii., 2333, iv.] [footnote 415: _desp._, app. ii., 309.] [footnote 416: _l. and p._, iii., 1252, 1646, 1675.] [footnote 417: the policy of abstention was often urged at the council-table and opposed by wolsey, who, according to more, used to repeat the fable of the men who hid in caves to keep out of the rain which was to make all whom it wetted fools, hoping thereby to have the rule over the fools (_l. and p._, vii., 1114; more, _english works_, p. 1434). it had cost england, says more, many a fair penny.] yet if these were not wolsey's aims, what were his motives? the essential thing for england was the maintenance of a fairly even balance between francis and charles; and if wolsey thought that would best be secured by throwing the whole of england's weight into the emperor's scale, he must have strangely misread the political situation. he could not foresee, it may be said, the french debacle. if so, it was from no lack of omens. even supposing he was ignorant, or unable to estimate the effects, of the moral corruption of francis, the peculations of his mother louise of savoy, the hatred of the war, universal among the french lower classes, there were definite warnings from more careful observers.[418] as early as 1517 there were bitter complaints in france of the _gabelle_ and other taxes, and a cordelier denounced the french king as worse than nero.[419] in 1519 an (p. 151) anonymous frenchman wrote that francis had destroyed his own people, emptied his kingdom of money, and that the emperor or some other would soon have a cheap bargain of the kingdom, for he was more unsteady on his throne than people thought.[420] even the treason of bourbon, which contributed so much to the french king's fall, was rumoured three years before it occurred, and in 1520 he was known to be "playing the malcontent".[421] at the field of cloth of gold henry is said to have told francis that, had he a subject like bourbon, he would not long leave his head on his shoulders.[422] all these details were reported to the english government and placed among english archives; and, indeed, at the english court the general anticipation, justified by the event, was that charles would carry the day. [footnote 418: "to hear how rich and poor lament the war would grieve any man's heart" (fitzwilliam to wolsey, 18th jan., 1521-22, _l. and p._, iii., 1971).] [footnote 419: _l. and p._, ii., 3702-3.] [footnote 420: _ibid._, iii., 378.] [footnote 421: _ibid._, iii., 404; _cf._ iii., 2446 _ad fin._] [footnote 422: michelet, x., 131.] no possible advantage could accrue to england from such a destruction of the balance of power; her position as mediator was only tenable so long as neither francis nor charles had the complete mastery. war on the emperor was, no doubt, out of the question, but that was no reason for war on france. prudence counselled england to make herself strong, to develop her resources, and to hold her strength in reserve, while the two rivals weakened each other by war. she would then be in a far better position to make her voice heard in the settlement, and would probably have been able to extract from it all the benefits she could with reason or justice demand. so obvious was the advantage of this policy that for some time acute french statesmen refused to credit wolsey with any other. they said, reported an english envoy to (p. 152) the cardinal, "that your grace would make your profit with them and the emperor both, and proceed between them so that they might continue in war, and that the one destroy the other, and the king's highness may remain and be their arbiter and superior".[423] if it is urged that henry was bent on the war, and that wolsey must satisfy the king or forfeit his power, even the latter would have been the better alternative. his fall would have been less complete and more honourable than it actually was. wolsey's failure to follow this course suggests that, by involving henry in dazzling schemes of a foreign conquest, he was seeking to divert his attention from urgent matters at home; that he had seen a vision of impending ruin; and that his actions were the frantic efforts of a man to turn a steed, over which he has imperfect control, from the gulf he sees yawning ahead. the only other explanation is that wolsey sacrificed england's interests in the hope of securing from charles the gift of the papal tiara.[424] [footnote 423: _l. and p._, iii, 2026.] [footnote 424: for another view see busch, _cardinal wolsey und die englisch-kaiserliche allianz_, 1522-25. bonn, 1886.] * * * * * however that may be, it was not for clement vii. to deride england's conduct. the keen-sighted pace had remarked in 1521 that, in the event of charles's victory, the pope would have to look to his affairs in time.[425] the emperor's triumph was, indeed, as fatal to the papacy as it was to wolsey. yet clement vii., on whom the full force of the blow was to fall, had, as cardinal de medici, been one of the chief promoters of the war. in august, 1521, the venetian, contarini, (p. 153) reports charles as saying that leo rejected both the peace and the truce speciously urged by wolsey, and adds, on his own account, that he believes it the truth.[426] in 1522 francis asserted that cardinal de medici "was the cause of all this war";[427] and in 1527 clement vii. sought to curry favour with charles by declaring that as cardinal de medici he had in 1521 caused leo x. to side against france.[428] in 1525 charles declared that he had been mainly induced to enter on the war by the persuasions of leo,[429] over whom his cousin, the cardinal, then wielded supreme influence. so complete was his sway over leo, that, on leo's death, a cardinal in the conclave remarked that they wanted a new pope, not one who had already been pope for years; and the gibe turned the scale against the future clement vii. medici both, leo and the cardinal regarded the papacy mainly as a means for family aggrandisement. in 1518 leo had fulminated against francis maria della rovere, duke of urbino, as "the son of iniquity and child of perdition,"[430] because he desired to bestow the duchy on his nephew lorenzo. in the family interest he was withholding modena and reggio from alfonso d'este, and casting envious eyes on ferrara. in march, 1521, the french marched to seize some milanese exiles, who were harboured at reggio.[431] leo took the opportunity to form an alliance with charles for the expulsion of francis from italy. it was signed at worms on the 8th of may, the day on which luther was outlawed;[432] and a war broke out in italy, the effects of which (p. 154) were little foreseen by its principal authors. a veritable nemesis attended this policy conceived in perfidy and greed. the battle of pavia made charles more nearly dictator of europe than any ruler has since been, except napoleon bonaparte. it led to the sack of rome and the imprisonment of clement vii. by charles's troops. the dependence of the pope on the emperor made it impossible for clement to grant henry's petition for divorce, and his failure to obtain the divorce precipitated wolsey's fall. [footnote 425: _l. and p._, iii., 1370.] [footnote 426: _ven. cal._, iii., 312.] [footnote 427: _l. and p._, iii., 1947.] [footnote 428: _sp. cal._, iii., pp. 510-11.] [footnote 429: _ibid._, ii., p. 717.] [footnote 430: _l. and p._, ii., 3617.] [footnote 431: _ibid._, iii., 1209, 1400.] [footnote 432: creighton, _papacy_, ed. 1901, vi., 184 n. the edict was not issued till 25th may, but there was an intimate connection between the two events. it was in the same month that luther's books were solemnly burnt in england, the ally of pope and emperor, and the extirpation of heresy was the first motive alleged for the alliance.] leo, meanwhile, had gone to his account on the night of 1st-2nd december, 1521, singing "nunc dimittis" for the expulsion of the french from milan;[433] and amid the clangour of war the cardinals met to choose his successor. their spirit belied their holy profession. "all here," wrote manuel, charles's representative, "is founded on avarice and lies;"[434] and again "there cannot be so much hatred and so many devils in hell as among these cardinals". "the papacy is in great decay" echoed the english envoy clerk, "the cardinals brawl and scold; their malicious, unfaithful and uncharitable demeanour against each other increases every day."[435] feeling between the french and imperial factions ran high, and the only question was whether an adherent of francis or charles would secure election. francis had promised wolsey fourteen french votes; but after the conference of calais he would have been forgiving indeed had he wielded his influence on behalf of the english candidate. wolsey built more upon the (p. 155) promise of charles at bruges;[436] but, if he really hoped for charles's assistance, his sagacity was greatly to seek. the emperor at no time made any effort on wolsey's behalf; he did him the justice to think that, were wolsey elected, he would be devoted more to english than to imperial interests; and he preferred a pope who would be undividedly imperialist at heart. pace was sent to join clerk at rome in urging wolsey's suit, and they did their best; but english influence at the court of rome was infinitesimal. in spite of campeggio's flattering assurance that wolsey's name appeared in every scrutiny, and that sometimes he had eight or nine votes, and clerk's statement that he had nine at one time, twelve at another, and nineteen at a third,[437] wolsey's name only appears in one of the eleven scrutinies, and then he received but seven out of eighty-one votes.[438] the election was long and keenly contested. the conclave commenced on the 28th of december, and it was not till the 9th of january, 1522, that the cardinals, conscious of each other's defects, agreed to elect an absentee, about whom they knew little. their choice fell on adrian, cardinal of tortosa; and it is significant of the extent of charles's influence, that the new pope had been his tutor, and was proposed as a candidate by the imperial ambassador on the day that the conclave opened.[439] [footnote 433: _sp. cal._, ii., 365; _l. and p._, ii., 1795.] [footnote 434: _sp. cal._, ii., 370.] [footnote 435: _l. and p._, iii., 1960.] [footnote 436: _l. and p._, iii., 1884.] [footnote 437: _ibid._, iii., 1952, 1960.] [footnote 438: _sp. cal._, ii., 375. it is not quite clear how these votes were recorded, for there were not eighty-one cardinals.] [footnote 439: _ibid._, ii., 371.] neither the expulsion of the french from milan, nor the election of charles's tutor as pope, opened wolsey's eyes to the danger of (p. 156) further increasing the emperor's power.[440] he seems rather to have thrown himself into the not very chivalrous design of completing the ruin of the weaker side, and picking up what he could from the spoils. during the winter of 1521-22 he was busily preparing for war, while endeavouring to delay the actual breach till his plans were complete. francis, convinced of england's hostile intentions, let albany loose upon scotland and refused to pay the pensions to henry and wolsey. they made these grievances the excuse for a war on which they had long been determined. in march henry announced that he had taken upon himself the protection of the netherlands during charles's impending visit to spain. francis asserted that this was a plain declaration of war, and seized the english wine-ships at bordeaux. but he was determined not to take the formal offensive, and, in may, clarencieux herald proceeded to france to bid him defiance.[441] in the following month charles passed through england on his way to the south, and fresh treaties were signed for the invasion of france, for the marriage of mary and for the extirpation of heresy. at windsor[442] wolsey constituted his legatine court to bind the contracting parties by oaths enforced by ecclesiastical censures. he arrogated to himself a function usually reserved for the pope, and undertook to arbitrate between charles and henry if disputes arose about the observance (p. 157) of their engagements. but he obviously found difficulty in raising either money or men; and one of the suggestions at windsor was that a "dissembled peace" or a two years' truce should be made with france, to give england time for more preparations for war. [footnote 440: francis "begged henry to consider what would happen now that a pope had been elected entirely at charles's devotion" (_l. and p._, iii., 1994); but adrian's attitude was at first independent (_sp. cal._, ii., 494, 504, 533). in july, 1522, however, he joined the league against francis (_ibid._, ii., 574).] [footnote 441: _l. and p._, iii., 2140, 2224, 2290.] [footnote 442: _ibid._, iii., 2322, 2333; _sp. cal._, ii., 430, 435, 561.] nothing came of this last nefarious suggestion. in july surrey captured and burnt morlaix;[443] but, as he wrote from on board the _mary rose_, fitzwilliam's ships were without flesh or fish, and surrey himself had only beer for twelve days. want of victuals prevented further naval successes, and, in september, surrey was sent into artois, where the same lack of organisation was equally fatal. it did not, however, prevent him from burning farms and towns wherever he went; and his conduct evoked from the french commander a just rebuke of his "foul warfare".[444] henry himself was responsible; for wolsey wrote on his behalf urging the destruction of dourlens and the adjacent towns.[445] if henry really sought to make these territories his own, it was an odd method of winning the affections and developing the wealth of the subjects he hoped to acquire. nothing was really accomplished except devastation in france. even this useless warfare exhausted english energies, and left the borders defenceless against one of the largest armies ever collected in scotland. wolsey and henry were only saved, from what might have been a most serious invasion, by dacre's dexterity and albany's cowardice. dacre, the warden of the marches, signed a truce without waiting for instructions, and before it expired the scots army disbanded. henry and wolsey might reprimand dacre for acting on his own responsibility, but they knew well (p. 158) enough that dacre had done them magnificent service.[446] [footnote 443: _l. and p._, iii., 2362.] [footnote 444: _ibid._, iii., 2541.] [footnote 445: _ibid._, iii., 2551.] [footnote 446: _l. and p._, iii., 2537.] the results of the war from the english point of view had as yet been contemptible, but great things were hoped for the following year. bourbon, constable of france, and the most powerful peer in the kingdom, intent on the betrayal of francis, was negotiating with henry and charles the price of his treason.[447] the commons in france, worn to misery by the taxes of francis and the ravages of his enemies, were eager for anything that might promise some alleviation of their lot. they would even, it appears, welcome a change of dynasty; everywhere, henry was told, they cried "vive le roi d'angleterre!"[448] never, said wolsey, would there be a better opportunity for recovering the king's right to the french crown; and henry exclaimed that he trusted to treat francis as his father did richard iii. "i pray god," wrote sir thomas more to wolsey, "if it be good for his grace and for this realm, that then it may prove so, and else in the stead thereof, i pray god send his grace an honourable and profitable peace."[449] he could scarcely go further in hinting his preference for peace to the fantastic design which now occupied the minds of his masters. probably his opinion of the war was not far from that of old bishop fox, who declared: "i have determined, and, betwixt god and me, utterly renounced the meddling with worldly matters, specially concerning war or anything to it appertaining (whereof, for the many intolerable enormities that i have seen ensue by the said war in time past, i (p. 159) have no little remorse in my conscience), thinking that if i did continual penance for it all the days of my life, though i should live twenty years longer than i may do, i could not yet make sufficient recompense therefor. and now, my good lord, to be called to fortifications of towns and places of war, or to any matter concerning the war, being of the age of seventy years and above, and looking daily to die, the which if i did, being in any such meddling of the war, i think i should die in despair."[450] protests like this and hints like more's were little likely to move the militant cardinal, who hoped to see the final ruin of france in 1523. bourbon was to raise the standard of revolt, charles was to invade from spain and suffolk from calais. in italy french influence seemed irretrievably ruined. the genoese revolution, planned before the war, was effected; and the persuasions of pace and the threats of charles at last detached venice and ferrara from the alliance of france.[451] [footnote 447: _sp. cal._, ii., 584; _l. and p._, iii., 2450, 2567, 2770, 2772, 2879, 3154. bourbon had substantial grievances against francis i. and his mother.] [footnote 448: _ibid._, iii., 2770.] [footnote 449: _ibid._, iii., 2555.] [footnote 450: ellis, _orig. letters_, 2nd series, ii., 4; _l. and p._, iii., 2207.] [footnote 451: _l. and p._, iii., 3207, 3271, 3291; _sp. cal._, ii., 576, 594.] the usual delays postponed suffolk's invasion till late in the year. they were increased by the emptiness of henry's treasury. his father's hoard had melted away, and it was absolutely necessary to obtain lavish supplies from parliament. but parliament proved ominously intractable. thomas cromwell, now rising to notice, in a temperate speech urged the folly of indulging in impracticable schemes of foreign conquest, while scotland remained a thorn in england's side.[452] it was three months from the meeting of parliament before the subsidies were granted, and nearly the end of august before (p. 160) suffolk crossed to calais with an army, "the largest which has passed out of this realm for a hundred years".[453] henry and suffolk wanted it to besiege boulogne, which might have been some tangible result in english hands.[454] but the king was persuaded by wolsey and his imperial allies to forgo this scheme, and to order suffolk to march into the heart of france. suffolk was not a great general, but he conducted the invasion with no little skill, and desired to conduct it with unwonted humanity. he wished to win the french by abstaining from pillage and proclaiming liberty, but henry thought only the hope of plunder would keep the army together.[455] waiting for the imperial contingent under de buren, suffolk did not leave calais till 19th september. he advanced by bray, roye and montdidier, capturing all the towns that offered resistance. early in november, he reached the oise at a point less than forty miles from the french capital.[456] but bourbon's treason had been discovered; instead of joining suffolk with a large force, he was a fugitive from his country. charles contented himself with taking fuentarabia,[457] and made no effort at invasion. the imperial contingent with suffolk's army went home; winter set in with unexampled severity, and vendôme advanced.[458] the english were compelled to retire; their retreat was effected without loss, and by the middle of december the army was back at calais. suffolk is represented as being in disgrace for this retreat, and wolsey as saving him from the effects of his failure.[459] but even wolsey (p. 161) can hardly have thought that an army of twenty-five thousand men could maintain itself in the heart of france, throughout the winter, without support and with unguarded communications. the duke's had been the most successful invasion of france since the days of henry v. from a military point of view. that its results were negative is due to the policy by which it was directed. [footnote 452: merriman, _cromwell's letters_, i., 30-44; _l. and p._, iii., 2958, 3024; hall, _chronicle_, pp. 656, 657.] [footnote 453: _l. and p._, iii., 3281.] [footnote 454: _ibid._, iii., 2360, 3319.] [footnote 455: _ibid._, iii., 3346.] [footnote 456: _ibid._, iii., 3452, 3485, 3505, 3516.] [footnote 457: _ibid._, iii., 2798, 2869.] [footnote 458: _ibid._, iii., 3559, 3580, 3601.] [footnote 459: brewer's introd. to _l. and p._, vol. iv., p. ii., etc.] meanwhile there was another papal election. adrian, one of the most honest and unpopular of popes, died on 14th september, 1523, and by order of the cardinals there was inscribed on his tomb: _hic jacet adrianus sextus cui nihil in vita infelicius contigit quam quod imperaret._ with equal malice and keener wit the romans erected to his physician, macerata, a statue with the title _liberatori patriæ_.[460] wolsey was again a candidate. he told henry he would rather continue in his service than be ten popes.[461] that did not prevent him instructing pace and clerk to further his claims. they were to represent to the cardinals wolsey's "great experience in the causes of christendom, his favour with the emperor, the king, and other princes, his anxiety for christendom, his liberality, the great promotions to be vacated by his election, his frank, pleasant and courteous inclinations, his freedom from all ties of family or party, and the hopes of a great expedition against the infidel".[462] charles was, as usual, profuse in his promise of aid. he actually wrote a letter in wolsey's favour; but he took the precaution to detain the bearer (p. 162) in spain till the election was over.[463] he had already instructed his minister at rome to procure the election of cardinal de medici. that ambassador mocked at wolsey's hopes; "as if god," he wrote, "would perform a miracle every day".[464] the holy spirit, by which the cardinals always professed to be moved, was not likely to inspire the election of another absentee after their experience of adrian. wolsey had not the remotest chance, and his name does not occur in a single scrutiny. after the longest conclave on record, the imperial influence prevailed; on 18th november de medici was proclaimed pope, and he chose as his title clement vii.[465] [footnote 460: _ibid._, iii., 3464.] [footnote 461: _ibid._, iii., 3372.] [footnote 462: _ibid._, 3389.] [footnote 463: _sp. cal._, ii., 615.] [footnote 464: _ibid._, ii., 604, 606.] [footnote 465: _l. and p._, iii., 3547, 3592; _sp. cal._, ii., 610. he thought of retaining his name julius, but was told that popes who followed that practice always had short pontificates.] suffolk's invasion was the last of england's active participation in the war. exhausted by her efforts, discontented with the emperor's failure to render assistance in the joint enterprise, or perceiving at last that she had little to gain, and much to lose, from the overgrown power of charles, england, in 1524, abstained from action, and even began to make overtures to francis. wolsey repaid charles's inactivity of the previous year by standing idly by, while the imperial forces with bourbon's contingent invaded provence and laid siege to marseilles. but francis still held command of the sea; the spirit of his people rose with the danger; marseilles made a stubborn and successful defence; and, by october, the invading army was in headlong retreat towards italy.[466] had francis been content with defending his kingdom, all might have been well; but ambition lured him on (p. 163) to destruction. he thought he had passed the worst of the trouble, and that the prize of milan might yet be his. so, before the imperialists were well out of france, he crossed the alps and sat down to besiege pavia. it was brilliantly defended by antonio de leyva. in november francis's ruin was thought to be certain; astrologers predicted his death or imprisonment.[467] slowly and surely pescara, the most consummate general of his age, was pressing north with imperial troops to succour pavia. francis would not raise the siege. on 24th february, 1525, he was attacked in front by pescara and in the rear by de leyva. "the victory is complete," wrote the abbot of najera to charles from the field of battle, "the king of france is made prisoner.... the whole french army is annihilated.... to-day is feast of the apostle st. mathias, on which, five and twenty years ago, your majesty is said to have been born. five and twenty thousand times thanks and praise to god for his mercy! your majesty is, from this day, in a position to prescribe laws to christians and turks, according to your pleasure."[468] [footnote 466: _sp. cal._, ii., 686; _l. and p._, iv., 751, 753, 773, 774, 776.] [footnote 467: _sp. cal._, ii., 692-94, 711.] [footnote 468: _ibid._, ii., 722; _cf._ hall's _chron._, p. 693, which professes to give the "very words" of francis i.'s much misquoted letter to his mother (_l. and p._, iv., 1120-24).] such was the result of wolsey's policy since 1521, francis a prisoner, charles a dictator, and henry vainly hoping that he might be allowed some share in the victor's spoils. but what claim had he? by the most extraordinary misfortune or fatuity, england had not merely helped charles to a threatening supremacy, but had retired from the (p. 164) struggle just in time to deprive herself of all claim to benefit by her mistaken policy. she had looked on while bourbon invaded france, fearing to aid lest charles would reap all the fruits of success. she had sent no force across the channel to threaten francis's rear. not a single french soldier had been diverted from attacking charles in italy through england's interference. one hundred thousand crowns had been promised the imperial troops, but the money was not paid; and secret negotiations had been going on with france. in spite of all, charles had won, and he was naturally not disposed to divide the spoils. england's policy since 1521 had been disastrous to herself, to wolsey, to the papacy, and even to christendom. for the falling out of christian princes seemed to the turk to afford an excellent opportunity for the faithful to come by his own. after an heroic defence by the knights of st. john, rhodes, the bulwark of christendom, had surrendered to selim. belgrade, the strongest citadel in eastern europe, followed. in august, 1526, the king and the flower of hungarian nobility perished at the battle of mohacz; and the internecine strife of christians seemed doomed to be sated only by their common subjugation to the turk. * * * * * henry and wolsey began to pay the price of their policy at home as well as abroad. war was no less costly for being ineffective, and it necessitated demands on the purses of englishmen, to which they had long been unused. in the autumn of 1522 wolsey was compelled to have recourse to a loan from both spiritualty and temporalty.[469] it seems to have met with a response which, compared with later receptions, (p. 165) may be described as almost cheerful. but the loan did not go far, and before another six months had elapsed it was found necessary to summon parliament to make further provision.[470] the speaker was sir thomas more, who did all he could to secure a favourable reception of wolsey's demands. an unwonted spirit of independence animated the members; the debates were long and stormy; and the cardinal felt called upon to go down to the house of commons, and hector it in such fashion that even more was compelled to plead its privileges. eventually, some money was reluctantly granted; but it too was soon swallowed up, and in 1525 wolsey devised fresh expedients. he was afraid to summon parliament again, so he proposed what he called an amicable grant. it was necessary, he said, for henry to invade france in person; if he went, he must go as a prince; and he could not go as a prince without lavish supplies. so he required what was practically a graduated income-tax. the londoners resisted till they were told that resistance might cost them their heads. in suffolk and elsewhere open insurrection broke out. it was then proposed to withdraw the fixed ratio, and allow each individual to pay what he chose as a benevolence. a common councillor of london promptly retorted that benevolences were illegal by statute of richard iii. wolsey cared little for the constitution, and was astonished that any one should quote the laws of a wicked usurper; but the common councillor was a sound constitutionalist, if wolsey was not. "an it please your grace," he replied, "although king richard did evil, yet in his time were (p. 166) many good acts made, not by him only, but by the consent of the body of the whole realm, which is parliament."[471] there was no answer; the demand was withdrawn. never had henry suffered such a rebuff, and he never suffered the like again. nor was this all; the whole of london, wolsey is reported to have said, were traitors to henry.[472] informations of "treasonable words"--that ominous phrase--became frequent.[473] here, indeed, was a contrast to the exuberant loyalty of the early years of henry's reign. the change may not have been entirely due to wolsey, but he had been minister, with a power which few have equalled, during the whole period in which it was effected, and henry may well have begun to think that it was time for his removal. [footnote 469: _l. and p._, iii., 2483.] [footnote 470: _l. and p._, iii., 2956, 2958, 3249.] [footnote 471: hall, _chronicle_, ed. 1809, p. 698.] [footnote 472: _l. and p._, iii., 3076.] [footnote 473: _ibid._, iii., 3082.] whether wolsey was now anxious to repair his blunder by siding with francis against charles, or to snatch some profit from the emperor's victory by completing the ruin of france, the refusal of englishmen to find more money for the war left him no option but peace. in april, 1525, tunstall and sir richard wingfield were sent to spain with proposals for the exclusion of francis and his children from the french throne and the dismemberment of his kingdom.[474] it is doubtful if wolsey himself desired the fulfilment of so preposterous and iniquitous a scheme. it is certain that charles was in no mood to abet it. he had no wish to extract profit for england out of the abasement of francis, to see henry king of france, or lord of any french provinces. he had no intention of even performing his part (p. 167) of the treaty of windsor. he had pledged himself to marry the princess mary, and the splendour of that match may have contributed to henry's desire for an alliance with charles. but another matrimonial project offered the emperor more substantial advantages. ever since 1517 his spanish subjects had been pressing him to marry the daughter of emmanuel, king of portugal. the portuguese royal family had claims to the throne of castile which would be quieted by charles's marriage with a portuguese princess. her dowry of a million crowns was, also, an argument not to be lightly disregarded in charles's financial embarrassments; and in march, 1526, the emperor's wedding with isabella of portugal was solemnised. [footnote 474: _ibid._, iv., 1212, 1249, 1255, 1264, 1296; _stowe ms._, 147, ff. 67, 86 (brit. mus.).] wolsey, on his part, was secretly negotiating with louise of savoy during her son's imprisonment in spain. in august, 1525, a treaty of amity was signed, by which england gave up all its claims to french territory in return for the promise of large sums of money to henry and his minister.[475] the impracticability of enforcing henry's pretensions to the french crown or to french provinces, which had been urged as excuses for squandering english blood and treasure, was admitted, even when the french king was in prison and his kingdom defenceless. but what good could the treaty do henry or francis? charles had complete control over his captive, and could dictate his own terms. neither the english nor the french king was in a position to continue the war; and the english alliance with france could abate no iota of the concessions which charles extorted from francis (p. 168) in january, 1526, by the treaty of madrid.[476] francis surrendered burgundy; gave up his claims to milan, genoa and naples; abandoned his allies, the king of navarre, the duke of guelders and robert de la marck; engaged to marry charles's sister eleanor, the widowed queen of portugal; and handed over his two sons to the emperor as hostages for the fulfilment of the treaty. but he had no intention of keeping his promises. no sooner was he free than he protested that the treaty had been extracted by force, and that his oath to keep it was not binding. the estates of france readily refused their assent, and the pope was, as usual, willing, for political reasons, to absolve francis from his oath. for the time being, consideration for the safety of his sons and the hope of obtaining their release prevented him from openly breaking with charles, or listening to the proposals for a marriage with the princess mary, held out as a bait by wolsey.[477] the cardinal's object was merely to injure the emperor as much as he could without involving england in war; and by negotiations for mary's marriage, first with francis, and then with his second son, the duke of orléans, he was endeavouring to draw england and france into a closer alliance. for similar reasons he was extending his patronage to the holy league, formed by clement vii. between the princes of italy to liberate that distressful country from the grip of the spanish forces. [footnote 475: _l. and p._, iv., 1525, 1531, 1600, 1633.] [footnote 476: _l. and p._, iv., 1891.] [footnote 477: _ibid._, iv., 2039, 2148, 2320, 2325.] the policy of clement, of venice, and of other italian states had been characterised by as much blindness as that of england. almost without exception they had united, in 1523, to expel the french from italy. the result was to destroy the balance of power south of the alps, (p. 169) and to deliver themselves over to a bondage more galling than that from which they sought to escape. clement himself had been elected pope by imperial influence, and the duke of sessa, charles's representative in rome, described him as entirely the emperor's creature.[478] he was, wrote sessa, "very reserved, irresolute, and decides few things himself. he loves money and prefers persons who know where to find it to any other kind of men. he likes to give himself the appearance of being independent, but the result shows that he is generally governed by others."[479] clement, however, after his election, tried to assume an attitude more becoming the head of christendom than slavish dependence on charles. his love for the emperor, he told charles, had not diminished, but his hatred for others had disappeared;[480] and throughout 1524 he was seeking to promote concord between christian princes. his methods were unfortunate; the failure of the imperial invasion of provence and francis's passage of the alps, convinced the pope that charles's star was waning, and that of france was in the ascendant. "the pope," wrote sessa to charles v., "is at the disposal of the conqueror."[481] so, on 19th january, 1525, a holy league between clement and francis was publicly proclaimed at rome, and joined by most of the italian states.[482] it was almost the eve of pavia. [footnote 478: _sp. cal._, ii., 610.] [footnote 479: _ibid._, ii., 619.] [footnote 480: _ibid._, ii., 707.] [footnote 481: _ibid._, ii., 699, 30th nov., 1524.] [footnote 482: _ibid._, ii., 702-11.] charles received the news of that victory with astonishing humility. but he was not likely to forget that at the critical moment he had been deserted by most of his italian allies; and it was with fear and trembling that the venetian ambassador besought him to use his (p. 170) victory with moderation.[483] their conduct could hardly lead them to expect much from the emperor's clemency. distrust of his intentions induced the holy league to carry on desultory war with the imperial troops; but mutual jealousies, the absence of effective aid from england or france, and vacillation caused by the feeling that after all it might be safer to accept the best terms they could obtain, prevented the war from being waged with any effect. in september, 1526, hugo de moncada, the imperial commander, concerted with clement's bitter foes, the colonnas, a means of overawing the pope. a truce was concluded, wrote moncada, "that the pope, having laid down his arms, may be taken unawares".[484] on the 19th he marched on rome. clement, taken unawares, fled to the castle of st. angelo; his palace was sacked, st. peter's rifled, and the host profaned. "never," says casale, "was so much cruelty and sacrilege."[485] [footnote 483: _ven. cal._, iii, 413.] [footnote 484: _sp. cal._, ii., 898.] [footnote 485: _l. and p._, iv., 2510.] it was soon thrown into the shade by an outrage at which the whole world stood aghast. charles's object was merely to render the pope his obedient slave; neither god nor man, said moncada, could resist with impunity the emperor's victorious arms.[486] but he had little control over his own irresistible forces. with no enemy to check them, with no pay to content them, the imperial troops were ravaging, pillaging, sacking cities and churches throughout northern italy without let or hindrance. at length a sudden frenzy seized them to march upon (p. 171) rome. moncada had shown them the way, and on 6th may, 1527, the holy city was taken by storm. bourbon was killed at the first assault; and the richest city in christendom was given over to a motley, leaderless horde of german, spanish and italian soldiery. the pope again fled to the castle of st. angelo; and for weeks rome endured an orgy of sacrilege, blasphemy, robbery, murder and lust, the horrors of which no brush could depict nor tongue recite. "all the churches and the monasteries," says a cardinal who was present, "both of friars and nuns, were sacked. many friars were beheaded, even priests at the altar; many old nuns beaten with sticks; many young ones violated, robbed and made prisoners; all the vestments, chalices, silver, were taken from the churches.... cardinals, bishops, friars, priests, old nuns, infants, pages and servants--the very poorest--were tormented with unheard-of cruelties--the son in the presence of his father, the babe in the sight of its mother. all the registers and documents of the camera apostolica were sacked, torn in pieces, and partly burnt."[487] "having entered," writes an imperialist to charles, "our men sacked the whole borgo and killed almost every one they found... all the monasteries were rifled, and the ladies who had taken refuge in them carried off. every person was compelled by torture to pay a ransom.... the ornaments of all the churches were pillaged and the relics and other things thrown into the sinks and cesspools. even the holy places were sacked. the church of st. peter and the papal palace, from the basement to the top, were turned into stables for horses.... every one considers that it has taken place by the just judgment (p. 172) of god, because the court of rome was so ill-ruled.... we are expecting to hear from your majesty how the city is to be governed and whether the holy see is to be retained or not. some are of opinion it should not continue in rome, _lest the french king should make a patriarch in his kingdom, and deny obedience to the said see, and the king of england find all other christian princes do the same_."[488] [footnote 486: buonaparte's _narrative_, ed. buchon, p. 190, ed. milanesi, p. 279; _cf._ gregorovius, _gesch. der stadt rom._, viii., 568 _n._, and alberini's _diary_, ed. drano 1901 (extracts are printed in creighton, _papacy_, ed. 1901, vi., 419-37).] [footnote 487: cardinal como in _il sacco di roma_, ed. c. milanesi, 1867, p. 471.] [footnote 488: _il sacco di roma_, ed. milanesi, pp. 499, 517.] so low was brought the proud city of the seven hills, the holy place, watered with the blood of the martyrs and hallowed by the steps of the saints, the goal of the earthly pilgrim, the seat of the throne of the vicar of god. no jew saw the abomination of desolation standing where it ought not with keener anguish than the devout sons of the church heard of the desecration of rome. if a roman catholic and an imperialist could term it the just judgment of god, heretics and schismatics, preparing to burst the bonds of rome and "deny obedience to the said see," saw in it the fulfilment of the woes pronounced by st. john the divine on the rome of nero, and by daniel the prophet on belshazzar's babylon. babylon the great was fallen, and become the habitation of devils, and the hold of every foul spirit; her ruler was weighed in the balances and found wanting; his kingdom was divided and given to kings and peoples who came, like the medes and the persians, from the hardier realms of the north. chapter vii. (p. 173) the origin of the divorce.[489] [footnote 489: it is impossible to avoid the term "divorce," although neither from henry viii.'s nor from the pope's point of view was there any such thing (see the present writer's _cranmer_, p. 24 _n._).] matrimonial discords have, from the days of helen of troy, been the fruitful source of public calamities; and one of the most decisive events in english history, the breach with the church of rome, found its occasion in the divorce of catherine of aragon. its origin has been traced to various circumstances. on one hand, it is attributed to henry's passion for anne boleyn, on the other, to doubts of the validity of henry's marriage, raised by the bishop of tarbes in 1527, while negotiating a matrimonial alliance between the princess mary and francis i. these are the two most popular theories, and both are demonstrably false.[490] doubts of the legality of henry's marriage had existed long before the bishop of tarbes paid his visit to england, and even before anne boleyn was born. they were urged, not only on the eve of the completion of the marriage, but when it was first suggested. in 1503, when henry vii. applied to julius ii. for a dispensation to enable his second son to marry his brother's (p. 174) widow, the pope replied that "the dispensation was a great matter; nor did he well know, _prima facie_, if it were competent for the pope to dispense in such a case".[491] he granted the dispensation, but the doubts were not entirely removed. catherine's confessor instilled them into her mind, and was recalled by ferdinand on that account. the spanish king himself felt it necessary to dispel certain "scruples of conscience" henry might entertain as to the "sin" of marrying his brother's widow.[492] warham and fox debated the matter, and warham apparently opposed the marriage.[493] a general council had pronounced against the pope's dispensing power;[494] and, though the popes had, in effect, established their superiority over general councils, those who still maintained the contrary view can hardly have failed to doubt the legality of henry's marriage. [footnote 490: see, besides the original authorities cited in this chapter, busch, _der ursprung der ehescheidung könig heinrichs viii._ (hist. taschenbuch, leipzig, vi., viii., 271-327).] [footnote 491: _l. and p._, iv., 5773; pocock, _records of the reformation_, i., 1.] [footnote 492: _sp. cal._, vol. ii., pref., p. xiv., no. 8.] [footnote 493: _l. and p._, iv., 5774 [6].] [footnote 494: _ibid._, iv., 5376.] so good a papalist as the young king, however, would hardly allow theoretical doubts of the general powers of the pope to outweigh the practical advantages of a marriage in his own particular case; and it is safe to assume that his confidence in its validity would have remained unshaken, but for extraneous circumstances of a definite and urgent nature. on the 31st of january, 1510, seven months after his marriage with catherine, she gave birth to her first child; it was a daughter, and was still-born.[495] on the 27th of may following (p. 175) she told her father that the event was considered in england to be of evil omen, but that henry took it cheerfully, and she thanked god for having given her such a husband. "the king," wrote catherine's confessor, "adores her, and her highness him." less than eight months later, on the 1st of january, 1511, she was delivered of her first-born son.[496] a tourney was held to celebrate the joyous event, and the heralds received a handsome largess at the christening. the child was named henry, styled prince of wales, and given a serjeant-at-arms on the 14th, and a clerk of the signet on the 19th of february. three days later he was dead; he was buried at the cost of some ten thousand pounds in westminster abbey. the rejoicings were turned to grief, which, aggravated by successive disappointments, bore with cumulative force on the mind of the king and his people. in september, 1513, the venetian ambassador announced the birth of another son,[497] who was either still-born, or died immediately afterwards. in june, 1514, there is again a reference to the christening of the "king's new son,"[498] but he, too, was no sooner christened than dead. [footnote 495: _d.n.b._, ix., 292, gives this date. catherine herself, writing on 27th may, 1510, says that "some _days_ before she had been delivered of a still-born daughter" (_sp. cal._, ii., 43). on 1st november, 1509, henry informed ferdinand that catherine was pregnant, and the child had quickened (_ibid._, ii., 23).] [footnote 496: _ven. cal._, ii., 95-96; _l. and p._, vol. i., 1491, 1495, 1513, pref., p. lxxiii.; ii., 4692.] [footnote 497: _ven. cal._, ii., 329.] [footnote 498: _l. and p._, i., 5192.] domestic griefs were now embittered by political resentments. ferdinand valued his daughter mainly as a political emissary; he had formally accredited her as his ambassador at henry's court, and she naturally used her influence to maintain the political union between her father and her husband. the arrangement had serious drawbacks; when relations between sovereigns grew strained, their ambassadors could be (p. 176) recalled, but catherine had to stay. in 1514 henry was boiling over with indignation at his double betrayal by the catholic king; and it is not surprising that he vented some of his rage on the wife who was ferdinand's representative. he reproached her, writes peter martyr from ferdinand's court, with her father's ill-faith, and taunted her with his own conquests. to this brutality martyr attributes the premature birth of catherine's fourth son towards the end of 1514.[499] henry, in fact, was preparing to cast off, not merely the spanish alliance, but his spanish wife. he was negotiating for a joint attack on castile with louis xii. and threatening the divorce of catherine.[500] "it is said," writes a venetian from rome in august, 1514, "that the king of england means to repudiate his present wife, the daughter of the king of spain and his brother's widow, because he is unable to have children by her, and intends to marry a daughter of the french duke of bourbon.... he intends to annul his own marriage, and will obtain what he wants from the pope as france did from pope julius ii."[501] [footnote 499: _l. and p._, i., 5718.] [footnote 500: see above p. 76.] [footnote 501: _ven. cal._, ii., 479. the pope was really alexander vi.] but the death of louis xii. (january, 1515) and the consequent loosening of the anglo-french alliance made henry and ferdinand again political allies; while, as the year wore on, catherine was known to be once more pregnant, and henry's hopes of issue revived. this time they were not disappointed; the princess mary was born on the 18th of february, 1516.[502] ferdinand had died on the 23rd of january, but the news was kept from catherine, lest it might add to the risks (p. 177) of her confinement.[503] the young princess seemed likely to live, and henry was delighted. when giustinian, amid his congratulations, said he would have been better pleased had it been a son, the king replied: "we are both young; if it was a daughter this time, by the grace of god the sons will follow".[504] all thoughts of a divorce passed away for the time, but the desired sons did not arrive. in august, 1517, catherine was reported to be again expecting issue, but nothing more is heard of the matter, and it is probable that about this time the queen had various miscarriages. in july, 1518, henry wrote to wolsey from woodstock that catherine was once more pregnant, and that he could not move the court to london, as it was one of the queen's "dangerous times".[505] his precautions were unavailing, and, on the 10th of november, his child arrived still-born. giustinian notes the great vexation with which the people heard the news, and expresses the opinion that, had it occurred a month or two earlier, the princess mary would not have been betrothed to the french dauphin, "as the one fear of england was lest it should pass into subjection to france through that marriage".[506] [footnote 502: _l. and p._, ii., 1505, 1573.] [footnote 503: _l. and p._, ii., 1563, 1610.] [footnote 504: _ven. cal._, ii., 691.] [footnote 505: _cotton ms._, vespasian, f, iii., fol. 34, _b_; _cf. l. and p._, ii., 4074, 4288.] [footnote 506: _ven. cal._, ii., 1103.] the child was the last born of catherine. for some years henry went on hoping against every probability that he might still have male issue by his queen; and in 1519 he undertook to lead a crusade against the turk in person if he should have an heir.[507] but physicians summoned from spain were no more successful than their english colleagues. (p. 178) by 1525 the last ray of hope had flickered out. catherine was then forty years old; and henry at the age of thirty-four, in the full vigour of youthful manhood, seemed doomed by the irony of fate and by his union with catherine to leave a disputed inheritance. never did england's interests more imperatively demand a secure and peaceful succession. never before had there been such mortality among the children of an english king; never before had an english king married his brother's widow. so striking a coincidence could be only explained by the relation of cause and effect. men who saw the judgment of god in the sack of rome, might surely discern in the fatality that attended the children of henry viii. a fulfilment of the doom of childlessness pronounced in the book of the law against him who should marry his brother's wife. "god," wrote the french ambassador in 1528, "has long ago himself passed sentence on it;"[508] and there is no reason to doubt henry's assertion, that he had come to regard the death of his children as a divine judgment, and that he was impelled to question his marriage by the dictates of conscience. the "scruples of conscience," which henry vii. had urged as an excuse for delaying the marriage, were merely a cloak for political reasons; but scruples of conscience are dangerous playthings, and the pretence of henry vii. became, through the death of his children, a terrible reality to henry viii. [footnote 507: _l. and p._, iii., 432.] [footnote 508: du bellay to montmorenci, 1st nov., 1528, _l. and p._, iv., 4899.] queen catherine, too, had scruples of conscience about the marriage, though of a different sort. when she first heard of henry's intention to seek a divorce, she is reported to have said that "she had (p. 179) not offended, but it was a judgment of god, for that her former marriage was made in blood"; the price of it had been the head of the innocent earl of warwick, demanded by ferdinand of aragon.[509] nor was she alone in this feeling. "he had heard," witnessed buckingham's chancellor in 1521, "the duke grudge that the earl of warwick was put to death, and say that god would punish it, by not suffering the king's issue to prosper, as appeared by the death of his sons; and that his daughters prosper not, and that he had no issue male."[510] [footnote 509: _sp. cal._, i., 249; _l. and p. of richard iii. and henry vii._, vol. i., pp. xxxiii., 113; hall, _chron_., p. 491; bacon, _henry vii._, ed. 1870, p. 376; _transactions of the royal hist. soc._, n.s., xviii., 187.] [footnote 510: _l. and p._, iii., 1284.] conscience, however, often moves men in directions indicated by other than conscientious motives, and, of the other motives which influenced henry's mind, some were respectable and some the reverse. the most legitimate was his desire to provide for the succession to the throne. it was obvious to him and his council that, if he died with no children but mary, england ran the risk of being plunged into an anarchy worse than that of the civil wars. "by english law," wrote falier, the venetian ambassador, in 1531, "females are excluded from the throne;"[511] that was not true, but it was undoubtedly a widespread impression, based upon the past history of england. no queen-regnant had asserted a right to the english throne but one, and that one precedent provided the most effective argument for avoiding a repetition of the experiment. matilda was never crowned, though she had the same claim to the throne as mary, and her attempt to (p. 180) enforce her title involved england in nineteen years of anarchy and civil war. stephen stood to matilda in precisely the same relation as james v. of scotland stood to the princess mary; and in 1532, as soon as he came of age, james was urged to style himself "prince of england" and duke of york, in manifest derogation of mary's title.[512] at that time charles v. was discussing alternative plans for deposing henry viii. one was to set up james v., the other to marry mary to some great english noble and proclaim them king and queen;[513] mary by herself was thought to have no chance of success. john of gaunt had maintained in parliament that the succession descended only through males;[514] the lancastrian case was that henry iv., the son of edward iii.'s fourth son, had a better title to the throne than philippa, the daughter of the third; an act limiting the succession to the male line was passed in 1406;[515] and henry vii. himself only reigned through a tacit denial of the right of women to sit on the english throne. [footnote 511: _ven. cal._, iv., 300.] [footnote 512: _l. and p._, v., 609, 817.] [footnote 513: _ibid._, vi., 446.] [footnote 514: _chronicon angliae_, rolls ser., p. 92, _s.a._, 1376; _d.n.b._, xxix., 421. this became the orthodox lancastrian theory (_cf._ fortescue, _governance of england_, ed. plummer, pp. 352-55).] [footnote 515: stubbs, _const. hist._, iii., 58. this act was, however, repealed before the end of the same year.] the objection to female sovereigns was grounded not so much on male disbelief in their personal qualifications, as upon the inevitable consequence of matrimonial and dynastic problems.[516] if the princess mary succeeded, was she to marry? if not, her death would leave (p. 181) the kingdom no better provided with heirs than before; and in her weak state of health, her death seemed no distant prospect. if, on the other hand, she married, her husband must be either a subject or a foreign prince. to marry a subject would at once create discords like those from which the wars of the roses had sprung; to marry a foreign prince was to threaten englishmen, then more jealous than ever of foreign influence, with the fear of alien domination. they had before their eyes numerous instances in which matrimonial alliances had involved the union of states so heterogeneous as spain and the netherlands; and they had no mind to see england absorbed in some continental empire. in the matrimonial schemes arranged for the princess, it was generally stipulated that she should, in default of male heirs, succeed to the throne of england; her succession was obviously a matter of doubt, and it is quite certain that her marriage in france or in spain would have proved a bar in the way of her succession to the english throne, or at least have given rise to conflicting claims. [footnote 516: professor maitland has spoken of the "byzantinism" of henry's reign, and possibly the objection to female sovereigns was strengthened by the prevalent respect for roman imperial and byzantine custom (_cf._ hodgkin, _charles the great_, p. 180).] these rival pretensions began to be heard as soon as it became evident that henry viii. would have no male heirs by catherine of aragon. in 1519, a year after the birth of the queen's last child, giustinian reported to the venetian signiory on the various nobles who had hopes of the crown. the duke of norfolk had expectations in right of his wife, a daughter of edward iv., and the duke of suffolk in right of his duchess, the sister of henry viii. but the duke of buckingham was the most formidable: "it was thought that, were the king to die without male heirs, that duke might easily obtain the crown".[517] (p. 182) his claims had been canvassed in 1503, when the issue of henry vii. seemed likely to fail,[518] and now that the issue of henry viii. was in even worse plight, buckingham's claims to the crown became again a matter of comment. his hopes of the crown cost him his head; he had always been discontented with tudor rule, especially under wolsey; he allowed himself to be encouraged with hopes of succeeding the king, and possibly spoke of asserting his claim in case of henry's death. this was to touch henry on his tenderest spot, and, in 1521, the duke was tried by his peers, found guilty of high treason, and sent to the block.[519] in this, as in all the great trials of henry's reign, and indeed in most state trials of all ages, considerations of justice were subordinated to the real or supposed dictates of political expediency. buckingham was executed, not because he was a criminal, but because he was, or might become, dangerous; his crime was not treason, but descent from edward iii. henry viii., like henry vii., showed his grasp of the truth that nothing makes a government so secure as the absence of all alternatives. [footnote 517: _ven. cal._, ii., 1287. buckingham's end was undoubtedly hastened by wolsey's jealousy; before the end of 1518 the cardinal had been instilling into henry's ear suspicions of buckingham (_l. and p._, iii., 1; _cf. ibid._, ii., 3973, 4057). brewer regards the hostility of wolsey to buckingham as one of polydore vergil's "calumnies" (_ibid._, vol. iii., introd., p. lxvi.).] [footnote 518: _l. and p. of richard iii. and henry vii._, i., 233.] [footnote 519: see detailed accounts in _l. and p._, iii., 1284, 1356. shakespeare's account in "henry viii." is remarkably accurate, except in matters of date.] buckingham's execution is one of the symptoms that, as early as 1521, the failure of his issue had made henry nervous and susceptible about the succession. even in 1519, when charles v.'s minister, (p. 183) chièvres, was proposing to marry his niece to the earl of devonshire, a grandson of edward iv., henry was suspicious, and wolsey inquired whether chièvres was "looking to any chance of the earl's succession to the throne of england."[520] if further proof were needed that henry's anxiety about the succession was not, as has been represented, a mere afterthought intended to justify his divorce from catherine, it might be found in the extraordinary measures taken with regard to his one and only illegitimate son. the boy was born in 1519. his mother was elizabeth blount, sister of erasmus's friend, lord mountjoy; and she is noticed as taking part in the court revels during the early years of henry's reign.[521] outwardly, at any rate, henry's court was long a model of decorum; there was no parade of vice as in the days of charles ii., and the existence of this royal bastard was so effectually concealed that no reference to him occurs in the correspondence of the time until 1525, when it was thought expedient to give him a position of public importance. the necessity of providing some male successor to henry was considered so urgent that, two years before the divorce is said to have occurred to him, he and his council were meditating a scheme for entailing the succession on the king's illegitimate son. in 1525 the child was created duke of richmond and somerset. these titles were significant; earl of richmond had been henry vii.'s title before he came to the throne; duke of somerset had been that of his grandfather and of his youngest son. shortly afterwards the boy was made lord (p. 184) high admiral of england, lord warden of the marches, and lord lieutenant of ireland,[522] the two latter being offices which henry viii. himself had held in his early youth. in january, 1527, the spanish ambassador reported that there was a scheme on foot to make the duke king of ireland;[523] it was obviously a design to prepare the way for his succession to the kingdom of england. the english envoys in spain were directed to tell the emperor that henry proposed to demand some noble princess of near blood to the emperor as a wife for the duke of richmond. the duke, they were to say, "is near of the king's blood and of excellent qualities, and is already furnished to keep the state of a great prince, and yet may be easily, by the king's means, exalted to higher things".[524] the lady suggested was charles's niece, a daughter of the queen of portugal; she was already promised to the dauphin of france, but the envoys remarked that, if that match were broken off, she might find "another dauphin" in the duke of richmond. another plan for settling the succession was that the duke should, by papal dispensation, marry his half-sister mary! cardinal campeggio saw no moral objection to this. "at first i myself," he writes on his arrival in england in october, 1528, "had thought of this as a means of establishing the succession, but i do not believe that this design would suffice to satisfy the king's desires."[525] the pope was equally willing to facilitate the scheme, on (p. 185) condition that henry abandoned his divorce from catherine.[526] possibly henry saw more objections than pope or cardinal to a marriage between brother and sister. at all events mary was soon betrothed to the french prince, and the emperor recorded his impression that the french marriage was designed to remove the princess from the duke of richmond's path to the throne.[527] [footnote 520: _l. and p._, iii., 386.] [footnote 521: _ibid._, ii., p. 1461.] [footnote 522: see g.e. c[okayne]'s and doyle's _peerages_, _s.v._ "richmond".] [footnote 523: _sp. cal._, iii., 109; _l. and p._, iv., 2988, 3028, 3140.] [footnote 524: _l. and p._, iv., 3051. in _ibid._, iv., 3135, richmond is styled "the prince".] [footnote 525: laemmer, _monumenta vaticana_, p. 29; _l. and p._, iv., 4881. it was claimed that the pope's dispensing power was unlimited, extending even to marriages between brothers and sisters (_ibid._, v., 468). campeggio told du bellay in 1528 that the pope's power was "infinite" (_ibid._, iv., 4942).] [footnote 526: _l. and p._, iv., 5072.] [footnote 527: _sp. cal._, iii., 482.] the conception of this violent expedient is mainly of interest as illustrating the supreme importance attached to the question of providing for a male successor to henry. he wanted an heir to the throne, and he wanted a fresh wife for that reason. a mistress would not satisfy him, because his children by a mistress would hardly succeed without dispute to the throne, not because he laboured under any moral scruples on the point. he had already had two mistresses, elizabeth blount, the mother of the duke of richmond, and anne's sister, mary boleyn. possibly, even probably, there were other lapses from conjugal fidelity, for, in 1533, the duke of norfolk told chapuys that henry was always inclined to amours;[528] but none are capable of definite proof, and if henry had other illegitimate children besides the duke of richmond it is difficult to understand why their existence should have been so effectually concealed when such publicity was given their brother. the king is said to have had ten mistresses in 1528, but the statement is based on a misrepresentation of the only document adduced in its support.[529] it is a list of new year's (p. 186) presents,[530] which runs "to thirty-three noble ladies" such and such gifts, then "to ten mistresses" other gifts; it is doubtful if the word then bore its modern sinister signification; in this particular instance it merely means "gentlewomen," and differentiates them from the noble ladies. henry's morals, indeed, compare not unfavourably with those of other sovereigns. his standard was neither higher nor lower than that of charles v., who was at this time negotiating a marriage between his natural daughter and the pope's nephew; it was not lower than those of james ii., of william iii., or of the first two georges; it was infinitely higher than the standard of francis i., of charles ii., or even of henry of navarre and louis xiv. [footnote 528: _l. and p._, vi., 241.] [footnote 529: e.l. taunton, _wolsey_, 1902, p. 173, where the words are erroneously given as "to the king's ten mistresses"; "the king's" is an interpolation.] [footnote 530: _l. and p._, iv., 3748.] the gross immorality so freely imputed to henry seems to have as little foundation as the theory that his sole object in seeking the divorce from catherine and separation from rome was the gratification of his passion for anne boleyn. if that had been the case, there would be no adequate explanation of the persistence with which he pursued the divorce. he was "studying the matter so diligently," campeggio says, "that i believe in this case he knows more than a great theologian and jurist"; he was so convinced of the justice of his cause "that an angel descending from heaven would be unable to persuade him otherwise".[531] he sent embassy after embassy to rome; he risked the enmity of catholic europe; he defied the authority of the vicar of christ; and lavished vast sums to obtain verdicts in his favour from most of the universities in christendom. it is not (p. 187) credible that all this energy was expended merely to satisfy a sensual passion, which could be satisfied without a murmur from pope or emperor, if he was content with anne boleyn as a mistress, and is believed to have been already satisfied in 1529, four years before the divorce was obtained.[532] so, too, the actual sentence of divorce in 1533 was precipitated not by henry's passion for anne, but by the desire that her child should be legitimate. she was pregnant before henry was married to her or divorced from catherine. but, though the representation of henry's passion for anne boleyn as the sole _fons et origo_ of the divorce is far from convincing, that passion introduced various complications into the question; it was not merely an additional incentive to henry's desires; it also brought wolsey and henry into conflict; and the unpopularity of the divorce was increased by the feeling that henry was losing caste by seeking to marry a lady of the rank and character of anne boleyn. [footnote 531: _ibid._, iv., 4858.] [footnote 532: no conclusive evidence on this point is possible; the french ambassador, clement vii. and others believed that henry viii. and anne boleyn had been cohabiting since 1529. on the other hand, if such was the case, it is singular that no child should have been born before 1533; for after that date anne seems to have had a miscarriage nearly every year. ortiz, indeed, reports from rome that she had a miscarriage in 1531 (_l. and p._, v., 594), but the evidence is not good.] * * * * * the boleyns were wealthy merchants of london, of which one of them had been lord-mayor, but anne's mother was of noble blood, being daughter and co-heir of the earl of ormonde,[533] and it is a curious fact that all of henry's wives could trace their descent from edward i.[534] anne's age is uncertain, but she is generally believed to have (p. 188) been born in 1507.[535] attempts have been made to date her influence over the king by the royal favours bestowed on her father, sir thomas, afterwards viscount rochford and earl of wiltshire, but, as these favours flowed in a fairly regular stream from the beginning of the reign, as sir thomas's services were at least a colourable excuse for them, and as his other daughter mary was henry's mistress before he fell in love with anne, these grants are not a very substantial ground upon which to build. of anne herself little is known except that, about 1519, she was sent as maid of honour to the french queen, claude; five years before, her sister mary had accompanied mary tudor in a similar capacity on her marriage with louis xii.[536] in 1522, when war with france was on the eve of breaking out, anne was recalled to the english court,[537] where she took part in revels and love-intrigues. sir thomas wyatt, the poet, although a married man, sued for her favours;[538] henry, lord percy made her more honest proposals, but was compelled to desist by the king himself, who (p. 189) had arranged for her marriage with piers butler, son of the earl of ormond, as a means to end the feud between the butler and the boleyn families. [footnote 533: see friedmann's _anne boleyn_, 2 vols., 1884, and articles on the boleyn family in _d.n.b._, vol. v.] [footnote 534: see george fisher, _key to the history of england_, table xvii.; _gentleman's magazine_, may, 1829.] [footnote 535: henry would then be fifteen, yet a fable was invented and often repeated that henry viii. was anne boleyn's father. nicholas sanders, whose _de origine ac progressu schismatis anglicani_ became the basis of roman catholic histories of the english reformation, gave currency to the story; and some modern writers prefer sanders' veracity to foxe's.] [footnote 536: the error that it was anne who accompanied mary tudor in 1514 was exposed by brewer more than forty years ago, but it still lingers and was repeated with innumerable others in the catalogue of the new gallery portrait exhibition of 1902.] [footnote 537: _l. and p._, iii., 1994.] [footnote 538: in harpsfield's _pretended divorce_ there is a very improbable story that wyatt told henry viii. his relations with anne were far from innocent and warned the king against marrying a woman of anne's character.] none of these projects advanced any farther, possibly because they conflicted with the relations developing between anne and the king himself. as wyatt complained in a sonnet,[539] there is written her fair neck round about _noli me tangere_; for cæsar's i am and wild for to hold, though i seem tame. but, for any definite documentary evidence to the contrary, it might be urged that henry's passion for anne was subsequent to the commencement of his proceedings for a divorce from catherine. those proceedings began at least as early as march, 1527, while the first allusion to the connection between the king and anne boleyn occurs in the instructions to dr. william knight, sent in the following autumn to procure a dispensation for her marriage with henry.[540] the king's famous love-letters, the earliest of which are conjecturally assigned to july, 1527,[541] are without date and with but slight internal indications of the time at which they were written; they may be earlier than 1527, they may be as late as the following winter. it is unlikely that henry would have sought for the pope's dispensation to marry (p. 190) anne until he was assured of her consent, of which in some of the letters he appears to be doubtful; on the other hand, it is difficult to see how a lady of the court could refuse an offer of marriage made by her sovereign. her reluctance was to fill a less honourable position, into which henry was not so wicked as to think of forcing her. "i trust," he writes in one of his letters, "your absence is not wilful on your part; for if so, i can but lament my ill-fortune, and by degrees abate my great folly."[542] his love for anne boleyn was certainly his "great folly," the one overmastering passion of his life. there is, however, nothing very extraordinary in the letters themselves; in one he says he has for more than a year been "wounded with the dart of love," and is uncertain whether anne returns his affection. in others he bewails her briefest absence as though it were an eternity; desires her father to hasten his return to court; is torn with anxiety lest anne should take the plague, comforts her with the assurance that few women have had it, and sends her a hart killed by his own hand, making the inevitable play on the word. later on, he alludes to the progress of the divorce case; excuses the shortness of a letter on the ground that he has spent four hours over the book he was writing in his own defence[543] and has a pain in his head. the series ends with an announcement that he has been fitting up apartments for her, and with congratulations to himself and to her that the "well-wishing" legate, campeggio, who has been sent from rome to (p. 191) try the case, has told him he was not so "imperial" in his sympathies as had been alleged. [footnote 539: wyatt, _works_, ed. g.f. nott, 1816, p. 143.] [footnote 540: _l. and p._, iv., 3422.] [footnote 541: _ibid._, iv., 3218-20, 3325-26, 3990, 4383, 4403, 4410, 4477, 4537, 4539, 4597, 4648, 4742, 4894. they have also been printed by hearne at the end of his edition of _robert of avesbury_, in the _pamphleteer_, vol. xxi., and in the _harleian miscellany_, vol. iii. the originals in henry's hand are in the vatican library; one of them was reproduced in facsimile for the illustrated edition of this book.] [footnote 542: _l. and p._, iv., 3326.] [footnote 543: in 1531 he was said to have written "many books" on the divorce question (_ibid._, v., 251).] the secret of her fascination over henry was a puzzle to observers. "madame anne," wrote a venetian, "is not one of the handsomest women in the world. she is of middling stature, swarthy complexion, long neck, wide mouth, bosom not much raised, and in fact has nothing but the king's great appetite, and her eyes, which are black and beautiful".[544] she had probably learnt in france the art of using her beautiful eyes to the best advantage; her hair, which was long and black, she wore loose, and on her way to her coronation cranmer describes her as "sitting _in_ her hair".[545] possibly this was one of the french customs, which somewhat scandalised the staider ladies of the english court. she is said to have had a slight defect on one of her nails, which she endeavoured to conceal behind her other fingers.[546] of her mental accomplishments there is not much evidence; she naturally, after some years' residence at the court of france, spoke french, though she wrote it in an orthography that was quite her own. her devotion to the gospel is the one great virtue with which foxe and other elizabethans strove to invest the mother of the good queen bess. but it had no nobler foundation than the facts that anne's position drove her into hostility to the roman jurisdiction, and that her family shared the envy of church goods, common to the nobility and the gentry of the time.[547] her place in english history is due (p. 192) solely to the circumstance that she appealed to the less refined part of henry's nature; she was pre-eminent neither in beauty nor in intellect, and her virtue was not of a character to command or deserve the respect of her own or subsequent ages. [footnote 544: _ven. cal._, iv., 365.] [footnote 545: cranmer, _works_ (parker soc.), ii., 245; _cf. ven. cal._, iv., 351, 418.] [footnote 546: _l. and p._, iv., introd., p. ccxxxvii.] [footnote 547: there is not much historical truth in gray's phrase about "the gospel light which dawned from bullen's eyes"; but brewer goes too far in minimising the "lutheran" proclivities of the boleyns. in 1531 chapuys described anne and her father as being "more lutheran than luther himself" (_l. and p._, v., 148), in 1532 as "true apostles of the new sect" (_ibid._, v., 850), and in 1533 as "perfect lutherans" (_ibid._, vi., 142).] it is otherwise with her rival, queen catherine, the third of the principal characters involved in the divorce. if henry's motives were not so entirely bad as they have often been represented, neither they nor anne boleyn's can stand a moment's comparison with the unsullied purity of catherine's life or the lofty courage with which she defended the cause she believed to be right. there is no more pathetic figure in english history, nor one condemned to a crueller fate. no breath of scandal touched her fair name, or impugned her devotion to henry. if she had the misfortune to be identified with a particular policy, the alliance with the house of burgundy, the fault was not hers; she had been married to henry in consideration of the advantages which that alliance was supposed to confer; and, if she used her influence to further spanish interest, it was a natural feeling as near akin to virtue as to vice, and carroz at least complained, in 1514, that she had completely identified herself with her husband and her husband's subjects.[548] if her miscarriages and the death of her children (p. 193) were a grief to henry, the pain and the sorrow were hers in far greater measure; if they had made her old and deformed, as francis brutally described her in 1519,[549] the fact must have been far more bitter to her than it was unpleasant to henry. there may have been some hardship to henry in the circumstance that, for political motives, he had been induced by his council to marry a wife who was six years his senior; but to catherine herself a divorce was the height of injustice. the question was in fact one of justice against a real or supposed political necessity, and in such cases justice commonly goes to the wall. in politics, men seek to colour with justice actions based upon considerations of expediency. they first convince themselves, and then they endeavour with less success to persuade mankind. [footnote 548: _sp. cal._, ii., 201.] [footnote 549: _ven. cal._, ii., 1230.] so henry viii. convinced himself that the dispensation granted by julius ii. was null and void, that he had never been married to catherine, and that to continue to live with his brother's wife was sin. "the king," he instructed his ambassador to tell charles v. in 1533, "taketh himself to be in the right, not because so many say it, but because he, being learned, knoweth the matter to be right.... the justice of our cause is so rooted in our breast that nothing can remove it, and even the canons say that a man should rather endure all the censures of the church than offend his conscience."[550] no man was less tolerant of heresy than henry, but no man set greater (p. 194) store on his own private judgment. to that extent he was a protestant; "though," he instructed paget in 1534 to tell the lutheran princes, "the law of every man's conscience be but a private court, yet it is the highest and supreme court for judgment or justice". god and his conscience, he told chapuys in 1533, were on very good terms.[551] on another occasion he wrote to charles _ubi spiritus domini, ibi libertas_,[552] with the obvious implication that he possessed the spirit of the lord, and therefore he might do as he liked. to him, as to st. paul, all things were lawful; and henry's appeals to the pope, to learned divines, to universities at home and abroad, were not for his own satisfaction, but were merely concessions to the profane herd, unskilled in royal learning and unblessed with a kingly conscience. against that conviction, so firmly rooted in the royal breast, appeals to pity were vain, and attempts to shake it were perilous. it was his conscience that made henry so dangerous. men are tolerant of differences about things indifferent, but conscience makes bigots of us all; theological hatreds are proverbially bitter, and religious wars are cruel. conscience made sir thomas more persecute, and glory in the persecution of heretics,[553] and conscience earned mary her epithet "bloody". they were moved by conscientious belief in the catholic faith, henry by conscientious belief in himself; and conscientious scruples are none the less exigent for being reached by crooked paths. [footnote 550: _l. and p._, vi., 775. _hoc volo, sic jubeo; stet pro ratione voluntas._ luther quoted this line _à propos_ of henry; see his preface to robert barnes' _bekenntniss des glaubens_, wittemberg, 1540.] [footnote 551: _l. and p._, vi., 351; vii., 148.] [footnote 552: _ibid._, iv., 6111.] [footnote 553: it has been denied that more either persecuted or gloried in the persecution of heretics; but he admits himself that he recommended corporal punishment in two cases and "it is clear that he underestimated his activity" (_d.n.b._, xxxviii., 436, and instances and authorities there cited).] chapter viii. (p. 195) the pope's dilemma. in february, 1527, in pursuance of the alliance with france, which wolsey, recognising too late the fatal effects of the union with charles, was seeking to make the basis of english policy, a french embassy arrived in england to conclude a marriage between francis i. and the princess mary. at its head was gabriel de grammont, bishop of tarbes; and in the course of his negotiations he is alleged to have first suggested those doubts of the validity of henry's marriage, which ended in the divorce. the allegation was made by wolsey three months later, and from that time down to our own day it has done duty with henry's apologists as a sufficient vindication of his conduct. it is now denounced as an impudent fiction, mainly on the ground that no hint of these doubts occurs in the extant records of the negotiations. but unfortunately we have only one or two letters relating to this diplomatic mission.[554] there exists, indeed, a detailed (p. 196) narrative, drawn up some time afterwards by claude dodieu, the french secretary; but the silence, on so confidential a matter, of a third party who was not present when the doubts were presumably suggested, proves little or nothing. du bellay, in 1528, reported to the french government henry's public assertion that tarbes had mentioned these doubts;[555] the statement was not repudiated; tarbes himself believed in the validity of henry's case and was frequently employed in efforts to win from the pope an assent to henry's divorce. it is rather a strong assumption to suppose in the entire absence of positive evidence that henry and wolsey were deliberately lying. there is nothing impossible in the supposition that some such doubts were expressed; indeed, francis i. had every reason to encourage doubts of henry's marriage as a means of creating a breach between him and charles v. in return for mary's hand, henry was endeavouring to obtain various advantages from francis in the way of pensions, tribute and territory. tarbes represented that the french king was so good a match for the english princess, that there was little need for further concession; to which henry replied that francis was no doubt an excellent match for his daughter, but was he free to marry? his precontract with charles v.'s sister, eleanor, was a complication which seriously diminished the value of francis's offer; and the papal dispensation, which he hoped to obtain, might not be forthcoming (p. 197) or valid.[556] as a counter to this stroke, tarbes may well have hinted that the princess mary was not such a prize as henry made out. was the dispensation for henry's own marriage beyond cavil? was mary's legitimacy beyond question? was her succession to the english throne, a prospect henry dangled before the frenchman's eyes, so secure? these questions were not very new, even at the time of tarbes's mission. the divorce had been talked about in 1514, and now, in 1527, the position of importance given to the duke of richmond was a matter of public comment, and inevitably suggested doubts of mary's succession. there is no documentary evidence that this argument was ever employed, beyond the fact that, within three months of tarbes's mission, both henry and wolsey asserted that the bishop had suggested doubts of the validity of henry's marriage.[557] henry, however, does not say that tarbes _first_ suggested the doubts, nor does wolsey. the cardinal declares that the bishop objected to the marriage with the princess mary on the ground of these doubts; and some time later, when henry explained his position to the lord-mayor and aldermen of london, he said, according to du bellay, that the scruple of conscience, which he had _long_ entertained, had terribly increased upon him since tarbes had spoken of it.[558] [footnote 554: dr. gairdner (_engl. hist. rev._, xi., 675) speaks of the "full diplomatic correspondence which we possess"; the documents are these: (1) an undated letter (_l. and p._, iv., app. 105) announcing the ambassador's arrival in england; (2) a letter of 21st march (iv., 2974); (3) a brief note of no importance to dr. brienne, dated 2nd april (_ibid._, 3012); (4) the formal commission of francis i., dated 13th april (_ibid._, 3059); (5) the treaty of 30th april (3080); and (6) three brief notes from turenne to montmorenci, dated 6th, 7th and 24th april. from tarbes himself there are absolutely no letters relating to his negotiations, and it would almost seem as though they had been deliberately destroyed. our knowledge depends solely upon dodieu's narrative.] [footnote 555: _l. and p._, iv., 4942.] [footnote 556: "there will be great difficulty," wrote clerk, "_circa istud benedictum divortium_." brewer interpreted this as the earliest reference to henry's divorce; it was really, as dr. ehses shows, in reference to the dissolution of the precontract between francis i. and charles v.'s sister eleanor (_engl. hist. rev._, xi., 676).] [footnote 557: _l. and p._, iv., 3231.] [footnote 558: _ibid._, iv., 4231, 4942. henry's own account of the matter was as follows: "for some years past he had noticed in reading the bible the severe penalty inflicted by god on those who married the relicts of their brothers"; he at length "began to be troubled in his conscience, and to regard the sudden deaths of his male children as a divine judgment. the more he studied the matter, the more clearly it appeared to him that he had broken a divine law. he then called to counsel men learned in pontifical law, to ascertain their opinion of the dispensation. some pronounced it invalid. so far he had proceeded as secretly as possible that he might do nothing rashly" (_l. and p._, iv., 5156; _cf._ iv., 3641). shakespeare, following cavendish (p. 221), makes henry reveal his doubts first to his confessor, bishop longland of lincoln: "first i began in private with you, my lord of lincoln" ("henry viii.," act ii., sc. iv.); and there is contemporary authority for this belief. in 1532 longland was said to have suggested a divorce to henry ten years previously (_l. and p._, v., 1114), and chapuys termed him "the principal promoter of these practices" (_ibid._, v., 1046); and in 1536 the northern rebels thought that he was the beginning of all the trouble (_ibid._, xi., 705); the same assertion is made in the anonymous "life and death of cranmer" (_narr. of the reformation_, camden soc., p. 219). other persons to whom the doubtful honour was ascribed are wolsey and stafileo, dean of the rota at rome (_l. and p._, iv., 3400; _sp. cal._, iv., 159).] however that may be, before the bishop's negotiations were (p. 198) completed the first steps had been taken towards the divorce, or, as wolsey and henry pretended, towards satisfying the king's scruples as to the validity of his marriage. early in april, 1527, dr. richard wolman was sent down to winchester to examine old bishop fox on the subject.[559] the greatest secrecy was observed and none of the bishop's councillors were allowed to be present. other evidence was doubtless collected from various sources, and, on 17th may, a week after tarbes's departure, wolsey summoned henry to appear before him to explain his conduct in living with his brother's widow.[560] wolman was appointed promoter of the suit; henry put in a justification, (p. 199) and, on 31st may, wolman replied. with that the proceedings terminated. in instituting them henry was following a precedent set by his brother-in-law, the duke of suffolk.[561] in very early days that nobleman had contracted to marry sir anthony browne's daughter, but for some reason the match was broken off, and he sought the hand of one margaret mortimer, to whom he was related in the second and third degrees of consanguinity; he obtained a dispensation, completed the marriage, and cohabited with margaret mortimer. but, like henry viii., his conscience or other considerations moved him to regard his marriage as sin, and the dispensation as invalid. he caused a declaration to that effect to be made by "the official of the archdeacon of london, to whom the cognisance of such causes of old belongs," married ann browne, and, after her death, henry's sister mary. a marriage, the validity of which depended, like henry's, upon a papal dispensation, and which, like henry's, had been consummated, was declared null and void on exactly the same grounds as those upon which henry himself sought a divorce, namely, the invalidity of the previous dispensation. on 12th may, 1528, clement vii. issued a bull confirming suffolk's divorce and pronouncing ecclesiastical censures on all who called in question the duke's subsequent marriages. that is precisely the course henry wished to be followed. wolsey was to declare the marriage invalid on the ground of the insufficiency of the papal dispensation; henry might then marry whom he pleased; the pope was to confirm the sentence, and censure all who should dispute the second marriage or the legitimacy of its possible issue. [footnote 559: _l. and p._, iv., 5291. this examination took place on 5th and 6th april.] [footnote 560: _ibid._, iv., 3140.] [footnote 561: _l. and p._, iv., 5859; _cf._ iv., 737.] another precedent was also forced on henry's mind. on 11th march, (p. 200) 1527, two months before wolsey opened his court, a divorce was granted at rome to henry's sister margaret, queen of scotland.[562] her pretexts were infinitely more flimsy than henry's own. she alleged a precontract on the part of her husband, angus, which was never proved. she professed to believe that james iv. had survived flodden three years, and was alive when she married angus. angus had been unfaithful, but that was no ground for divorce by canon law; and she herself was living in shameless adultery with henry stewart, who had also procured a divorce to be free to marry his queen. no objection was found at rome to either of these divorces; but neither angus nor margaret mortimer had an emperor for a nephew; no imperial armies would march on rome to vindicate the validity of their marriages, and clement could issue his bulls without any fear that their justice would be challenged by the arms of powerful princes. not so with henry; while the secret proceedings before wolsey were in progress, the world was shocked by the sack of rome, and clement was a prisoner in the hands of the emperor's troops. there was no hope that a pope in such a plight would confirm a sentence to the detriment of his master's aunt. "if the pope," wrote wolsey to henry on receipt of the news, "be slain or taken, it will hinder the king's affairs not a little, which have hitherto been going on so well."[563] a little later he declared that, if catherine repudiated his authority, it would be necessary to have the assent of the pope or of the cardinals to the divorce. to obtain the former the pope must be liberated; to secure the latter the cardinals must be assembled in france.[564] (p. 201) [footnote 562: _l. and p._, iv., 4130.] [footnote 563: _ibid._, iv., 3147.] [footnote 564: _l. and p._, iv., 3311.] to effect the pope's liberation, or rather to call an assembly of cardinals in france during clement's captivity, was the real object of the mission to france, on which wolsey started in july. such a body, acting under wolsey's presidency and in the territories of the french king, was as likely to favour an attack upon the emperor's aunt as the pope in the hands of charles's armies was certain to oppose it. wolsey went in unparalleled splendour, not as henry's ambassador but as his lieutenant; and projects for his own advancement were, as usual, part of the programme. louise of savoy, the queen-mother of france, suggested to him that all christian princes should repudiate the pope's authority so long as he remained in captivity, and the cardinal replied that, had the overture not been made by her, it would have been started by himself and by henry.[565] it was rumoured in spain that wolsey "had gone into france to separate the church of england and of france from the roman, not merely during the captivity of the pope and to effect his liberation, but for a perpetual division,"[566] and that francis was offering wolsey the patriarchate of the two schismatic churches. to win over the cardinal to the interest of spain, it was even suggested that charles should depose clement and offer the papacy to wolsey.[567] the project of a schism was not found feasible; the cardinals at rome were too numerous, and wolsey only succeeded in gaining four, three french and one italian, to join him in signing a protest repudiating clement's authority so long as (p. 202) he remained in the emperor's power. it was necessary to fall back after all on the pope for assent to henry's divorce, and the news that charles had already got wind of the proceedings against catherine made it advisable that no time should be lost. the emperor, indeed, had long been aware of henry's intentions; every care had been taken to prevent communication between catherine and her nephew, and a plot had been laid to kidnap a messenger she was sending in august to convey her appeal for protection. all was in vain, for the very day after wolsey's court had opened in may, mendoza wrote to charles that wolsey "as the finishing stroke to all his iniquities, had been scheming to bring about the queen's divorce"; and on the 29th of july, some days before wolsey had any suspicion that a hint was abroad, charles informed mendoza that he had despatched cardinal quignon to rome, to act on the queen's behalf and to persuade clement to revoke wolsey's legatine powers.[568] [footnote 565: _ibid._, iv., 3247, 3263.] [footnote 566: _ibid._, iv., 3291.] [footnote 567: _sp. cal._, iii., 273.] [footnote 568: _sp. cal._, iii., 193, 276, 300; _l. and p._, iv., 3312.] in ignorance of all this, wolsey urged henry to send ghinucci, the bishop of worcester, and others to rome with certain demands, among which was a request for clement's assent to the abortive proposal for a council in france.[569] but now a divergence became apparent between the policy of wolsey and that of his king. both were working for a divorce, but wolsey wanted henry to marry as his second wife renée, the daughter of louis xii., and thus bind more closely the two kings, upon whose union the cardinal's personal and political schemes were now exclusively based. henry, however, had determined that his (p. 203) second wife was to be anne boleyn, and of this determination wolsey was as yet uninformed. the cardinal had good reason to dread that lady's ascendancy over henry's mind; for she was the hope and the tool of the anti-clerical party, which had hitherto been kept in check by wolsey's supremacy. the duke of norfolk was her uncle, and he was hostile to wolsey for both private and public reasons; her father, viscount rochford, her cousins, sir william fitzwilliam and sir francis brian, and many more distant connections, were anxious at the first opportunity to lead an attack on the church and cardinal. before the divorce case began wolsey's position had grown precarious; taxes at home and failure abroad had turned the loyalty of the people to sullen discontent, and wolsey was mainly responsible. "disaffection to the king," wrote mendoza in march, 1527, "and hatred of the legate are visible everywhere.... the king would soon be obliged to change his councillors, were only a leader to present himself and head the malcontents;" and in may he reported a general rumour to the effect that henry intended to relieve the legate of his share in the administration.[570] the cardinal had incurred the dislike of nearly every section of the community; the king was his sole support and the king was beginning to waver. in may there were high words between wolsey and norfolk in henry's presence;[571] in july king and cardinal were quarrelling over ecclesiastical patronage at calais,[572] and, long before the failure of the divorce suit, there were other (p. 204) indications that henry and his minister had ceased to work together in harmony. [footnote 569: _ibid._, iv., 3400.] [footnote 570: _sp. cal._, iii., 109, 190, 192, 193; _cf._ iv., 3951, du bellay to montmorenci, "those who desire to catch him tripping are very glad the people cry out 'murder'".] [footnote 571: _l. and p._, iv., 1411.] [footnote 572: _ibid._, iv., 3304.] it is, indeed, quite a mistake to represent wolsey's failure to obtain a sentence in henry's favour as the sole or main cause of his fall. had he succeeded, he might have deferred for a time his otherwise unavoidable ruin, but it was his last and only chance. he was driven to playing a desperate game, in which the dice were loaded against him. if his plan failed, he told clement over and over again, it would mean for him irretrievable ruin, and in his fall he would drag down the church. if it succeeded, he would be hardly more secure, for success meant the predominance of anne boleyn and of her anti-ecclesiastical kin. under the circumstances, it is possible to attach too much weight to the opinion of the french and spanish ambassadors, and of charles v. himself, that wolsey suggested the divorce as the means of breaking for ever the alliance between england and the house of burgundy, and substituting for it a union with france.[573] the divorce fitted in so well with wolsey's french policy, that the suspicion was natural; but the same observers also recorded the impression that wolsey was secretly opposing the divorce from fear of the ascendancy of anne boleyn.[574] that suspicion had been brought to henry's mind as early as june, 1527. it was probably due to the facts that wolsey was not blinded by passion, as henry was, to the difficulties in the way, and that it was he who persuaded henry to have recourse to the pope in the first instance,[575] when the king desired to follow suffolk's precedent, obtain a sentence (p. 205) in england, marry again, and trust to the pope to confirm his proceedings. [footnote 573: _l. and p._, iv., 4112, 4865, 5512.] [footnote 574: _sp. cal._, iii., 432, 790; _ven. cal._, 1529, 212.] [footnote 575: "he showed me," writes campeggio, "that in order to maintain and increase here the authority of the holy see and the pope he had done his utmost to persuade the king to apply for a legate... although many of these prelates declared it was possible to do without one" (iv., 4857; _cf._ iv., 5072, 5177).] it is not, however, impossible to trace wolsey's real designs behind these conflicting reports. he knew that henry was determined to have a divorce and that this was one of those occasions upon which "he would be obeyed, whosoever spoke to the contrary". as minister he must therefore either resign--a difficult thing in the sixteenth century--or carry out the king's policy. for his own part he had no objection to the divorce in itself; he was no more touched by the pathos of catherine's fate than was her nephew charles v., he wished to see the succession strengthened, he thought that he might restore his tottering influence by obtaining gratification for the king, and he was straining every nerve to weaken charles v., either because the emperor's power was really too great, or out of revenge for his betrayal over the papal election. but he was strenuously hostile to henry's marriage with anne boleyn for two excellent reasons: firstly she and her kin belonged to the anti-ecclesiastical party which wolsey had dreaded since 1515, and secondly he desired henry to marry the french princess renée in order to strengthen his anti-imperial policy. further, he was anxious that the divorce problem should be solved by means of the papacy, because its solution by merely national action would create a breach between england and rome, would ruin wolsey's chances of election as pope, would threaten his ecclesiastical supremacy in england, which was merely a legatine authority (p. 206) dependent on the pope,[576] and would throw clement into the arms of charles v., whereas wolsey desired him to be an effective member of the anti-imperial alliance. thus wolsey was prepared to go part of the way with henry viii., but he clearly saw the point at which their paths would diverge; and his efforts on henry's behalf were hampered by his endeavours to keep the king on the track which he had marked out. [footnote 576: wolsey "certainly proves himself very zealous for the preservation of the authority of the see apostolic in this kingdom _because all his grandeur is connected with it_" (campeggio to sanga, 28th oct., 1528, _l. and p._, iv., 4881).] henry's suspicions, and his knowledge that wolsey would be hostile to his marriage with anne boleyn, induced him to act for the time independently of the cardinal; and, while wolsey was in france hinting at a marriage between henry and renée, the king himself was secretly endeavouring to remove the obstacles to his union with anne boleyn. instead of adopting wolsey's suggestion that ghinucci should be sent to rome as an italian versed in the ways of the papal curia, he despatched his secretary, dr. william knight, with two extraordinary commissions, the second of which he thought would not be revealed "for any craft the cardinal or any other can find".[577] the first was to obtain from the pope a dispensation to marry a second wife, without being divorced from catherine, the issue from both marriages to be legitimate. this "licence to commit bigamy" has naturally been the subject of much righteous indignation. but marriage-laws were lax (p. 207) in those days, when popes could play fast and loose with them for political purposes; and, besides the "great reasons and precedents, especially in the old testament," to which henry referred,[578] he might have produced a precedent more pertinent, more recent, and better calculated to appeal to clement vii. in 1521 charles v.'s spanish council drew up a memorial on the subject of his marriage, in which they pointed out that his ancestor, henry iv. of castile, had, in 1437, married dona blanca, by whom he had no children; and that the pope thereupon granted him a dispensation to marry a second wife on condition that, if within a fixed time he had no issue by her, he should return to his first.[579] a licence for bigamy, modelled after this precedent, would have suited henry admirably, but apparently he was unaware of this useful example, and was induced to countermand knight's commission before it had been communicated to clement. the demand would not, however, have shocked the pope so much as his modern defenders, for on 18th september, 1530, casale writes to henry: "a few days since the pope secretly proposed to me that your majesty might be allowed two wives. i told him i could not undertake to make any such proposition, because i did not know whether it would satisfy your majesty's conscience. i made this answer because i know that the imperialists have this in view, and are urging it; but why, i know not."[580] ghinucci and benet were equally cautious, and thought the pope's suggestion was only a ruse; whether a ruse or not, it is (p. 208) a curious illustration of the moral influence popes were then likely to exert on their flock. [footnote 577: henry viii. to knight in corpus christi college, oxford, ms., 318, f. 3, printed in the _academy_, xv., 239, and _engl. hist. rev._, xi., 685.] [footnote 578: _l. and p._, iv., 4977.] [footnote 579: _sp. cal._, ii., 379.] [footnote 580: _l. and p._, iv., 6627, 6705, app. 261.] the second commission, with which knight was entrusted, was hardly less strange than the first. by his illicit relations with mary boleyn, henry had already contracted affinity in the first degree with her sister anne, in fact precisely the same affinity (except that it was illicit) as that which catherine was alleged to have contracted with him before their marriage. the inconsistency of henry's conduct, in seeking to remove by the same method from his second marriage the disability which was held to invalidate his first, helps us to define the precise position which henry took up and the nature of his peculiar conscience. obviously he did not at this stage deny the pope's dispensing power; for he was invoking its aid to enable him to marry anne boleyn. he asserted, and he denied, no principle whatever, though it must be remembered that his own dispensation was an almost, if not quite, unprecedented stretch of papal power. to dispense with the "divine" law against marrying the brother's wife, and to dispense with the merely canonical obstacle to his marriage with anne arising out of his relations with mary boleyn, were very different matters; and in this light the breach between england and rome might be represented as caused by a novel extension of papal claims. henry, however, was a casuist concerned exclusively with his own case. he maintained merely that the particular dispensation, granted for his marriage with catherine, was null and void. as a concession to others, he condescended to give a number of reasons, none of them affecting any principle, but only the legal technicalities of the case--the causes for which the dispensation was granted, such as his own (p. 209) desire, and the political necessity for the marriage were fictitious; he had himself protested against the marriage, and so forth. for himself, his own conviction was ample sanction; he knew he was living in sin with catherine because his children had all died but one, and that was a manifest token of the wrath of providence. the capacity for convincing himself of his own righteousness is the most effective weapon in the egotist's armoury, and henry's egotism touched the sublime. his conscience was clear, whatever other people might think of the maze of apparent inconsistencies in which he was involved. in 1528 he was in some fear of death from the plague; fear of death is fatal to the peace of a guilty conscience, and it might well have made henry pause in his pursuit after the divorce and anne boleyn. but henry never wavered; he went on in serene assurance, writing his love letters to anne, as a conscientiously unmarried man might do, making his will,[581] "confessing every day and receiving his maker at every feast,"[582] paying great attention to the morals of monasteries, and to charges of malversation against wolsey, and severely lecturing his sister margaret on the sinfulness of her life.[583] he hopes she will turn "to god's word, the vively doctrine of jesu christ, the only ground of salvation--1 cor. 3, etc."; he reminds her of "the divine ordinance of inseparable matrimony first instituted in paradise," and urges her to avoid "the inevitable damnation threatened against (p. 210) advoutrers". henry's conscience was convenient and skilful. he believed in the "ordinance of inseparable matrimony," so, when he wished to divorce a wife, his conscience warned him that he had never really been married to her. hence his nullity suits with catherine of aragon, with anne boleyn and with anne of cleves. moreover, if he had never been married to catherine, his relations with mary boleyn and elizabeth blount were obviously not adultery, and he was free to denounce that sin in margaret with a clear conscience. [footnote 581: _l. and p._, iv., 4404.] [footnote 582: _ibid._, iv., 4542.] [footnote 583: _ibid._, iv., 4131. wolsey writes the letter, but he is only giving henry's "message". the letter is undated, but it refers to the "shameless sentence sent from rome," _i.e._, sentence of divorce which is dated 11th march, 1527.] * * * * * dr. knight had comparatively little difficulty in obtaining the dispensation for henry's marriage with anne boleyn; but it was only to be effective after sentence had been given decreeing the nullity of his marriage with catherine of aragon; and, as wolsey saw, that was the real crux of the question.[584] knight had scarcely turned his steps homeward, when he was met by a courier with fresh instructions from wolsey to obtain a further concession from clement; the pope was to empower the cardinal himself, or some other safe person, to examine the original dispensation, and, if it were found invalid, to annul henry's marriage with catherine. so knight returned to the papal court; and then began that struggle between english and spanish (p. 211) influence at rome which ended in the victory of charles v. and the repudiation by england of the roman jurisdiction. never did two parties enter upon a contest with a clearer perception of the issues involved, or carry it on with their eyes more open to the magnitude of the results. wolsey himself, gardiner, foxe, casale, and every english envoy employed in the case, warned and threatened clement that, if he refused henry's demands, he would involve wolsey and the papal cause in england in a common ruin. "he alleged," says campeggio of wolsey, "that if the king's desire were not complied with... there would follow the speedy and total ruin of the kingdom, of his lordship and of the church's influence in this kingdom."[585] "i cannot reflect upon it," wrote wolsey himself, "and close my eyes, for i see ruin, infamy and subversion of the whole dignity and estimation of the see apostolic if this course is persisted in. you see in what dangerous times we are. if the pope will consider the gravity of this cause, and how much the safety of the nation depends upon it, he will see that the course he now pursues will drive the king to adopt remedies which are injurious to the pope, and are frequently instilled into the king's mind."[586] on one occasion clement confessed that, though the pope was supposed to carry the papal laws locked up in his breast, providence had not vouchsafed him the key wherewith to unlock them; and gardiner roughly asked in retort whether in that case the papal laws should not be committed to the flames.[587] he told how the lutherans were instigating henry to do away with the temporal (p. 212) possessions of the church.[588] but clement could only bewail his misfortune, and protest that, if heresies and schisms arose, it was not his fault. he could not afford to offend the all-powerful emperor; the sack of rome and charles's intimation conveyed in plain and set terms that it was the judgment of god[589] had cowed clement for the rest of his life, and made him resolve never again to incur the emperor's enmity. [footnote 584: for these intricate negotiations see stephan ehses, _römische dokumente zur geschichte der ehescheidung heinrichs viii. von england_, 1893; these documents had all, i think, been previously printed by laemmer or theiner, but only from imperfect copies often incorrectly deciphered. ehses has printed the originals with the utmost care, and thrown much new light on the subject. the story of the divorce is retold in this new light by dr. gairdner in the _english historical review_, vols. xi. and xii.; the documents in _l. and p._ must be corrected from these sources.] [footnote 585: _l. and p._, iv., 4881.] [footnote 586: _ibid._, iv., 4897.] [footnote 587: _ibid._, iv., 4167; _cf._ iv., 5156, and ehses, _römische dokumente_, no. 20, where cardinal pucci gives a somewhat different account of the interviews.] [footnote 588: _l. and p._, iv., 5038, 5417, 5476.] [footnote 589: _sp. cal._, iii., 309.] from the point of view of justice, the pope had an excellent case; even the lutherans, who denied his dispensing power, denounced the divorce. _quod non fieri debuit_, was their just and common-sense point, _factum valet_. but the pope's case had been hopelessly weakened by the evil practice of his predecessors and of himself. alexander vi. had divorced louis xii. from his queen for no other reasons than that louis xii. wanted to unite brittany with france by marrying its duchess, and that alexander, the borgia pope, required louis' assistance in promoting the interests of the iniquitous borgia family.[590] the injustice to catherine was no greater than that to louis' queen. henry's sister margaret, and both the husbands of his other sister, mary, had procured divorces from popes, and why not henry himself? clement was ready enough to grant margaret's divorce;[591] he was willing to give a dispensation for a marriage between the princess mary and her half-brother, the duke of (p. 213) richmond; the more insuperable the obstacle, the more its removal enhanced his power. it was all very well to dispense with canons and divine laws, but to annul papal dispensations--was that not to cheapen his own wares? why, wrote henry to clement, could he not dispense with human laws, if he was able to dispense with divine at pleasure?[592] obviously because divine authority could take care of itself, but papal prerogatives needed a careful shepherd. even this principle, such as it was, was not consistently followed, for he had annulled a dispensation in suffolk's case. clement's real anxiety was to avoid responsibility. more than once he urged henry to settle the matter himself,[593] as suffolk had done, obtain a sentence from the courts in england, and marry his second wife. the case could then only come before him as a suit against the validity of the second marriage, and the accomplished fact was always a powerful argument. moreover, all this would take time, and delay was as dear to clement as irresponsibility. but henry was determined to have such a sentence as would preclude all doubts of the legitimacy of his children by the second marriage, and was as anxious to shift the responsibility to clement's shoulders as the pope was to avoid it. clement next urged catherine to go into a nunnery, for that would only entail injustice on herself, and would involve the church and its head in no temporal perils.[594] when catherine (p. 214) refused, he wished her in the grave, and lamented that he seemed doomed through her to lose the spiritualties of his church, as he had lost its temporalties through her nephew, charles v.[595] [footnote 590: _l. and p._, iv., 5152, where henry's ambassadors quote this precedent to the pope. _cf. ibid._, v., 45, for other precedents.] [footnote 591: the sentence was actually pronounced by the cardinal of ancona, and the date was 11th march, 1527, just before henry commenced proceedings against catherine. henry called it a "shameless sentence"; but it may nevertheless have suggested to his mind the possibility of obtaining one like it.] [footnote 592: _l. and p._, iv., 5966.] [footnote 593: _ibid._, iv., 3802, 6290.] [footnote 594: _ibid._, iv., 5072. "it would greatly please the pope," writes his secretary sanga, "if the queen could be induced to enter some religion, because, although this course would be portentous and unusual, he could more readily entertain the idea, _as it would involve the injury of only one person_."] [footnote 595: _l. and p._, iv., 5518.] it was thus with the utmost reluctance that he granted the commission brought by knight. it was a draft, drawn up by wolsey, apparently declaring the law on the matter and empowering wolsey, if the facts were found to be such as were alleged, to pronounce the nullity of catherine's marriage.[596] wolsey desired that it should be granted in the form in which he had drawn it up. but the pope's advisers declared that such a commission would disgrace henry, wolsey and clement himself. the draft was therefore amended so as to be unobjectionable, or, in other words, useless for practical purposes; and, with this commission, knight returned to england, rejoicing in the confidence of complete success. but, as soon as wolsey had seen it, he pronounced the commission "as good as none at all".[597] the discovery did not improve his or henry's opinion of the pope's good faith; but, dissembling their resentment, they despatched, in february, 1528, stephen gardiner and edward foxe to obtain fresh and more effective powers. eventually, on 8th june a commission was issued to wolsey and campeggio to try the case and pronounce sentence;[598] even if one was unwilling, the other might act by himself; and all appeals from their jurisdiction (p. 215) were forbidden. this was not a decretal commission; it did not bind the pope or prevent him from revoking the case. such a commission was, however, granted on condition that it should be shown to no one but the king and wolsey, and that it should not be used in the procedure. the pope also gave a written promise, in spite of a protest lodged on catherine's behalf by the spanish ambassador, muxetula,[599] that he would not revoke, or do anything to invalidate, the commission, but would confirm the cardinals' decision.[600] if, clement had said in the previous december, lautrec, the french commander in italy, came nearer rome, he might excuse himself to the emperor as having acted under pressure.[601] he would send the commission as soon as lautrec arrived. lautrec had now arrived; he had marched down through italy; he had captured melfi; the spanish commander, moncada, had been killed; naples was thought to be on the eve of surrender.[602] the spanish dominion in italy was waning, the emperor's thunderbolts were less terrifying, and the justice of the cause of his aunt less apparent. [footnote 596: it was called a "decretal commission," and it was a legislative as well as an administrative act; the pope being an absolute monarch, his decrees were the laws of the church; the difficulties of clement vii. and indeed the whole divorce question could never have arisen had the church been a constitutional monarchy.] [footnote 597: _l. and p._, iv., 3913.] [footnote 598: _ibid._, iv., 4345.] [footnote 599: _engl. hist. rev._, xii., 110-14.] [footnote 600: ehses, _römische dok._, no. 23; _engl. hist. rev._, xii., 8.] [footnote 601: _l. and p._, iv., 3682, 3750.] [footnote 602: _ibid._, iv., 3934, 3949, 4224.] * * * * * on 25th july campeggio embarked at corneto,[603] and proceeded by slow stages through france towards england. henry congratulated himself that his hopes were on the eve of fulfilment. but, unfortunately for him, the basis, on which they were built, was as unstable as water. the decision of his case still depended upon clement, and clement wavered with every fluctuation in the success or the failure of (p. 216) the spanish arms in italy. campeggio had scarcely set out, when doria, the famous genoese admiral, deserted francis for charles;[604] on the 17th of august lautrec died before naples;[605] and, on 10th september, an english agent sent wolsey news of a french disaster, which he thought more serious than the battle of pavia or the sack of rome.[606] on the following day sanga, the pope's secretary, wrote to campeggio that, "as the emperor is victorious, the pope must not give him any pretext for a fresh rupture, lest the church should be utterly annihilated.... proceed on your journey to england, and there do your utmost to restore mutual affection between the king and queen. you are not to pronounce any opinion without a new and express commission hence."[607] sanga repeated the injunction a few days later. "every day," he wrote, "stronger reasons are discovered;" to satisfy henry "involves the certain ruin of the apostolic see and the church, owing to recent events.... if so great an injury be done to the emperor... the church cannot escape utter ruin, as it is entirely in the power of the emperor's servants. you will not, therefore, be surprised at my repeating that you are not to proceed to sentence, under any pretext, without express commission; but to protract the matter as long as possible."[608] clement himself wrote to charles that nothing would be done to catherine's detriment, that campeggio had gone merely to urge henry to do his duty, and that the whole case would eventually be referred to rome.[609] such were the secret instructions with which campeggio arrived in england in october.[610] he readily promised (p. 217) not to proceed to sentence, but protested against the interpretation which he put upon the pope's command, namely, that he was not to begin the trial. the english, he said, "would think that i had come to hoodwink them, and might resent it. you know how much that would involve."[611] he did not seem to realise that the refusal to pass sentence was equally hoodwinking the english, and that the trial would only defer the moment of their penetrating the deception; a trial was of no use without sentence. [footnote 603: _ibid._, iv., 4605.] [footnote 604: _l. and p._, iv., 4626.] [footnote 605: _ibid._, iv., 4663.] [footnote 606: _ibid._, iv., 4713.] [footnote 607: _ibid._, iv., 4721.] [footnote 608: _ibid._, iv., 4736-37.] [footnote 609: _sp. cal._, iii., 779.] [footnote 610: _l. and p._, iv., 4857.] [footnote 611: _ibid._, iv., 4736.] in accordance with his instructions, campeggio first sought to dissuade henry from persisting in his suit for the divorce. finding the king immovable, he endeavoured to induce catherine to go into a nunnery, as the divorced wife of louis xii. had done, "who still lived in the greatest honour and reputation with god and all that kingdom".[612] he represented to her that she had nothing to lose by such a step; she could never regain henry's affections or obtain restitution of her conjugal rights. her consent might have deferred the separation of the english church from rome; it would certainly have relieved the supreme pontiff from a humiliating and intolerable position. but these considerations of expediency weighed nothing with catherine. she was as immovable as henry, and deaf to all campeggio's solicitations. her conscience was, perhaps, of a rigid, spanish type, but it was as clear as henry's and a great deal more comprehensible. she was convinced that her marriage was valid; to admit a doubt of it would imply that she had been living in sin and imperil her immortal soul. henry (p. 218) did not in the least mind admitting that he had lived for twenty years with a woman who was not his wife; the sin, to his mind, was continuing to live with her after he had become convinced that she was really not his wife. catherine appears, however, to have been willing to take the monastic vows, if henry would do the same. henry was equally willing, if clement would immediately dispense with the vows in his case, but not in catherine's.[613] but there were objections to this course, and doubts of clement's power to authorise henry's re-marriage, even if catherine did go into a nunnery. [footnote 612: _ibid._, iv., 4858.] [footnote 613: _l. and p._, iv., 4977.] meanwhile, campeggio found help from an unexpected quarter in his efforts to waste the time. quite unknown to henry, wolsey, or clement, there existed in spain a brief of julius ii. fuller than the original bull of dispensation which he had granted for the marriage of henry and catherine, and supplying any defects that might be found in it. indeed, so conveniently did the brief meet the criticisms urged against the bull, that henry and wolsey at once pronounced it an obvious forgery, concocted after the doubts about the bull had been raised. no copy of the brief could be found in the english archives, nor could any trace be discovered of its having been registered at rome; while ghinucci and lee, who examined the original in spain, professed to see in it such flagrant inaccuracies as to deprive it of all claim to be genuine.[614] still, if it were genuine, it shattered the whole of henry's case. that had been built up, not on the (p. 219) denial of the pope's power to dispense, but on the technical defects of a particular dispensation. now it appeared that the validity of the marriage did not depend upon this dispensation at all. nor did it depend upon the brief, for catherine was prepared to deny on oath that the marriage with arthur had been anything more than a form;[615] in that case the affinity with henry had not been contracted, and there was no need of either dispensation or brief. this assertion seems to have shaken henry; certainly he began to shift his position, and, early in 1529, he was wishing for some noted divine, friar or other, who would maintain that the pope could not dispense at all.[616] this was his first doubt as to the plenitude of papal power; his marriage with catherine must be invalid, because his conscience told him so; if it was not invalid through defects in the dispensation, it must be invalid because the pope could not dispense. wolsey met the objection with a legal point, perfectly good in itself, but trivial. there were two canonical disabilities which the dispensation must meet for henry's marriage to be valid; first, the consummation of catherine's marriage with arthur; secondly, the marriage, even though it was not consummated, was yet celebrated _in facie ecclesiæ_, and generally reputed complete. there was thus an _impedimentum publicæ honestatis_ to the marriage of henry and catherine, and this impediment was not mentioned in, and therefore not removed by, the dispensation.[617] [footnote 614: _ibid._, iv., 5376-77, 5470-71, 5486-87. for the arguments as to its validity see busch, _england under the tudors_, eng. trs., i., 376-8; friedmann, _anne boleyn_, ii., 329; and lord acton in the _quarterly rev._, cxliii., 1-51.] [footnote 615: she made this statement to campeggio in the confessional (_l. and p._, iv., 4875).] [footnote 616: _ibid._, iv., 5377, 5438; _sp. cal._, iii., 276, 327.] [footnote 617: _l. and p._, iv., 3217. see this point discussed in taunton's _cardinal wolsey_, chap. x.] but all this legal argument might be invalidated by the brief. (p. 220) it was useless to proceed with the trial until the promoters of the suit knew what the brief contained. according to mendoza, catherine's "whole right" depended upon the brief, a statement indicating a general suspicion that the bull was really insufficient.[618] so the winter of 1528-29 and the following spring were spent in efforts to get hold of the original brief, or to induce clement to declare it a forgery. the queen was made to write to charles that it was absolutely essential to her case that the brief should be produced before the legatine court in england.[619] the emperor was not likely to be caught by so transparent an artifice. moreover, the emissary, sent with catherine's letter, wrote, as soon as he got to france, warning charles that his aunt's letter was written under compulsion and expressed the reverse of her real desires.[620] in the spring of 1529 several english envoys, ending with gardiner, were sent to rome to obtain a papal declaration of the falsity of the brief. clement, however, naturally refused to declare the brief a forgery, without hearing the arguments on the other side,[621] and more important developments soon supervened. gardiner wrote from rome, early in may, that there was imminent danger of the pope revoking the case, and (p. 221) the news determined henry and wolsey to relinquish their suit about the brief, and push on the proceedings of the legatine court, so as to get some decision before the case was called to rome. once the legates had pronounced in favour of the divorce, clement was informed, the english cared little what further fortunes befel it elsewhere. [footnote 618: _sp. cal._, iii., 882.] [footnote 619: _l. and p._, iv., 4841.] [footnote 620: _ibid._, iv., 5154, 5177, 5211 (ii.); _sp. cal._, iii., 877, 882.] [footnote 621: _l. and p._, iv., 5474. yet there is a letter from clement to campeggio (_cotton ms._, vitellius, b, xii., 164; _l. and p._, iv., 5181) authorising him "to reject whatever evidence is tendered in behalf of this brief as an evident forgery". clement was no believer in the maxim _qui facit per alium facit per se_; he did not mind what his legates did, so long as he was free to repudiate their action when convenient.] so, on the 31st of may, 1529, in the great hall of the black friars, in london, the famous court was formally opened, and the king and queen were cited to appear before it on the 18th of june.[622] henry was then represented by two proxies, but catherine came in person to protest against the competence of the tribunal.[623] three days later both the king and the queen attended in person to hear the court's decision on this point. catherine threw herself on her knees before henry; she begged him to consider her honour, her daughter's and his. twice henry raised her up; he protested that he desired nothing so much as that their marriage should be found valid, in spite of the "perpetual scruple" he had felt about it, and declared that only his love for her had kept him silent so long; her request for the removal of the cause to rome was unreasonable, considering the emperor's power there. again protesting against the jurisdiction of the court and appealing to rome, catherine withdrew. touched by her appeal, henry burst out in her praise. "she is, my lords," he said, "as true, as obedient, and as conformable a wife, as i could, in my phantasy, wish or desire. she hath all the virtuous qualities that ought to be in a woman of her dignity, or in any other of baser estate."[624] (p. 222) but these qualities had nothing to do with the pitiless forms of law. the legate, overruled her protest, refused her appeal, and summoned her back. she took no notice, and was declared contumacious. [footnote 622: _l. and p._, iv., 5611, 5612.] [footnote 623: _ibid._, iv., 5685, 5694, 5695, 5702.] [footnote 624: _l. and p._, iv., introd., p. cccclxxv.] the proceedings then went on without her; fisher bishop of rochester, made a courageous defence of the validity of the marriage, to which henry drew up a bitter reply in the form of a speech addressed to the legates.[625] the speed with which the procedure was hurried on was little to campeggio's taste. he had not prejudged the case; he was still in doubt as to which way the sentence would go; and he entered a dignified protest against the orders he received from rome to give sentence, if it came to that point, against henry.[626] he would pronounce what judgment seemed to him just, but he shrank from the ordeal, and he did his best to follow out clement's injunctions to procrastinate.[627] in this he succeeded completely. it seemed that judgment could no longer be deferred; it was to be delivered on the 23rd of july.[628] on that day the king himself, and the chief men of his court, were present; his proctor demanded sentence. campeggio stood up, and instead of giving sentence, adjourned the court till october.[629] "by the mass!" burst out suffolk, giving the table (p. 223) a great blow with his hand, "now i see that the old-said saw is true, that there was never a legate nor cardinal that did good in england." the court never met again; and except during the transient reaction, under mary, it was the last legatine court ever held in england. they might assure the pope, wolsey had written to the english envoys at rome a month before, that if he granted the revocation he would lose the devotion of the king and of england to the see apostolic, and utterly destroy wolsey for ever.[630] [footnote 625: _ibid._, iv., introd., p. cccclxxix.] [footnote 626: _ibid._, iv., 5732, 5734.] [footnote 627: _ibid._, iv., 3604.] [footnote 628: _ibid._, iv., 5789.] [footnote 629: it was alleged that this adjournment was only the usual practice of the curia; but it is worth noting that in 1530 charles v. asserted that it was usual to carry on matters so important as the divorce during vacation (_ibid._, iv., 6452), and that clement had repeatedly ordered campeggio to prolong the suit as much as possible and above all to pronounce no sentence.] [footnote 630: _l. and p._, iv., 5703, 5715, 5780.] long before the vacation was ended, news reached henry that the case had been called to rome; the revocation was, indeed, decreed a week before campeggio adjourned his court. charles's star, once more in the ascendant, had cast its baleful influence over henry's fortunes. the close alliance between england and france had led to a joint declaration of war on the emperor in january, 1528, into which the english ambassadors in spain had been inveigled by their french colleagues, against henry's wishes.[631] it was received with a storm of opposition in england, and wolsey had some difficulty in justifying himself to the king. "you may be sure," wrote du bellay, "that he is playing a terrible game, for i believe he is the only englishman who wishes a war with flanders."[632] if that was his wish, he was doomed to disappointment. popular hatred of the war was too strong; a project was mooted by the clothiers in kent for seizing the cardinal and turning him adrift in a boat, with holes bored in it.[633] the (p. 224) clothiers in wiltshire were reported to be rising; in norfolk employers dismissed their workmen.[634] war with flanders meant ruin to the most prosperous industry in both countries, and the attempt to divert the flanders trade to calais had failed.[635] so henry and charles were soon discussing peace; no hostilities took place; an agreement, that trade should go on as usual with flanders,[636] was followed by a truce in june,[637] and the truce by the peace of cambrai in the following year. that peace affords the measure of england's decline since 1521. wolsey was carefully excluded from all share in the negotiations. england was, indeed, admitted as a participator, but only after louise and margaret of savoy had practically settled the terms, and after du bellay had told francis that, if england were not admitted, it would mean wolsey's immediate ruin.[638] [footnote 631: _ibid._, iv., 4564; _sp. cal._, iii., 729.] [footnote 632: _l. and p._, iv., 3930.] [footnote 633: _l. and p._, iv., 4310.] [footnote 634: _ibid._, iv., 4012, 4040, 4043, 4044, 4239.] [footnote 635: _ibid._, iv., 3262.] [footnote 636: _ibid._, iv., 4147.] [footnote 637: _ibid._, iv., 4376.] [footnote 638: _ibid._, iv., 5679, 5701, 5702, 5713.] by the treaty of cambrai francis abandoned italy to charles. his affairs beyond the alps had been going from bad to worse since the death of lautrec; and the suggested guard of french and english soldiers which was to relieve the pope from fear of charles was never formed.[639] that failure was not the only circumstance which made clement imperialist. venice, the ally of england and france, seized ravenna and cervia, two papal towns.[640] "the conduct of the venetians," wrote john casale from rome, "moves the pope more than anything else, and he would use the assistance of any one, except (p. 225) the devil, to avenge their injury."[641] "the king and the cardinal," repeated sanga to campeggio, "must not expect him to execute his intentions, until they have used their utmost efforts to compel the venetians to restore the pope's territories."[642] henry did his best, but he was not sincerely helped by francis; his efforts proved vain, and clement thought he could get more effective assistance from charles. "every one is persuaded," said one of the emperor's agents in italy on 10th january, 1529, "that the pope is now sincerely attached to his imperial majesty."[643] "i suspect," wrote du bellay from london, in the same month, "that the pope has commanded campeggio to meddle no further, seeing things are taking quite a different turn from what he had been assured, and that the emperor's affairs in naples are in such a state that clement dare not displease him."[644] the pope had already informed charles that his aunt's petition for the revocation of the suit would be granted.[645] the italian league was practically dissolved. "i have quite made up my mind," said clement to the archbishop of capua on 7th june, "to become an imperialist, and to live and die as such... i am only waiting for the return of my nuncio."[646] [footnote 639: _ibid._, iv., 5179.] [footnote 640: _ibid._, iv., 4680-84.] [footnote 641: _l. and p._, iv., 4900.] [footnote 642: _ibid._, iv., 5447.] [footnote 643: _sp. cal._, iii., 875.] [footnote 644: _l. and p._, iv., 5209.] [footnote 645: _sp. cal._, iii., 890.] [footnote 646: _ibid._, iv., 72.] that nuncio had gone to barcelona to negotiate an alliance between the pope and the emperor; and the success of his mission completed clement's conversion. the revocation was only delayed, thought charles's representative at rome, to secure better terms for the pope.[647] on 21st june, the french commander, st. pol, was utterly defeated at landriano; "not a vestige of the army is left," (p. 226) reported casale.[648] a few days later the treaty of barcelona between clement and charles was signed.[649] clement's nephew was to marry the emperor's natural daughter; the medici tyranny was to be re-established in florence; ravenna, cervia and other towns were to be restored to the pope; his holiness was to crown charles with the imperial crown, and to absolve from ecclesiastical censures all those who were present at, or consented to, the sack of rome. it was, in effect, a family compact; and part of it was the quashing of the legates' proceedings against the emperor's aunt, with whom the pope was now to be allied by family ties. "we found out secretly," write the english envoys at rome, on the 16th of july, "that the pope signed the revocation yesterday morning, as it would have been dishonourable to have signed it after the publication of the new treaty with the emperor, which will be published here on sunday."[650] clement knew that his motives would not bear scrutiny, and he tried to avoid public odium by a characteristic subterfuge. catherine could hope for no justice in england, henry could expect no justice at rome. political expediency would dictate a verdict in henry's favour in england; political expediency would dictate a verdict for catherine at rome. henry's ambassadors were instructed to appeal from clement to the "true vicar of christ," but where was the true vicar of christ to be found on (p. 227) earth?[651] there was no higher tribunal. it was intolerable that english suits should be decided by the chances and changes of french or habsburg influence in italy, by the hopes and the fears of an italian prince for the safety of his temporal power. the natural and inevitable result was the separation of england from rome. [footnote 647: _ibid._, iv., 154.] [footnote 648: _l. and p._, iv., 5705, 5767; _cf. sp. cal._, iv., 150.] [footnote 649: _l. and p._, iv., 5779; _sp. cal._, iv., 117, 161.] [footnote 650: _l. and p._, iv., 5780; _sp. cal._, iv., 156. another detail was the excommunication of zapolya, the rival of the habsburgs in hungary--a step which henry viii. denounced as "letting the turk into hungary" (_l. and p._, v., 274).] [footnote 651: _l. and p._, iv., 5650, 5715.] chapter ix. (p. 228) the cardinal's fall.[652] [footnote 652: see, besides the documents cited, busch, _der sturz des cardinals wolsey_ (hist. taschenbuch, vi., ix., 39-114).] the loss of their spiritual jurisdiction in england was part of the price paid by the popes for their temporal possessions in italy. the papal domains were either too great or too small. if the pope was to rely on his temporal power, it should have been extensive enough to protect him from the dictation and resentment of secular princes; and from this point of view there was no little justification for the aims of julius ii. had he succeeded in driving the barbarians across the alps or into the sea, he and his successors might in safety have judged the world, and the breach with henry might never have taken place. if the pope was to rely on his spiritual weapons, there was no need of temporal states at all. in their existing extent and position, they were simply the heel of achilles, the vulnerable spot, through which secular foes might wound the vicar of christ. france threatened him from the north and spain from the south; he was ever between the upper and the nether mill-stone. italy was the cockpit of europe in the sixteenth century, and the eyes of the popes were perpetually bent on the worldly fray, seeking to save or extend their dominions. through the pope's temporal power, france and spain exerted their (p. 229) pressure. he could only defend himself by playing off one against the other, and in this game his spiritual powers were his only effective pieces. more and more the spiritual authority, with which he was entrusted, was made to serve political ends. temporal princes were branded as "sons of iniquity and children of perdition," not because their beliefs or their morals were worse than other men's, but because they stood in the way of the family ambitions of various popes. their frequent use and abuse brought ecclesiastical censures into public contempt, and princes soon ceased to be frightened with false fires. james iv., when excommunicated, said he would appeal to prester john, and that he would side with any council against the pope, even if it contained only three bishops.[653] the vicar of christ was lost in the petty italian prince. _corruptio optimi pessima_. the lower dragged the higher nature down. if the papal court was distinguished from the courts of other italian sovereigns, it was not by exceptional purity. "in this court as in others," wrote silvester de giglis from rome, "nothing can be effected without gifts."[654] the election of leo x. was said to be free from bribery; a cardinal himself was amazed, and described the event as _phoenix et rara avis_.[655] if poison was not a frequent weapon at rome, popes and cardinals at least believed it to be. alexander vi. was said to have been poisoned; one cardinal was accused of poisoning his fellow-cardinal, bainbridge; and others were charged with an attempt on the life of leo x.[656] in 1517, pace (p. 230) described the state of affairs at rome as _plane monstra, omni dedecore et infamia plena; omnis fides, omnis honestas, una cum religione, a mundo abvolasse videntur_.[657] ten years later, the emperor himself declared that the sack of rome was the just judgment of god, and one of his ambassadors said that the pope ought to be deprived of his temporal states, as they had been at the bottom of all the dissensions.[658] clement himself claimed to have been the originator of that war which brought upon him so terrible and so just a punishment. [footnote 653: _l. and p._, i., 3838, 3876.] [footnote 654: _ibid._, ii., 3781; _cf._, i., 4283, "all here have regard only to their own honour and profit".] [footnote 655: _ibid._, ii., 2362.] [footnote 656: _l. and p._, ii., 3277, 3352.] [footnote 657: _ibid._, ii., 3523.] [footnote 658: _sp. cal._, iii., 209, 210, 309; _cf._, _l. and p._, iv., 3051, 3352. clement had given away sicily and naples to one of charles's vassals "which dealing may make me not take him as pope, no, not for all the excommunications that he can make; for i stand under appellation to the next general council". every one--charles v., henry viii., cranmer--played an appeal to the next general council against the pope's excommunication.] another result of the merging of the pope in the italian prince was the practical exclusion of the english and other northern nations from the supreme council of christendom. there was no apparent reason why an englishman should not be the head of the christian church just as well as an italian; but there was some incongruity in the idea of an englishman ruling over italian states, and no englishman had attained the papacy for nearly four centuries. the double failure of wolsey made it clear that the door of the papacy was sealed to englishmen, whatever their claims might be. the roll of cardinals tells a similar tale; the roman curia graciously conceded that there should generally be one english cardinal in the sacred college, but one in a body (p. 231) of forty or fifty was thought as much as england could fairly demand. it is not so very surprising that england repudiated the authority of a tribunal in which its influence was measured on such a contemptible scale. the other nations of europe thought much the same, and it is only necessary to add up the number of cardinals belonging to each nationality to arrive at a fairly accurate indication of the peoples who rejected papal pretensions. the nations most inadequately represented in the college of cardinals broke away from rome; those which remained faithful were the nations which controlled in the present, or might hope to control in the future, the supreme ecclesiastical power. spain and france had little temptation to abolish an authority which they themselves wielded in turn; for if the pope was a spaniard to-day, he might well be a frenchman to-morrow. there was no absurdity in frenchmen or spaniards ruling over the papal states; for france and spain already held under their sway more italian territory than italian natives themselves. it was the subjection of the pope to french and spanish domination that prejudiced his claims in english eyes. his authority was tolerable so long as the old ideal of the unity of christendom under a single monarch retained its force, or even so long as the pope was italian pure and simple. but when italy was either spanish or french, and the pope the chaplain of one or the other monarch, the growing spirit of nationality could bear it no longer; it responded at once to henry's appeals against the claims of a foreign jurisdiction. it was a mere accident that the breach with rome grew out of spanish control of the pope. the separation was nearly effected more than (p. 232) a century earlier, as a result of the pope's babylonish captivity in france; and the wonder is, not that the breach took place when it did, but that it was deferred for so long. at the beginning of the fifteenth century all the elements were present but one for the ecclesiastical revolution which was reserved for henry viii. to effect. the papacy had been discredited in english eyes by subservience to france, just as it had in 1529 by subservience to charles. lollardy was more powerful in england in the reign of henry iv. than heresy was in the middle of that of henry viii. there was as strong a demand for the secularisation of church property on the part of the lay peers and gentry; and wycliffe himself had anticipated the cardinal point of the later movement by appealing to the state to reform the church. but great revolutions depend on a number of causes working together, and often fail for the lack of one. the element lacking in the reign of henry iv. was the king himself. the lancastrians were orthodox from conviction and from the necessities of their position; they needed the support of the church to bolster up a weak title to the crown. the civil wars followed; and henry vii. was too much absorbed in securing his throne to pursue any quarrels with rome. but when his son began to rule as well as to reign, it was inevitable that not merely questions of church property and of the relations with the papacy should come up for revision, but also those issues between church and state which had remained in abeyance during the fifteenth century. the divorce was the spark which ignited the flame, but the combustible materials had been long existent. if the divorce had been all, there would have been no reformation in england. after the death of anne boleyn, henry (p. 233) might have done some trifling penance at his subjects' expense, made the pope a present, or waged war on one of clement's orthodox foes, and that would have been the end. much had happened since the days of hildebrand, and popes were no longer able to exact heroic repentance. the divorce, in fact, was the occasion, and not the cause, of the reformation. * * * * * that movement, so far as henry viii. was concerned, was not in essence doctrinal; neither was it primarily a schism between the english and roman communions. it was rather an episode in the eternal dispute between church and state. throughout the quarrel, henry and elizabeth maintained that they were merely reasserting their ancient royal prerogative over the church, which the pope of rome had usurped. english revolutions have always been based on specious conservative pleas, and the only method of inducing englishmen to change has been by persuasions that the change is not a change at all, or is a change to an older and better order. the parliaments of the seventeenth century regarded the stuart pretensions, as henry and elizabeth did those of the pope, in the light of usurpations upon their own imprescriptible rights; and more recently, movements to make the church catholic have been based on the ground that it has never been anything else. the tudor contention that the state was always supreme over the church has been transformed into a theory that the church was always at least semi-independent of rome. but it is not so clear that the church has always been anti-papal, as that the english laity have always been anti-clerical. the english people were certainly very anti-sacerdotal from the (p. 234) the very beginning of henry viii.'s reign. in 1512 james iv. complained to henry that englishmen seized scots merchants, ill-treated them, and abused them as "the pope's men".[659] at the end of the same year parliament deprived of their benefit of clergy all clerks under the rank of sub-deacon who committed murder or felony.[660] this measure at once provoked a cry of "the church in danger". the abbot of winchcombe preached that the act was contrary to the law of god and to the liberties of the church, and that the lords, who consented thereto, had incurred a liability to spiritual censures. standish, warden of the mendicant friars of london, defended the action of parliament, while the temporal peers requested the bishops to make the abbot of winchcombe recant.[661] they refused, and, at the convocation of 1515, standish was summoned before it to explain his conduct. he appealed to the king; the judges pronounced that all who had taken part in the proceedings against standish had incurred the penalties of _præmunire_. they also declared that the king could hold a parliament without the spiritual lords, who only sat in virtue of their temporalties. this opinion seems to have nothing to do with (p. 235) the dispute, but it is remarkable that, in one list of the peers attending the parliament of 1515, there is not a single abbot.[662] [footnote 659: _l. and p._, i., 3320. in 1516 one humphrey bonner preached a sermon ridiculing the holy see (_ibid._, ii., 2692).] [footnote 660: in this, as in many other reforms, the english parliament only anticipated the action of the church; for on 12th february, 1516, leo x. issued a bull prohibiting any one from being admitted, for the next five years, into minor orders unless he were simultaneously promoted to be sub-deacon; as many persons, to avoid appearing before the civil courts and to enjoy immunity, received the tonsure and minor orders without proceeding to the superior (_l. and p._, ii., 1532).] [footnote 661: _l. and p._, ii., 1313. brewer impugns the authority of keilway's report of this incident on the ground that he lived in elizabeth's reign; that is true, but according to the _d.n.b._ he was born in 1497, which makes him a strictly contemporary authority.] [footnote 662: _l. and p._, ii., 1131.] with regard to the abbot of winchcombe and friar standish, the prelates claimed the same liberty of speech for convocation as was enjoyed by parliament; so that they could, without offence, have maintained certain acts of parliament to be against the laws of the church.[663] wolsey interceded on their behalf, and begged that the matter might be left to the pope's decision, while henry contented himself with a declaration that he would maintain intact his royal jurisdiction. this was not all that passed during that session of parliament and convocation. at the end of his summary of the proceedings, dr. john taylor, who was both clerk of parliament and prolocutor of convocation, remarks: "in this parliament and convocation the most dangerous quarrels broke out between the clergy and the secular power, respecting the church's liberties";[664] and there exists a remarkable petition presented to this parliament against clerical exactions; it complained that the clergy refused burial until after the gift of the deceased's best jewel, best garment or the like, and demanded that every curate should administer the sacrament when required to do so.[665] it was no wonder that wolsey advised "the more speedy dissolution" of this parliament,[666] and that, except in 1523, when financial straits compelled him, he did not call another while he remained in power. his fall was the sign (p. 236) for the revival of parliament, and it immediately took up the work where it was left in 1515. [footnote 663: _ibid._, ii., 1314.] [footnote 664: _ibid._, ii., 1312.] [footnote 665: _ibid._, ii., 1315; _cf._ another petition to the same effect from the inhabitants of london (_ibid._, i., 5725 (i.)).] [footnote 666: _ibid._, ii., 1223.] these significant proceedings did not stand alone. in 1515 the bishop of london's chancellor was indicted for the murder of a citizen who had been found dead in the bishop's prison.[667] the bishop interceded with wolsey to prevent the trial; any london jury would, he said, convict any clerk, "be he innocent as abel; they be so maliciously set _in favorem hæreticæ pravitatis_".[668] the heresy was no matter of belief, but hatred of clerical immunities. the _epistolæ obscurorum virorum_, wrote more to erasmus in 1516, was "popular everywhere";[669] and no more bitter a satire had yet been penned on the clergy. in this matter henry and his lay subjects were at one. standish, whom taylor describes as the promoter and instigator of all these evils, was a favourite preacher at henry's court. the king, said pace, had "often praised his doctrine".[670] but what was it? it was no advocacy of henry's loved "new learning," for standish denounced the greek testament of erasmus, and is held up to ridicule by the great dutch humanist;[671] standish, too, was afterwards a stout defender of the pope's dispensing power, and followed fisher in his protest against the divorce before the legatine court. the doctrine, which pleased the king so much, was standish's denial of clerical immunity from state control, and his assertion of royal prerogatives over the church. (p. 237) in 1518 the bishopric of st. asaph's fell vacant. wolsey, who was then at the height of his power, recommended bolton,[672] prior of st. bartholomew's, a learned man; but henry was resolved to reward his favourite divine, and standish obtained the see. pace, a good churchman, expressed himself to wolsey as "mortified" at the result, but said it was inevitable, as besides the king's good graces, standish enjoyed "the favour of all the courtiers for the singular assistance he has rendered towards subverting the church of england".[673] [footnote 667: see dr. gairdner, _history of english church in sixteenth century_, ch. iii., where the story of richard hunne is critically examined in detail. its importance consists, however, not in the question whether hunne was or was not murdered by the bishop's chancellor horsey, but in the popular hostility to the clergy revealed by the incident.] [footnote 668: _l. and p._, ii., 2.] [footnote 669: _ibid._, ii., 2492.] [footnote 670: _ibid._, ii., 4074.] [footnote 671: _ibid._, iii., 929.] [footnote 672: _l. and p._, ii., 4082.] [footnote 673: _ibid._, ii., 4074.] eleven more years were to roll before the church was subverted. they were years of wolsey's supremacy; he alone stood between the church and its subjection. it was owing, wrote campeggio, in 1528, to wolsey's vigilance and solicitude that the holy see retained its rank and dignity.[674] his ruin would drag down the church, and the fact was known to anne boleyn and her faction, to campeggio and clement vii., as well as to henry viii.[675] "these lords intend," wrote du bellay, on the eve of wolsey's fall, "after he is dead or ruined, to impeach the state of the church, and take all its goods; which it is hardly needful for me to write in cipher, for they proclaim it openly. i expect they will do fine miracles."[676] a few days later he says, "i expect the priests will never have the great seal again; and that in this parliament they will have terrible alarms. i think dr. stephen (gardiner) will have a good deal to do with the management of affairs, _especially if he will abandon his order_."[677] at easter, 1529, lutheran books were circulating in henry's court, advocating the (p. 238) confiscation of ecclesiastical property and the restoration of his church to its primitive simplicity. campeggio warned the king against them and maintained that it had been determined by councils and theologians that the church justly held her temporalties. henry retorted that according to the lutherans "those decisions were arrived at by ecclesiastics and now it was necessary for the laity to interpose".[678] in his last interview with henry, campeggio "alluded to this parliament, which is about to be holden, and i earnestly pressed upon him the liberty of the church. he certainly seemed to me very well disposed to exert his power to the utmost."[679] "down with the church" was going to be the parliament cry. whether henry would really "exert his power" to maintain her liberties remained to be seen, but there never was a flimsier theory than that the divorce of catherine was the sole cause of the break with rome. the centrifugal forces were quite independent of the divorce; its historical importance lies in the fact that it alienated from rome the only power in england which might have kept them in check. so long as wolsey and the clerical statesmen, with whom he surrounded the king, remained supreme, the church was comparatively safe. but wolsey depended entirely on henry's support; when that was withdrawn, church and cardinal fell together. [footnote 674: _ibid._, iv., 4898.] [footnote 675: _ibid._, iv., 5210, 5255, 5581, 5582.] [footnote 676: _ibid._, iv., 6011.] [footnote 677: _ibid._, 6019.] [footnote 678: _l. and p._, iv., 5416.] [footnote 679: _ibid._, iv., 5995. henry viii. no doubt also had his eye on gustavus in sweden where the vesteräs recess of 1527 had provided that all episcopal, capitular and monastic property which was not absolutely required should be handed over to the king, and conferred upon him an ecclesiastical jurisdiction as extensive as that afterwards conferred upon henry viii. (_cambridge modern hist._, ii., 626).] wolsey's ruin was, however, due to more causes than his failure (p. 239) to get a divorce for the king. it was at bottom the result of the natural development of henry's character. egotism was from the first his most prominent trait; it was inevitably fostered by the extravagant adulation paid to tudor sovereigns, and was further encouraged by his realisation, first of his own mental powers, and then of the extent to which he could force his will upon others. he could never brook a rival in whatever sphere he wished to excel. in the days of his youth he was absorbed in physical sports, in gorgeous pageantry and ceremonial; he was content with such exhibitions as prancing before the ladies between every course in a tourney, or acting as pilot on board ship, blowing a whistle as loud as a trumpet, and arrayed in trousers of cloth of gold. gradually, as time wore on, the athletic mania wore off, and pursuits, such as architecture, took the place of physical sports. a generation later, a writer describes henry as "the only phoenix of his time for fine and curious masonry".[680] from his own original designs york house was transformed into whitehall palace, nonsuch palace was built, and extensive alterations were made at greenwich and hampton court. [footnote 680: harrison, _description of england_, in holinshed, ed. 1577, bk. ii., chap. ix.] but architecture was only a trifle; henry's uncontrollable activity also broke out in political spheres, and the eruption was fatal to wolsey's predominance. the king was still in the full vigour of manhood; he had not reached his fortieth year, and his physical graces were the marvel of those who saw him for the first time. falier, the new venetian ambassador, who arrived in england in 1529, is as (p. 240) rapturous over the king's personal attractions as giustinian or pasqualigo had been. "in this eighth henry," he writes, "god has combined such corporeal and intellectual beauty as not merely to surprise but astound all men.... his face is angelic (nine years before a frenchman had called it "feminine"), rather than handsome; his head imperial and bold; and he wears a beard, contrary to the english custom. who would not be amazed, when contemplating such singular beauty of person, coupled with such bold address, adapting itself with the greatest ease to every manly exercise?"[681] but henry's physique was no longer proof against every ailment; frequent mention is made about this time of headaches[682] which incapacitated him from business, and it was not long before there appeared on his leg the fistula which racked him with pain till the end of his life, and eventually caused his death. [footnote 681: _ven. cal._, iv., 184, 185, 293.] [footnote 682: _l. and p._, iv., 4546. henry had had small-pox in february, 1514 (_ibid._, i., 4831), without any serious consequences, but apart from that he had had no great illness.] the divorce and the insuperable obstacles, which he discovered in attaining the end he thought easy at first, did more to harden henry's temper than any bodily ills. he became a really serious man, and developed that extraordinary power of self-control which stood him in good stead in his later years. naturally a man of violent passions, he could never have steered clear of the dangers that beset him without unusual capacity for curbing his temper, concealing his intentions, and keeping his own counsel. ministers might flatter themselves that they could read his mind and calculate his actions, but it is quite certain that henceforth no minister read so clearly his master's (p. 241) mind as the master did his minister's. "three may keep counsel," said the king in 1530,[683] "if two be away; and if i thought that my cap knew my counsel, i would cast it into the fire and burn it." "never," comments a modern writer,[684] "had the king spoken a truer word, or described himself more accurately. few would have thought that, under so careless and splendid an exterior--the very ideal of bluff, open-hearted good-humour and frankness--there lay a watchful and secret eye, that marked what was going on, without appearing to mark it; kept its own counsel until it was time to strike, and then struck, as suddenly and remorselessly as a beast of prey. it was strange to witness so much subtlety, combined with so much strength." [footnote 683: cavendish, _life of wolsey_, p. 397.] [footnote 684: brewer, introd. to _l. and p._, iv., p. dcxxi.] in spite of his remorseless blows and arbitrary temper, henry was too shrewd and too great a man to despise the counsel of others, or think any worse of an adviser because his advice differed from his own. he loved to meet argument with argument, even when he might command. to the end of his days he valued a councillor who would honestly maintain the opposite of what the king desired. these councillors to whom he gave his confidence were never minions or servile flatterers. henry had his court favourites with whom he hunted and shot and diced; with whom he played--always for money--tennis, primero and bowls, and the more mysterious games of pope july, imperial and shovelboard;[685] and to whom he threw many an acre of choice monastic land. but they never influenced his policy. no man was ever advanced to political (p. 242) power in henry's reign, merely because he pandered to the king's vanity or to his vices. no one was a better judge of conduct in the case of others, or a sterner champion of moral probity, when it did not conflict with his own desires or conscience. in 1528 anne boleyn and her friends were anxious to make a relative abbess of wilton.[686] but she had been notoriously unchaste. "wherefore," wrote henry to anne herself, "i would not, for all the gold in the world, cloak your conscience nor mine to make her ruler of a house which is of so ungodly demeanour; nor i trust you would not that neither for brother nor sister i should so distain mine honour or conscience." he objected, on similar grounds, to the prioress whom wolsey wished to nominate; the cardinal neglected henry's wishes, and thereby called down upon himself a rebuke remarkable for dignity and delicacy. "the great affection and love i bear you," wrote the king, "causeth me, using the doctrine of my master, saying _quem diligo, castigo_, thus plainly, as ensueth, to break to you my mind.... methink it is not the right train of a trusty loving friend and servant, when the matter is put by the master's consent into his arbitre and judgment (specially in a matter wherein his master hath both royalty and interest), to elect and choose a person which was by him defended (forbidden). and yet another thing, which much displeaseth me more,--that is, to cloak your offence made by ignorance of my pleasure, saying that you expressly knew not my determinate mind in that behalf." then, after showing how empty were wolsey's excuses, he continues: "ah! my lord, it is a double offence, both to do ill and colour it too; but with (p. 243) men that have wit it cannot be accepted so. wherefore, good my lord, use no more that way with me, for there is no man living that more hateth it." he then proceeds to warn the cardinal against sinister reports with regard to his methods of raising money for his college at oxford. "they say the college is a cloak for all mischief. i perceive by your letter that you have received money of the exempts for having their old visitors. if your legacy (legatine authority) is a cloak _apud homines_, it is not _apud deum_. i doubt not, therefore, you will desist." wolsey had used his legatine authority to extort money from monasteries as the price of their immunity from his visitatorial powers. the monasteries, too, had strenuously opposed the late amicable loan to the king; by wolsey's means they had been released from that obligation; and henry strongly suspected that they had purchased their exemption from relieving his necessities by lavish contributions to the cardinal's colleges. "i pray you, my lord," he concludes, "think not that it is upon any displeasure that i write this unto you. for surely it is for my discharge afore god, being in the room that i am in; and secondly for the great zeal i bear unto you." henry possessed in the highest degree not a few of the best of kingly attributes. his words are not the words of a hypocrite without conscience, devoid of the fear of god and man. for all the strange and violent things that he did, he obtained the sanction of his conscience, but his imperious egotism made conscience his humble slave, and blinded to his own sins a judgment so keen to detect and chastise the failings of others. [footnote 685: see various entries in privy purse expenses, _l. and p._, v., 747-62.] [footnote 686: _l. and p._, iv., 4477, 4488, 4507, 4509.] these incidents, of more than a year before the cardinal's fall, (p. 244) illustrate the change in the respective positions of monarch and minister. there was no doubt now which was the master; there was no king but one. henry was already taking, as du bellay said, "the management of everything".[687] wolsey himself knew that he had lost the king's confidence. he began to talk of retirement. he told du bellay, in or before august, 1528, that when he had established a firm amity between france and england, extinguished the hatred between the two nations, reformed the laws and customs of england, and settled the succession, he would retire and serve god to the end of his days.[688] the frenchman thought this was merely to represent as voluntary a loss of power which he saw would soon be inevitable; but the conversation is a striking illustration of the difference between henry and wolsey, and helps to explain why wolsey accomplished so little that lasted, while henry accomplished so much. the cardinal seems to have been entirely devoid of that keen perception of the distinction between what was, and what was not, practicable, which was henry's saving characteristic. in the evening of his days, after sixteen years of almost unlimited power, he was speaking of plans, which might have taxed the energies of a life-time, as preliminaries to a speedy withdrawal from the cares of state. he had enjoyed an unequalled opportunity of effecting these reforms, but what were the results of his administration? the real greatness and splendour of henry's reign are said to have departed with wolsey's fall.[689] the gilt and the tinsel were indeed stripped off, but the permanent results of (p. 245) henry's reign were due to its later course. had he died when wolsey fell, what would have been his place in history? a brilliant figure, no doubt, who might have been thought capable of much, had he not failed to achieve anything. he had made wars from which england derived no visible profit; not an acre of territory had been acquired; the wealth, amassed by henry vii., had been squandered, and henry viii., in 1529, was reduced to searching for gold mines in england.[690] the loss of his subjects' blood and treasure had been followed by the loss of their affections. the exuberant loyalty of 1509 had been turned into the wintry discontent of 1527. england had been raised to a high place in the councils of europe by 1521, but her fall was quite as rapid, and in 1525 she counted for less than she had done in 1513. at home the results were equally barren; the english hold on ireland was said, in 1528, to be weaker than it had been since the conquest;[691] and the english statute-book between 1509 and 1529 may be searched in vain for an act of importance, while the statute-book between 1529 and 1547 contains a list of acts which have never been equalled for their supreme importance in the subsequent history of england. [footnote 687: _l. and p._, iv., 5983; _cf._ iv., 3992, where henry has an interview (march, 1528) with a scots ambassador and tells no one about it.] [footnote 688: _ibid._, iv., 4649.] [footnote 689: brewer, _ibid._, iv., introd., p. dcxxii.] [footnote 690: _l. and p._, iv., 5209. one hochstetter was imported from germany in connection with "the gold mines that the king was seeking for" (du bellay to montmorenci, 25th january, 1529).] [footnote 691: _ibid._, iv., 4933.] wolsey's policy was, indeed, a brilliant fiasco; with a pre-eminent genius for diplomacy, he thought he could make england, by diplomacy alone, arbiter of europe. its position in 1521 was artificial; it had not the means to support a grandeur which was only built on the wealth left by henry vii. and on wolsey's skill. england owed her advance (p. 246) in repute to the fact that wolsey made her the paymaster of europe. "the reputation of england for wealth," said an english diplomatist in 1522, "is a great cause of the esteem in which it is held."[692] but, by 1523, that wealth had failed; parliament refused to levy more taxes, and wolsey's pretensions collapsed like a pack of cards. he played no part in the peace of cambrai, which settled for the time the conditions of europe. when rumours of the clandestine negotiations between france and spain reached england, wolsey staked his head to the king that they were pure invention.[693] he could not believe that peace was possible, unless it were made by him. but the rumours were true, and henry exacted the penalty. the positive results of the cardinal's policy were nil; the chief negative result was that he had staved off for many years the ruin of the church, but he only did it by plunging england in the maëlstrom of foreign intrigue and of futile wars. [footnote 692: _l. and p._, iii., 1978.] [footnote 693: _ibid._, iv., 5231.] the end was not long delayed. "i see clearly," writes du bellay on 4th october, 1529, "that by this parliament wolsey will completely lose his influence; i see no chance to the contrary."[694] henry anticipated the temper of parliament. a bill of indictment was preferred against him in the court of king's bench, and on the 22nd of october he acknowledged his liability to the penalties of _præmunire_.[695] the great seal was taken from him by the dukes of norfolk and suffolk. in november the house of lords passed a bill of attainder against him, but the commons were persuaded by cromwell, acting with henry's (p. 247) connivance, to throw it out. "the king," wrote chapuys, "is thought to bear the cardinal no ill-will;" and campeggio thought that he would "not go to extremes, but act considerately in this matter, as he is accustomed to do in all his actions."[696] wolsey was allowed to retain the archbishopric of york, a sum in money and goods equivalent to at least £70,000, and a pension of 1,000 marks from the see of winchester.[697] in the following spring he set out to spend his last days in his northern see; six months he devoted to his archiepiscopal duties, confirming thousands of children, arranging disputes among neighbours, and winning such hold on the hearts of the people as he had never known in the days of his pride. crowds in london had flocked to gloat over the sight of the broken man; now crowds in yorkshire came to implore his blessing. [footnote 694: _ibid._, iv., 5983.] [footnote 695: _ibid._, iv., 6017.] [footnote 696: _l. and p._, iv., 6199, 6050; _cf._ iv., 6295, where henry orders dacre to treat wolsey as became his rank; _ven. cal._, 1529, p. 237.] [footnote 697: _ibid._, iv., 6220.] he prepared for his installation at york on 7th november, 1530; on the 4th he was arrested for treason. his italian physician, agostini, had betrayed him; he was accused of having asked francis i. to intercede with henry on his behalf, which was true;[698] and he seems also to have sought the mediation of charles v. but agostini further declared that wolsey had written to clement, urging him to excommunicate henry and raise an insurrection, by which the cardinal might recover his power.[699] by pontefract, doncaster, nottingham, with feeble (p. 248) steps and slow, the once-proud prelate, broken in spirit and shattered in health, returned to meet his doom. his gaol was to be the cell in the tower, which had served for the duke of buckingham.[700] but a kindlier fate than a traitor's death was in store. "i am come," he said to the monks of leicester abbey, "i am come to leave my bones among you." he died there at eight o'clock on st. andrew's morning, and there, on the following day, he was simply and quietly buried. "if," he exclaimed in his last hour, "i had served god as diligently as i have done the king, he would not have given me over in my grey hairs." that cry, wrung from wolsey, echoed throughout the tudor times.[701] men paid _le nouveau messie_ a devotion they owed to the old; they rendered unto cæsar the things that were god's. they reaped their reward in riches and pomp and power, but they won no peace of mind. the favour of princes is fickle, and "the wrath of the king is death". so thought wolsey and warham and norfolk. "is that all?" said more, with prophetic soul, to norfolk; "then in good faith between your grace and me is but this, that i shall die to-day and you shall die to-morrow."[702] [footnote 698: _ibid._, iv., 6018, 6199, 6273, 6738.] [footnote 699: de vaux writes on 8th november, 1530, to montmorenci, that the king had told him "where and how" wolsey had intrigued against him, but he does not repeat the information (_ibid._, iv., 6720), though bryan's remark (_ibid._, iv., 6733) that "de vaux has done well in disclosing the misdemeanour of the cardinal" suggests that de vaux knew more than he says.] [footnote 700: so chapuys reports (iv., 6738); that wolsey had used agostini to sound chapuys is obvious from the latter's remark, "were the physician to say all that passed between us, he could not do anything to impugn me".] [footnote 701: _cf._ buckingham's remark in _l. and p._, iii., 1356: "an he had not offended no more unto god than he had done to the crown, he should die as true a man as ever was in the world".] [footnote 702: _d.n.b._, xxxviii., 437.] chapter x. (p. 249) the king and his parliament. in the closing days of july, 1529, a courier came posting from rome with despatches announcing the alliance of clement and charles, and the revocation to the papal court of the suit between henry viii. and the emperor's aunt. henry replied with no idle threats or empty reproaches, but his retort was none the less effective. on the 9th of august[703] writs were issued from chancery summoning that parliament which met on the 3rd of november and did not separate till the last link in the chain which bound england to rome was sundered, and the country was fairly launched on that sixty years' struggle which the defeat of the spanish armada concluded.[704] the step might well seem a desperate hazard. the last parliament had broken up in (p. 250) discontent; it had been followed by open revolt in various shires; while from others there had since then come demands for the repayment of the loan, which henry was in no position to grant. francis and charles, on whose mutual enmity england's safety largely depended, had made their peace at cambrai; and the emperor was free to foment disaffection in ireland and to instigate scotland to war. his chancellor was boasting that the imperialists could, if they would, drive henry from his kingdom within three months,[705] and he based his hopes on revolt among henry's own subjects. the divorce had been from the beginning, and remained to the end, a stumbling-block to the people. catherine received ovations wherever she went, while the utmost efforts of the king could scarcely protect anne boleyn from popular insult. the people were moved, not only by a creditable feeling that henry's first wife was an injured woman, but by the fear lest a breach with charles should destroy their trade in wool, on which, said the imperial ambassador, half the realm depended for sustenance.[706] [footnote 703: rymer, _foedera_, xiv., 302.] [footnote 704: it has been alleged that the immediate object of this parliament was to relieve the king from the necessity of repaying the loan (_d.n.b._, xxvi., 83); and much scorn has been poured on the notion that it had any important purpose (_l. and p._, iv., introd., p. dcxlvii.). brewer even denies its hostility to the church on the ground that it was composed largely of lawyers, and "lawyers are not in general enemies to things established; they are not inimical to the clergy". yet the law element was certainly stronger in the parliaments of charles i. than in that of 1529; were they not hostile to "things established" and "inimical to the clergy"? contemporaries had a different opinion of the purpose of the parliament of 1529. "it is intended," wrote du bellay on the 23rd of august, three months before parliament met, "to hold a parliament here this winter and act by their own absolute power, in default of justice being administered by the pope in this divorce" (_ibid._, iv., 5862; _cf._ iv., 6011, 6019, 6307); "nothing else," wrote a florentine in december, 1530, "is thought of in that island every day except of arranging affairs in such a way that they do no longer be in want of the pope, neither for filling vacancies in the church, nor for any other purpose" (_ibid._, iv., 6774).] [footnote 705: _l. and p._, iv., 4909, 4911; _cf._ 5177, 5501.] [footnote 706: _ibid._, vi., 1528.] to summon a parliament at such a conjuncture seemed to be courting certain ruin. in reality, it was the first and most striking instance of the audacity and insight which were to enable henry to guide the whirlwind and direct the storm of the last eighteen years of his (p. 251) reign. clement had put in his hands the weapon with which he secured his divorce and broke the bonds of rome. "if," wrote wolsey a day or two before the news of the revocation arrived, "the king be cited to appear at rome in person or by proxy, and his prerogative be interfered with, none of his subjects will tolerate it. if he appears in italy, it will be at the head of a formidable army."[707] a sympathiser with catherine expressed his resentment at his king being summoned to plead as a party in his own realm before the legatine court;[708] and it has even been suggested that those proceedings were designed to irritate popular feeling against the roman jurisdiction. far more offensive was it to national prejudice, that england's king should be cited to appear before a court in a distant land, dominated by the arms of a foreign prince. nothing did more to alienate men's minds from the papacy. henry would never have been able to obtain his divorce on its merits as they appeared to his people. but now the divorce became closely interwoven with another and a wider question, the papal jurisdiction in england; and on that question henry carried with him the good wishes of the vast bulk of the laity. there were few englishmen who would not resent the petition presented to the pope in 1529 by charles v. and ferdinand that the english parliament should be forbidden to discuss the question of divorce.[709] by summoning parliament, henry opened the floodgates of anti-papal and anti-sacerdotal feelings which wolsey had long kept shut; and the unpopular divorce became (p. 252) merely a cross-current in the main stream which flowed in henry's favour. [footnote 707: _l. and p._, iv., 5797.] [footnote 708: cavendish, p. 210; _l. and p._, iv., introd., p. dv.] [footnote 709: _sp. cal._, iii., 979.] it was thus with some confidence that henry appealed from the pope to his people. he could do so all the more surely, if, as is alleged, there was no freedom of election, and if the house of commons was packed with royal nominees.[710] but these assertions may be dismissed as gross exaggerations. the election of county members was marked by unmistakable signs of genuine popular liberty. there was often a riot, and sometimes a secret canvass among freeholders to promote or defeat a particular candidate.[711] in 1547 the council ventured to recommend a minister to the freeholders of kent. the electors objected; the council reprimanded the sheriff for representing its recommendation as a command; it protested that it never dreamt of depriving the shire of its "liberty of election," but "would take it thankfully" if the electors would give their voices to the ministerial candidate. the electors were not to be soothed by soft words, and that government candidate had to find another seat.[712] in the boroughs there was every variety of franchise. in some it was almost democratic; in others elections were in the hands of one or two voters. in the city of london the election for the parliament of 1529 was held on (p. 253) 5th october, _immensa communitate tunc presente_, in the guildhall; there is no hint of royal interference, the election being conducted in the customary way, namely, two candidates were nominated by the mayor and aldermen, and two by the citizens.[713] the general tendency had for more than a century, however, been towards close corporations in whose hands the parliamentary franchise was generally vested, and consequently towards restricting the basis of popular representation. the narrower that basis became, the greater the facilities it afforded for external influence. in many boroughs elections were largely determined by recommendations from neighbouring magnates, territorial or official.[714] at gatton the lords of the manor nominated the members for parliament, and the formal election was merely a matter of drawing up an indenture between sir roger copley and the sheriff,[715] and the bishop of winchester was wont to select representatives for more than one borough within the bounds of his diocese.[716] the duke of norfolk claimed to be able to return ten members in sussex and surrey alone.[717] [footnote 710: "the choice of the electors," says brewer (_l. and p._, iv., introd., p. dcxlv.), "was still determined by the king or his powerful ministers with as much certainty and assurance as that of the sheriffs."] [footnote 711: _l. and p._, i., 792, vii., 1178, where mention is made of "secret labour" among the freeholders of warwickshire for the bye-election on sir e. ferrers' death in 1534; and x., 1063, where there is described a hotly contested election between the candidate of the gentry of shropshire and the candidate of the townsfolk of shrewsbury.] [footnote 712: _acts of the privy council_, 1547-50, pp. 516, 518, 519; _england under protector somerset_, pp. 71, 72.] [footnote 713: _narratives of the reformation_, camden soc., pp. 295, 296.] [footnote 714: _cf._ duchess of norfolk's letter to john paston, 8th june, 1455 (_paston letters_, ed. 1900, i., 337), and in 1586 sir henry bagnal asked the earl of rutland if he had a seat to spare in parliament as bagnal was anxious "for his learning's sake to be made a parliament man" (_d.n.b._, suppl., i., 96).] [footnote 715: _l. and p._, xiv., 645; _cf._ hallam, 1884, iii., 44-45.] [footnote 716: foxe, ed. townsend, vi., 54. there are some illustrations and general remarks on henry's relations with parliament in porritt's _unreformed house of commons_, 2 vols., 1903.] [footnote 717: at reigate, says the duke, "i doubt whether any burgesses be there or not" (_l. and p._, x., 816); and apparently there were none at gatton.] but these nominations were not royal, and there is no reason (p. 254) to suppose that the nominees were any more likely to be subservient to the crown than freely elected members unless the local magnate happened to be a royal minister. their views depended on those of their patrons, who might be opposed to the court; and, in 1539, cromwell's agents were considering the advisability of setting up crown candidates against those of gardiner, bishop of winchester.[718] the curious letter to cromwell in 1529,[719] upon which is based the theory that the house of commons consisted of royal nominees, is singularly inconclusive. cromwell sought henry's permission to serve in parliament for two reasons; firstly, he was still a servant of the obnoxious and fallen cardinal; secondly, he was seeking to transfer himself to henry's service, and thought he might be useful to the king in the house of commons. if henry accepted his offer, cromwell was to be nominated for oxford; if he were not elected there, he was to be put up for one of the boroughs in the diocese of winchester, then vacant through wolsey's resignation. even with the king's assent, his election at oxford was not regarded as certain; and, as a matter of fact, cromwell sat neither for oxford, nor for any constituency (p. 255) in the diocese of winchester, but for the borough of taunton.[720] crown influence could only make itself effectively felt in the limited number of royal boroughs; and the attempts to increase that influence by the creation of constituencies susceptible to royal influence were all subsequent in date to 1529. the returns of members of parliament are not extant from 1477 to 1529, but a comparison of the respective number of constituencies in those two years reveals only six in 1529 which had not sent members to a previous parliament; and almost if not all of these six owed their representation to their increasing population and importance, and not to any desire to pack the house of commons. indeed, as a method of enforcing the royal will upon parliament, the creation of half a dozen boroughs was both futile and unnecessary. so small a number of votes was useless, except in the case of a close division of well-drilled parties, of which there is no trace in the parliaments of henry viii.[721] the house of commons acted as a whole, and not in two sections. "the sense of the house" was more apparent in its decisions then than it is to-day. actual divisions were rare; either a proposal commended itself to the house, or it did not; and in both cases the question was usually determined without a vote. [footnote 718: this seems to have been the object of southampton's tour through the constituencies of surrey and hampshire in march, 1539; with one of gardiner's pocket-boroughs he did not meddle, because the lord chamberlain was the bishop's steward there (_l. and p._, xiv., i., 520). there were some royal nominees in the house of commons. in 1523 the members for cumberland were nominated by the crown (_ibid._, iii., 2931); at calais the lord-deputy and council elected one of the two burgesses and the mayor and burgesses the other (_ibid._, x., 736). calais and the scottish borders were of course exceptionally under crown influence, but this curious practice may have been observed in some other cities and boroughs; in 1534, for instance, the king was to nominate to one of the two vacancies at worcester (_ibid._, vii., 56).] [footnote 719: _ibid._, iv., app. 238.] [footnote 720: _official return of members of parliament_, i., 370.] [footnote 721: occasionally there were divisions, _e.g._, in 1523 when the court party voted a subsidy of 2_s._ in the pound; but this was only half the sum demanded by wolsey (hall, pp. 656, 657, ellis, _orig. letters_, i., i., 220, 221).] the creation of boroughs was also unnecessary. parliaments packed themselves quite well enough to suit henry's purpose, without (p. 256) any interference on his part. the limiting of the county franchise to forty-shilling (_i.e._, thirty pounds in modern currency) freeholders, and the dying away of democratic feeling in the towns, left parliamentary representation mainly in the hands of the landed gentry and of the prosperous commercial classes; and from them the tudors derived their most effective support. there was discontent in abundance during tudor times, but it was social and economic, and not as a rule political. it was directed against the enclosers of common lands; against the agricultural capitalists, who bought up farms, evicted the tenants, and converted their holdings to pasture; against the large traders in towns who monopolised commerce at the expense of their poorer competitors. it was concerned, not with the one tyrant on the throne, but with the thousand petty tyrants of the villages and towns, against whom the poorer commons looked to their king for protection. of this discontent parliament could not be the focus, for members of parliament were themselves the offenders. "it is hard," wrote a contemporary radical, "to have these ills redressed by parliament, because it pricketh them chiefly which be chosen to be burgesses.... would to god they would leave their old accustomed choosing of burgesses! for whom do they choose but such as be rich or bear some office in the country, many times such as be boasters and braggers? such have they ever hitherto chosen; be he never so very a fool, drunkard, extortioner, adulterer, never so covetous and crafty a person, yet, if he be rich, bear any office, if he be a jolly cracker and bragger in the country, he must be a burgess of parliament. alas, how can any such study, or give any godly counsel for the (p. 257) commonwealth?"[722] this passage gives no support to the theory that members of parliament were nothing but royal nominees. if the constituencies themselves were bent on electing "such as bare office in the country," there was no call for the king's intervention; and the rich merchants and others, of whom complaint is made, were almost as much to the royal taste as were the officials themselves. [footnote 722: brinkelow, _complaynt of roderik mors_ (early english text society), pp. 12, 13; for other evidence of the attitude of parliament towards social grievances, see john hales's letter to somerset in _lansdowne ms._, 238; crowley's _works_ (early english text society), _passim_; latimer, _sermons_, p. 247.] for the time being, in fact, the interests of the king and of the lay middle classes coincided, both in secular and ecclesiastical affairs. commercial classes are generally averse from war, at least from war waged within their own borders, from which they can extract no profit. they had every inducement to support henry's government against the only alternative, anarchy. in ecclesiastical politics they, as well as the king, had their grievances against the church. both thought the clergy too rich, and that ecclesiastical revenues could be put to better uses in secular hands. community of interests produced harmony of action; and a century and a half was to pass before parliament again met so often, or sat so long, as it did during the latter half of henry's reign. from 1509 to 1515 there had been on an average a parliamentary session once a year,[723] and in february, 1512, warham, as lord chancellor, had in opening the session discoursed on the (p. 258) necessity of frequent parliaments.[724] then there supervened the ecclesiastical despotism of wolsey, who tried, like charles i., to rule without parliament, and with the same fatal result to himself; but, from wolsey's fall till henry's death, there was seldom a year without a parliamentary session. tyrants have often gone about to break parliaments, and in the end parliaments have generally broken them. henry was not of the number; he never went about to break parliament. he found it far too useful, and he used it. he would have been as reluctant to break parliament as ulysses the bow which he alone could bend. [footnote 723: the first parliament of the reign met in january, 1510, the second in february, 1512. it had a second session, november-december of the same year (_l. and p._, i., 3502). a third parliament met for its first session on 23rd january, 1514, for its second on 5th february, 1515, and for its third on 12th november, 1515 (_ibid._, i., 5616, 5725, ii., 1130). it was this last of which wolsey urged "the more speedy dissolution"; then for fourteen years there was only one parliament, that of 1523. these dates illustrate the antagonism between wolsey and parliament and show how natural it was that wolsey should fall in 1529, and that his fall should coincide with the revival of parliament.] no monarch, in fact, was ever a more zealous champion of parliamentary privileges, a more scrupulous observer of parliamentary forms, or a more original pioneer of sound constitutional doctrine. in 1543 he first enunciated the constitutional principle that sovereignty is vested in the "king in parliament". "we," he declared to the commons, "at no time stand so highly in our estate royal as in the time of parliament, wherein we as head and you as members are conjoined and knit together in one body politic, so as whatsoever offence or injury during that time is offered to the meanest member of the house, is to be judged as done against our person and the whole court of parliament."[725] he was careful to observe himself the deference to parliamentary privilege which he exacted from others. it is no (p. 259) strange aberration from the general tenor of his rule that in 1512 by strode's case[726] the freedom of speech of members of parliament was established, and their freedom from arrest by ferrers' case in 1543. in 1515 convocation had enviously petitioned for the same liberty of speech as was enjoyed in parliament, where members might even attack the law of the land and not be called in question therefor.[727] "i am," writes bishop gardiner, in 1547, apologising for the length of a letter, "like one of the commons' house, that, when i am in my tale, think i should have liberty to make an end;"[728] and again he refers to a speech he made during henry's reign "in the parliament house, _where was free speech without danger_".[729] wolsey had raised a storm in 1523 by trying to browbeat the house of commons. henry never erred in that respect. in 1532 a member moved that henry should take back catherine to wife.[730] nothing could have touched the king on a tenderer spot. charles i., for a less offence, would have gone to the house to arrest the (p. 260) offender. all henry did was to argue the point of his marriage with the speaker and a deputation from the commons; no proceedings whatever were taken against the member himself. in 1529 john petit, one of the members for london, opposed the bill releasing henry from his obligation to repay the loan; the only result apparently was to increase petit's repute in the eyes of the king, who "would ask in parliament time if petit were on his side".[731] there is, in fact, nothing to show that henry viii. intimidated his commons at any time, or that he packed the parliament of 1529. systematic interference in elections was a later expedient devised by thomas cromwell. it was apparently tried during the bye-elections of 1534, and at the general elections of 1536[732] and 1539. cromwell then endeavoured to secure a majority in favour of himself and his own particular policy (p. 261) against the reactionary party in the council. his schemes had created a division among the laity, and rendered necessary recourse to political methods of which there was no need, so long as the laity remained united against the church. nor is it without significance that its adoption was shortly followed by cromwell's fall. henry did not approve of ministers who sought to make a party for themselves. the packing of parliaments has in fact been generally the death-bed expedient of a moribund government. the stuarts had their "undertakers," and the only parliament of tudor times which consisted mainly of government nominees was that gathered by northumberland on the eve of his fall in march, 1553; and that that body was exceptionally constituted is obvious from renard's inquiry in august, 1553, as to whether charles v. would advise his cousin, queen mary, to summon a general parliament or merely an assembly of "notables" after the manner introduced by northumberland. [footnote 724: _l. and p._, i., 2082.] [footnote 725: holinshed, _chronicles_, iii., 956.] [footnote 726: hallam, _const. hist._, ii., 4.] [footnote 727: _l. and p._, ii., 1314. in some respects the house of commons appears to have exercised unconstitutional powers, _e.g._, in 1529 one thomas bradshaw, a cleric, was indicted for having conspired to poison members of sir james worsley's household, and on 27th february, 1531, henry viii. orders lady worsley not to trouble bradshaw any more, "as the house of commons has decided that he is not culpable" (_ibid._, iv., 6293; v., 117; _cf._ the case of john wolf and his wife, _ibid._, vi., 742; vii., _passim_). the claim to criminal jurisdiction which the house of commons asserted in floyd's case (1621) seems in fact to have been admitted by henry viii.; compare the frequent use of acts of attainder.] [footnote 728: foxe, ed. townsend, vi., 33.] [footnote 729: _ibid._, vi., 43.] [footnote 730: in the house of lords in 1531 the bishops of st. asaph and of bath with a similar immunity attacked the defence of henry's divorce policy made by the bishops of lincoln and london (_l. and p._, v., 171).] [footnote 731: _narratives of the reformation_ (camden soc.), p. 25.] [footnote 732: hence the complaints of the northern rebels late in that year (_l. and p._, xi., 1143, 1182 [15], 1244, 1246); these are so to speak the election petitions of the defeated party; the chief complaint is that non-residents were chosen who knew little about the needs of their constituents, and they made the advanced demand that all king's servants or pensioners be excluded. the most striking instance of interference in elections is cromwell's letter to the citizens of canterbury, written on 18th may, 1536, and first printed in merriman's _cromwell_, 1902, ii., 13; he there requires the electors to annul an election they had made in defiance of previous letters, and return as members robert derknall (a member of the royal household, _l. and p._, xv., pp. 563-5) and john brydges, m.p. for canterbury in 1529-36, instead of the two who had been unanimously chosen by eighty electors on 11th may (_l. and p._, x., 852). the mayor thereupon assembled ninety-seven citizens who "freely with one voice and without any contradiction elected the aforesaid" (_ibid._, x., 929). these very letters show that electors did exercise a vote, and the fact that from 1534 to 1539 we find traces of pressure being put upon them, affords some presumption that before the rise of cromwell, when we find no such traces no such pressure was exerted. the most striking exception must not be taken as the rule. see p. 317 _n._] but, while parliament was neither packed nor terrorised to any great extent, the harmony which prevailed between it and the king has naturally led to the charge of servility. insomuch as it was servile at all, parliament faithfully represented its constituents; but the mere coincidence between the wishes of henry and those of parliament is no proof of servility.[733] that accusation can only be (p. 262) substantiated by showing that parliament did, not what it wanted, but what it did not want, out of deference to henry. and that has never been proved. it has never been shown that the nation resented the statutes giving henry's proclamations the force of laws, enabling him to settle the succession by will, or any of the other acts usually adduced to prove the subservience of parliament. when henry was dead, protector somerset secured the repeal of most of these laws, but he lost his head for his pains. there is, indeed, no escape from the conclusion that the english people then approved of a dictatorship, and that parliament was acting deliberately and voluntarily when it made henry dictator. it made him dictator because it felt that he would do what it wanted, and better with, than without, extraordinary powers. the fact that parliament rejected some of henry's measures is strong presumption that it could have rejected more, had it been so minded. no projects were more dear to henry's heart than the statutes of wills and of uses, yet both were rejected twice at least in the parliament of 1529-36.[734] [footnote 733: "parliament," says brewer, "faithfully reflected the king's wishes." it is equally true to say that the king reflected the wishes of parliament; and the accusation of servility is based on the assumption that parliament must either be in chronic opposition to the crown or servile. one of brewer's reasons for henry's power is that he "required no grants of money"! (_l. and p._, iv., introd., p. dcxlv.).] [footnote 734: "henry," writes chapuys in 1532, "has been trying to obtain from parliament the grant of a third of the feudal property of deceased lords, but as yet has got nothing" (_l. and p._, v., 805). various other instances are mentioned in the following pages, and they could doubtless be multiplied if the journals of the house of commons were extant for this period.] the general harmony between king and parliament was based on a fundamental similarity of interests; the harmony in detail was worked out, not by the forcible exertion of henry's will, but by his careful and skilful manipulation of both houses. no one was ever a greater adept in the management of the house of commons, which is easy (p. 263) to humour but hard to drive. parliaments are jealous bodies, but they are generally pleased with attentions; and henry viii. was very assiduous in the attentions he paid to his lay lords and commons. from 1529 he suffered no intermediary to come between parliament and himself. cromwell was more and more employed by the king,[735] but only in subordinate matters, and when important questions were at issue henry managed the business himself. he constantly visited both houses and remained within their precincts for hours at a time,[736] watching every move in the game and taking note of every symptom of parliamentary feeling. he sent no royal commands to his faithful commons; in this respect he was less arbitrary than his daughter, queen elizabeth. he submitted points for their consideration, argued with them, and frankly gave his reasons. it was always done, of course, with a magnificent air of royal condescension, but with such grace (p. 264) as to carry the conviction that he was really pleased to condescend and to take counsel with his subjects, and that he did so because he trusted his parliament, and expected his parliament to place an equal confidence in him. henry viii. acted more as the leader of both houses than as a king; and, like modern parliamentary leaders, he demanded the bulk of their time for measures which he himself proposed. [footnote 735: cromwell used to report to the king on the feeling of parliament; thus in 1534 (_l. and p._, vii., 51) he tells henry how far members were willing to go in the creation of fresh treasons, "they be contented that deed and writing shall be treason," but words were to be only misprision; they refused to include an heir's rebellion or disobedience in the bill, "as rebellion is already treason and disobedience is no cause of forfeiture of inheritance," and they thought "that the king of scots should in no wise be named" (there is in the record office a draft of the treasons bill of 1534 materially differing from the act as passed. therefore either the bill did not originate with the government and was modified under government pressure, or it did originate with the government and was modified under parliamentary pressure). this is how henry's legislation was evolved; there is no foundation for the assertion that parliament merely registered the king's edicts.] [footnote 736: _e.g._, _l. and p._, v., 120. at other times parliament visited him. "on thursday last," writes one on 8th march, 1534, "the whole parliament were with the king at york place for three hours" (_ibid._, vii., 304).] the fact that the legislation of henry's reign was initiated almost entirely by government is not, however, a conclusive proof of the servility of parliament. for, though it may have been the theory that parliament existed to pass laws of its own conception, such has never been the practice, except when there has been chronic opposition between the executive and the legislature. parliament has generally been the instrument of government, a condition essential to strong and successful administration; and it is still summoned mainly to discuss such measures as the executive thinks fit to lay before it. certainly the proportion of government bills to other measures passed in henry's reign was less than it is to-day. a private member's bill then stood more chance of becoming law, and a government bill ran greater risks of being rejected. that, of course, is not the whole truth. one of the reasons why henry's house of commons felt at liberty to reject bills proposed by the king, was that such rejection did not involve the fall of a government which on other grounds the house wished to support. it did not even entail a dissolution. not that general elections possessed any terrors for sixteenth-century parliaments. a seat in the house of commons was not considered a very great prize. the classes, from (p. 265) which its members were drawn, were much more bent on the pursuit of their own private fortunes than on participation in public affairs. their membership was not seldom a burden,[737] and the long sessions of the reformation parliament constituted an especial grievance. one member complained that those sessions cost him equivalent to about five hundred pounds over and above the wages paid him by his constituents.[738] leave to go home was often requested, and the imperial ambassador records that henry, with characteristic craft, granted such licences to hostile members, but refused them to his own supporters.[739] that was a legitimate parliamentary stratagem. it was not henry's fault if members preferred their private concerns to the interests of catherine of aragon or to the liberties of the catholic church. [footnote 737: some at least of the royal nominations to parliament were due to the fact that nothing less than a royal command could produce a representative at all.] [footnote 738: _l. and p._, vii., 302.] [footnote 739: _ibid._, v., 120.] henry's greatest advantage lay, however, in a circumstance which constitutes the chief real difference between the parliaments of the sixteenth century and those of to-day. his members of parliament were representatives rather than delegates. they were elected as fit and proper persons to decide upon such questions as should be submitted to them in the parliament house, and not merely as fit and proper persons to register decisions already reached by their constituents. although they were in the habit of rendering to their constituents an account of their proceedings at the close of each session,[740] and although the fact that they depended upon their constituencies for their wages prevented their acting in opposition to their constituents' (p. 266) wishes, they received no precise instructions. they went to parliament unfettered by definite pledges. they were thus more susceptible, not only to pressure, but also to argument; and it is possible that in those days votes were sometimes affected by speeches. the action of members was determined, not by previous engagements or party discipline, but by their view of the merits and necessities of the case before them. into that view extraneous circumstances, such as fear of the king, might to a certain extent intrude; but such evidence as is available points decisively to the conclusion that co-operation between the king and parliament was secured, partly by parliament doing what henry wanted, and partly by henry doing what parliament wanted. parliament did not always do as the king desired, nor did the king's actions always commend themselves to parliament. most of the measures of the reformation parliament were matters of give and take. it was due to henry's skill, and to the circumstances of the time that the king's taking was always to his own profit, and his giving at the expense of the clergy. he secured the support of the commons for his own particular ends by promising the redress of their grievances against the bishops and priests. it is said that he instituted the famous petitions urged against the clergy in 1532, and it is hinted that the abuses, of which those petitions complained, had no real existence. no doubt henry encouraged the commons' complaints; he had every reason to do so, but he did not invent the abuses. if the commons did not feel the grievances, the king's promise to redress them would be no inducement to parliament to comply with the royal demands. the hostility of the laity to the clergy, arising out (p. 267) of these grievances, was in fact the lever with which henry overthrew the papal authority, and the basis upon which he built his own supremacy over the church. [footnote 740: _cf. ibid._, iv., app. 1.] this anti-ecclesiastical bias on the part of the laity was the dominant factor in the reformation under henry viii. but the word in its modern sense is scarcely applicable to the ecclesiastical policy of that king. its common acceptation implies a purification of doctrine, but it is doubtful whether any idea of interfering with dogma ever crossed the minds of the monarchs, who, for more than a generation, had been proclaiming the need for a reformation. their proposal was to reform the practice of the clergy; and the method they favoured most was the abolition of clerical privileges and the appropriation of ecclesiastical property. the reformation in england, so far as it was carried by henry viii., was, indeed, neither more nor less than a violent self-assertion of the laity against the immunities which the church had herself enjoyed, and the restraints which she imposed upon others. it was not primarily a breach between the church of england and the roman communion, a repudiation on the part of english ecclesiastics of a harassing papal yoke; for it is fairly obvious that under henry viii. the church took no measures against rome that were not forced on it by the state. it was not till the reigns of edward vi. and elizabeth that the church accorded a consent, based on conviction, to a settlement originally extorted by force. the reformation was rather a final assertion by the state of its authority over the church in england. the breach with the roman church, the repudiation of papal influence in english ecclesiastical affairs, was not a spontaneous clerical movement; it was the effect of the (p. 268) subjection of the church to the national temporal power. the church in england had hitherto been a semi-independent part of the political community. it was semi-national, semi-universal; it owed one sort of fealty to the universal pope, and another to the national king. the rising spirit of nationality could brook no divided allegiance; and the universal gave way to the national idea. there was to be no _imperium in imperio_, but "one body politic,"[741] with one supreme head. henry viii. is reported by chapuys as saying that he was king, emperor and pope, all in one, so far as england was concerned.[742] the church was to be nationalised; it was to compromise its universal character, and to become the church _of_ england, rather than a branch of the church universal _in_ england. [footnote 741: the phrase occurs in cromwell's draft bill for the submission of convocation (_l. and p._, v., 721).] [footnote 742: _ibid._, v., 361. this was in reference to henry's refusal to allow a visitation of the cistercian monasteries, of which chapuys thought they stood in great need (31st july, 1531).] the revolution was inevitably effected through the action of the state rather than that of the church. the church, which, like religion itself, is in essence universal and not national, regarded with abhorrence the prospect of being narrowed and debased to serve political ends. the church in england had moreover no means and no weapons wherewith to effect an internal reformation independent of the papacy; as well might the court of king's bench endeavour to reform itself without the authority of king and parliament. the whole jurisdiction of the church was derived in theory from the pope; when wolsey wished to reform the monasteries he had to seek authority from leo x.; the archbishop of canterbury held a court at lambeth and (p. 269) exercised juridical powers, but he did so as _legatus natus_ of the apostolic see, and not as archbishop, and this authority could at any time be superseded by that of a legate _a latere_, as warham's was by wolsey's. it was not his own but the delegated jurisdiction of another.[743] bishops and archbishops were only the channels of a jurisdiction flowing from a papal fountain. henry charged warham in 1532 with _præmunire_ because he had consecrated the bishop of st. asaph before the bishop's temporalties had been restored.[744] the archbishop in reply stated that he merely acted as commissary of the pope, "the act was the pope's act," and he had no discretion of his own. he was bound to consecrate as soon as the bishop had been declared such in consistory at rome. chapters might elect, the archbishop might consecrate, and the king might restore the temporalties; but none of these things gave a bishop jurisdiction. there were in fact two and only two sources of power and jurisdiction, the temporal sovereign and the pope; reformation must be effected by the one or the other. wolsey had ideas of a national ecclesiastical reformation, but he could have gone no farther than the pope, who gave him his authority, permitted. had the church in england transgressed that limit, it would have become dead in schism, and wolsey's jurisdiction would have _ipso facto_ ceased. hence the fundamental (p. 270) impossibility of wolsey's scheme; hence the ultimate resort to the only alternative, a reformation by the temporal sovereign, which wycliffe had advocated and which the anglicans of the sixteenth century justified by deriving the royal supremacy from the authority conceded by the early fathers to the roman emperor--an authority prior to the pope's. [footnote 743: _cf._ maitland, _roman canon law_; pollock and maitland, _history of english law_, i., 90 (bracton regards the pope as the englishman's "ordinary"); and leadam, _select cases from the star chamber_, introd., pp. lxxxvi.-viii.] [footnote 744: _l. and p._, v., 1247. a curious point about this document, unnoticed by the editor, is that the bishop of st. asaph had been consecrated as far back as 1518, and that he was the standish who had played so conspicuous a part in the early church and state disputes of henry's reign. this is an echo of the "investiture" controversy (luchaire, _manuel_, pp. 509, 510).] hence, too, the agency employed was parliament and not convocation.[745] the representatives of the clergy met of course as frequently as those of the laity, but their activity was purely defensive. they suggested no changes themselves, and endeavoured without much success to resist the innovations forced upon them by king and by parliament. they had every reason to fear both henry and the commons. they were conscious that the church had lost its hold upon the nation. its impotence was due in part to its own corruption, in part to the fact that thriving commercial and industrial classes, like those which elected tudor parliaments, are as a rule impatient of religious or at least sacerdotal dictation. god and mammon, in spite of all efforts at compromise, do not really agree. in 1529, before the meeting of parliament, campeggio had appealed to henry to prevent the ruin of the church; he felt that without state protection the church could hardly stand. in 1531 warham, the successor of becket and langton, excused his compliance with henry's demands by pleading (p. 271) _ira principis mors est_.[746] in the draft of a speech he drew up just before his death,[747] the archbishop referred to the case of st. thomas, hinted that henry viii. was going the way of henry ii., and compared his policy with the constitutions of clarendon. the comparison was extraordinarily apt; henry viii. was doing what henry ii. had failed to do, and the fate that attended the angevin king might have befallen the tudor had warham been becket and the church of the sixteenth been the same as the church of the twelfth century. but they were not, and warham appealed in vain to the liberties of the church granted by magna carta, and to the "ill end" of "several kings who violated them". laymen, he complained, now "advanced" their own laws rather than those of the church. the people, admitted so staunch a churchman as pole, were beginning to hate the priests.[748] "there were," wrote norfolk, "infinite clamours of the temporalty here in parliament against the misuse of the spiritual jurisdiction.... this realm did never grudge the tenth part against the abuses of the church at no parliament in my days, as they do now."[749] [footnote 745: "it was not from parliament," says brewer (_l. and p._, iv., introd., p. dcxlvii.), "but from convocation that the king had to anticipate any show of independence or opposition." true, to some extent; but the fact does not prove, as brewer alleges, that convocation was more independent than parliament, but that henry was doing what parliament liked and convocation disliked.] [footnote 746: "the queen replied that they were all fine councillors, for when she asked advice of the archbishop of canterbury, he replied that he would not meddle in these affairs, saying frequently, _ira principis mors est_" (chapuys to charles v., 6th june, 1531). warham was one of the counsel assigned to the queen for the divorce question.] [footnote 747: _l. and p._, v., 1247. warham also made a formal protest against the legislation of 1529-32 (_ibid._, v., 818). the likeness between henry viii. and henry ii. extended beyond their policy to their personal characteristics, and the great angevin was much in the tudor's mind at this period. chapuys also called henry viii.'s attention to the fate of henry ii. (_ibid._, vii., 94).] [footnote 748: _l. and p._, v., app. 10.] [footnote 749: _ibid._, v., 831; _cf._ v., 898, 989, app. 28.] these infinite clamours and grudging were not the result of the (p. 272) conscientious rejection of any catholic or papal doctrine. englishmen are singularly free from the bondage of abstract ideas, and they began their reformation not with the enunciation of some new truth, but with an attack on clerical fees. reform was stimulated by a practical grievance, closely connected with money, and not by a sense of wrong done to the conscience. no dogma plays such a part in the english reformation as justification by faith did in germany, or predestination in switzerland. parliament in 1530 had not been appreciably affected by tyndale's translation of the bible or by any of luther's works. tyndale was still an exile in the netherlands, pleading in vain for the same toleration in england as charles v. permitted across the sea. frith was in the tower--a man, wrote the lieutenant, walsingham, whom it would be a great pity to lose, if only he could be reconciled[750]--and bilney was martyred in 1531. a parliamentary inquiry was threatened in the latter case, not because parliament sympathised with bilney's doctrine, but because it was said that the clergy had procured his burning before obtaining the state's consent.[751] parliament was as zealous as convocation against heresy, but wanted the punishment of heretics left in secular hands. [footnote 750: _l. and p._, v., 1458.] [footnote 751: _ibid._, v., 522; vii., 171.] in this, as in other respects, the king and his parliament were in the fullest agreement. henry had already given proof of his anti-clerical bias by substituting laymen for churchmen in those great offices of state which churchmen had usually held. from time immemorial the lord chancellor had been a bishop,[752] but in 1529 wolsey was succeeded by more, and, later on, more by audley. similarly, the privy seal (p. 273) had been held in henry's reign by three bishops successively, fox, ruthal and tunstall: now it was entrusted to the hands of anne boleyn's father, the earl of wiltshire. gardiner remained secretary for the time, but du bellay thought his power would have increased had he abandoned his clerical vows,[753] and he, too, was soon superseded by cromwell. even the clerkship of parliament was now given up to a layman. during the first half of henry's reign clerical influence had been supreme in henry's councils; during the second it was almost entirely excluded. like his parliament, he was now impugning the jurisdiction of the clergy in the matter of heresy; they were doctors, he said, of the soul, and had nothing to do with the body.[754] he was even inclining to the very modern theory that marriage is a civil contract, and that matrimonial suits should therefore be removed from clerical cognisance.[755] as early as 1529 he ordered wolsey to release the prior of reading, who had been imprisoned for lutheranism, "unless the matter is very heinous".[756] in 1530 he was praising latimer's sermons;[757] and in the same year the bishop of norwich complained of a general report in his diocese that henry favoured heretical books.[758] "they say that, wherever they go, they hear that the king's pleasure is that the new testament in english shall (p. 274) go forth." there seems little reason to doubt hall's statement that henry now commanded the bishops, who, however, did nothing, to prepare an english translation of the bible to counteract the errors of tyndale's version.[759] he wrote to the german princes extolling their efforts towards the reformation of the church;[760] and many advisers were urging him to begin a similar movement in england. anne boleyn and her father were, said chapuys, more lutheran than luther himself; they were the true apostles of the new sect in england.[761] [footnote 752: thomas beaufort, afterwards duke of exeter, who was chancellor in 1410-12, and richard, earl of salisbury, who was chancellor in 1454-5, are exceptions.] [footnote 753: _l. and p._, iv., 6019.] [footnote 754: _ibid._, v., 1013.] [footnote 755: _ibid._, v., 805; vii., 232. chapuys had told him that "all the parliament could not make the princess mary a bastard, for the cognisance of cases concerning legitimacy belonged to ecclesiastical judges"; to which henry replied that "he did not care for all the canons which might be alleged, as he preferred his laws according to which he should have illegitimacy judged by lay judges who could also take cognisance of matrimonial causes".] [footnote 756: _l. and p._, iv., 5925.] [footnote 757: _ibid._, iv., 6325.] [footnote 758: _ibid._, iv., 6385.] [footnote 759: the net result at the time was a royal proclamation promising an authorised version of the scriptures in english "if the people would come to a better mind" (_l. and p._, iv., 6487).] [footnote 760: _l. and p._, v., app. 7.] [footnote 761: _ibid._, v., 148, 850.] but, however lutheran anne boleyn may have been, henry was still true to the orthodox faith. if he dallied with german princes, and held out hopes to his heretic subjects, it was not because he believed in the doctrines of either, but because both might be made to serve his own ends. he rescued crome from the flames, not because he doubted or favoured crome's heresy, but because crome appealed from the church to the king, and denied the papal supremacy; that, said henry, is not heresy, but truth.[762] when he sent to oxford for the articles on which wycliffe had been condemned,[763] it was not to study the great reformer's doctrine of the mass, but to discover wycliffe's reasons for calling upon the state to purify a corrupt church, and to digest his arguments against the temporal wealth of the clergy. when he lauded the reforms effected by the german princes he was thinking of their secularisation of ecclesiastical revenues. the spoliation (p. 275) of the church was consistent with the most fervent devotion to its tenets. in 1531 henry warned the pope that the emperor would probably allow the laity "to appropriate the possessions of the church, which is a matter which does not touch the foundations of the faith; and what an example this will afford to others, it is easy to see".[764] henry managed to improve upon charles's example in this respect. "he meant," he told chapuys in 1533, "to repair the errors of henry ii. and john, who, being in difficulties, had made england and ireland tributary to the pope; he was determined also to reunite to the crown the goods which churchmen held of it, which his predecessors could not alienate to his prejudice; and he was bound to do this by the oath he had taken at his coronation."[765] probably it was about this time, or a little later, that he drew up his suggestions for altering the coronation oath, and making the royal obligations binding only so far as the royal conscience thought fit. the german princes had a further claim to his consideration beyond the example they set him in dealing with the temporalties of the church. they might be very useful if his difference with charles over catherine of aragon came to an open breach; and the english envoys, who congratulated them on their zeal for reform, also endeavoured to persuade them that henry's friendship might be no little safeguard against a despotic emperor. [footnote 762: _ibid._, v., 129, 148.] [footnote 763: _ibid._, iv., 6546.] [footnote 764: _l. and p._, v., 326.] [footnote 765: _ibid._, vi., 235.] all these phenomena, the reformation in germany, heresy at home, and the anti-sacerdotal prejudices of his subjects, were regarded by henry merely as circumstances which might be made subservient to his own particular purpose; and the skill with which he used them is a (p. 276) monument of farsighted statecraft.[766] he did not act on the impulse of rash caprice. his passions were strong, but his self-control was stronger; and the breach with rome was effected with a cold and calculated cunning, which the most adept disciple of machiavelli could not have excelled. he did not create the factors he used; hostility to the church had a real objective existence. henry was a great man; but the burdens his people felt were not the product of henry's hypnotic suggestion. he could only divert those grievances to his own use. he had no personal dislike to probate dues or annates; he did not pay them, but the threat of their abolition might compel the pope to grant his divorce. heresy in itself was abominable, but if heretics would maintain the royal against the papal supremacy, might not their sins be forgiven? the strength of henry's position lay in the fact that he stood between two evenly balanced parties. it is obvious that by favouring the anti-clericals he could destroy the power of the church. it is not so certain, but it is probable that, by supporting the church, he could have staved off its ruin so long as he lived. parliament might have been urgent, but there was no necessity to call it together. the reformation parliament, which sat for seven years, would probably have been dissolved after a few weeks had clement granted the divorce. it met session after session, to pass one measure after another, each of which was designed to put fresh pressure on the pope. it began with the outworks of the papal fortress; as soon (p. 277) as one was dismantled, henry cried "halt," to see if the citadel would surrender. when it refused, the attack recommenced. first one, then another of the church's privileges and the pope's prerogatives disappeared, till there remained not one stone upon another of the imposing edifice of ecclesiastical liberty and papal authority in england. [footnote 766: _cf._ a. zimmermann, "zur kirchlichen politik heinrichs viii., nach den trennung vom rom," in _römische quartalschrift_, xiii., 263-283.] chapter xi. (p. 278) "down with the church." the reformation parliament met for its first session on the 3rd of november, 1529, at the black friars' hall in london.[767] no careful observer was in any doubt as to what its temper would be with regard to the church. it was opened by the king in person, and the new lord chancellor, sir thomas more, delivered an address in which he denounced his predecessor, wolsey, in scathing terms.[768] parliament had been summoned, he said, to reform such things as had been used or permitted in england by inadvertence. on the following day both houses adjourned to westminster on account of the plague, and the commons chose, as their speaker, sir thomas audley, the future lord chancellor. one of their first duties was to consider a bill of attainder against wolsey,[769] and the fate of that measure seems to be destructive of one or the other of two favourite theories respecting henry viii.'s parliaments. the bill was opposed in the commons by cromwell and thrown out; either it was not a mere expression of the royal will, or parliament was something more than the tool of the court. for it is hardly credible that henry first caused the bill to be introduced, and then ordered its rejection. the next business was henry's (p. 279) request for release from the obligation to repay the loan which wolsey had raised; that, too, the commons refused, except on conditions.[770] but no such opposition greeted the measures for reforming the clergy.[771] bills were passed in the commons putting a limit on the fees exacted by bishops for probate, and for the performance of other duties then regarded as spiritual functions. the clergy were prohibited from holding pluralities, except in certain cases, but the act was drawn with astonishing moderation; it did not apply to benefices acquired before 1530, unless they exceeded the number of four. penalties against non-residents were enacted, and an attempt was made to check the addiction of spiritual persons to commercial pursuits. [footnote 767: _l. and p._, iv., 6043-44.] [footnote 768: hall, _chronicle_, p. 764.] [footnote 769: _l. and p._, iv., 6075.] [footnote 770: that it passed at all is often considered proof of parliamentary servility; it is rather an illustration of the typical tudor policy of burdening the wealthy few in order to spare the general public. if repayment of the loan were exacted, fresh taxation would be necessary, which would fall on many more than had lent the king money. it was very irregular, but the burden was thus placed on the shoulders of those individuals who benefited most by henry's ecclesiastical and general policy and were rapidly accumulating wealth. taxation on the whole was remarkably light during tudor times; the tenths, fifteenths and subsidies had become fixed sums which did not increase with the national wealth, and indeed brought in less and less to the royal exchequer (see _l. and p._, vii., 344, "considerations why subsidies in diverse shires were not so good in henry's seventh year as in his fifth"; _cf._ vii., 1490, and xix., ii., 689, where paget says that benevolences did not "grieve the common people").] [footnote 771: _l. and p._, iv., 6083.] these reforms seem reasonable enough, but the idea of placing a bound to the spiritual exaction of probate seemed sacrilege to bishop fisher. "my lords," he cried, "you see daily what bills come hither from the common house, and all is to the destruction of the (p. 280) church. for god's sake, see what a realm the kingdom of bohemia was; and when the church went down, then fell the glory of the kingdom. now with the commons is nothing but 'down with the church!' and all this, meseemeth, is for lack of faith only."[772] the commons thought a limitation of fees an insufficient ground for a charge of heresy, and complained of fisher to the king through the mouth of their speaker. the bishop explained away the offensive phrase, but the spiritual peers succeeded in rejecting the commons' bills. the way out of the deadlock was suggested by the king; he proposed a conference between eight members of either house. the lords' delegates were half spiritual, half temporal, peers.[773] henry knew well enough that the commons would vote solidly for the measures, and that the temporal peers would support them. they did so; the bills were passed; and, on 17th december, parliament was prorogued. we may call it a trick or skilful parliamentary strategy; the same trick, played by the _tiers état_ in 1789, ensured the success of the french revolution, and it was equally effective in england in 1529. [footnote 772: hall, _chronicle_, p. 766.] [footnote 773: _cf._ stubbs, _lectures_, 1887, p. 317.] these mutterings of the storm fell on deaf ears at rome. clement was deaf, not because he had not ears to hear, but because the clash of imperial arms drowned more distant sounds. "if any one," wrote the bishop of auxerre in 1531, "was ever in prison or in the power of his enemies, the pope is now."[774] he was as anxious as ever to escape responsibility. "he has told me," writes the bishop of tarbes to francis i. on the 27th of march, 1530, "more than three times in (p. 281) secret that he would be glad if the marriage (with anne boleyn) was already made, either by a dispensation of the english legate or otherwise, provided it was not by his authority, or in diminution of his power as to dispensation and limitation of divine law."[775] later in the year he made his suggestion that henry should have two wives without prejudice to the legitimacy of the children of either. henry, however, would listen to neither suggestion.[776] he would be satisfied with nothing less than the sanction of the highest authority recognised in england. when it became imperative that his marriage with anne should be legally sanctioned, and evident that no such sanction would be forthcoming from rome, he arranged that the highest ecclesiastical authority recognised by law in england should be that of the archbishop of canterbury. [footnote 774: _l. and p._, v., 562.] [footnote 775: _l. and p._, iv., 6290.] [footnote 776: see above p. 207.] meanwhile, the exigencies of the struggle drove clement into assertions of papal prerogative which would at any time have provoked an outburst of national anger. on 7th march, 1530, he promulgated a bull to be affixed to the church doors at bruges, tournay and dunkirk, inhibiting henry, under pain of the greater excommunication, from proceeding to that second marriage, which he was telling the bishop of tarbes he wished henry would complete.[777] a fortnight later he issued a second bull forbidding all ecclesiastical judges, doctors, advocates and others to speak or write against the validity of henry's marriage with catherine.[778] if he had merely desired to prohibit discussion of a matter under judicial consideration, he should have imposed silence also on the advocates of the marriage, and not (p. 282) left fisher free to write books against the king and secretly send them to spain to be printed.[779] on the 23rd of december following it was decreed in consistory at rome that briefs should be granted prohibiting the archbishop of canterbury from taking cognisance of the suit, and forbidding henry to cohabit with any other woman than catherine, and "all women in general to contract marriage with the king of england".[780] on the 5th of january, 1531, the pope inhibited laity as well as clergy, universities, parliaments and courts of law from coming to any decision in the case.[781] [footnote 777: _l. and p._, iv., 6256.] [footnote 778: _ibid._, iv., 6279.] [footnote 779: _l. and p._, iv., 6199, 6596, 6738; v., 460.] [footnote 780: _ibid._, iv., 6772.] [footnote 781: _ibid._, v., 27.] to these fulminations the ancient laws of england provided henry with sufficient means of reply. "let not the pope suppose," wrote henry to clement, "that either the king or his nobles will allow the fixed laws of his kingdom to be set aside."[782] a proclamation, based on the statutes of provisors, was issued on 12th september, 1530, forbidding the purchasing from the court of rome or the publishing of any thing prejudicial to the realm, or to the king's intended purposes;[783] and norfolk was sent to remind the papal nuncio of the penalties attaching to the importation of bulls into england without the king's consent. but the most notorious expedient of henry's was the appeal to the universities of europe, first suggested by cranmer.[784] throughout 1530 english agents were busy abroad obtaining decisions from (p. 283) the universities on the question of the pope's power to dispense with the law against marrying a deceased brother's wife. their success was considerable. paris and orléans, bourges and toulouse, bologna and ferrara, pavia and padua, all decided against the pope.[785] similar verdicts, given by oxford and cambridge, may be as naturally ascribed to intimidation by henry, as may the decisions of spanish universities in the pope's favour to pressure from charles; but the theory that all the french and italian universities were bribed is not very credible. the cajolery, the threats and the bribes were not all on one side; and in italy at least the imperial agents would seem to have enjoyed greater facilities than henry's. in some individual cases there was, no doubt, resort to improper inducements; but, if the majority in the most famous seats of learning in europe could be induced by filthy lucre to vote against their conscience, it implies a greater need for drastic reformation than the believers in the theory of corruption are usually disposed to admit. their decisions were, however, given on general grounds; the question of the consummation of catherine's marriage with arthur seems to have been carefully excluded. how far that consideration would have affected the votes of the universities can only be assumed; but it does not appear to have materially influenced the view taken by catherine's advocates. they allowed that catherine's oath would not be considered sufficient evidence in a court of law; they admitted the necessity of proving that urgent reasons existed for the grant of the dispensation, and the only (p. 284) urgent reason they put forward was an entirely imaginary imminence of war between henry vii. and ferdinand in 1503. cardinal du bellay, in 1534, asserted that no one would be so bold as to maintain in consistory that the dispensation ever was valid;[786] and the papalists were driven to the extreme contention, which was certainly not then admitted by catholic europe, that, whether the marriage with arthur was merely a form or not, whether it was or was not against divine law, the pope could, of his absolute power, dispense.[787] [footnote 782: _ibid._, iv., 6759.] [footnote 783: _ibid._, iv., 6615; v., 45.] [footnote 784: see the present writer's _cranmer_, pp. 39-41. cranmer's suggestion was made early in august, 1529, and on the 23rd du bellay writes that wolsey and the king "appeared to desire very much that i should go over to france to get the opinions of the learned men there about the divorce" (_l. and p._, iv., 5862). in october stokesley was sent to france and croke to italy (_ibid._, p. 2684); cranmer did not start till 1530.] [footnote 785: _l. and p._, iv., 6332, 6448, 6491, 6632, 6636.] [footnote 786: _l. and p._, vii., app. 12.] [footnote 787: _ibid._, v., 468.] pending the result of henry's appeal to the universities, little was done in the matter in england. the lords spiritual and temporal signed in june, 1530, a letter to the pope urging him to comply with their king's request for a divorce.[788] parliament did not meet until 16th january, 1531, and even then chapuys reports that it was employed on nothing more important than cross-bows and hand-guns, the act against which was not, however, passed till 1534. the previous session had shown that, although the commons might demur to fiscal exactions, they were willing enough to join henry in any attack on the church, and the question was how to bring the clergy to a similar state of acquiescence. it was naturally a more difficult task, but henry's ingenuity provided a sufficient inducement. his use of the statutes of _præmunire_ was very characteristic. it was conservative, it was legal, and it was unjust. those statutes were no innovation designed to meet his particular case; they had been for centuries the law of the land; and there was no denying the fact that the clergy had broken the law by recognising wolsey as legate. henry, of course, had (p. 285) licensed wolsey to act as legate, and to punish the clergy for an offence, at which he had connived, was scarcely consistent with justice; but no king ever showed so clearly how the soundest constitutional maxims could be used to defeat the pleas of equity; it was frequently laid down during his reign that no licence from the king could be pleaded against penalties imposed by statute, and not a few parliamentary privileges were first asserted by henry viii.[789] so the clergy were cunningly caught in the meshes of the law. chapuys declares that no one could understand the mysteries of _præmunire_; "its interpretation lies solely in the king's head, who amplifies it and declares it at his pleasure, making it apply to any case he pleases". he at least saw how _præmunire_ could be made to serve his purposes.[790] [footnote 788: _ibid._, iv., 6513.] [footnote 789: _cf. l. and p._, iv., 6199. chapuys writes on 6th february, 1530, "i am told the king did not wish the cardinal's case to be tried by parliament, as, if it had been decided against him, the king could not have pardoned him".] [footnote 790: _ibid._, iv., 6488, 6699.] these, at the moment, were two. he wanted to extract from the clergy a recognition of his supremacy over the church, and he wanted money. he was always in need of supplies, but especially now, in case war should arise from the pope's refusal to grant his divorce; and henry made it a matter of principle that the church should pay for wars due to the pope.[791] the penalty for _præmunire_ was forfeiture of goods and imprisonment, and the king probably thought he was unduly lenient in granting a pardon for a hundred thousand pounds, when he might (p. 286) have taken the whole of the clergy's goods and put them in gaol as well. the clergy objected strongly; in the old days of the church's influence they would all have preferred to go to prison, and a unanimous refusal of the king's demands would even now have baulked his purpose. but the spirit was gone out of them. chapuys instigated the papal nuncio to go down to convocation and stiffen the backs of the clergy.[792] they were horrified at his appearance, and besought him to depart in haste, fearing lest this fresh constitutional breach should be visited on their heads. warham frightened them with the terrors of royal displeasure; and the clerics had to content their conscience with an irish bull and a subterfuge. "silence gives consent," said the archbishop when putting the question; "then are we all silent," cried the clergy. to their recognition of henry as supreme head of the church, they added the salvo "so far as the law of christ allows". it was an empty phrase, thought chapuys, for no one would venture to dispute with the king the point where his supremacy ended and that of christ began;[793] there was in fact "a new papacy made here".[794] the clergy repented of the concession as soon as it was granted; they were "more conscious every day," wrote chapuys, (p. 287) "of the great error they committed in acknowledging the king as sovereign of the church"; and they made a vain, and not very creditable, effort to get rejected by spiritual votes in the house of lords the measures to which they had given their assent in convocation.[795] the church had surrendered with scarcely a show of fight; henceforth henry might feel sure that, whatever opposition he might encounter in other quarters, the church in england would offer no real resistance. [footnote 791: _cf. ibid._, vi., 1381 [3], "that if the pope attempts war, the king shall have a moiety of the temporal lands of the church for his defence".] [footnote 792: _l. and p._, v., 62. dr. stubbs (_lectures_, 1887, p. 318) represents the nuncio as being pressed into the king's service, and the clergy as resisting him as the commons had done wolsey in 1523. but this independence is imaginary; "it was agreed," writes chapuys, "between the nuncio and me that he should go to the said ecclesiastics in their congregation and recommend them to support the immunity of the church.... they were all utterly astonished and scandalised, and without allowing him to open his mouth they begged him to leave them in peace, for they had not the king's leave to speak with him."] [footnote 793: _l. and p._, v., 105.] [footnote 794: _ibid._, v., 112.] [footnote 795: _l. and p._, v., 124.] in parliament, notwithstanding chapuys' remark on the triviality of its business, more than a score of acts were passed, some limiting such abuses as the right of sanctuary, some dealing in the familiar way with social evils like the increase of beggars and vagabonds. the act depriving sanctuary-men, who committed felony, of any further protection from their sanctuary was recommended to parliament by the king in person. so was a curious act making poisoning treason.[796] there had recently been an attempt to poison fisher, which the king brought before the house of lords. however familiar poisoning might be at rome, it was a novel method in england, and was considered so heinous a crime that the ordinary penalties for murder were thought to be insufficient. then the king's pardon to the clergy was embodied in a parliamentary bill. the commons perceived that they were not included, took alarm, and refused to pass the bill. henry at first assumed a superior tone; he pointed out that the commons could not prevent his pardoning the clergy; he could do it as well under the great seal as by statute. the commons, however, were not satisfied. "there was great murmuring among them," says chapuys, "in the (p. 288) house of commons, where it was publicly said in the presence of some of the privy council that the king had burdened and oppressed his kingdom with more imposts and exactions than any three or four of his predecessors, and that he ought to consider that the strength of the king lay in the affections of his people. and many instances were alleged of the inconveniences which had happened to princes through the ill-treatment of their subjects."[797] henry was too shrewd to attempt to punish this very plain speaking. he knew that his faithful commons were his one support, and he yielded at once. "on learning this," continues chapuys, "the king granted the exemption which was published in parliament on wednesday last without any reservation." the two acts for the pardon of the spiritualty and temporalty were passed concurrently. but, whereas the clergy had paid for their pardon with a heavy fine and the loss of their independence, the laity paid nothing at all. the last business of the session was the reading of the sentences in henry's favour obtained from the universities.[798] parliament was then prorogued, and its members were enjoined to relate to their constituents that which they had seen and heard. [footnote 796: _ibid._, v., 120.] [footnote 797: _l. and p._, v., 171. this and other incidents (see p. 289) form a singular comment on brewer's assertion (_ibid._, iv., introd., p. dcxlvii.) that "there is scarcely an instance on record, in this or any succeeding parliament throughout the reign, of a parliamentary patriot protesting against a single act of the crown, however unjust and tyrannical it might be".] [footnote 798: _l. and p._, v., 171.] primed by communion with their neighbours, members of parliament assembled once more on 15th january, 1532, for more important (p. 289) business than they had yet transacted. every effort was made to secure a full attendance of peers and commons; almost all the lords would be present, thought chapuys, except tunstall, who had not been summoned; fisher came without a summons, and apparently no effort was made to exclude him.[799] the readiness of the commons to pass measures against the church, and their reluctance to consent to taxation, were even more marked than before. their critical spirit was shown by their repeated rejection of the statutes of wills and uses designed by henry to protect from evasion his feudal rights, such as reliefs and primer seisins.[800] this demand, writes chapuys,[801] "has been the occasion of strange words against the king and the council, and in spite of all the efforts of the king's friends, it was rejected".[802] in the matter of supplies they were equally outspoken; they would only grant one-tenth and one-fifteenth, a trifling sum which henry refused to accept.[803] it was during this debate on the question of supplies that two members moved that the king be asked to take back catherine as his wife.[804] they would then, they urged, need no fresh armaments and their words are reported to have been well received by the house. the commons were not more enthusiastic about the bill restraining the payment of annates to the court at rome.[805] they did not pay (p. 290) them; their grievance was against bishops in england, and they saw no particular reason for relieving those prelates of their financial burdens. cromwell wrote to gardiner that he did not know how the annates bill would succeed;[806] and the king had apparently to use all his persuasion to get the bill through the lords and the commons. only temporal lords voted for it in the upper house, and, in the lower, recourse was had to the rare expedient of a division.[807] in both houses the votes were taken in the king's presence. but it is almost certain that his influence was brought to bear, not so much in favour of the principle of the bill, as of the extremely ingenious clause which left the execution of the act in henry's discretion, and provided him with a powerful means of putting pressure on the pope. that was henry's statement of the matter. he told chapuys, before the bill was passed, that the attack on annates was being made without his consent;[808] and after it had been passed he instructed his representatives at rome to say that he had taken care to stop the mouth of parliament and to have the question of annates referred to his decision.[809] "the king," writes the french envoy in england at the end of march, "has been very cunning, for he has caused the nobles and people to remit all to his will, so that the pope may know that, if he does nothing for him, the king has the means of punishing him."[810] the execution of the clauses providing for the (p. 291) confirmation and consecration of bishops without recourse to rome was also left at henry's option. [footnote 799: _l. and p._, v., 737.] [footnote 800: henry had ordered cromwell to have a bill with this object ready for the 1531 session (_l. and p._, v., 394), and another for the "augmentation of treasons"; apparently neither then proved acceptable to parliament.] [footnote 801: _l. and p._, v., 805.] [footnote 802: _ibid._, v., 989.] [footnote 803: _ibid._, v., 1046.] [footnote 804: _ibid._, v., 989. this was in may during the second part of the session, after the other business had been finished; redress of grievances constitutionally preceded supply.] [footnote 805: annates were attacked first, partly because they were the weakest as well as the most sensitive part in the papal armour; there was no law in the _corpus juris canonici_ requiring the payment of annates (maitland in _engl. hist. rev._, xvi., 43).] [footnote 806: _l. and p._, v., 723.] [footnote 807: _ibid._, v., 898.] [footnote 808: _ibid._, v., 832.] [footnote 809: _ibid._, v., 886.] [footnote 810: _l. and p._, v., 150. this letter is misplaced in _l. and p._; it should be under 23rd march, 1532, instead of 1531. the french envoy, giles de la pommeraye, did not arrive in england till late in 1531, and his letter obviously refers to the proceedings in parliament in march, 1532; _cf._ v., 879.] but no pressure was needed to induce the commons to attack abuses, the weight of which they felt themselves. early in the session they were discussing the famous petition against the clergy, and, on 28th february, norfolk referred to the "infinite clamours" in parliament against the church.[811] the fact that four corrected drafts of this petition are extant in the record office, is taken as conclusive proof that it really emanated from the court.[812] but the drafts do not appear to be in the known hand of any of the government clerks. the corrections in cromwell's hand doubtless represent the wishes of the king; but, even were the whole in cromwell's hand, it would be no bar to the hypothesis that cromwell reduced to writing, for the king's consideration, complaints which he heard from independent members in his place in parliament. the fact that nine-tenths of our modern legislation is drawn up by government draughtsmen, cannot be accepted as proof that that legislation represents no popular feeling. on the face of them, these petitions bear little evidence of court dictation; the grievances are not such as were felt by henry, whose own demands of the clergy were laid directly before convocation, without any (p. 292) pretence that they really came from the commons. some are similar to those presented to the parliament of 1515; others are directed against abuses which recent statutes had sought, but failed, to remedy. such were the citation of laymen out of their dioceses, the excessive fees taken in spiritual courts, the delay and trouble in obtaining probates. others complained that the clergy in convocation made laws inconsistent with the laws of the realm; that the ordinaries delayed instituting parsons to their benefices; that benefices were given to minors; that the number of holy-days, especially in harvest-time, was excessive; and that spiritual men occupied temporal offices. the chief grievance seems to have been that the ordinaries cited poor men before the spiritual courts without any accuser being produced, and then condemned them to abjure or be burnt. henry, reported chapuys, was "in a most gracious manner" promising to support the commons against the church "and to mitigate the rigours of the inquisition which they have here, and which is said to be more severe than in spain".[813] [footnote 811: _ibid._, v., 831.] [footnote 812: _ibid._, v., 1017-23. if the court was responsible for all the documents complaining of the clergy drawn up at this time, it must have been very active. see others in _l. and p._, v., 49, app. 28, vi., 122.] [footnote 813: _l. and p._, v., 989.] after debating these points in parliament, the commons agreed that "all the griefs, which the temporal men should be grieved with, should be put in writing and delivered to the king"; hence the drafts in the record office. the deputation, with the speaker at its head, presented the complaints to henry on 18th march. its reception is quite unintelligible on the theory that the grievances existed only in the king's imagination. henry was willing, he said, to consider the commons' petition. but, if they expected him to comply with their wishes, they must make some concession to his; and he recommended (p. 293) them to forgo their opposition to the bills of uses and wills, to which the lords had already agreed. after easter he sent the commons' petition to convocation; the clergy appealed to the king for protection. henry had thus manoeuvred himself into the position of mediator, in which he hoped, but in vain, to extract profit for himself from both sides.[814] from convocation he demanded submission to three important claims; the clergy were to consent to a reform of ecclesiastical law, to abdicate their right of independent legislation, and to recognise the necessity of the king's approval for existing canons. these demands were granted. as usual, henry was able to get what he wanted from the clergy; but from the commons he could get no more than they were willing to give. they again rejected the bills of uses and wills, and would only concede the most paltry supplies. but they passed with alacrity the bills embodying the submission of the clergy. these were the church's concessions to henry, but it must bend the knee to the commons as well, and other measures were passed reforming some of the points in their petition. ordinaries were prohibited from citing men out of their proper dioceses, and benefit of clergy was denied to clerks under the order of sub-deacon who committed murder, felony, or petty treason; the latter was a slight extension of a statute passed in 1512. the bishops, however, led by gardiner and aided by more,[815] secured in the house of lords (p. 294) the rejection of the concessions made by the church to the king, though they passed those made to the commons. parliament, which had sat for the unusual space of four months, was prorogued on the 14th of may; two days later, more resigned the chancellorship and gardiner retired in disfavour to winchester. [footnote 814: stubbs, _lectures_, 1887, pp. 320-24; hall, pp. 784, 785; see also _lords' journals_, 1532.] [footnote 815: _l. and p._, v., 1013. more had, as henry knew, been all along opposed to the divorce, but as more gratefully acknowledged, the king only employed those whose consciences approved of the divorce on business connected with it (vii., 289).] * * * * * meanwhile the divorce case at rome made little progress. in the highest court in christendom the facilities afforded for the law's delays were naturally more extended than before inferior tribunals; and two years had been spent in discussing whether henry's "excusator," sent merely to maintain that the king of england could not be cited to plead before the papal court, should be heard or not. clement was in suspense between two political forces. in december, 1532, charles was again to interview the pope, and imperialists in italy predicted that his presence would be as decisive in catherine's favour as it had been three years before. but henry and francis had, in october, exhibited to the world the closeness of their friendship by a personal interview at boulogne.[816] no pomp or ceremony, like that of the field of cloth of gold, dazzled men's eyes; but the union between the two kings was never more real. neither queen was present; henry would not take catherine, and he objected so strongly to spanish dress that he could not endure the sight of francis's spanish queen.[817] anne boleyn, recently created marquis (so she was styled, to indicate the possession of the peerage in her own right) of (p. 295) pembroke,[818] took catherine's place; and plans for the promotion of the divorce formed the staple of the royal discussions. respect for the power of the two kings robbed the subsequent interview between emperor and pope of much of its effect; and before charles and clement parted, the pope had secretly agreed to accord a similar favour to francis; he was to meet him at nice in the following summer. long before then the divorce had been brought to a crisis. by the end of january henry knew that anne boleyn was pregnant. her issue must at any cost be made legitimate. that could only be done by henry's divorce from catherine, and by his marriage with anne boleyn.[819] there was little hope of obtaining these favours from rome. therefore it must be done by means of the archbishop of canterbury; and to remove all chance of disputing his sentence, the court of the archbishop of canterbury must, before his decision was given, be recognised as the supreme tribunal for english ecclesiastical cases. [footnote 816: see p.a. hamy, _entrevue de françois i. avec henri viii., à boulogne en 1532_. paris, 1898.] [footnote 817: _l. and p._, v., 1187.] [footnote 818: _l. and p._, v., 1274.] [footnote 819: in 1529 du bellay had written _si le ventre croist, tout sera gasté_ (_l. and p._, iv., 5679).] these circumstances, of which not a hint was suffered to transpire in public, dictated henry's policy during the early months of 1533. never was his skill more clearly displayed; he was, wrote chapuys in december, 1532, practising more than ever with his parliament,[820] though he received the spanish ambassador "as courteously as ever".[821] the difficulties with which he was surrounded might have tried the nerve of any man, but they only seemed to render henry's course more daring and steady. the date of his marriage with anne boleyn is even now a matter of conjecture.[822] cranmer repudiated (p. 296) the report that he performed the ceremony.[823] he declares he did not know of it until a fortnight after the event, and says it took place about st. paul's day (25th january). a more important question was the individuality of the archbishop who was to pronounce the nullity of henry's marriage with catherine of aragon. he must obviously be one on whom the king could rely. fortunately for henry, archbishop warham had died in august, 1532. his successor was to be thomas cranmer, who had first suggested to henry the plan of seeking the opinions of the universities on the divorce, and was now on an embassy at the emperor's court. no time was to be lost. henry usually gathered a rich harvest during the vacancy of great bishoprics, but now canterbury was to be filled up without any delay, and the king even lent cranmer 1,000 marks to meet his expenses.[824] but would the pope be so accommodating as to expedite the bulls, suspecting, as he must have done, the object for which they were wanted? [footnote 820: _l. and p._, v., 1633.] [footnote 821: _ibid._, v., 1579.] [footnote 822: cranmer, _works_, ii., 246. the antedating of the marriage to 14th november, 1532, by hall and holinshed was doubtless due to a desire to shield anne's character; stow gives the correct date.] [footnote 823: see the present writer's _cranmer_, p. 60 _n._] [footnote 824: _l. and p._, vi., 131.] for this contingency also henry had provided; and he was actually using the pope as a means for securing the divorce. an appearance of friendship with clement was the weapon he now employed with the greatest effect. the pope was discussing with the french ambassadors a proposal to remit the divorce case to some neutral spot, such as cambrai, and delaying that definite sentence in catherine's favour which imperialists had hoped that his interview with charles would (p. 297) precipitate;[825] the papal nuncio was being feasted in england, and was having suspiciously amicable conferences with members of henry's council. henry himself was writing to clement in the most cordial terms; he had instructed his ambassadors in 1531 to "use all gentleness towards him,"[826] and clement was saying that henry was of a better nature and more wise than francis i.[827] henry was now willing to suspend his consent to the general council, where the pope feared that a scheme would be mooted for restoring the papal states to the emperor;[828] and he told the papal nuncio in england that, though he had studied the question of the pope's authority and retracted his defence of the holy see,[829] yet possibly clement might give him occasion to probe the matter further still, and to reconfirm what he had originally written.[830] was he not, moreover, withholding his assent from the act of annates, which would deprive the pope of large revenues? backed by this gentle hint, henry's request not merely for cranmer's bulls, but for their expedition without the payment of the usual 10,000 marks, reached rome. the cardinals were loth to forgo their perquisites for the bulls, but the annates of all england were more precious still, and, on 22nd february, consistory decided to do what henry desired. [footnote 825: _l. and p._, vi., 26. the interview took place at bologna in december, 1532.] [footnote 826: _ibid._, v., 326.] [footnote 827: _ibid._, v., 555.] [footnote 828: _ibid._, vi., 89, 212.] [footnote 829: _e.g._, _ibid._, v., 820, where henry tells tunstall that to follow the pope is to forsake christ, that it was no schism to separate from rome, and that "god willing, we shall never separate from the universal body of christian men," and admits that he was misled in his youth to make war upon louis xii. by those who sought only their own pomp, wealth and glory.] [footnote 830: _ibid._, vi., 296.] the same deceptive appearance of concord between king and pope (p. 298) was employed to lull both parliament and convocation. the delays in the divorce suit disheartened catherine's adherents. the pope, wrote chapuys, would lose his authority little by little, unless the case were decided at once;[831] every one, he said, cried out "au murdre" on clement for his procrastination on the divorce, and for the speed with which he granted cranmer's bulls.[832] there was a general impression that "he would betray the emperor," and "many think that there is a secret agreement between henry and the pope".[833] that idea was sedulously fostered by henry. twice he took the pope's nuncio down in state to parliament to advertise the excellent terms upon which he stood with the holy see.[834] in the face of such evidence, what motive was there for prelates and others to reject the demands which henry was pressing upon them? the convocations of canterbury and york repeated the submission of 1532, and approved, by overwhelming majorities, of two propositions: firstly, that, as a matter of law, the pope was not competent to dispense with the obstacle to a marriage between a man and his deceased brother's wife, when the previous marriage had been consummated; and secondly, that, as a matter of fact, the marriage between catherine and prince arthur had been so consummated.[835] in parliament, the act forbidding appeals to rome,[836] and providing for the confirmation and consecration of (p. 299) bishops without recourse to the papal court, was discussed. it was, like the rest of henry's measures, based on a specious conservative plea. general councils had, the king said, decreed that suits should be determined in the place in which they originated;[837] so there was no need for appeals to go out of england. such opposition as it encountered was based on no religious principle. commercial interests were the most powerful impulse of the age, and the commons were afraid that the act of appeals might be followed by a papal interdict. they did not mind the interdict as depriving them of religious consolations, but they dreaded lest it might ruin their trade with the netherlands.[838] henry, however, persuaded them that the wool trade was as necessary to flemings as it was to englishmen, and that an interdict would prove no more than an empty threat. he was careful to make no other demands upon the commons. no subsidies were required; no extension of royal prerogative was sought; and eventually the act of appeals was passed with a facility that seems to have created general surprise.[839] [footnote 831: _l. and p._, vi., 142.] [footnote 832: _ibid._, vi., 296.] [footnote 833: _ibid._, vi., 89.] [footnote 834: _ibid._, vi., 142, 160. the nuncio sat on henry's right and the french ambassador on his left, this trinity illustrating the league existing between pope, henry and francis.] [footnote 835: _ibid._, vi., 276, 311, 317, 491.] [footnote 836: the germ of this act may be found in a despatch from henry dated 7th october, 1530; that the system of appeals had been subject to gross abuse is obvious from the fact that the council of trent prohibited it (_cambridge modern hist._, ii., 671).] [footnote 837: _l. and p._, vi., 1489.] [footnote 838: _ibid._, vi., 296.] [footnote 839: _ibid._, xii., ii., 952.] henry's path was now clear. cranmer was archbishop and _legatus natus_ with a title which none could dispute. by act of parliament his court was the final resort for all ecclesiastical cases. no appeals from his decision could be lawfully made. so, on 11th april, before he was yet consecrated, he besought the king's gracious permission to determine his "great cause of matrimony, because much bruit exists among the common people on the subject".[840] no doubt there did; but that (p. 300) was not the cause for the haste. henry was pleased to accede to this request of the "principal minister of our spiritual jurisdiction"; and, on the 10th of may, the archbishop opened his court at dunstable. catherine, of course, could recognise no authority in cranmer to try a cause that was before the papal curia. she was declared contumacious, and, on the 23rd, the archbishop gave his sentence. following the line of convocation, he pronounced that the pope had no power to license marriages such as henry's, and that the king and catherine had never been husband and wife.[841] five days later, after a secret investigation, he declared that henry and anne boleyn were lawfully married, and on whitsunday, the 1st of june, he crowned anne as queen in westminster abbey.[842] three months later, on sunday, the 7th of september, between three and four in the afternoon, queen anne gave birth to a daughter at greenwich.[843] the child was christened on the following wednesday by stokesley, bishop of london, and cranmer stood godfather. chapuys scarcely considered the matter worth mention. the king's _amie_ had given birth to a bastard, a detail of little importance to any one, and least of all to a monarch like charles v.[844] (p. 301) yet the "bastard" was queen elizabeth, and the child, thus ushered into a contemptuous world, lived to humble the pride of spain, and to bear to a final triumph the banner which henry had raised. [footnote 840: cranmer, _works_, ii., 237.] [footnote 841: _ibid._, ii., 241, 244; _l. and p._, vi., 332, 469, 470, 525. this sentence did not bastardise the princess mary according to chapuys, for "even if the marriage were null, the princess was legitimate owing to the lawful ignorance of her parents. the archbishop of canterbury had foreseen this and had not dared to be so shameless as to declare her a bastard" (_ibid._, vii., 94).] [footnote 842: see _tudor tracts_ edited by the present writer, 1903, pp. 10-28, and _l. and p._, vi., 561, 563, 584, 601.] [footnote 843: _l. and p._, vi., 1089, 1111.] [footnote 844: _l. and p._, vi., 1112.] chapter xii. (p. 302) "the prevailing of the gates of hell." that victorious issue of the tudor struggle with the power, against which popes proclaimed that the gates of hell should not prevail, was distant enough in 1533. then the tudor monarch seemed rushing headlong to irretrievable ruin. sure of himself and his people, and feeling no longer the need of clement's favour, henry threw off the mask of friendship, and, on the 9th of july, confirmed, by letters patent, the act of annates.[845] cranmer's proceedings at dunstable, henry's marriage, and anne's coronation, constituted a still more flagrant defiance of catholic europe. the pope's authority was challenged with every parade of contempt. he could do no less than gather round him the relics of his dignity and prepare to launch against henry the final ban of the church.[846] so, on the 11th of july, the sentence of the greater excommunication was drawn up. clement did not yet, (p. 303) nor did he ever, venture to assert his claims to temporal supremacy in christendom, by depriving the english king of his kingdom; he thought it prudent to rely on his own undisputed prerogative. his spiritual powers seemed ample; and he applied to himself the words addressed to the prophet jeremiah, "behold, i have set thee above nations and kingdoms that thou mayest root up and destroy, build and plant, a lord over all kings of the whole earth and over all peoples bearing rule".[847] in virtue of this prerogative henry was cut off from the church while he lived, removed from the pale of christian society, and deprived of the solace of the rites of religion; when he died, he must lie without burial, and in hell suffer torment for ever.[848] [footnote 845: _l. and p._, vi., 793.] [footnote 846: _ibid._, vi., 807, app. 3; vii., 185. the declaration of it was at the same time suspended until september, and the delicate question of entrusting the _executoriales_ to princes who repudiated the honour caused further delays. the bull of excommunication was eventually dated 30th august, 1535 (ix., 207); and a bull depriving henry of his kingdom was sanctioned, printed and prepared for publication (x., introd., p. xv., nos. 82, 107), but first francis and then charles put difficulties in the way. in december, 1538, paul iii., now that he, charles and francis were united in the bond of friendship, published with additions the bull of august, 1535 (xiii., ii., 1087, introd., p. xli.). even then no bull of deprivation was published. apparently that was an honour reserved for henry's daughter.] [footnote 847: jeremiah i. 10. the vulgate text adopted in papal bulls differs materially from that in the english authorised version.] [footnote 848: see the text in burnet, ed. pocock, iv., 318-31.] what would be the effect of this terrific anathema? the omens looked ill for the english king. if he had flouted the holy see, he had also offended the temporal head of christendom. the emperor's aunt had been divorced, his cousin's legitimacy had been impugned, and the despatches of his envoy, chapuys, were filled with indignant lamentations over the treatment meted out to catherine and to her daughter. both proud and stubborn women, they resolutely refused to admit in any way the validity of henry's acts and recent legislation. catherine would rather starve as queen, than be sumptuously clothed and fed as princess dowager. henry would give her anything she asked, if she would acknowledge that she was not the queen, nor her daughter the princess; but her bold resistance to his commands and wishes (p. 304) brought out all the worst features of his character.[849] his anger was not the worst the queen and her daughter had to fear; he still preserved a feeling of respect for catherine and of affection for mary. "the king himself," writes chapuys, "is not ill-natured; it is this anne who has put him in this perverse and wicked temper, and alienates him from his former humanity."[850] the new queen's jealous malignity passed all bounds. she caused her aunt to be made governess to mary, and urged her to box her charge's ears; and she used every effort to force the princess to serve as a maid upon her little half-sister, elizabeth.[851] [footnote 849: _l. and p._, vi., 805, 1186.] [footnote 850: _ibid._, vi., 351; vii., 171, 871; _cf._ v., 216, where chapuys says anne hated the princess mary more than she did queen catherine because she saw that henry had some affection for mary, and praised her in anne's presence. at the worst henry's manners were generally polite; on one occasion, writes chapuys, "when the king was going to mount his horse, the princess went on to a terrace at the top of the house to see him. the king, either being told of it or by chance, turned round, and seeing her on her knees with her hands joined, bowed to her and put his hand to his hat. then all those present who had not dared to raise their heads to look at her [surely they may not have seen her] rejoiced at what the king had done, and saluted her reverently with signs of good-will and compassion" (_ibid._, vii., 83).] [footnote 851: _ibid._, vii., 171.] this humiliation was deeply resented by the people, who, says chapuys, though forbidden, on pain of their lives, to call catherine queen, shouted it at the top of their voices.[852] "you cannot imagine," he writes a few weeks later to charles, "the great desire of all this people that your majesty should send men. every day i have been applied to about it by englishmen of rank, wit and learning, (p. 305) who give me to understand that the last king richard was never so much hated by his people as this king."[853] the emperor, he went on, had a better chance of success than henry vii., and ortiz at rome was cherishing the belief that england would rise against the king for his contumacy and schismatic disobedience.[854] fisher was urgent that charles should prepare an invasion of england; the young marquis of exeter, a possible claimant to the throne, was giving the same advice.[855] abergavenny, darcy and other peers brooded in sullen discontent. they were all listening to the hysterical ravings of elizabeth barton,[856] the nun of kent, who prophesied that henry had not a year to live. charles's emissaries were busy in ireland, where kildare was about to revolt. james v. of scotland was hinting at his claims to the english crown, should henry be deprived by the pope;[857] and chapuys was divided in mind whether it would be better to make james the executor of the papal sentence, or marry mary to some great english noble, and raise an internal rebellion.[858] at catherine's suggestion he recommended to the emperor reginald pole, a grandson of george, duke of clarence, as a suitor for mary's hand; and he urged, on his own account, pole's claims to the english throne.[859] catherine's scruples, not about deposing her husband, or passing over the claims of henry's sisters, but on the score of edward iv.'s grandson, the marquis of exeter, might, thought chapuys, (p. 306) be removed by appealing to the notorious sentence of bishop stillington, who, on the demand of richard iii., had pronounced edward iv.'s marriage void and his children illegitimate.[860] those who had been the king's firm supporters when the divorce first came up were some of them wavering, and others turning back.[861] archbishop lee, bishops tunstall and gardiner, and bennet,[862] were now all in secret or open opposition, and even longland was expressing to chapuys regrets that he had ever been henry's confessor;[863] like other half-hearted revolutionists, they would never have started at all, had they known how far they would have to go, and now they were setting their sails for an adverse breeze. it was the king, and the king alone, who kept england on the course which he had mapped out. pope and emperor were defied; europe was shocked; francis himself disapproved of the breach with the church; ireland was in revolt; scotland, as ever, was hostile; legislation had been thrust down the throats of a recalcitrant church, and, we are asked to believe, of a no less unwilling house of commons, while the people at large were seething with indignation at the insults heaped upon the injured queen and her daughter. by all the laws of nature, of morals, and of politics, it would seem, henry was doomed to the fate of the monarch in the book of daniel the prophet,[864] who did according to his will and exalted and magnified himself above every god; who divided the land for gain, and had power over the treasures of gold and silver; who was troubled by tidings from the east and from the north; who went forth with (p. 307) great fury to destroy and utterly make away many, and yet came to his end, and none helped him. [footnote 852: _ibid._, vi., 918.] [footnote 853: _l. and p._, vi., 508; vii., 121.] [footnote 854: _ibid._, v., 1324.] [footnote 855: _ibid._, v., 416.] [footnote 856: see _transactions of the royal hist. soc._, n.s., xviii.; _l. and p._, vi., 1419, 1445, 1464, 1467, 1468.] [footnote 857: _l. and p._, v., 609, 807; vi., 815, 821.] [footnote 858: _ibid._, vi., 446, 541; vii., 114.] [footnote 859: _ibid._, vi., 1164.] [footnote 860: _l. and p._, vii., 1368.] [footnote 861: even norfolk, and suffolk and his wife wanted to dissuade henry in 1531 from persisting in the divorce (_ibid._, v., 287).] [footnote 862: _ibid._, v., 696.] [footnote 863: _ibid._, vii., 14.] [footnote 864: daniel xi., 36-45.] all these circumstances, real and alleged, would be quite convincing as reasons for henry's failure; but they are singularly inconclusive as explanations of his success, of the facts that his people did not rise and depose him, that no spanish armada disgorged its host on english shores, and that, for all the papal thunderbolts, henry died quietly in his bed fourteen years later, and was buried with a pomp and respect to which popes themselves were little accustomed. he may have stood alone in his confidence of success, and in his penetration through these appearances into the real truth of the situation behind. that, from a purely political or non-moral point of view, is his chief title to greatness. he knew from the beginning what he could do; he had counted the cost and calculated the risks; and, writes russell in august, 1533, "i never saw the king merrier than he is now".[865] as early as march, 1531, he told chapuys that if the pope issued 10,000 excommunications he would not care a straw for them.[866] when the papal nuncio first hinted at excommunication and a papal appeal to the secular arm, henry declared that he cared nothing for either.[867] he would open the eyes of princes, he said, and show them how small was really the power of the pope;[868] and "when the pope had done what he liked on his side, henry would do what he liked here".[869] that threat, at least, he fulfilled with a vengeance. he did not fear the spaniards; they might come, he said (as they did in 1588), but (p. 308) perhaps they might not return.[870] england, he told his subjects, was not conquerable, so long as she remained united;[871] and the patriotic outburst with which shakespeare closes "king john" is but an echo and an expansion of the words of henry viii. this england never did, nor never shall, lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, but when it first did help to wound itself.... come the three corners of the world in arms, and we shall shock them. nought shall make us rue, if england to itself do rest but true. [footnote 865: _l. and p._, vi., 948.] [footnote 866: _ibid._, v., 148.] [footnote 867: _ibid._, v., 738.] [footnote 868: _ibid._, v., 1292.] [footnote 869: _ibid._, v., 287.] [footnote 870: _l. and p._, vi., 1479.] [footnote 871: _ibid._, vi., 324.] the great fear of englishmen was lest charles should ruin them by prohibiting the trade with flanders. "their only comfort," wrote chapuys, "is that the king persuades the people that it is not in your majesty's power to do so."[872] henry had put the matter to a practical test, in the autumn of 1533, by closing the staple at calais.[873] it is possible that the dispute between him and the merchants, alleged as the cause for this step, was real; but the king could have provided his subjects with no more forcible object-lesson. distress was felt at once in flanders; complaints grew so clamorous that the regent sent an embassy post-haste to henry to remonstrate, and to represent the closing of the staple as an infraction of commercial treaties. henry coldly replied that he had broken no treaties at all; it was merely a private dispute between his merchants and himself, in which foreign powers had no ground for intervention. the envoys had to return, convinced against their will. the staple at calais was soon reopened, but the english king was able to (p. 309) demonstrate to his people that the flemings "could not do without england's trade, considering the outcry they made when the staple of calais was closed for only three months". [footnote 872: _ibid._, vi., 1460.] [footnote 873: _ibid._, vi., 1510, 1523, 1571.] henry, indeed, might almost be credited with second-sight into the emperor's mind. on 31st may, 1533, charles's council discussed the situation.[874] after considering henry's enormities, the councillors proceeded to deliberate on the possible remedies. there were three: justice, force and a combination of both. the objections to relying on methods of justice, that is, on the papal sentence, were, firstly, that henry would not obey, and secondly, that the pope was not to be trusted. the objections to the employment of force were, that war would imperil the whole of europe, and especially the emperor's dominions, and that henry had neither used violence towards catherine nor given charles any excuse for breaking the treaty of cambrai. eventually, it was decided to leave the matter to clement. he was to be urged to give sentence against henry, but on no account to lay england under an interdict, as that "would disturb her intercourse with spain and flanders. if, therefore, an interdict be resorted to, it should be limited to one diocese, or to the place where henry dwells."[875] such an interdict might put a premium on assassination, but otherwise neither henry nor his people were likely to care much about it. the pope should, however, be exhorted to depose the english king; that might pave the way for mary's accession and for the predominance in england of the emperor's influence; but the execution of the sentence must not be entrusted to charles.[876] it would (p. 310) be excellent if james v. or the irish would undertake to beard the lion in his den, but the emperor did not see his way clear to accepting the risk himself. [footnote 874: _l. and p._, vi., 568.] [footnote 875: _ibid._, vi., 570.] [footnote 876: in january, 1534, charles's ambassador at rome repudiated the pope's statement that the emperor had ever offered to assist in the execution of the pope's sentence (_l. and p._, vii., 96).] charles was, indeed, afraid, not merely of henry, but of francis, who was meditating fresh italian schemes; and various expedients were suggested to divert his attention in other directions. he might be assisted in an attack upon calais. "calais," was charles's cautious comment, "is better as it is, for the security of flanders."[877] the pope hinted that the grant of milan would win over francis. it probably would; but charles would have abandoned half a dozen aunts rather than see milan in french possession. his real concern in the matter was not the injustice to catherine, but the destruction of the prospect of mary's succession. that was a tangible political interest, and charles was much less anxious to have henry censured than to have mary's legitimate claim to the throne established.[878] he was a great politician, absolutely impervious to personal wrong when its remedy conflicted with political interests. "though the emperor," he said, "is bound to the queen, this is a private matter, and public considerations must be taken into account." and public considerations, as he admitted a year later, "compelled him to conciliate (p. 311) henry".[879] so he refused chapuys' request to be recalled lest his presence in england should lead people to believe that charles had condoned henry's marriage with anne boleyn,[880] and dissuaded catherine from leaving england.[881] the least hint to francis of any hostile intent towards henry would, thought charles, be at once revealed to the english king, and the two would join in making war on himself. war he was determined to avoid, for, apart from the ruin of flanders, which it would involve, henry and francis had long been intriguing with the lutherans in germany. a breach might easily precipitate civil strife in the empire; and, indeed, in june, 1534, würtemberg was wrested from the habsburgs by philip of hesse with the connivance of france. francis, too, was always believed to have a working agreement with the turk; barbarossa was giving no little cause for alarm in the mediterranean; while henry on his part had established close relations with lübeck and hamburg, and was fomenting dissensions in denmark, the crown of which he was offered but cautiously (p. 312) declined.[882] [footnote 877: _ibid._, vi., 774. the sense of this passage is spoilt in _l. and p._ by the comma being placed after "better" instead of after "is".] [footnote 878: control over england was the great objective of habsburg policy. in 1513 margaret of savoy was pressing henry to have the succession settled on his sister mary, then betrothed to charles himself (_ibid._, i., 4833).] [footnote 879: _l. and p._, vii., 229. all that charles thought practicable was to "embarrass henry in his own kingdom, and to execute what the emperor wrote to the irish chiefs" (_cf._ vii., 342, 353).] [footnote 880: _ibid._, vi., 351. charles's conduct is a striking vindication of wolsey's foresight in 1528, when he told campeggio that the emperor would not wage war over the divorce of catherine, and said there would be a thousand ways of keeping on good terms with him (ehses, _römische dokumente_, p. 69; _l. and p._, iv., 4881). dr. gairdner thinks wolsey was insincere in this remark (_english hist. rev._, xii., 242), but he seems to have gauged charles v.'s character and embarrassments accurately.] [footnote 881: _l. and p._, vi., 863. her departure would have prejudiced mary's claim to the throne, but charles's advice was particularly callous in view of the reports which chapuys was sending charles of her treatment.] [footnote 882: _l. and p._, vii., 737, 871, 957-58, and vol. viii., _passim_; _cf._ c.f. wurm, _die politischen beziehungen heinrichs viii. zu mercus meyer und jürgen wullenwever_, hamburg, 1852.] this incurable jealousy between francis and charles made the french king loth to weaken his friendship with henry. the english king was careful to impress upon the french ambassador that he could, in the last resort, make his peace with charles by taking back catherine and by restoring mary to her place in the line of succession.[883] francis had too poignant a recollection of the results of the union between henry and charles from 1521 to 1525 ever to risk its renewal. the age of the crusades and chivalry was gone; commercial and national rivalries were as potent in the sixteenth century as they are to-day. then, as in subsequent times, mutual suspicions made impossible an effective concert of europe against the turk. the fall of rhodes and the death of one of charles's brothers-in-law at mohacz and the expulsion of another from the throne of denmark had never been avenged, and, in 1534, the emperor was compelled to evacuate coron.[884] if europe could not combine against the common enemy of the faith, was it likely to combine against one who, in spite of all his enormities, was still an orthodox christian? and, without a combination of princes to execute them, papal censures, excommunications, interdicts, and all the spiritual paraphernalia, served only to probe the hollowness of papal pretensions, and to demonstrate the deafness of europe to the calls of religious enthusiasm. in spain, at least, it might have been thought that every sword would leap from its scabbard at a summons (p. 313) from charles on behalf of the spanish queen. "henry," wrote chapuys, "has always fortified himself by the consent of parliament."[885] it would be well, he thought, if charles would follow suit, and induce the cortes of aragon and castile, "or at least the grandees," to offer their persons and goods in catherine's cause. such an offer, if published in england, "will be of inestimable service". but here comes the proof of charles's pitiful impotence; in order to obtain this public offer, the emperor was "to give them privately an exemption from such offer and promise of persons and goods". it was to be one more pretence like the others, and unfortunately for the pope and for the emperor, henry had an inconvenient habit of piercing disguises. [footnote 883: _l. and p._, vi., 1572.] [footnote 884: _ibid._, vii., 670.] [footnote 885: _l. and p._, vi., 720.] the strength of henry's position at home was due to a similar lack of unity among his domestic enemies. if the english people had wished to depose him, they could have effected their object without much difficulty. in estimating the chances of a possible invasion, it was pointed out how entirely dependent henry was upon his people: he had only one castle in london, and only a hundred yeomen of the guard to defend him.[886] he would, in fact, have been powerless against a united people or even against a partial revolt, if well organised and really popular. there was chronic discontent throughout the tudor period, but it was sectional. the remnants of the old nobility always hated tudor methods of government, and the poorer commons were sullen at their ill-treatment by the lords of the land; but there was no concerted basis of action between the two. the dominant class (p. 314) was commercial, and it had no grievance against henry, while it feared alike the lords and the lower orders. in the spoliation of the church temporal lords and commercial men, both of whom could profit thereby, were agreed; and nowhere was there much sympathy with the church as an institution apart from its doctrine. chapuys himself admits that the act, depriving the clergy of their profits from leases, was passed "to please the people";[887] and another conservative declared that, if the church were deprived of all its temporal goods, many would be glad and few would bemoan.[888] sympathy with catherine and hatred of anne were general, but people thought, like charles, that these were private griefs, and that public considerations must be taken into account. englishmen are at all times reluctant to turn out one government until they see at least the possibility of another to take its place, and the only alternative to henry viii. was anarchy. the opposition could not agree on a policy, and they could not agree on a leader. there were various grandchildren of edward iv. and of clarence, who might put forward distant claims to the throne; and there were other candidates in whose multitude lay henry's safety. it was quite certain that the pushing of any one of these claimants would throw the rest on henry's side. james v., whom at one time chapuys favoured, knew that a scots invasion would unite the whole of england against him; and charles was probably wise in rebuking his ambassador's zeal, and in thinking that any attempt on his own part would be more disastrous to himself than to henry.[889] for all (p. 315) this, the english king was, as chapuys remarks, keeping a very watchful eye on the countenance of his people,[890] seeing how far he could go and where he must stop, and neglecting no precaution for the peace and security of himself and his kingdom. acts were passed to strengthen the navy, improvements in arms and armament were being continually tested, and the fortifications at calais, on the scots borders and elsewhere were strengthened. wales was reduced to law and order, and, through the intermediation of francis, a satisfactory peace was made with scotland.[891] [footnote 886: _ibid._, vi., app. 7.] [footnote 887: _l. and p._, vii., 114.] [footnote 888: _ibid._, vii., 24.] [footnote 889: chapuys is quite plaintive when he hints at the advantages which might follow if only "your majesty were ever so little angry" with henry viii. (_l. and p._, vii., 114). a few days later he "apologises for his previous letters advocating severity" (_ibid._, vii., 171).] [footnote 890: _ibid._, vi., 351.] [footnote 891: _ibid._, vi., 729, 1161. one of henry's baits to james v. was a suggestion that he would get parliament to entail the succession on james if his issue by anne boleyn failed (_ibid._, vii., 114).] * * * * * convinced of his security from attack at home and abroad, henry proceeded to accomplish what remained for the subjugation of the church in england and the final breach with rome. clement had no sooner excommunicated henry than he began to repent; he was much more alarmed than the english king at the probable effects of his sentence. henry at once recalled his ambassadors from rome, and drew up an appeal to a general council.[892] the pope feared he would lose england for ever. even the imperialists proved but job's comforters, and told him that, after all, it was only "an unprofitable (p. 316) island,"[893] the loss of which was not to be compared with the renewed devotion of spain and the emperor's other dominions; possibly they assured him that there would never again be a sack of rome. clement delayed for a time the publication of the sentence against henry, and in november he went to his interview with francis i. at marseilles.[894] while he was there, bonner intimated to him henry's appeal to a general council. clement angrily rejected the appeal as frivolous, and francis regarded this defiance of the pope as an affront to himself in the person of his guest, and as the ruin of his attempts to reconcile the two parties. "ye have clearly marred all," he said to gardiner; "as fast as i study to win the pope, you study to lose him,"[895] and he declared that, had he known of the intimation beforehand, it should never have been made. henry, however, had no desire that the pope should be won.[896] he was, he told the french ambassador, determined to separate from rome; "he will not, in consequence of this, be less christian, but more so, for in everything and in every place he desires to cause jesus christ to be recognised, who alone is the patron of christians; and he will cause the word to be preached, and not the canons and decrees of the pope."[897] [footnote 892: _ibid._, vi., 721, 979, 980, 998.] [footnote 893: _l. and p._, vi., 997.] [footnote 894: he is said, while there, to have privately admitted to francis that the dispensation of julius ii. was invalid (_ibid._, vii., 1348, app. 8).] [footnote 895: _ibid._, vi., 1425, 1426, 1427.] [footnote 896: on his side he was angry with francis for telling the pope that henry would side against the lutherans; he was afraid it might spoil his practices with them (_ibid._, vi., 614, 707); the lübeckers had already suggested to henry viii. that he should seize the disputed throne of denmark (_ibid._, vi., 428; _cf._ the present writer in _cambridge modern history_, ii., 229).] [footnote 897: _l. and p._, vi., 1435, 1479.] parliament was to meet to effect this purpose in january, 1534, (p. 317) and during the previous autumn there are the first indications, traceable to cromwell's hand, of an attempt to pack it. he drew up a memorandum of such seats as were vacant from death or from other causes; most of the new members appear to have been freely elected, but four vacancies were filled by "the king's pleasure."[898] more extensive and less doubtful was the royal interference in the election of abbots. many abbeys fell vacant in 1533, and in every case commissioners were sent down to secure the election of the king's nominee; in many others, abbots were induced to resign, and fresh (p. 318) ones put in their place.[899] it is not clear that the main object was to pack the clerical representation in the house of lords, because only a few of these abbots had seats there, the abbots gave much less trouble than the bishops in parliament, and convocation, where they largely outnumbered the bishops, was much more amenable than the house of peers, where the bishops' votes preponderated. it is more probable that the end in view was already the dissolution of the monasteries by means of surrender. cromwell, who was now said to "rule everything,"[900] was boasting that he would make his king the richest monarch in christendom, and his methods may be guessed from his praise of the sultan as a model to other princes for the authority he wielded over his subjects.[901] henry, however, was fortunate in 1533, even in the matter of episcopal representation. he had, since the fall of wolsey, had occasion to fill up the sees of york, winchester, london, durham and canterbury; and in this year five more became vacant: bangor, ely, coventry and lichfield by death, and salisbury and worcester through the deprivation by act of parliament of their foreign and absentee pastors, campeggio and ghinucci.[902] of the other bishops, clerk of bath and wells, and longland of lincoln, had been active in the divorce, which, indeed, longland, the king's confessor, was said to have originally suggested about the year 1523; the bishops of norwich and of chichester were both over ninety years of age.[903] (p. 319) llandaff was catherine's confessor, a spaniard who could not speak a word of english. on the whole bench there was no one but fisher of rochester who had the will or the courage to make any effective stand on behalf of the church's liberty. [footnote 898: _l. and p._, vi., 1382; vii., 56. a whole essay might be written on this latter brief document; it is not, what it purports to be, a list of knights of the shires who had died since the beginning of parliament, for the names are those of living men. against most of the constituencies two or three names are placed; dr. gairdner suggests that these are the possible candidates suggested by cromwell and to be nominated by the king. but why is "the king's pleasure" placed opposite only three vacancies, if the whole twenty-eight were to be filled on his nomination? the names are probably those of influential magnates in the neighbourhood who would naturally have the chief voice in the election; and thus they would correspond with the vacancies, _e.g._, hastings, opposite which is placed "not for the warden of the cinque ports," and southwark, for which there is a similar note for the duke of suffolk. it is obvious that the king could not fill up all the vacancies by nomination; for opposite worcester town, where _both_ members, dee and brenning, had died, is noted, "the king to name _one_". it is curious to find "the king's pleasure" after winchester city, as that was one of the constituencies for which gardiner as bishop afterwards said he was wont to nominate burgesses (foxe, ed. townsend, vi., 54). it must also be remembered that these were bye-elections and possibly a novelty. in 1536 the rebels demand that "if a knight or burgess died during parliament his room should continue void to the end of the same" (_l. and p._, xi., 1182 [17]). in the seventeenth century supplementary members were chosen for the long parliament to fill possible vacancies; there were no bye-elections.] [footnote 899: _l. and p._, vi., 716, 816, 847, 1007, 1056, 1057, 1109 (where by the bishopric of "chester" is meant coventry and lichfield, and not chichester, as suggested by the editor; the see of coventry and lichfield was often called chester before the creation of the latter see), 1239, 1304, 1376, 1408, 1513; vii., 108, 257, 297, 344, 376.] [footnote 900: _ibid._, vi., 1445.] [footnote 901: _ibid._, vii., 1554.] [footnote 902: _ibid._, vii., 48, 54, 634.] [footnote 903: _l. and p._, vii., 171.] before parliament met francis sent du bellay, bishop of paris, to london to make one last effort to keep the peace between england and rome. du bellay could get no concessions of any value from henry. all the king would promise was that, if clement would before easter declare his marriage with catherine null and that with anne valid, he would not complete the extirpation of the papal authority.[904] little enough of that remained, and henry himself had probably no expectation and no wish that his terms should be accepted. long before du bellay had reached rome, parliament was discussing measures designed to effect the final severance. opposition was of the feeblest character alike in convocation and in both houses of parliament. chapuys himself gloomily prophesied that there would be no difficulty in getting the principal measures, abolishing the pope's authority and arranging for the election of bishops, through the house of lords.[905] the second act of appeals embodied the concessions made by convocation in 1532 and rejected that year in the house of lords. convocation was neither to meet nor to legislate without the king's assent; henry might appoint a royal commission to reform the canon law;[906] appeals were to be permitted to chancery from the archbishop's court;[907] (p. 320) abbeys and other religious houses, which had been exempt from episcopal authority, were placed immediately under the jurisdiction of chancery. a fresh act of annates defined more precisely the new method of electing bishops, and provided that, if the chapter did not elect the royal nominee within twelve days, the king might appoint him by letters patent. a third act forbade the payment of peter-pence and other impositions to the court of rome, and handed over the business of dispensations and licences to the archbishop of canterbury; at the same time it declared that neither king nor realm meant to vary from the articles of the catholic faith of christendom. [footnote 904: _ibid._, vii., app. 13.] [footnote 905: _ibid._, vii., 171; _cf._ xii., ii., 952.] [footnote 906: this commission was not appointed till 1551: see the present writer's _cranmer_, pp. 280-4.] [footnote 907: 25 henry viii., c. 19. the first suggestion appears to have been "to give the archbishop of canterbury the seal of chancery, and pass bulls, dispensations and other provisions under it" (_l. and p._, vii., 14; _cf._ vii., 57); his title was changed from _apostolicæ sedis legatus_ to _metropolitanus_ (_ibid._, vii., 1555).] another act provided that charges of heresy must be supported by two lay witnesses, and that indictments for that offence could only be made by lay authorities. this, like the rest of henry's anti-ecclesiastical legislation, was based on popular clamour. on the 5th of march the whole house of commons, with the speaker at their head, had waited on the king at york place and expatiated for three hours on the oppressiveness of clerical jurisdiction. at length it was agreed that eight temporal peers, eight representatives of the lower house and sixteen bishops "should discuss the matter and the king be umpire"[908]--a repetition of the plan of 1529 and a very exact reflection of henry's methods and of the church-and-state situation during the reformation parliament. [footnote 908: _l. and p._, vii., 304, 393, 399; the provision about two witnesses was in 1547 extended to treason.] the final act of the session, which ended on 30th march, was a (p. 321) constitutional innovation of the utmost importance. from the earliest ages the succession to the crown had in theory been determined, first by election, and then by hereditary right. in practice it had often been decided by the barbarous arbitrament of war. for right is vague, it may be disputed, and there was endless variety of opinion as to the proper claimant to the throne if henry should die. so vague right was to be replaced by definite law, which could not be disputed, but which, unlike right, could easily be changed. the succession was no longer to be regulated by an unalterable principle, but by the popular (or royal) will expressed in acts of parliament.[909] the first of a long series of acts of succession was now passed to vest the succession to the crown in the heirs of the king by anne boleyn; clauses were added declaring that persons who impugned that marriage by writing, printing, or other deed were guilty of treason, and those who impugned it by words, of misprision. the government proposal that both classes of offenders should be held guilty of treason was modified by the house of commons.[910] [footnote 909: the succession to the crown was one of the last matters affected by the process of substituting written law for unwritten right which began with the laws of ethelbert of kent. there had of course been _ex post facto_ acts recognising that the crown was vested in the successful competitor.] [footnote 910: _l. and p._, vii., 51.] on 23rd march, a week before the prorogation of parliament, and seven years after the divorce case had first begun, clement gave sentence at rome pronouncing valid the marriage between catherine and henry.[911] the decision produced not a ripple on the surface of english affairs; henry, writes chapuys, took no account of it and was making as (p. 322) good cheer as ever.[912] there was no reason why he should not. while the imperialist mob at rome after its kind paraded the streets in crowds, shouting "imperio et espagne," and firing _feux-de-joie_ over the news, the imperialist agent was writing to charles that the judgment would not be of much profit, except for the emperor's honour and the queen's justification, and was congratulating his master that he was not bound to execute the sentence.[913] flemings were tearing down the papal censures from the doors of their churches,[914] and charles was as convinced as ever of the necessity of henry's friendship. he proposed to the pope that some one should be sent from rome to join chapuys in "trying to move the king from his error"; and clement could only reply that "he thought the embassy would have no effect on the king, but that nothing would be lost by it, and it would be a good compliment!"[915] henry, however was less likely to be influenced by compliments, good or bad, than by the circumstance that neither pope nor emperor was in a position to employ any ruder persuasive. there was none so poor as to reverence a pope, and, when clement died six months later, the roman populace broke into the chamber where he lay and stabbed his corpse; they were with difficulty prevented from dragging it in degradation through the streets.[916] such was the respect paid to the supreme pontiff in the holy city, and deference to his sentence was not to be expected in more distant parts. [footnote 911: _ibid._, vii., 362.] [footnote 912: _l. and p._, vii., 469.] [footnote 913: _ibid._, vii., 368.] [footnote 914: _ibid._, vii., 184.] [footnote 915: _ibid._, vii., 804.] [footnote 916: _ibid._, vii., 1262.] henry's political education was now complete; the events of the last five years had proved to him the truth of the assertion, with (p. 323) which he had started, that the pope might do what he liked at rome, but that he also could do what he liked in england, so long as he avoided the active hostility of the majority of his lay subjects. the church had, by its actions, shown him that it was powerless; the pope had proved the impotence of his spiritual weapons; and the emperor had admitted that he was both unable and unwilling to interfere. henry had realised the extent of his power, and the opening of his eyes had an evil effect upon his character. nothing makes men or governments so careless or so arbitrary as the knowledge that there will be no effective opposition to their desires. henry, at least, never grew careless; his watchful eye was always wide open. his ear was always strained to catch the faintest rumbling of a coming storm, and his subtle intellect was ever on the alert to take advantage of every turn in the diplomatic game. he was always efficient, and he took good care that his ministers should be so as well. but he grew very arbitrary; the knowledge that he could do so much became with him an irresistible reason for doing it. despotic power is twice cursed; it debases the ruler and degrades the subject; and henry's progress to despotism may be connected with the rise of thomas cromwell, who looked to the great turk as a model for christian princes.[917] cromwell became secretary in may, 1534; in that month henry's security was enhanced by the (p. 324) definitive peace with scotland,[918] and he set to work to enforce his authority with the weapons which parliament had placed in his hands. elizabeth barton, and her accomplices, two friars observants, two monks, and one secular priest, all attainted of treason by act of parliament, were sent to the block.[919] commissioners were sent round, as parliament had ordained, to enforce the oath of succession throughout the land.[920] a general refusal would have stopped henry's career, but the general consent left henry free to deal as he liked with the exceptions. fisher and more were sent to the tower. they were willing to swear to the succession, regarding that as a matter within the competence of parliament, but they refused to take the oath required by the commissioners;[921] it contained, they alleged, a repudiation of the pope not justified by the terms of the statute. two cartloads of friars followed them to the tower in june, and the order of observants, in whose church at greenwich henry had been baptised and married, and of whom in his earlier years he had written in terms of warm admiration, was suppressed altogether.[922] [footnote 917: "the lord cromwell," says bishop gardiner, "had once put in the king our late sovereign lord's head, to take upon him to have his will and pleasure regarded for a law; for that, he said, was to be a very king," and he quoted the _quod principi placuit_ of roman civil law. gardiner replied to the king that "to make the laws his will was more sure and quiet" and "agreeable with the nature of your people". henry preferred gardiner's advice (foxe, ed. townsend, vi., 46).] [footnote 918: _l. and p._, vii., 483, 647.] [footnote 919: _ibid._, vii., 522.] [footnote 920: _ibid._, vii., 665.] [footnote 921: _ibid._, vii., 499.] [footnote 922: _ibid._, vii., 841, 856. the order had been particularly active in opposition to the divorce (_ibid._, iv., 6156; v., 266.)] in november parliament[923] reinforced the act of succession by laying down the precise terms of the oath, and providing that a certificate of refusal signed by two commissioners was as effective as the indictment of twelve jurors. other acts empowered the king to repeal by royal proclamation certain statutes regulating imports and exports. the first-fruits and tenths, of which the pope had been already (p. 325) deprived, were now conferred on the king as a fitting ecclesiastical endowment for the supreme head of the church. that title, granted him four years before by both convocations, was confirmed by act of parliament; its object was to enable the king as supreme head to effect the "increase of virtue in christ's religion within this realm of england, and to repress and extirp all errors, heresies and other enormities, and abuses heretofore used in the same". the defender of the faith was to be armed with more than a delegate power; he was to be supreme in himself, the champion not of the faith of any one else, but of his own; and the qualifying clause, "as far as the law of christ allows," was omitted. his orthodoxy must be above suspicion, or at least beyond the reach of open cavil in england. so new treasons were enacted, and any one who called the king a heretic, schismatic, tyrant, infidel, or usurper, was rendered liable to the heaviest penalty which the law could inflict. as an earnest of the royal and parliamentary desire for an increase of virtue in religion, an act was concurrently passed providing for the creation of a number of suffragan bishops.[924] [footnote 923: _ibid._, vii., 1377.] [footnote 924: these were not actually created till 1540; the way in which henry viii. sought statutory authority for every conceivable thing is very extraordinary. there seems no reason why he could not have created these bishoprics without parliamentary authority.] henry was now pope in england with powers no pope had possessed.[925] the reformation is variously regarded as the liberation of the (p. 326) english church from the roman yoke it had long impatiently borne, as its subjection to an erastian yoke which it was henceforth, with more or less patience, long to bear, or as a comparatively unimportant assertion of a supremacy which kings of england had always enjoyed. the church is the same church, we are told, before and after the change; if anything, it was protestant before the reformation, and catholic after. it is, of course, the same church. a man may be described as the same man before and after death, and the business of a coroner's jury is to establish the identity; but it does not ignore the vital difference. even saul and paul were the same man. and the identity of the church before and after the legislation of henry viii. covers a considerable number of not unimportant changes. it does not, however, seem strictly accurate to say that henry either liberated or enslaved the church. rather, he substituted one form of despotism for another, a sole for a dual control; the change, complained a reformer, was merely a _translatio imperii_.[926] the democratic movement within the church had died away, like the democratic movements in national and municipal politics, before the end of the fifteenth century. it was never merry with the church,[927] complained a catholic in 1533, since the time when bishops were wont to be chosen by the holy ghost and by their chapters. [footnote 925: with limitations, of course. henry's was only a _potestas jurisdictionis_ not a _potestas ordinis_ (see makower, _const. hist. of the church of england_, and the present writer's _cranmer_, pp. 83, 84, 95, 232, 233). cranmer acknowledged in the king also a _potestatem ordinis_, just as cromwell would have made him the sole legislator in temporal affairs; henry's unrivalled capacity for judging what he could and could not do saved him from adopting either suggestion.] [footnote 926: _l. and p._, xiv., ii., p. 141.] [footnote 927: _ibid._, vi., 797 [2]; a venetian declared that huguenotism was "due to the abolition of the election of the clergy" (armstrong, _wars of religion_, p. 11).] since then the church had been governed by a partnership between king and pope, without much regard for the votes of the shareholders. it was not henry who first deprived them of influence; neither did (p. 327) he restore it. what he did was to eject his foreign partner, appropriate his share of the profits, and put his part of the business into the hands of a manager. first-fruits and tenths were described as an intolerable burden; but they were not abolished; they were merely transferred from the pope to the king. bishops became royal nominees, pure and simple, instead of the joint nominees of king and pope. the supreme appellate jurisdiction in ecclesiastical causes was taken away from rome, but it was not granted the english church to which in truth it had never belonged.[928] chancery, and not the archbishop's court, was made the final resort for ecclesiastical appeals. the authority, divided erstwhile between two, was concentrated in the hands of one; and that one was thus placed in a far different position from that which either had held before. [footnote 928: for one year, indeed, cranmer remained _legatus natus_, and by a strange anomaly exercised a jurisdiction the source of which had been cut off. stokesley objected to cranmer's use of that style in order to escape a visitation of his see, and gardiner thought it an infringement of the royal prerogative. it was abolished in the following year.] the change was analogous to that in republican rome from two consuls to one dictator. in both cases the dictatorship was due to exceptional circumstances. there had long been a demand for reform in the church in england as well as elsewhere, but the church was powerless to reform itself. the dual control was in effect, as dual controls often are, a practical anarchy. the condition of the church before the reformation may be compared with that of france before the revolution. in purely spiritual matters the pope was supreme: the conciliar movement of the fifteenth century had failed. the pope had (p. 328) gathered all powers to himself, in much the same way as the french monarch in the eighteenth century had done; and the result was the same, a formal despotism and a real anarchy. pope and monarch were crushed by the weight of their own authority; they could not reform, even when they wanted to. from 1500 to 1530 almost every scheme, peaceful or bellicose, started in europe was based on the plea that its ultimate aim was the reform of the church; and so it would have continued, _vox et præterea nihil_, had not the church been galvanised into action by the loss of half its inheritance. in england the change from a dual to a sole control at once made that control effective, and reform became possible. but it was a reform imposed on the church from without and by means of the exceptional powers bestowed on the supreme head. hence the burden of modern clerical criticism of the reformation. objection is raised not so much to the things that were done, as to the means by which they were brought to pass, to the fact that the church was forcibly reformed by the state, and not freed from the trammels of rome, and then left to work out its own salvation. but such a solution occurred to few at that time; the best and the worst of henry's opponents opposed him on the ground that he was divorcing the church in england from the church universal. their objection was to what was done more than to the way in which it was done; and sir thomas more would have fought the reformation quite as strenuously had it been effected by the convocations of canterbury and york. on the other side there was equally little thought of a reformation by clerical hands. henry (p. 329) and cromwell carried on and developed the tradition of the emperor frederick ii. and peter de vinea,[929] of philippe le bel and pierre dubois, of lewis the bavarian and marsiglio of padua[930] who maintained the supremacy of the temporal over the spiritual power and asserted that the clergy wielded no jurisdiction and only bore the keys of heaven in the capacity of turnkeys.[931] it was a question of the national state against the universal church. the idea of a national church was a later development, the result and not the cause of the reformation. [footnote 929: the comparison has been drawn by huillard-bréholles in his _vie et correspondence de pierre de la vigne_, paris, 1865.] [footnote 930: marsiglio's _defensor pacis_ was a favourite book with cromwell who lent a printer £20 to bring out an english edition of it in 1535 (see the present writer in _d.n.b., s.v._ marshall, william). marshall distributed twenty-four copies among the monks of charterhouse to show them how the christian commonwealth had been "unjustly molested, vexed and troubled by the spiritual and ecclesiastical tyrant". see also maitland, _english law and the renaissance_, pp. 14, 60, 61.] [footnote 931: _defensor pacis_, ii., 6.] henry's dictatorship was also temporary in character. his supremacy over the church was royal, and not parliamentary. it was he, and not parliament, who had been invested with a semi-ecclesiastical nature. in one capacity he was head of the state, in another, head of the church. parliament and convocation were co-ordinate one with another, and subordinate both to the king. the tudors, and especially elizabeth, vehemently denied to their parliaments any share in their ecclesiastical powers. their supremacy over the church was their own, and, as a really effective control, it died with them. as the authority of the crown declined, its secular powers were seized by parliament; (p. 330) its ecclesiastical powers fell into abeyance between parliament and convocation. neither has been able to vindicate an exclusive claim to the inheritance; and the result of this dual claim to control has been a state of helplessness, similar in some respects to that from which the church was rescued by the violent methods of henry viii.[932] [footnote 932: a much neglected but very important constitutional question is whether the king _quâ_ supreme head of the church was limited by the same statute and common law restrictions as he was _quâ_ temporal sovereign. gardiner raised the question in a most interesting letter to protector somerset in 1547 (foxe, vi., 42). it had been provided, as lord chancellor audley told gardiner, that no spiritual law and no exercise of the royal supremacy should abate the common law or acts of parliament; but within the ecclesiastical sphere there were no limits on the king's authority. the popes had not been fettered, _habent omnia jura in suo scrinio_; and their jurisdiction in england had been transferred whole and entire to the king. henry was in fact an absolute monarch in the church, a constitutional monarch in the state; he could reform the church by injunction when he could not reform the state by proclamation. there was naturally a tendency to confuse the two capacities not merely in the king's mind but in his opponents'; and some of the objections to the stuarts' dispensing practice, which was exercised chiefly in the ecclesiastical sphere, seem due to this confusion. parliament in fact, as soon as the tudors were gone, began to apply common law and statute law limitations to the crown's ecclesiastical prerogative.] chapter xiii. (p. 331) the crisis. henry's title as supreme head of the church was incorporated in the royal style by letters patent of 15th january, 1535,[933] and that year was mainly employed in compelling its recognition by all sorts and conditions of men. in april, houghton, the prior of the charterhouse, a monk of sion, and the vicar of isleworth, were the first victims offered to the supreme head. but the machinery supplied by parliament was barely sufficient to bring the penalties of the statute to bear on the two most illustrious of henry's opponents, fisher and more. both had been attainted of misprision of treason by acts of parliament in the previous autumn; but those penalties extended no further than to lifelong imprisonment and forfeiture of goods. their lives could only be exacted by proving that they had maliciously attempted to deprive henry of his title of supreme head;[934] their opportunities in the tower for compassing that end were limited; and it is possible (p. 332) that they would not have been further molested, but for the thoughtlessness of clement's successor, paul iii. impotent to effect anything against the king, the pope did his best to sting henry to fury by creating fisher a cardinal on 20th may. he afterwards explained that he meant no harm, but the harm was done, and it involved fisher's friend and ally, sir thomas more. henry declared that he would send the new cardinal's head to rome for the hat; and he immediately despatched commissioners to the tower to inform fisher and more that, unless they acknowledged the royal supremacy, they would be put to death as traitors.[935] fisher apparently denied the king's supremacy, more refused to answer; he was, however, entrapped during a conversation with the solicitor-general, rich, into an admission that englishmen could not be bound to acknowledge a supremacy over the church in which other countries did not concur. in neither case was it clear that they came within the clutches of the law. fisher, indeed, had really been guilty of treason. more than once he had urged chapuys to press upon charles the invasion of england, a fact unknown, perhaps, to the english government.[936] the evidence it had (p. 333) collected was, however, considered sufficient by the juries which tried the prisoners; fisher went to the scaffold on 22nd june, and more on 6th july. condemned justly or not by the law, both sought their death in a quarrel which is as old as the hills and will last till the crack of doom. where shall we place the limits of conscience, and where those of the national will? is conscience a luxury which only a king may enjoy in peace? fisher and more refused to accommodate theirs to acts of parliament, but neither believed conscience to be the supreme tribunal.[937] more admitted that in temporal matters his conscience was bound by the laws of england; in spiritual matters the conscience of all was bound by the will of christendom; and on that ground both fisher and he rejected the plea of conscience when urged by heretics condemned to the flames. the dispute, indeed, passes the wit of man to decide. if conscience must reign supreme, all government is a _pis aller_, and in anarchy the true millennium must be found. if conscience is deposed, man sinks to the level of the lower creation. human society can only be based on compromise, and compromise itself is a matter of conscience. fisher and more protested by their death against a principle which they had practised in life; both they and the heretics whom they persecuted proclaimed, as antigone had done thousands of years before,[938] that they could not obey laws (p. 334) which they could not believe god had made. [footnote 933: _l. and p._, viii., 52; rymer, xiv., 549.] [footnote 934: the general idea that fisher and more were executed for refusing to take an oath prescribed in the act of supremacy is technically inaccurate. no oath is there prescribed, and not till 1536 was it made high treason to refuse to take the oath of supremacy; even then the oath was to be administered only to civil and ecclesiastical officers. the act under which they were executed was 26 henry viii., c. 13, and the common mistake arises from a confusion between the oath to the succession and the oath of supremacy.] [footnote 935: _l. and p._, viii., 876.] [footnote 936: _l. and p._, iv., 6199; vi., 1164, 1249. he told chapuys that if charles invaded england he would be doing "a work as agreeable to god as going against the turk," and suggested that the emperor should make use of reginald pole "to whom, according to many, the kingdom would belong" (chapuys to charles, 27th september, 1533). again, says chapuys, "the holy bishop of rochester would like you to take active measures immediately, as i wrote in my last; which advice he has sent to me again lately to repeat" (10th october, 1533). canon whitney, in criticising froude (_engl. hist. rev._, xii., 353), asserts that "nothing chapuys says justifies the charge against fisher!"] [footnote 937: this statement has been denounced as "astounding" in a roman catholic periodical; yet if more believed individual conscience (_i.e._, private judgment) to be superior to the voice of the church, how did he differ from a protestant? the statement in the text is merely a paraphrase of more's own, where he says that men are "not bound on pain of god's displeasure to change their conscience for any particular law made anywhere _except by a general council or a general faith growing by the working of god universally through all christian nations_" (more's _english works_, p. 1434; _l. and p._, vii., 432).] [footnote 938: [greek: ou gar ti moi zeus ên ho kêruxas tade oud hê xunoikos tôn katô theôn dikê.] sophocles, _antigone_, 450.] it was the personal eminence of the victims rather than the merits of their case that made europe thrill with horror at the news of their death; for thousands of others were sacrificing their lives in a similar cause in most of the countries of christendom. for the first and last time in english history a cardinal's head had rolled from an english scaffold; and paul iii. made an effort to bring into play the artillery of his temporal powers. as supreme lord over all the princes of the earth, he arrogated to himself the right to deprive henry viii. of his kingdom; and he sent couriers to the various courts to seek their co-operation in executing his judgment. but the weapons of innocent iii. were rusty with age. francis denounced the pope's claim as a most impudent attack on monarchical dignity; and charles was engaged in the conquest of tunis. thus henry was able to take a high tone in reply to the remonstrances addressed to him, and to proceed undisturbed with the work of enforcing his royal supremacy. the autumn was occupied mainly by a visitation of the monasteries and of the universities of oxford and cambridge; the schoolmen, thomas aquinas, duns scotus and others were deposed from the seat of authority they had held for so many centuries, and efforts were made to substitute studies like that of the civil law, more in harmony with the king's doctrine and with his views of royal authority. the more boldly henry defied the fates, the more he was favoured by fortune. "besides his trust in his subjects," wrote chapuys in (p. 335) 1534, "he has great hope in the queen's death;"[939] and the year 1536 was but eight days old when the unhappy catherine was released from her trials, resolutely refusing to the last to acknowledge in any way the invalidity of her marriage with henry. she had derived some comfort from the papal sentence in her favour, but that was not calculated to soften the harshness with which she was treated. her pious soul, too, was troubled with the thought that she had been the occasion, innocent though she was, of the heresies that had arisen in england, and of the enormities which had been practised against the church. her last days were cheered by a visit from chapuys,[940] who went down to kimbolton on new year's day and stayed until the 5th of january, when the queen seemed well on the road to recovery. three days later she passed away, and on the 29th she was buried with the state of a princess dowager in the church of the benedictine abbey at peterborough. her physician told chapuys that he suspected poison, but the symptoms are now declared, on high medical authority, to have been those of cancer of the heart.[941] the suspicion was the natural result of the circumstance that her death relieved the king of a pressing anxiety. "god be praised!" he exclaimed, "we are free from all suspicion of war;"[942] and on the following day he proclaimed his joy by appearing at a ball, clad in yellow from head to foot.[943] every inch a king, henry viii. never attained to the stature of a gentleman, but even bishop gardiner wrote that by queen catherine's death (p. 336) "god had given sentence" in the divorce suit between her and the king.[944] [footnote 939: _l. and p._, vii., 83.] [footnote 940: _ibid._, x., 28, 59, 60, 141.] [footnote 941: dr. norman moore in _athenæum_, 1885, i., 152, 215, 281.] [footnote 942: _l. and p._, x., 51.] [footnote 943: _ibid._ hall only tells his readers that anne boleyn wore yellow for the mourning (_chronicle_, p. 818).] [footnote 944: _l. and p._, x., 256.] a week later, the reformation parliament met for its seventh and last session. it sat from 4th february to 14th april, and in those ten weeks succeeded in passing no fewer than sixty-two acts. some were local and some were private, but the residue contained not a few of public importance. the fact that the king obtained at last his statute of uses[945] may indicate that henry's skill and success had so impressed parliament, that it was more willing to acquiesce in his demands than it had been in its earlier sessions. but, if the drafts in the record office are to be taken as indicating the proposals of government, and the acts themselves are those proposals as modified in one or other house, parliament must have been able to enforce views of its own to a certain extent; for those drafts differ materially from the acts as finally passed.[946] not a few of the bills were welcome, if unusual, concessions to the clergy. they were relieved from paying tenths in the year they paid their first-fruits. the payment of tithes, possibly rendered doubtful in the wreck of canon law, was enjoined by act of parliament. an attempt was made to deal with the poor, and another, if not to check enclosures, at least to extract some profit for the king from the process. it was made high treason to counterfeit the king's sign-manual, privy signet, or privy seal; and henry was empowered by parliament, as he had before been by (p. 337) convocation, to appoint a commission to reform the canon law. but the chief acts of the session were for the dissolution of the lesser monasteries and for the erection of a court of augmentations in order to deal with the revenues which were thus to accrue to the king. [footnote 945: this act has generally been considered a failure, but recent research does not confirm this view (see joshua williams, _principles of the law of real property_, 18th ed., 1896).] [footnote 946: _l. and p._, x., 246.] the way for this great revolution had been carefully prepared during the previous autumn and winter. in virtue of his new and effective supremacy, henry had ordered a general visitation of the monasteries throughout the greater part of the kingdom; and the reports of these visitors were made the basis of parliamentary action. on the face of them they represent a condition of human depravity which has rarely been equalled;[947] and the extent to which those reports are worthy of credit will always remain a point of contention. the visitors themselves were men of doubtful character; indeed, respectable men could hardly have been persuaded to do the work. their methods were certainly harsh; the object of their mission was to get up a case for the crown, and they probably used every means in their power to induce the monks and the nuns to incriminate themselves. perhaps, too, an entirely false impression may be created by the fact that in most cases only the guilty are mentioned; the innocent are often passed over in silence, and the proportion between the two is not recorded. some of the terms employed in the reports are also open to dispute; it is possible that in many instances the stigma of unchastity (p. 338) attached to a nun merely meant that she had been unchaste before entering religion,[948] and it is known that nunneries were considered the proper resort for ladies who had not been careful enough of their honour. [footnote 947: see the documents in _l. and p._, vols. ix., x. the most elaborate criticism of the dissolution is contained in gasquet's _henry viii. and the monasteries_, 2 vols., 4th ed. 1893; some additional details and an excellent monastic map will be found in gairdner's _church history_, 1902.] [footnote 948: "religion" of course in the middle ages and sixteenth century was a term almost exclusively applied to the monastic system, and the most ludicrous mistakes are often made from ignorance of this fact; "religiosi" are sharply distinguished from "clerici".] on the other hand, the lax state of monastic morality does not depend only upon the visitors' reports; apart from satires like those of skelton, from ballads and from other mirrors of popular opinion or prejudice, the correspondence of henry viii.'s reign is, from its commencement, full of references, by bishops and other unimpeachable witnesses, to the necessity of drastic reform. in 1516, for instance, bishop west of ely visited that house, and found such disorder that he declared its continuance would have been impossible but for his visitation.[949] in 1518 the italian bishop of worcester writes from rome that he had often been struck by the necessity of reforming the monasteries.[950] in 1521 henry viii., then at the height of his zeal for the church, thanks the bishop of salisbury for dissolving the nunnery of bromehall because of the "enormities" practised there.[951] wolsey felt that the time for reform had passed, and began the process of suppression, with a view to increasing the number of cathedrals and devoting other proceeds to educational endowments. friar peto, afterwards a cardinal, who had fled abroad to escape henry's anger for his bold denunciation of the divorce, and who had no possible (p. 339) motive for cloaking his conscientious opinion, admitted that there were grave abuses, and approved of the dissolution of monasteries, if their endowments were used for proper ends.[952] there is no need to multiply instances, because a commission of cardinals, appointed by paul iii. himself, reported in 1537 that scandals were frequent in religious houses.[953] the reports of the visitors, too, can hardly be entirely false, though they may not be entirely true. the charges they make are not vague, but very precise. they specify names of the offenders, and the nature of their offences; and an air of verisimilitude, if nothing more, is imparted to the condemnations they pronounce against the many, by the commendations they bestow on the few.[954] [footnote 949: _l. and p._, ii., 1733.] [footnote 950: _ibid._, ii., 4399.] [footnote 951: _ibid._, iii., 1863; see also iii., 77, 533, 567, 569, 600, 693, 1690; iv. 4900.] [footnote 952: _d.n.b._, xlv., 89. chapuys had stated in 1532 that the cistercian monasteries were greatly in need of dissolution (_l. and p._, iii., 361).] [footnote 953: _cambridge modern history_, ii., 643.] [footnote 954: nor, of course, were the symptoms peculiar to england; it is absurd to attribute the dissolution of the monasteries solely to henry viii. and cromwell, because monasteries were dissolved in many countries of europe, catholic as well as protestant. so, too, the charges are not naturally incredible, because the kind of vice alleged against the monks has unfortunately been far from unknown wherever and whenever numbers of men, young or middle-aged, have lived together in enforced celibacy.] probably the staunchest champion of monasticism would acknowledge that in the reign of henry viii. there was at least a plausible case for mending monastic morals. but that was not then the desire of the government of henry viii.; and the case for mending their morals was tacitly assumed to be the same as a case for ending the monasteries. it would be unjust to henry to deny that he had always shown himself careful of the appearance, at least, of morality in the church; but it requires a robust faith in the king's disinterestedness to (p. 340) believe that dissolution was not the real object of the visitation, and that it was merely forced upon him by the reports of the visitors. the moral question afforded a good excuse, but the monasteries fell, not so much because their morals were lax, as because their position was weak. moral laxity contributed no doubt to the general result, but there were other causes at work. the monasteries themselves had long been conscious that their possession of wealth was not, in the eyes of the middle-class laity, justified by the use to which it was put; and, for some generations at least, they had been seeking to make friends with mammon by giving up part of their revenues, in the form of pensions and corrodies to courtiers, in the hope of being allowed to retain the remainder.[955] it had also become the custom to entrust the stewardship of their possessions to secular hands; and, possibly as a result, the monasteries were soon so deeply in debt to the neighbouring gentry that their lay creditors saw no hope of recovering their claims except by extensive foreclosures.[956] there had certainly been a good deal of private spoliation before the king gave the practice a national character. the very privileges of the monasteries were now turned to their ruin. their immunity from episcopal jurisdiction deprived them of episcopal aid; their exemption from all authority, save that of the pope, left them without support when the papal jurisdiction was abolished. monastic orders knew no distinction (p. 341) of nationality. the national character claimed for the mediæval church in england could scarcely cover the monasteries, and no place was found for them in the church when it was given a really national garb. [footnote 955: see fortescue, _governance of england_, ed. plummer, cap. xviii., and notes, pp. 337-40.] [footnote 956: _e.g._, christ church, london, which surrendered to henry in 1532, was deeply in debt to him (_l. and p._, v., 823).] their dissolution is probably to be connected with cromwell's boast that he would make his king the richest prince in christendom. that was not its effect, because henry was compelled to distribute the greater part of the spoils among his nobles and gentry. one rash reformer suggested that monastic lands should be devoted to educational purposes;[957] had that plan been followed, education in england would have been more magnificently endowed than in any other country of the world, and england might have become a democracy in the seventeenth century. from this point of view henry spoilt one of the greatest opportunities in english history; from another, he saved england from a most serious danger. had the crown retained the wealth of the monasteries, the stuarts might have made themselves independent of parliament. but this service to liberty was not voluntary on henry's part. the dissolution of the monasteries was in effect, and probably in intention, a gigantic bribe to the laity to induce them to acquiesce in the revolution effected by henry viii. when he was gone, his successors might desire, or fail to prevent, a reaction; something more permanent than henry's iron hand was required to support the (p. 342) fabric he had raised. that support was sought in the wealth of the church. the prospect had, from the very opening of the reformation parliament, been dangled before the eyes of the new nobles, the members of parliament, the justices of the peace, the rich merchants who thirsted for lands wherewith to make themselves gentlemen. chapuys again and again mentions a scheme for distributing the lands of the church among the laity as a project for the ensuing session; but their time was not yet; not until their work was done were the labourers to reap their reward.[958] the dissolution of the monasteries harmonised well with the secular principles of these predominant classes. the monastic ideal of going out of the world to seek something, which cannot be valued in terms of pounds, shillings and pence, is abhorrent to a busy, industrial age; and every principle is hated most at the time when it most is needed. [footnote 957: _the complaynt of roderick mors_ (early eng. text soc.), pp. 47-52. the author, henry brinkelow (see _d.n.b._, vi., 346), also suggested that both houses of parliament should sit together as one assembly "for it is not rytches or autoryte that bringeth wisdome" (_complaynt_, p. 8). some of the political literature of the later part of henry's reign is curiously modern in its ideas.] * * * * * intimately associated as they were in their lives, catherine of aragon and anne boleyn were not long divided by death; and, piteous as is the story of the last years of catherine, it pales before the hideous tragedy of the ruin of anne boleyn. "if i have a son, as i hope shortly, i know what will become of her," wrote anne of the princess mary.[959] on 29th january, 1536, the day of her rival's funeral, anne boleyn was prematurely delivered of a dead child, and the result was fatal to anne herself. this was not her first miscarriage,[960] and henry's (p. 343) old conscience began to work again. in catherine's case the path of his conscience was that of a slow and laborious pioneer; now it moved easily on its royal road to divorce. on 29th january, chapuys, ignorant of anne's miscarriage, was retailing to his master a court rumour that henry intended to marry again. the king was reported to have said that he had been seduced by witchcraft when he married his second queen, and that the marriage was null for this reason, and because god would not permit them to have male issue.[961] there was no peace for her who supplanted her mistress. within six months of her marriage henry's roving fancy had given her cause for jealousy, and, when she complained, he is said to have brutally told her she must put up with it as her betters had done before.[962] these disagreements, however, were described by chapuys as mere lovers' quarrels, and they were generally followed by reconciliations, after which anne's influence seemed (p. 344) as secure as ever. but by january, 1536, the imperial ambassador and others were counting on a fresh divorce. the rumour grew as spring advanced, when suddenly, on 2nd may, anne was arrested and sent to the tower. she was accused of incest with her brother, lord rochford, and of less criminal intercourse with sir francis weston, henry norris, william brereton, and mark smeaton. all were condemned by juries to death for high treason on 12th may. three days later anne herself was put on her trial by a panel of twenty-six peers, over which her uncle, the duke of norfolk, presided.[963] they returned a unanimous verdict of guilty, and, on the 19th, the queen's head was struck off with the sword of an executioner brought for the purpose from st. omer.[964] [footnote 958: "the king," says chapuys in september, 1534, "will distribute among the gentlemen of the kingdom the greater part of the ecclesiastical revenues to gain their good-will" (_l. and p._, vii., 1141).] [footnote 959: _ibid._, x., 307.] [footnote 960: anne was pregnant in feb., 1534, when henry told chapuys he thought he should have a son soon (_l. and p._, vii., 232; _cf._, vii., 958).] [footnote 961: _ibid._, x., 199.] [footnote 962: _ibid._, vi., 1054, 1069. as early as april, 1531, chapuys reports that anne "was becoming more arrogant every day, using words and authority towards the king of which he has several times complained to the duke of norfolk, saying that she was not like the queen [catherine] who never in her life used ill words to him" (_ibid._, v., 216). in sept., 1534, henry was reported to be in love with another lady (_ibid._, vii., 1193, 1257). probably this was jane seymour, as the lady's kindness to the princess mary--a marked characteristic of queen jane--is noted by chapuys. this intrigue, we are told, was furthered by many lords with the object of separating the king from anne boleyn, who was disliked by the lords on account of her pride and that of her kinsmen and brothers (_ibid._, vii., 1279). henry's behaviour to the princess was becoming quite benevolent, and chapuys begins to speak of his "amiable and cordial nature" (_ibid._, vii., 1297).] [footnote 963: in 1533 anne had accused her uncle of having too much intercourse with chapuys and of maintaining the princess mary's title to the throne (_l. and p._, vi., 1125).] [footnote 964: _ibid._, x., 902, 910, 919. the regent mary of the netherlands writes: "that the vengeance might be executed by the emperor's subjects, he sent for the executioner of st. omer, as there were none in england good enough" (_ibid._, x., 965). it is perhaps well to be reminded that even at this date there were more practised executioners in the netherlands than in england.] two days before anne's death her marriage with henry had been declared invalid by a court of ecclesiastical lawyers with cranmer at its head. the grounds of the sentence are not stated, but there may have been two--the alleged precontract with the earl of northumberland, which the earl denied on oath and on the sacrament, and the previous affinity between anne and henry arising from the king's relations with mary boleyn. the latter seems the more probable. henry had obtained of clement vii. a dispensation from this disability; but the pope's power to dispense had since been repudiated, while the canonical (p. 345) objection remained and was given statutory authority in this very year.[965] the effects of this piece of wanton injustice were among the troubles which henry bequeathed to queen elizabeth; the sole advantage to henry was that his infidelities to anne ceased to be breaches of the seventh commandment. the justice of her sentence to death is also open to doubt. anne herself went to the block boldly proclaiming her innocence.[966] death she regarded as a relief from an intolerable situation, and she "laughed heartily," writes the lieutenant of the tower as she put her hands round her "little neck," and thought how easy the executioner's task would be.[967] she complained when the day of her release from this world was deferred, and regretted that so many innocent persons should suffer through her. of her accomplices, none confessed but smeaton, though henry is said, before anne's arrest, to have offered norris a pardon if he would admit his crime. on the other hand, her conduct must have made the charges plausible. even in those days, when justice to individuals was regarded as dust if weighed in the balance against the real or supposed interests of the state, it is not credible that the juries should have found her accomplices guilty, that twenty-six peers, including her uncle, (p. 346) should have condemned anne herself, without some colourable justification. if the charges were merely invented to ruin the queen, one culprit besides herself would have been enough. to assume that henry sent four needless victims to the block is to accuse him of a lust for superfluous butchery, of which even he, in his most bloodthirsty moments, was not capable.[968] [footnote 965: this act indirectly made elizabeth a bastard and henry's marriage with anne invalid, (_cf._ chapuys to granvelle _l. and p._, x., 909). the antinomian theory of marital relations, which chapuys ascribes to anne, was an anabaptist doctrine of the time. chapuys calls anne a messalina, but he of course was not an impartial witness.] [footnote 966: according to some accounts, but a spaniard who writes as an eye-witness says she cried "mercy to god and the king for the offence she had done" (_l. and p._, x., 911).] [footnote 967: _ibid._, x., 910.] [footnote 968: the execution of anne was welcomed by the imperialists and catholics, and it is possible that it was hastened on by rumours of disquiet in the north. a few days later the nobles and gentry who were in london were ordered to return home to put the country in a state of defence (_l. and p._, x., 1016).] on the day that his second queen was beheaded, henry obtained from cranmer a special licence to marry a third.[969] he was betrothed on the morrow and privately married "in the queen's closet at york place" on the 30th of may. the lady of his choice was jane, daughter of sir john seymour of wolf hall in wiltshire.[970] she was descended on her mother's side from edward iii., and cranmer had to dispense with a canonical bar to the marriage arising from her consanguinity to the king in the third and fourth degrees. she had been lady-in-waiting to the two previous queens, and her brother, sir edward seymour, the future protector, had for years been steadily rising in henry's favour. in october, 1535, the king had paid a visit to wolf hall, and from that time his attentions to jane became marked. she seems to have received them with real reluctance; she refused a purse of gold and returned the king's letters unopened.[971] she even obtained a (p. 347) promise from henry that he would not speak with her except in the presence of others, and the king ejected cromwell from his rooms in the palace in order to bestow them on sir edward seymour, and thus to provide a place where he and jane could converse without scandal. all this modesty has, of course, been attributed to prudential and ambitious motives, which were as wise as they were successful. but jane seems to have had no enemies, except alexander aless, who denounced her to luther as an enemy to the gospel, probably because she extinguished the shining light of anne boleyn.[972] cardinal pole described her as "full of goodness,"[973] and she certainly did her best to reconcile henry with his daughter the princess mary, whose treatment began to improve from the fall of anne boleyn. "she is," writes chapuys, "of middle stature, and no great beauty; so fair that one would call her rather pale than otherwise."[974] but all agreed in praising her intelligence. she had neither catherine's force of character nor the temper of anne boleyn; she was a woman of gentle spirit, striving always to mitigate the rigour of others; her brief married life was probably happier than that of any other of henry's queens; and her importance is mainly due to the fact that she bore to henry his only legitimate son. [footnote 969: _ibid._ x., 915, 926, 993, 1000. there is a persistent fable that they were married on the day or the day after anne's execution; dr. gairdner says it is repeated "in all histories".] [footnote 970: see _wilts archæol. mag._, vols xv., xvi., documents printed from the _longleat mss._] [footnote 971: _l. and p._, x., 245.] [footnote 972: luther, _briefe_, v., 22; _l. and p._, xi., 475.] [footnote 973: strype, _eccl. memorials_, i., ii., 304.] [footnote 974: _l. and p._, x., 901.] the disgrace of anne boleyn necessitated the summons of a fresh parliament to put the succession to the crown on yet another basis. the long parliament had been dissolved on 14th april; another was called to meet on the 8th of june. the eighteen acts passed during its six weeks' session illustrate the parallel development of the (p. 348) reformation and of the royal autocracy. the act of succession made anne's daughter, elizabeth, a bastard, without declaring catherine's daughter, mary, legitimate, and settled the crown on henry's prospective issue by jane. a unique clause empowered the king to dispose of the crown at will, should he have no issue by his present queen.[975] probably he intended it, in that case, for the duke of richmond; but the duke's days were numbered, and four days after the dissolution of parliament he breathed his last. the royal prerogative was extended by a statute enabling a king, when he reached the age of twenty-four, to repeal by proclamation any act passed during his minority; and the royal caste was further exalted by a statute making it high treason for any one to marry a king's daughter, legitimate or not, his sister, his niece, or his aunt on the father's side, without royal licence. the reform of clerical abuses was advanced by an act to prevent non-residence, and by another to obviate the delay in instituting to benefices practised by bishops with a view to (p. 349) keeping the tithes of the vacant benefice in their own hands. the breach with rome was widened still further by a statute, declaring all who extolled the pope's authority to be guilty of _præmunire_, imposing an oath of renunciation on all lay and clerical officers, and making the refusal of that oath high treason. thus the hopes of a reaction built on the fall of those "apostles of the new sect," anne boleyn and her relatives, were promptly and roughly destroyed. [footnote 975: parliament prefered to risk the results of henry's nomination to the risk of civil war, which would inevitably have broken out had henry died in 1536. hobbes, it may be noted, made this power of nomination an indispensable attribute of the sovereign, and if the sovereign be interpreted as the "king in parliament" the theory is sound constitutionalism and was put in practice in 1701 as well as in 1536. but the limitations on henry's power of bequeathing the crown have generally been forgotten; he never had power to leave the crown away from edward vi., that is, away from the only heir whose legitimacy was undisputed. the later acts went further, and entailed the succession upon mary and elizabeth unless henry wished otherwise--which he did not. the preference of the suffolk to the stuart line may have been due to (1) the common law forbidding aliens to inherit english land (_cf. l. and p._, vii., 337); (2) the national dislike of the scots; (3) a desire to intimate to the scots that if they would not unite the two realms by the marriage of edward and mary, they should not obtain the english crown by inheritance.] henry's position had been immensely strengthened alike by the death of catherine of aragon and by the fall of anne boleyn; and on both occasions he had expressed his appreciation of the fact in the most indecent and heartless manner. he was now free to marry whom he liked, and no objection based on canon or on any other law could be raised to the legitimacy of his future issue; whether the pope could dispense or not, it made no difference to edward vi.'s claim to the throne. the fall of anne boleyn, in spite of some few rumours that she might have been condemned on insufficient evidence, was generally popular; for her arrogance and that of her family made them hated, and they were regarded as the cause of the king's persecution of catherine, of mary, and of those who maintained their cause. abroad the effect was still more striking. the moment henry heard of catherine's death, he added a postscript to cromwell's despatch to the english ambassadors in france, bidding them to take a higher tone with francis, for all cause of difference had been removed between him and charles v.[976] the emperor secretly believed that his aunt had been poisoned,[977] but that private grief was not to affect his public policy; and charles, francis, and even the pope, became more or less eager competitors (p. 350) for henry's favour. the bull of deprivation, which had been drawn up and signed, became a dead letter, and every one was anxious to disavow his share in its promotion. charles obtained the suspension of its publication, made a merit of that service to henry, and tried to represent that it was francis who, with his eyes on the english crown, had extorted the bull from the pope.[978] paul iii. himself used words to the english envoy at rome, which might be interpreted as an apology for having made fisher a cardinal and having denounced his and more's execution.[979] [footnote 976: _l. and p._, x., 54.] [footnote 977: _ibid._, x., 230.] [footnote 978: _l. and p._, x., 887.] [footnote 979: _ibid._, x., 977.] henry had been driven by fear of charles in the previous year to make further advances than he relished towards union with the german princes; but the lutherans could not be persuaded to adopt henry's views of the mass and of his marriage with catherine; and now he was glad to substitute an understanding with the emperor for intrigues with the emperor's subjects.[980] cromwell and the council were, indeed, a little too eager to welcome chapuys' professions of friendship and to entertain his demands for help against francis. henry allowed them to go on for a time; but cromwell was never in wolsey's position, and the king was not inclined to repeat his own and the cardinal's errors of 1521. he had suffered enough from the prostration of france and the predominance of charles; and he was anxious now that neither should be supreme. so, when the imperial ambassador came expecting henry's assent, he, cromwell and the rest of the council were (p. 351) amazed to hear the king break out into an uncompromising defence of the french king's conduct in invading savoy and piedmont.[981] that invasion was the third stroke of good fortune which befel henry in 1536. as henry and ferdinand had, in 1512, diverted their arms from the moors in order to make war on the most christian king, so, in 1536, the most christian king and the sovereign, who was at once king catholic and the temporal head of christendom, instead of turning their arms against the monarch who had outraged and defied the church, turned them against one another. francis had never lost sight of milan; he had now recovered from the effects of pavia; and in the spring of 1536 he overran savoy and piedmont. in april the emperor once more visited rome, and on the 17th he delivered a famous oration in the papal consistory.[982] in that speech he denounced neither luther nor henry viii.; he reserved his invectives for francis i. unconsciously he demonstrated once and for all that unity of faith was impotent against diversity of national interests, and that, whatever deference princes might profess to the counsels of the vicar of christ, the counsels they would follow would be those of secular impulse. [footnote 980: _cf._ stern, _heinrich viii. und der schmalkaldische bund_, and p. singer, _beziehung des schmalkald. bundes zu england_. greifswald, 1901.] [footnote 981: _l. and p._, x., 699.] [footnote 982: _ibid._, x., 678, 684, 968.] * * * * * henry was thus left to deal with the great domestic crisis of his reign without intervention from abroad. the dissolution of the monasteries inevitably inflicted considerable hardship on a numerous body of men. it had been arranged that the inmates of the dissolved religious houses should either be pensioned or transferred to other monasteries; but, although the pensions were adequate and (p. 352) sometimes even generous in scale,[983] and although the commissioners themselves showed a desire to prevent unnecessary trouble by obtaining licences for many houses to continue for a time,[984] the monks found some difficulty in obtaining their pensions, and chapuys draws a moving picture of their sufferings as they wandered about the country, seeking employment in a market that was already overstocked with labour, and endeavouring to earn a livelihood by means to which they had never been accustomed.[985] they met with no little sympathy from the commons, who were oppressed with a like scarcity of work, and who had looked to the monasteries for such relief as charity could afford. nowhere were these feelings so strong as in the north of england, and there the commissioners for dissolving the monasteries were often met with open resistance. religious discontent was one of the motives for revolt, but probably the rebels were drawn mainly[986] from evicted tenants, deprived of their holdings by enclosures or by the conversion of land from tillage to pasture, men who had nothing to lose and everything to gain by a general turmoil. in these men the wandering monks found ready listeners to their complaints, and there were (p. 353) others, besides the monks, who eagerly turned to account the prevailing dissatisfaction. the northern lords, darcy and hussey, had for years been representing to chapuys the certainty of success if the emperor invaded england, and promising to do their part when he came. darcy had, at christmas 1534, sent the imperial ambassador a sword as an intimation that the time had come for an appeal to its arbitrament; and he was seeking henry's licence to return to his house in yorkshire in order to raise "the crucifix" as the standard of revolt.[987] the king, however, was doubtful of darcy's loyalty, and kept him in london till early in 1536. it would have been well had he kept him longer. [footnote 983: _e.g._, the prioress of tarent received £100 a year, the abbot of evesham, £240 (gasquet, ii., 230, 310); these sums must be multiplied by ten to bring them to their present value. most of these lavish pensions were doubtless given as bribes or rewards for the surrender of monasteries.] [footnote 984: _l. and p._, xi., 385, 519.] [footnote 985: _ibid._, xi., 42.] [footnote 986: the exact proportion is of course difficult to determine; mr. e.f. gay in an admirable paper (_trans. royal hist. soc._, n.s., xviii., 208, 209) thinks that i have exaggerated the part played by the propertyless class in the rebellion. they were undoubtedly present in large numbers; but my remark is intended to guard against the theory that the grievances were entirely religious, not to exclude those grievances; and the northern lords were of course notable examples of the discontent of the propertied class.] [footnote 987: _l. and p._, vii., 1206; viii., 48.] towards the end of the summer rumours[988] were spread among the commons of the north that heavy taxes would be levied on every burial, wedding and christening, that all cattle would be marked and pay a fine to the king, and that all unmarked beasts would be forfeit; churches within five miles of each other were to be taken down as superfluous, jewels and church plate confiscated; taxes were to be paid for eating white bread, goose, or capon; there was to be a rigid inquisition into every man's property; and a score of other absurdities gained currency, obviously invented by malicious and lying tongues. the outbreak began at caistor, in lincolnshire, on the 3rd of october, with resistance, not to the commissioners for dissolving the monasteries, but to those appointed to collect the subsidy granted by parliament. the rebels entered lincoln on the 6th; they could, they said, pay no more money; they demanded the repeal of religious changes, the restoration of the monasteries, the banishment of (p. 354) heretics like cranmer and latimer, and the removal of low-born advisers such as cromwell and rich from the council.[989] the mustering of an army under suffolk and the denial by heralds and others that the king had any such intentions as were imputed to him, induced the commons to go home; the reserves which henry was collecting at ampthill were disbanded; and the commotion was over in less than a fortnight. [footnote 988: _ibid._, xi., 768, 826[2].] [footnote 989: _l. and p._, xi., 786, 1182, 1244, 1246.] the lincolnshire rebels, however, had not dispersed when news arrived of a much more serious rising which affected nearly the whole of yorkshire. it was here that darcy and his friends were most powerful; but, though there is little doubt that they were the movers, the ostensible leader was robert aske, a lawyer. even here the rebellion was little more than a magnified riot, which a few regiments of soldiers could soon have suppressed. the rebels professed complete loyalty to henry's person; they suggested no rival candidate for the throne; they merely demanded a change of policy, which they could not enforce without a change of government. they had no means of effecting that change without deposing henry, which they never proposed to do, and which, had they done it, could only have resulted in anarchy. the rebellion was formidable mainly because henry had no standing army; he had to rely almost entirely on the goodwill or at least acquiescence of his people. outside yorkshire the gentry were willing enough; possibly they had their eyes on monastic rewards; and they sent to cambridge double[990] or treble the forces henry demanded, which (p. 355) they could hardly have done had their tenants shown any great sympathy with the rebellion. but transport in those days was more difficult even than now; and before the musters could reach the trent, darcy, after a show of reluctance, yielded pomfret castle to the rebels and swore to maintain their cause. henry was forced, much against his will, to temporise. to pardon or parley with rebels he thought would distain his honour.[991] if norfolk was driven to offer a pardon, he must on no account involve the king in his promise. [footnote 990: surrey to norfolk, 15th oct., xi., 727, 738.] [footnote 991: _l. and p._, xi., 864.] norfolk apparently had no option. an armistice was accordingly arranged on the 27th of october, and a deputation came up to lay the rebels' grievances before the king. it was received graciously, and henry's reply was a masterly piece of statecraft.[992] he drew it up "with his own hand, and made no creature privy thereto until it was finished". their complaints about the faith were, he said, "so general that hard they be to be answered," but he intended always to live and to die in the faith of christ. they must specify what they meant by the liberties of the church, whether they were lawful or unlawful liberties; but he had done nothing inconsistent with the laws of god and man. with regard to the commonwealth, what king had kept his subjects so long in wealth and peace, ministering indifferent justice, and defending them from outward enemies? there were more low-born councillors when he came to the throne than now; then there were "but two worth calling noble.[993] others, as the lords marny and darcy, were scant well-born gentlemen, and yet of no great lands till (p. 356) they were promoted by us. the rest were lawyers and priests.... how came you to think that there were more noble men in our privy council then than now?" it did not become them to dictate to their sovereign whom he should call to his council; yet, if they could prove, as they alleged, that certain of the council were subverters of god's law and the laws of the realm, he would proceed against them. then, after denouncing their rebellion and referring to their request for pardon, he says: "to show our pity, we are content, if we find you penitent, to grant you all letters of pardon on your delivering to us ten such ringleaders of this rebellion as we shall assign to you. now note the benignity of your prince, and how easily bloodshed may be eschewed. thus i, as your head, pray for you, my members, that god may enlighten you for your benefit." [footnote 992: _ibid._, xi., 957.] [footnote 993: the records of the privy council for the greater part of henry's reign have disappeared, and only a rough list of his privy councillors can be gathered from the _letters and papers_. surrey, of course, was one of the two nobles, and probably shrewsbury was the other, though oxford, whose peerage was older than theirs, seems also to have been a member of the privy council (_l. and p._, i., 51). the complaint of the rebels applied to the whole tudor period; at henry's death no member of his privy council held a peerage twelve years old.] a conference was held at doncaster in december,[994] and towards the end of the year aske came at henry's invitation to discuss the complaints with him.[995] no one could be more gracious than the king, when he chose; no one could mask his resentment more completely, when he had an object to gain. it was important to win over aske, and convince him that henry had the interests of the rebels at heart. so on aske were lavished all the royal arts. they were amply (p. 357) rewarded. in january, 1537, the rebel leader went down to yorkshire fully convinced of the king's goodwill, and anxious only that the commons should observe his conditions.[996] but there were wilder spirits at work over which he had little control. they declared that they were betrayed. plots were formed to seize hull and scarborough; both were discovered.[997] aske, constable, and other leaders of the original pilgrimage of grace exerted themselves to stay this outbreak of their more violent followers; and between moderates and extremists the whole movement quickly collapsed. the second revolt gave henry an excuse for recalling his pardon, and for exacting revenge from all who had been implicated in either movement. darcy deserved little pity; the earliest in his treason, he continued the game to the end; but aske was an honest man, and his execution, condemned though he was by a jury, was a violent act of injustice.[998] norfolk was sent to the north on a bloody assize,[999] and if neither he nor the king was a jeffreys, the rebellion was stamped out with a good deal of superfluous cruelty. henry was resolved to do the work once and for all, and he based his system on terror. his measures for the future government of the north, now threatened by james v., were, however, wise on the whole. he would put no more nobles in places of trust; the office of warden of the marches he took into his own hands, appointing three deputies of somewhat humble rank for the east, middle and west marches.[1000] a strong council of the north was appointed to (p. 358) sit at york, under the presidency of tunstall, bishop of durham, and with powers almost as extensive as those of the privy council at london; and henceforth henry had little trouble from disaffection in england.[1001] [footnote 994: _l. and p._, xi., 1244-46.] [footnote 995: _ibid._, xi., 1306.] [footnote 996: _l. and p._, xii., i., 20, 23, 43, 44, 46.] [footnote 997: _ibid._, xii., i., 46, 64, 102, 104, 141, 142.] [footnote 998: henry, says dr. gairdner, examined "the evidence sent up to him in the spirit of a detective policeman" (xii., i., p. xxix.).] [footnote 999: _l. and p._, xii., i., 227, 228, 401, 402, 416, 457, 458, 468, 478, 498.] [footnote 1000: _l. and p._, xii., i., 594, 595, 636, 667. norfolk thought henry's plan was to govern the north by the aid of thieves and murderers.] [footnote 1001: much of the correspondence of this council found its way to hamilton palace in scotland, and thence to germany; it was purchased for the british museum in 1889 and now comprises _addit. mss._, 32091, 32647-48, 32654 and 32657 (printed as _hamilton papers_, 2 vols., 1890-92).] with one aftermath of the pilgrimage of grace he had yet to deal. the opportunity had been too good for paul iii. to neglect; and early in 1537 he had sent a legate _a latere_ to flanders to do what he could to abet the rebellion.[1002] his choice fell on reginald pole, the son of the countess of salisbury and grandson of george, duke of clarence. pole had been one of henry's great favourites; the king had paid for his education, given him, while yet a layman, rich church preferments, and contributed the equivalent of about twelve hundred pounds a year to enable him to complete his studies in italy.[1003] in 1530 pole was employed to obtain opinions at paris favourable to henry's divorce,[1004] and was offered the archbishopric of york. he refused from conscientious scruples,[1005] sought in vain to turn the king from his evil ways, and, in 1532, left england; they parted friends, and henry continued pole's pensions. while pole was regarding with increasing disgust the king's actions, henry still hoped that pole was on his (p. 359) side, and, in 1536, in answer to henry's request for his views, pole sent his famous treatise _de unitate ecclesiæ_. his heart was better than his head; he thought henry had been treated too gently, and that the fulmination of a bull of excommunication earlier in his course would have stopped his headlong career. to repair the pope's omissions, pole now proceeded to administer the necessary castigation; "flattery," he said, "had been the cause of all the evil". even his friend, cardinal contarini, thought the book too bitter, and among his family in england it produced consternation.[1006] some of them were hand in glove with chapuys, who had suggested pole to charles as a candidate for the throne; and his book might well have broken the thin ice on which they stood. henry, however, suppressed his anger and invited pole to england; he, perhaps wisely, refused, but immediately afterwards he accepted the pope's call to rome, where he was made cardinal,[1007] and sent to flanders as legate to foment the northern rebellion. [footnote 1002: _l. and p._, xii., i., 367, 368, 779.] [footnote 1003: _ibid._, ii., 3943 (reference misprinted in _d.n.b._, xlvi., 35, as 3493); iii., 1544.] [footnote 1004: _ibid._, iv., 6003, 6252, 6383, 6394, 6505.] [footnote 1005: _ibid._, v., 737.] [footnote 1006: _l. and p._, x., 420, 426; xi., 72, 93, 156.] [footnote 1007: on 22nd december, 1536 (_ibid._, xi., 1353).] he came too late to do anything except exhibit his own and the papal impotence. the rebellion was crushed before his commission was signed. as pole journeyed through france, henry sent to demand his extradition as a traitor.[1008] with that request francis could hardly comply, but he ordered the legate to quit his dominions. pole sought refuge in flanders, but was stopped on the frontier. charles could no more than francis afford to offend the english king, and the cardinal-legate was informed that he might visit the bishop of liège, but only if he (p. 360) went in disguise.[1009] never, wrote pole to the regent, had a papal legate been so treated before. truly henry had fulfilled his boast that he would show the princes of europe how small was the power of a pope. he had obliterated every vestige of papal authority in england and defied the pope to do his worst; and now, when the pope attempted to do it, his legate was chased out of the dominions of the faithful sons of the church at the demand of the excommunicate king. henry had come triumphant out of perils which every one else believed would destroy him. he had carried england through the greatest revolution in her history. he had crushed the only revolt which that revolution evoked at home; and abroad the greatest princes of europe had shown that they valued as nothing the goodwill of the pope against that of henry viii. [footnote 1008: _ibid._ xii., i., 760, 939, 987, 988, 996.] [footnote 1009: _l. and p._, xii., i., 997, 1061, 1135, 1167, 1174.] the culminating point in his good fortune was reached in the following autumn. on the 12th of october, 1537, queen jane gave birth to a son. henry had determined that, had he a son by anne boleyn, the child should be named henry after himself, or edward after his grandfather, edward iv. queen jane's son was born on the eve of the feast of st. edward, and that fact decided the choice of his name. twelve days later the mother, who had never been crowned, passed away.[1010] she, alone of henry's wives, was buried with royal pomp in st. george's chapel at windsor; and to her alone the king paid the compliment (p. 361) of mourning. his grief was sincere, and for the unusual space of more than two years he remained without a wife. but queen jane's death was not to be compared in importance with the birth of edward vi. the legitimate male heir, the object of so many desires and the cause of so many tragedies, had come at last to fill to the brim the cup of henry's triumph. the greatest storm and stress of his reign was passed. there were crises to come, which might have been deemed serious in a less troubled reign, and they still needed all henry's wary cunning to meet; francis and charles were even now preparing to end a struggle from which only henry drew profit; and paul was hoping to join them in war upon england. yet henry had weathered the worst of the gale, and he now felt free to devote his energies to the extension abroad of the authority which he had established so firmly at home. [footnote 1010: the fable that the cæsarean operation was performed on her, invented or propagated by nicholas sanders, rests upon the further error repeated by most historians that queen jane died on the 14th of october, instead of the 24th (see nichols, _literary remains of edward vi._, pp. xxiv., xxv.).] chapter xiv. (p. 362) rex et imperator. notwithstanding the absence of "empire" and "emperor" from the various titles which henry viii. possessed or assumed, he has more than one claim to be reputed the father of modern imperialism. it is not till a year after his death that we have any documentary evidence of an intention on the part of the english government to unite england and scotland into one empire, and to proclaim their sovereign the emperor of great britain.[1011] but a marriage between edward vi. and mary, queen of scots, by which it was sought to effect that union, had been the main object of henry's efforts during the closing years of his reign, and the imperial idea was a dominant note in henry's mind. no king was more fond of protesting that he wore an imperial crown and ruled an imperial realm. when, in 1536, convocation declared england to be "an imperial see of itself," it only clothed in decent and formal language henry's own boast that he was not merely king, but pope and emperor, in his own domains. the rest of western europe was under the temporal sway of cæsar, as it was under the spiritual sway of the pope; but neither to one nor to the other did henry owe any allegiance.[1012] [footnote 1011: odet de selve, _corresp. pol._, p. 268.] [footnote 1012: this was part of the revived influence of the roman civil law in england which professor maitland has sketched in his _english law and the renaissance_, 1901. but the influence of these ideas extended into every sphere, and not least of all into the ecclesiastical. englishmen, said chapuys, were fond of tracing the king's imperial authority back to a grant from the emperor constantine--giving it thus an antiquity as great and an origin as authoritative as that claimed for the pope by the false _donation of constantine_ (_l. and p._, v., 45; vii., 232). this is the meaning of henry's assertion that the pope's authority in england was "usurped," not that it was usurped at the expense of the english national church, but at the expense of his prerogative. so, too, we find instructive complaints from a different sort of reformers that the reformation as effected by henry viii. was merely a _translatio imperii_ (_ibid._, xiv., ii., 141). henry viii.'s encouragement of the civil law was the natural counterpart of the prohibition of its study by pope honorius in 1219 and innocent iv. in 1254 (pollock and maitland, i., 102, 103).] for the word "imperial" itself he had shown a marked (p. 363) predilection from his earliest days. _henry imperial_ was the name of the ship in which his admiral hoisted his flag in 1513, and "imperial" was the name given to one of his favourite games. but, as his reign wore on, the word was translated into action, and received a more definite meaning. to mark his claim to supreme dignity, he assumed the style of "his majesty" instead of that of "his grace," which he had hitherto shared with mere dukes and archbishops; and possibly "his majesty" banished "his grace" from henry's mind no less than it did from his title. the story of his life is one of consistent, and more or less orderly, evolution. for many years he had been kept in leading-strings by wolsey's and other clerical influences. the first step in his self-assertion was to emancipate himself from this control, and to vindicate his authority within the precincts of his court. his next was to establish his personal supremacy over church and state in england; this was the work of the reformation parliament between 1529 and 1536. the final stage in the evolution was to (p. 364) make his rule more effective in the outlying parts of england, on the borders of scotland, in wales and its marches, and then to extend it over the rest of the british isles. the initial steps in the process of expanding the sphere of royal authority had already been taken. the condition of wales exercised the mind of king and parliament, even in the throes of the struggle with rome.[1013] the "manifold robberies, murders, thefts, trespasses, riots, routs, embraceries, maintenances, oppressions, ruptures of the peace, and many other malefacts, which be there daily practised, perpetrated, committed and done," obviously demanded prompt and swift redress, unless the redundant eloquence of parliamentary statutes protested too much; and, in 1534, several acts were passed restraining local jurisdictions, and extending the authority of the president and council of the marches.[1014] chapuys declared that the effect of these acts was to rob the welsh of their freedom, and he thought that the probable discontent might be turned to account by stirring an insurrection in favour of catherine of aragon and of the catholic faith.[1015] if, however, there was discontent, it did not make (p. 365) itself effectively felt, and, in 1536, henry proceeded to complete the union of england and wales. first, he adapted to wales the institution of justices of the peace, which had proved the most efficient instrument for the maintenance of his authority in england. a more important statute followed. recalling the facts that "the rights, usages, laws and customs" in wales "be far discrepant from the laws and customs of this realm," that its people "do daily use a speech nothing like, nor consonant to, the natural mother-tongue used within this realm," and that "some rude and ignorant people have made distinction and diversity between the king's subjects of this realm" and those of wales, "his highness, of a singular zeal, love and favour" which he bore to the welsh, minded to reduce them "to the perfect order, notice and knowledge of his laws of this realm, and utterly to extirp, all and singular, the sinister usages and customs differing from the same". the principality was divided into shires, and the shires into hundreds; justice in every court, from the highest to the lowest, was to be administered in english, and in no other tongue; and no one who spoke welsh was to "have or enjoy any manner of office or fees" whatsoever. on the other hand, a royal commission was appointed to inquire into welsh laws, and such as the king thought necessary might still be observed; while the welsh shires and boroughs were to send members to the english parliament. this statute was, to all effects and purposes, the first act of union in english history. six years later a further act reorganised and developed the jurisdiction of the council of wales and the marches. its functions were to be similar to those of the privy council in london, of (p. 366) which the council of wales, like that of the already established council of the north, was an offshoot. its object was to maintain peace with a firm hand in a specially disorderly district; and the powers, with which it was furnished, often conflicted with the common law of england,[1016] and rendered the council's jurisdiction, like that of other tudor courts, a grievance to stuart parliaments. [footnote 1013: cromwell has a note in 1533, "for the establishing of a council in the marches of wales" (_l. and p._, vi., 386), and there had been numerous complaints in parliament about their condition (_ibid._, vii., 781). henry was a great unionist, though separatist as regards his wives and the pope.] [footnote 1014: see an admirable study by miss c.a.j. skeel, _the council in the marches of wales_, 1904. cromwell's great constitutional idea was government by council rather than by parliament; in 1534 he had a scheme for including in the king's ordinary council (not of course the privy council) "the most assured and substantial gentlemen in every shire" (_l. and p._, vii., 420; _cf._ his draft bill for a new court of conservators of the commonwealth and the more rigid execution of statutes, vii., 1611).] [footnote 1015: _l. and p._, vii., 1554.] [footnote 1016: _cf._ maitland, _english law and the renaissance_, p. 70; lee to cromwell: "if we should do nothing but as the common law will, these things so far out of order will never be redressed" (_d.n.b._, xxxii., 375; the letter is dated 18th july, 1538, by the _d.n.b._ and maitland, but there is no letter of that date from roland lee in _l. and p._; probably the sentence occurs in lee's letter of 18th july, 1534, or that of 18th july, 1535 (_l. and p._, vii., 988, viii., 1058), though the phrase is not given in _l. and p._).] but ireland demanded even more than wales the application of henry's doctrines of union and empire; for if wales was thought by chapuys to be receptive soil for the seeds of rebellion, sedition across st. george's channel was ripe unto the harvest. irish affairs, among other domestic problems, had been sacrificed to wolsey's passion for playing a part in europe, and on the eve of his fall english rule in ireland was reported to be weaker than it had been since the conquest. the outbreak of war with charles v., in 1528, was followed by the first appearance of spanish emissaries at the courts of irish chiefs, and from spanish intrigue in ireland tudor monarchs were never again to be free. in the autumn of 1534 the whole of ireland outside the pale blazed up in revolt. sir william skeffington succeeded in crushing the rebellion; but skeffington died in the following year, and his successor, lord leonard grey, failed to overcome the difficulties caused by irish disaffection and by jealousies in his council. his sister was wife of fitzgerald, the earl of kildare, and the (p. 367) revolt of the geraldines brought grey himself under suspicion. he was accused by his council of treason; he returned to england in 1540, declaring the country at peace. but, before he had audience with henry, a fresh insurrection broke out, and grey was sent to the tower; thence, having pleaded guilty to charges of treason, he trod the usual path to the block. henry now adopted fresh methods; he determined to treat ireland in much the same way as wales. a commission, appointed in 1537, had made a thorough survey of the land, and supplied him with the outlines of his policy. as in wales, the english system of land tenure, of justice and the english language were to supersede indigenous growths; the king's supremacy in temporal and ecclesiastical affairs was to be enforced, and the whole of the land was to be gradually won by a judicious admixture of force and conciliation.[1017] the new deputy, sir anthony st. leger, was an able man, who had presided over the commission of 1537. he landed at dublin in 1541, and his work was thoroughly done. henry, no longer so lavish with his money as in wolsey's days, did not stint for this purpose.[1018] the irish parliament passed an act that henry should be henceforth styled king, instead of lord, of ireland; and many of the chiefs were induced to relinquish their tribal independence in return for glittering coronets. by 1542 ireland had not merely peace within her own borders, but was able to send two thousand kernes to assist the english on the borders of scotland; and english rule in ireland was more widely and more firmly established than it had ever been before. [footnote 1017: see r. dunlop in _owens college studies_, 1901, and the _calendar of carew mss._ and _calendar of irish state papers_, vol. i.] [footnote 1018: _l. and p._, xvi., 43, 77.] besides ireland and wales, there were other spheres in which henry (p. 368) sought to consolidate and extend the tudor methods of government. the erection, in 1542, of the courts of wards and liveries, of first-fruits and tenths, and the development of the jurisdiction of the star chamber and of the court of requests,[1019] were all designed to further two objects dear to henry's heart, the efficiency of his administration and the exaltation of his prerogative. it was thoroughly in keeping with his policy that the parliamentary system expanded concurrently with the sphere of the king's activity. berwick had first been represented in the parliament of 1529,[1020] and a step, which would have led to momentous consequences, had the idea, on which it was based, been carried out, was taken in 1536, when two members were summoned from calais. there was now only one district under english rule which was not represented in parliament, and that was the county of durham, known as _the_ bishopric, which still remained detached from the national system. it was left for oliver cromwell to complete england's parliamentary representation by summoning members to sit for that palatine county.[1021] this was not the only respect in which the commonwealth followed in the footsteps of henry viii., for the parliament of 1542, in which members from wales and from calais are first recorded as sitting,[1022] passed an "act for the navy," which provided that goods could only be (p. 369) imported in english ships. it was, however, in his dealings with scotland that henry's schemes for the expansion of england became most marked; but, before he could develop his plans in that direction, he had to ward off a recrudescence of the danger from a coalition of catholic europe. [footnote 1019: _l. and p._, xvi., 28; _cf._ leadam, _court of requests_, selden soc., introd.] [footnote 1020: _official return of members of parliament_, i., 369.] [footnote 1021: see g.t. lapsley, _the county palatine of durham_, in _harvard historical series_.] [footnote 1022: there are no records in the _official return_ for 1536 and 1539, but calais had been granted parliamentary representation by an act of the previous parliament (27 hen. viii., private acts, no. 9; _cf. l. and p._, x., 1086).] * * * * * in spite of henry's efforts to fan the flames of strife[1023] between the emperor and the king of france, the war, which had prevented either monarch from countenancing the mission of cardinal pole or from profiting by the pilgrimage of grace, was gradually dying down in the autumn of 1537; and, in order to check the growing and dangerous intimacy between the two rivals, henry was secretly hinting to both that the death of his queen had left him free to contract a marriage which might bind him for ever to one or the other.[1024] to francis he sent a request for the hand of mary of guise, who had already been promised to james v. of scotland. he refused to believe that the scots negotiations had proceeded so far that they could not be set aside for so great a king as himself, and he succeeded in convincing the lady's relatives that the position of a queen of england provided greater attractions than any james could hold out.[1025] francis, however, took matters into his own hands, and compelled the guises to fulfil their compact with the scottish king. nothing daunted, henry asked for a list of other french ladies eligible for the matrimonial prize. (p. 370) he even suggested that the handsomest of them might be sent, in the train of margaret of navarre, to calais, where he could inspect them in person.[1026] "i trust to no one," he told castillon, the french ambassador, "but myself. the thing touches me too near. i wish to see them and know them some time before deciding."[1027] this idea of "trotting out the young ladies like hackneys"[1028] was not much relished at the french court; and castillon, to shame henry out of the indelicacy of his proposal, made an ironical suggestion for testing the ladies' charms, the grossness of which brought the only recorded blush to henry's cheeks.[1029] no more was said of the beauty-show; and henry declared that he did not intend to marry in france or in spain at all, unless his marriage brought him a closer alliance with francis or charles than the rivals had formed with each other. [footnote 1023: vols. xii. and xiii. of the _l. and p._ are full of these attempts.] [footnote 1024: for the negotiations with france from 1537 onwards see kaulek, _corresp. de mm. castillon et marillac_, paris, 1885.] [footnote 1025: _l. and p._, xiii., i., 165, 273.] [footnote 1026: is this another trace of "byzantinism"? it was a regular custom at the byzantine and other oriental courts to have a "concourse of beauty" for the emperor's benefit when he wished to choose a wife (_histoire générale_, i., 381 n., v., 728); and the story of theophilus and theodora is familiar (finlay, ii., 146-47).] [footnote 1027: _l. and p._, xiii., ii., 77; kaulek, p. 80.] [footnote 1028: _ibid._, xii., ii., 1125; xiii., ii., p. xxxi.] [footnote 1029: _ibid._, xiii., ii., 77.] while these negotiations for obtaining the hand of a french princess were in progress, henry set on foot a similar quest in the netherlands. before the end of 1537 he had instructed hutton, his agent, to report on the ladies of the regent mary's court;[1030] and hutton replied that christina of milan was said to be "a goodly personage and of excellent beauty". she was daughter of the deposed king of denmark and of his wife, isabella, sister of charles v.; at the age of thirteen she had been married to the duke of milan, but she was now a (p. 371) virgin widow of sixteen, "very tall and competent of beauty, of favour excellent and very gentle in countenance".[1031] on 10th march, 1538, holbein arrived at brussels for the purpose of painting the lady's portrait, which he finished in a three hours' sitting.[1032] christina's fascinations do not seem to have made much impression on henry; indeed, his taste in feminine beauty cannot be commended. there is no good authority for the alleged reply of the young duchess herself, that, if she had two heads, she would willingly place one of them at his majesty's disposal.[1033] henry had, as yet, beheaded only one of his wives, and even if the precedent had been more firmly established, christina was too wary and too polite to refer to it in such uncourtly terms. she knew that the disposal of her hand did not rest with herself, and though the emperor sent powers for the conclusion of the match, neither he nor henry had any desire to see it concluded. the cementing of his friendship with francis freed charles from the need of henry's goodwill, and impelled the english king to seek elsewhere for means to counter-balance the hostile alliance. [footnote 1030: _ibid._, xii., ii., 1172.] [footnote 1031: _l. and p._, xii., ii., pref. p. xxviii., no. 1187.] [footnote 1032: _ibid._, xiii., i., 380, 507. the magnificent portrait of christina belonging to the duke of norfolk, and now on loan at the national gallery, must have been painted by holbein afterwards.] [footnote 1033: it may have crystallised from some such rumour as is reported in _l. and p._, xiv., ii., 141. "marry," says george constantyne, "she sayeth that the king's majesty was in so little space rid of the queens that she dare not trust his council, though she durst trust his majesty; for her council suspecteth that her great-aunt was poisoned, that the second was innocently put to death, and the third lost for lack of keeping in her childbed." constantyne added that he was not sure whether this was christina's answer or anne of cleves'.] the emperor and the french king had not been deluded by english (p. 372) intrigues, nor prevented from coming together by henry's desire to keep them apart. charles, francis, and paul iii. met at nice in june, 1538, and there the pope negotiated a ten years' truce. henceforth they were to consider their interests identical, and their ambassadors in england compared notes in order to defeat more effectively henry's skilful diplomacy.[1034] the moment seemed ripe for the execution of the long-cherished project for a descent upon england. its king had just added to his long list of offences against the church by despoiling the shrine of st. thomas at canterbury and burning the bones of the saint. the saint was even said to have been put on his trial in mockery, declared contumacious, and condemned as a traitor.[1035] if the canonised bones of martyrs could be treated thus, who would, for the future, pay respect to the church or tribute at its shrines? at rome a party, of which pole was the most zealous, proclaimed that the real turk was henry, and that all christian princes should unite to sweep him from the face of god's earth, which his presence had too long defiled. considering the effect of christian leagues against the ottoman, the english turk was probably not dismayed. but paul iii. and pole were determined to do their worst. the pope resolved to publish the bull of deprivation, which had been drawn up in august, 1535, though its execution had hitherto been suspended owing to papal (p. 373) hopes of henry's amendment and to the request of various princes. now the bull was to be published in france, in flanders, in scotland and in ireland. beton was made a cardinal and sent home to exhort james v. to invade his uncle's kingdom,[1036] while pole again set out on his travels to promote the conquest of his native land.[1037] [footnote 1034: _l. and p._, xiii., ii., 232, 277, 914, 915.] [footnote 1035: the burning of the bones is stated as a fact in the papal bull of december, 1538 (_l. and p._, xiii., ii., 1087; see pref., p. xvi., n.); but the documents printed in wilkins's _concilia_, iii., 835, giving an account of an alleged trial of the body of st. thomas are forgeries (_l. and p._, xiii., ii., pp. xli., xlii., 49). a precedent might have been found in pope stephen vi.'s treatment of his predecessor, formosus (_hist. générale_, i., 536).] [footnote 1036: _l. and p._, xiii., ii., 1108-9, 1114-16, 1130, 1135-36.] [footnote 1037: _ibid._, xiii., ii., 950, 1110.] it was on pole's unfortunate relatives that the effects of the threatened bull were to fall. besides the cardinal's treason, there was another motive for proscribing his family. he and his brothers were grandchildren of george, duke of clarence; years before, chapuys had urged charles v. to put forward pole as a candidate for the throne; and henry was as convinced as his father had been that the real way to render his government secure was to put away all the possible alternatives. now that he was threatened with deprivation by papal sentence, the need became more urgent than ever. but, while the proscription of the poles was undoubtedly dictated by political reasons, their conduct enabled henry to effect it by legal means. there was no doubt of the cardinal's treason; his brother, sir geoffrey, had often taken counsel with charles's ambassador, and discussed plans for the invasion of england;[1038] and even their mother, the aged countess of salisbury, although she had denounced the cardinal as a traitor and had lamented the fact that she had given him birth, had brought herself within the toils by receiving papal bulls and corresponding with traitors.[1039] the least guilty of the family appears to have been the countess's eldest son, lord montague;[1040] but he, too, was involved in (p. 374) the common ruin. plots were hatched for kidnapping the cardinal and bringing him home to stand his trial for treason. sir geoffrey was arrested in august, 1538, was induced, or forced, to turn king's evidence, and as a reward was granted his miserable, conscience-struck life.[1041] the countess was spared for a while, but montague mounted the scaffold in december. [footnote 1038: _ibid._, vii., 1368; viii., 750.] [footnote 1039: _ibid._, xiii., ii., 835, 838, 855.] [footnote 1040: he had, however, been sending information to chapuys as early as 1534 (_l. and p._, vii., 957), when charles v. was urged to make use of him and of reginald pole (_ibid._, vii., 1040; _cf. ibid._, xiii., ii., 702, 830, 954).] [footnote 1041: _ibid._, xiii., pt. ii., _passim_. he attempted to commit suicide (_ibid._, 703).] with montague perished his cousin, the marquis of exeter, whose descent from edward iv. was as fatal to him as their descent from clarence was to the poles. the marquis was the white rose, the next heir to the throne if the line of the tudors failed. his father, the earl of devonshire, had been attainted in the reign of henry vii.; but henry viii. had reversed the attainder, had treated the young earl with kindness, had made him knight of the garter and marquis of exeter, and had sought in various ways to win his support. but his dynastic position and dislike of henry's policy drove the marquis into the ranks of the discontented. he had been put in the tower, in 1531, on suspicion of treason; after his release he listened to the hysterics of elizabeth barton, intrigued with chapuys, and corresponded with reginald pole;[1042] and in cornwall, in 1538, men conspired to make him king.[1043] less evidence than this would have (p. 375) convinced a jury of peers in tudor times of the expediency of exeter's death; and, on the 9th of december, his head paid the price of his royal descent. [footnote 1042: _ibid._, v., 416; vi., 1419, 1464.] [footnote 1043: _ibid._, xiii., ii., 802, 961.] these executions do not seem to have produced the faintest symptoms of disgust in the popular mind. the threat of invasion evoked a national enthusiasm for defence. in august, 1538, henry went down to inspect the fortifications he had been for years erecting at dover; masonry from the demolished monasteries was employed in dotting the coast with castles, such as calshot and hurst, which were built with materials from the neighbouring abbey of beaulieu. commissioners were sent to repair the defences at calais and guisnes, on the scottish borders, along the coasts from berwick to the mouth of the thames, and from the thames to lizard point.[1044] beacons were repaired, ordnance was supplied wherever it was needed, lists of ships and of mariners were drawn up in every port, and musters were taken throughout the kingdom. everywhere the people pressed forward to help; in the isle of wight they were lining the shores with palisades, and taking every precaution to render a landing of the enemy a perilous enterprise.[1045] in essex they anticipated the coming of the commissioners by digging dykes and throwing up ramparts; at harwich the lord chancellor saw "women and children working with shovels at the trenches and bulwarks". whatever we may think of the roughness and rigour of henry's rule, his methods were not resented by the mass of his people. he had not lost his hold on the nation; whenever he appealed to his subjects in a time of national danger, he met with an eager response; and, had the (p. 376) schemers abroad, who idly dreamt of his expulsion from the throne, succeeded in composing their mutual quarrels and launching their bolt against england, there is no reason to suppose that its fate would have differed from that of the spanish armada. [footnote 1044: _l. and p._, xiv., i., 478, 533, 630, 671, 762, 899.] [footnote 1045: _ibid._, xiv., i., 540, 564, 573, 615, 655, 682, 711, 712.] in spite of the fears of invasion which prevailed in the spring of 1539, pole's second mission had no more success than the first;[1046] and the hostile fleet, for the sight of which the warden of the cinque ports was straining his eyes from dover castle, never came from the mouths of the scheldt and the rhine; or rather, the supposed armada proved to be a harmless convoy of traders.[1047] the pope himself, on second thoughts, withheld his promised bull. he distrusted its reception at the hands of his secular allies, and dreaded the contempt and ridicule which would follow an open failure.[1048] moreover, at the height of his fervour against henry, he could not refrain from attempts to extend his temporal power, and his seizure of urbino alienated francis and afforded henry some prospect of creating an anti-papal party in italy.[1049] francis would gladly join in a prohibition of english commerce, if charles would only begin; but without charles he could do nothing, and, even when his amity with the emperor was closest, he was compelled, at henry's demand, to punish the french priests who inveighed against english enormities.[1050] to charles, however, english trade was worth more than to francis, (p. 377) and the emperor's subjects would tolerate no interruption of their lucrative intercourse with england. with the consummate skill which he almost invariably displayed in political matters, henry had, in 1539, when the danger seemed greatest, provided the flemings with an additional motive for peace. he issued a proclamation that, for seven years, their goods should pay no more duty than those of the english themselves;[1051] and the thrifty dutch were little inclined to stop, by a war, the fresh stream of gold. the emperor, too, had more urgent matters in hand. henry might be more of a turk than the sultan himself, and the pope might regard the sack of st. thomas's shrine with more horror than the turkish defeat of a christian fleet; but henry was not harrying the emperor's coasts, nor threatening to deprive the emperor's brother of his hungarian kingdom; and turkish victories on land and on sea gave the imperial family much more concern than all henry's onslaughts on the saints and their relics. and, besides the ottoman peril, charles had reason to fear the political effects of the union between england and the protestant princes of germany, for which the religious development in england was paving the way, and which an attack on henry would at once have cemented. [footnote 1046: _l. and p._, xiv., i., introd., pp. xi.-xiii.] [footnote 1047: _ibid._, xiv., i., 714, 728, 741, 767.] [footnote 1048: _cf. ibid._, xiv., i., 1011, 1013; ii., 99.] [footnote 1049: _ibid._, xiv., i., 27, 37, 92, 98, 104, 114, 144, 188, 235, 884; ii., 357.] [footnote 1050: _l. and p._, xiv., i., 37, 92, 371.] [footnote 1051: _l. and p._, xiv., i., 373.] * * * * * the powers conferred upon henry as supreme head of the church were not long suffered to remain in abeyance. whatever the theory may have been, in practice henry's supremacy over the church was very different from that which kings of england had hitherto wielded; and from the moment he entered upon his new ecclesiastical kingdom, he set (p. 378) himself not merely to reform practical abuses, such as the excessive wealth of the clergy, but to define the standard of orthodox faith, and to force his subjects to embrace the royal theology. the catholic faith was to hold good only so far as the supreme head willed; the "king's doctrine" became the rule to which "_our_ church of england," as henry styled it, was henceforth to conform; and "unity and concord in opinion" were to be established by royal decree. the first royal definition of the faith was embodied in ten articles submitted to convocation in 1536. the king was, he said, constrained by diversity of opinions "to put his own pen to the book and conceive certain articles... thinking that no person, having authority from him, would presume to say a word against their meaning, or be remiss in setting them forth".[1052] his people, he maintained, whether peer or prelate, had no right to resist his temporal or spiritual commands, whatever they might be. episcopal authority had indeed sunk low. when convocation was opened, in 1536, a layman, dr. william petre, appeared, and demanded the place of honour above all bishops and archbishops in their assembly. pre-eminence belonged, he said, to the king as supreme head of the church; the king had appointed cromwell his vicar-general; and cromwell had named him, petre, his proctor.[1053] the claim was allowed, and the submissive clergy found little fault with the royal articles of faith, though they mentioned only three sacraments, baptism, penance and the sacrament of the altar, denounced the abuse of images, warned men against excessive (p. 379) devotion to the saints, and against believing that "ceremonies have power to remit sin," or that masses can deliver souls from purgatory. finally, convocation transferred from the pope to the christian princes the right to summon a general council.[1054] [footnote 1052: _l. and p._, xi., 1110; _cf. ibid._, 59, 123, 377, 954.] [footnote 1053: wilkins, _concilia_, iii., 803.] [footnote 1054: fuller, _church history_, ed. 1845, iii., 145-59; burnet, _reformation_, ed. pocock, iv., 272-90; strype, _cranmer_, i., 58-62.] with the _institution of a christian man_, issued in the following year, and commonly called _the bishops' book_, henry had little to do. the bishops debated the doctrinal questions from february to july, 1537, but the king wrote, in august, that he had had no time to examine their conclusions.[1055] he trusted, however, to their wisdom, and agreed that the book should be published and read to the people on sundays and holy-days for three years to come. in the same year he permitted a change, which inevitably gave fresh impulse to the reforming movement in england and destroyed every prospect of that "union and concord in opinions," on which he set so much store. miles coverdale was licensed to print an edition of his bible in england, with a dedication to queen jane seymour; and, in 1538, a second english version was prepared by john rogers, under cranmer's authority, and published as matthew's bible.[1056] this was the bible "of the largest volume" which cromwell, as henry's vicegerent, ordered to be set up in all churches. every incumbent was to encourage his parishioners to read it; he was to recite the paternoster, the creed and the ten commandments in english, that his flock might learn (p. 380) them by degrees; he was to require some acquaintance with the rudiments of the faith, as a necessary condition from all before they could receive the sacrament of the altar; he was to preach at least once a quarter; and to institute a register of births, marriages and deaths.[1057] [footnote 1055: _l. and p._, xii., ii., 618; cranmer, _works_, ii., 469; _cf._ jenkyns, _cranmer_, ii., 21; and cranmer, _works_, ii., 83, 359, 360.] [footnote 1056: see the present writer's _cranmer_, pp. 110-13; dixon, _church history_, ii., 77-79.] [footnote 1057: see these _injunctions_ in burnet, iv., 341-46; wilkins, _concilia,_ iii., 815.] meanwhile, a vigorous assault was made on the strongholds of superstition; pilgrimages were suppressed, and many wonder-working images were pulled down and destroyed. the famous rood of boxley, a figure whose contortions had once imposed on the people, was taken to the market-place at maidstone,[1058] and the ingenious mechanism, whereby the eyes and lips miraculously opened and shut, was exhibited to the vulgar gaze.[1059] probably these little devices had already sunk in popular esteem, for the blood of st. januarius could not be treated at naples to-day in the same cavalier fashion as the blood of hailes was in england in 1538,[1060] without a riot. but the exposure was a useful method of exciting popular indignation against the monks, and it filled reformers with a holy joy. "dagon," wrote one to bullinger, "is everywhere falling in england. bel of babylon has been broken to pieces."[1061] the destruction of the images was a preliminary skirmish in the final campaign against the monks. the act of 1536 (p. 381) had only granted to the king religious houses which possessed an endowment of less than two hundred pounds a year; the dissolution of the greater monasteries was now gradually effected by a process of more or less voluntary surrender. in some cases the monks may have been willing enough to go; they were loaded with debt, and harassed by rules imposed by cromwell, which would have been difficult to keep in the palmiest days of monastic enthusiasm; and they may well have thought that freedom from monastic restraint, coupled with a pension, was a welcome relief, especially when resistance involved the anger of the prince and liability to the penalties of elastic treasons and of a _præmunire_ which no one could understand. so, one after another, the great abbeys yielded to the persuasions and threats of the royal commissioners. the dissolution of the mendicant orders and of the knights of st. john dispersed the last remnants of the papal army as an organised force in england, though warfare of a kind continued for many years. [footnote 1058: _l. and p._, xiii., i., 231, 348.] [footnote 1059: father bridgett in his _blunders and forgeries_ repudiates the idea that these "innocent toys" had been put to any superstitious uses.] [footnote 1060: _l. and p._, xiii., i., 347, 564, 580; ii., 186, 409, 488, 709, 710, 856.] [footnote 1061: john hoker of maidstone to bullinger in burnet (ed. pocock, vi., 194, 195).] these proceedings created as much satisfaction among the lutherans of germany as they did disgust at rome, and an alliance between henry and the protestant princes seemed to be dictated by a community of religious, as well as of political, interests. the friendship between francis and charles threatened both english and german liberties, and it behoved the two countries to combine against their common foe. henry's manifesto against the authority of the pope to summon a general council had been received with rapture in germany; at least three german editions were printed, and the elector of saxony and the landgrave of hesse urged on him the adoption of a common policy.[1062] english envoys were (p. 382) sent to germany with this purpose in the spring of 1538, and german divines journeyed to england to lay the foundation of a theological union.[1063] they remained five months, but failed to effect an agreement.[1064] to the three points on which they desired further reform in england, the communion in both kinds, the abolition of private masses and of the enforced celibacy of the clergy, henry himself wrote a long reply,[1065] maintaining in each case the catholic faith. but the conference showed that henry was for the time anxious to be conciliatory in religious matters, while from a political point of view the need for an alliance grew more urgent than ever. all henry's efforts to break the amity between francis and charles had failed; his proposals of marriage to imperial and french princesses had come to nothing; and, in the spring of 1539, it was rumoured that the emperor would further demonstrate the indissolubility of his intimacy with the french king by passing through france from spain to germany, instead of going, as he had always hitherto done, by sea, or through italy and austria. cromwell seized the opportunity and persuaded henry to strengthen his union with the protestant princes by seeking a wife from a german house. [footnote 1062: gairdner, _church history_, p. 195; _l. and p._, xii., i., 1310; ii. 1088-89.] [footnote 1063: _l. and p._, xiii., i., 352, 353, 367, 645, 648-50, 1102, 1166, 1295, 1305, 1437.] [footnote 1064: _ibid._, xiii., ii., 741; cranmer, _works_, ii., 397; burnet, i., 408; strype, _eccl. mem._, i., app. nos. 94-102.] [footnote 1065: burnet, iv., 373.] this policy once adopted, the task of selecting a bride was easy. as early as 1530[1066] the old duke of cleves had suggested some (p. 383) marriage alliance between his own and the royal family of england. he was closely allied to the elector of saxony, who had married sibylla, the duke of cleves' daughter; and the young duke, who was soon to succeed his father, had also claims to the duchy of guelders. guelders was a thorn in the side of the emperor; it stood to the netherlands in much the same relation as scotland stood to england, and when there was war between charles and francis guelders had always been one of the most useful pawns in the french king's hands. hence an alliance between the german princes, the king of denmark, who had joined their political and religious union, guelders and england would have seriously threatened the emperor's hold on his dutch dominions.[1067] this was the step which henry was induced to take, when he realised that charles's friendship with france remained unbroken, and that the emperor had made up his mind to visit paris. hints of a marriage between henry and anne of cleves[1068] were thrown out early in 1539; the only difficulty, which subsequently proved very convenient, was that the lady had been promised to the son of the duke of (p. 384) lorraine. the objection was waived on the ground that anne herself had not given her consent; in view of the advantages of the match and of the duke's financial straits, henry agreed to forgo a dowry; and, on the 6th of october, the treaty of marriage was signed.[1069] [footnote 1066: _l. and p._, iv., 6364.] [footnote 1067: see the present writer in _cambridge modern history_, ii., 236, 237. the duke of cleves was not a lutheran or a protestant, as is generally assumed. he had established a curious erasmian compromise between protestantism and roman catholicism, which bears some resemblance to the ecclesiastical policy pursued by henry viii., and by the elector joachim ii. of brandenburg; and the marriage of anne with henry did not imply so great a change in ecclesiastical policy as has usually been supposed. the objections to it were really more political than religious; the schmalkaldic league was a feeble reed to lean upon, although its feebleness was not exposed until 1546-47.] [footnote 1068: _l. and p._, xiv., i., 103; _cf._ bouterwek, _anna von cleve_; merriman, _cromwell_, chap. xiii.; and articles on the members of the cleves family in the _allgemeine deutsche biographie_.] [footnote 1069: _l. and p._, xiv., ii., 285, 286.] anne of cleves had already been described to henry by his ambassador, dr. wotton, and holbein had been sent to paint her portrait (now in the louvre), which wotton pronounced "a very lively image".[1070] she had an oval face, long nose, chestnut eyes, a light complexion, and very pale lips. she was thirty-four years old, and in france was reported to be ugly; but cromwell told the king that "every one praised her beauty, both of face and body, and one said she excelled the duchess of milan as the golden sun did the silver moon".[1071] wotton's account of her accomplishments was pitched in a minor key. her gentleness was universally commended, but she spent her time chiefly in needlework. she knew no language but her own; she could neither sing nor play upon any instrument, accomplishments which were then considered by germans to be unbecoming in a lady.[1072] on the 12th of december, 1539, she arrived at calais; but boisterous weather and bad tides delayed her there till the 27th. she landed at deal (p. 385) and rode to canterbury. on the 30th she proceeded to sittingbourne, and thence, on the 31st, to rochester, where the king met her in disguise.[1073] if he was disappointed with her appearance, he concealed the fact from the public eye. nothing marred her public reception at greenwich on the 3rd, or was suffered to hinder the wedding, which was solemnised three days later.[1074] henry "lovingly embraced and kissed" his bride in public, and allowed no hint to reach the ears of any one but his most intimate counsellors of the fact that he had been led willingly or unwillingly into the most humiliating situation of his reign. [footnote 1070: _ibid._, xiv., ii., 33. holbein did not paint a flattering portrait any more than wotton told a flattering tale; if henry was deceived in the matter it was by cromwell's unfortunate assurances. as a matter of fact anne was at least as good looking as jane seymour, and henry's taste in the matter of feminine beauty was not of a very high order. bishop stubbs even suggests that their appearance was "if not a justification, at least a colourable reason for understanding the readiness with which he put them away" (_lectures_, 1887, p. 284).] [footnote 1071: _l. and p._, xiv., i., 552.] [footnote 1072: _ibid._, xiv., ii., 33.] [footnote 1073: _l. and p._, xiv., ii., 664, 674, 677, 726, 732, 753, 754, 769.] [footnote 1074: hall, _chronicle_, p. 836.] such was, in reality, the result of his failure to act on the principle laid down by himself to the french ambassador two years before. he had then declared that the choice of a wife was too delicate a matter to be left to a deputy, and that he must see and know a lady some time before he made up his mind to marry her. anne of cleves had been selected by cromwell, and the lady, whose beauty was, according to cromwell, in every one's mouth, seemed to henry no better than "a flanders mare".[1075] the day after the interview at rochester he told cromwell that anne was "nothing so well as she was spoken of," and that, "if he had known before as much as he knew then, she should not have come within his realm". he demanded of his vicegerent what remedy he had to suggest, and cromwell had none. next day cranmer, norfolk, suffolk, southampton and tunstall were called in with (p. 386) no better result. "is there none other remedy," repeated henry, "but that i must needs, against my will, put my neck in the yoke?"[1076] apparently there was none. the emperor was being fêted in paris; to repudiate the marriage would throw the duke of cleves into the arms of the allied sovereigns, alienate the german princes, and leave henry without a friend among the powers of christendom. so he made up his mind to put his neck in the yoke and to marry "the flanders mare". [footnote 1075: burnet, i., 434. the phrase appears to have no extant contemporary authority, but burnet is not, as a rule, imaginative, and many records have been destroyed since he wrote.] [footnote 1076: cromwell to henry viii., in merriman, ii., 268-72.] * * * * * henry, however, was never patient of matrimonial or other yokes, and it was quite certain that, as soon as he could do so without serious risk, he would repudiate his unattractive wife, and probably other things besides. for anne's defects were only the last straw added to the burden which henry bore. he had not only been forced by circumstances into marriage with a wife who was repugnant to him, but into a religious and secular policy which he and the mass of his subjects disliked. the alliance with the protestant princes might be a useful weapon if things came to the worst, and if there were a joint attack on england by francis and charles; but, on its merits, it was not to be compared to a good understanding with the emperor; and henry would have no hesitation in throwing over the german princes when once he saw his way to a renewal of friendship with charles. he would welcome, even more, a relief from the necessity of paying attention to german divines. he had never wavered in his adhesion to the cardinal points of the catholic faith. he had no enmity to catholicism, provided it did not stand in his way. the spiritual jurisdiction of rome (p. 387) had been abolished in england because it imposed limits on henry's own authority. some of the powers of the english clergy had been destroyed, partly for a similar reason, and partly as a concession to the laity. but the purely spiritual claims of the church remained unimpaired; the clergy were still a caste, separate from other men, and divinely endowed with the power of performing a daily miracle in the conversion of the bread and wine into the body and blood of jesus christ. even when the protestant alliance seemed most indispensable, henry endeavoured to convince lutherans of the truth of the catholic doctrine of the mass, and could not refrain from persecuting heretics with a zeal that shook the confidence of his reforming allies. his honour, he thought, was involved in his success in proving that he, with his royal supremacy, could defend the faith more effectively than the pope, with all his pretended powers; and he took a personal interest in the conversion and burning of heretics. several instances are recorded of his arguing a whole day with sacramentaries,[1077] exercises which exhibited to advantage at once the royal authority and the royal learning in spiritual matters. his beliefs were not due to caprice or to ignorance; probably no bishop in his realm was more deeply read in heterodox theology.[1078] he was constantly on the (p. 388) look-out for books by luther and other heresiarchs, and he kept quite a respectable theological library at hand for private use. the tenacity with which he clung to orthodox creeds and catholic forms was not only strengthened by study but rooted in the depths of his character. to devout but fundamentally irreligious men, like henry viii. and louis xiv., rites and ceremonies are a great consolation; and henry seldom neglected to creep to the cross on good friday, to serve the priest at mass, to receive holy bread and holy water every sunday, and daily to use "all other laudable ceremonies".[1079] [footnote 1077: _e.g._, _l. and p._, v., 285; xiii., ii., 849, introd., p. xxviii. sir john wallop admired the "charitable dexterity" with which henry treated them (_ibid._, xv., 429).] [footnote 1078: when a book was presented to him which he had not the patience to read he handed it over to one of his lords-in-waiting to read; he then took it back and gave it to be examined to some one of an entirely different way of thinking, and made the two discuss its merits, and upon that discussion formed his own opinion (cranmer to wolfgang capito, _works_, ii., 341; the king, says cranmer, "is a most acute and vigilant observer"). henry was also, according to modern standards, extraordinarily patient of theological discourses; when cranmer obtained for latimer an appointment to preach at court, he advised him not to preach more than an hour or an hour and a half lest the king and queen should grow weary! (_l. and p._, vii., 29).] [footnote 1079: _l. and p._, xiv., i., 967, an interesting letter which also records how the king rowed up and down the thames in his barge for an hour after evensong on holy thursday "with his drums and fifes playing".] with such feelings at heart, a union with protestants could never for henry be more than a _mariage de convenance_; and in this, as in other things, he carried with him the bulk of popular sympathy. in 1539 it was said that no man in london durst speak against catholic usages, and, in lent of that year, a man was hanged, apparently at the instance of the recorder of london, for eating flesh on a friday.[1080] the attack on the church had been limited to its privileges and to its property; its doctrine had scarcely been touched. the upper classes among the laity had been gorged with monastic spoils; they were disposed to rest and be thankful. the middle classes had been (p. 389) satisfied to some extent by the restriction of clerical fees, and by the prohibition of the clergy from competing with laymen in profitable trades, such as brewing, tanning, and speculating in land and houses. there was also the general reaction which always follows a period of change. how far that reaction had gone, henry first learnt from the parliament which met on the 28th of april, 1539. [footnote 1080: _ibid._, i., 967. this had been made a capital offence as early as the days of charlemagne (gibbon, ed. 1890, iii., 450 n.).] the elections were characterised by more court interference than is traceable at any other period during the reign, though even on this occasion the evidence is fragmentary and affects comparatively few constituencies.[1081] it was, moreover, cromwell and not the king who sought to pack the house of commons in favour of his own particular policy; and the attempt produced discontent in various constituencies and a riot in one at least.[1082] the earl of southampton was (p. 390) required to use his influence on behalf of cromwell's nominees at farnham, although that borough was within the bishop of winchester's preserves.[1083] so, too, cromwell's henchman, wriothesley, was returned for the county of southampton in spite of gardiner's opposition. never, till the days of the stuarts, was there a more striking instance of the futility of these tactics; for the house of commons, which cromwell took so much pains to secure, passed, without a dissentient, the bill of attainder against him; and before it was dissolved, the bishop, against whose influence cromwell had especially exerted himself, had taken cromwell's place in the royal favour. there was, indeed, no possibility of stemming the tide which was flowing against the vicegerent and in favour of the king; and cromwell was forced to swim with the stream in the vain hope of saving himself from disaster. [footnote 1081: in 1536 henry had sent round a circular to the sheriffs; but its main object was to show that another parliament was indispensable, to persuade the people that "their charge and time, which will be very little and short, would be well spent," and to secure "that persons are elected who will serve, and for their worship and qualities be most meet for this purpose" (_l. and p._, x., 815). the sheriffs in fact were simply to see that the burden was placed on those able and willing to bear it. the best illustration of the methods adopted and of the amount of liberty of election exercised by the constituents may be found in southampton's letter to cromwell (_ibid._, xiv., i., 520). at guildford he told the burgesses they must return two members, which would be a great charge to the town, "but that if they followed my advice it would cost little or nothing, for i would provide able men to supply the room". they said that one daniel modge wanted one of the seats, but southampton might arrange for the other. about the sussex election he was doubtful, but various friends had promised to do their parts. farnham, he said, returned burgesses (though it does not appear in the _official return_), but that was the bishop's town, "and my lord chamberlain is his steward there; so i forbear to meddle".] [footnote 1082: _l. and p._, xiv., i., 662, 800, 808. by a singular fatality the returns for this parliament have been lost, so there is no means of ascertaining how many of these nominees were actually elected.] [footnote 1083: _ibid._, xiv., i., 573, and "although he fears my lord of winchester has already moved men after his own desires". he also spoke with lord st. john about knights of the shire for hampshire, and st. john "promised to do his best". finally he enclosed a "schedule of the best men of the country picked out _by them_, that cromwell may pick whom he would have chosen".] the principal measure passed in this parliament was the act of six articles, and it was designed to secure that unity and concord in opinions which had not been effected by the king's injunctions. the act affirmed the doctrine of transubstantiation, declared that the administration of the sacrament in both kinds was not necessary, that priests might not marry, that vows of chastity were perpetual, that private masses were meet and necessary, and auricular confession (p. 391) was expedient and necessary. burning was the penalty for once denying the first article, and a felon's death for twice denying any of the others. this was practically the first act of uniformity, the earliest definition by parliament of the faith of the church. it showed that the mass of the laity were still orthodox to the core, that they could persecute as ruthlessly as the church itself, and that their only desire was to do the persecution themselves. the bill was carried through parliament by means of a coalition of king and laity[1084] against cromwell and a minority of reforming bishops, who are said only to have relinquished their opposition at henry's personal intervention;[1085] and the royal wishes were communicated, when the king was not present in person, through norfolk and not through the royal vicegerent. [footnote 1084: "we of the temporality," writes a peer, "have been all of one mind" (_l. and p._, xiv., i., 1040; burnet, vi., 233; _narratives of the reformation_, p. 248).] [footnote 1085: see the present writer's _cranmer_, p. 129 n. cranmer afterwards asserted (_works_, ii., 168) that the act would never have passed unless the king had come personally into the parliament house, but that is highly improbable.] it was clear that cromwell was trembling to his fall. the enmity shown in parliament to his doctrinal tendencies was not the result of royal dictation; for even this parliament, which gave royal proclamations the force of law, could be independent when it chose. the draft of the act of proclamations, as originally submitted to the house of commons, provoked a hot debate, was thrown out, and another was substituted more in accord with the sense of the house.[1086] parliament could have rejected the second as easily as it did the first, had it (p. 392) wished. willingly and wittingly it placed this weapon in the royal hands,[1087] and the chief motive for its action was that overwhelming desire for "union and concord in opinion" which lay at the root of the six articles. only one class of offences against royal proclamations could be punished with death, and those were offences "against any proclamation to be made by the king's highness, his heirs or successors, for or concerning any kind of heresies against christian doctrine". the king might define the faith by proclamations, and the standard of orthodoxy thus set up was to be enforced by the heaviest legal penalties. england, thought parliament, could only be kept united against her foreign foes by a rigid uniformity of opinion; and that uniformity could only be enforced by the royal authority based on lay support, for the church was now deeply divided in doctrine against itself. [footnote 1086: husee (_l. and p._, xiv., i., 1158) says the house had been fifteen days over this bill; _cf. lords' journals_, 1539.] [footnote 1087: parliament is sometimes represented as having almost committed constitutional suicide by this act; but _cf._ dicey, _law and custom of the constitution_, p. 357, "powers, however extraordinary, which are conferred or sanctioned by statute, are never really unlimited, for they are confined by the words of the act itself, and what is more by the interpretation put upon the statute by the judges". there was a world of difference between this and the prerogative independent of parliament claimed by the stuarts. parliament was the foundation, not the rival, of henry's authority.] such was the temper of england at the end of 1539. cromwell and his policy, the union with the german princes and the marriage with anne of cleves were merely makeshifts. they stood on no surer foundation than the passing political need of some counterpoise to the alliance of francis and charles. so long as that need remained, the marriage would hold good, and henry would strive to dissemble; but not a moment longer. the revolution came with startling rapidity; in april, (p. 393) 1540, marillac, the french ambassador, reported that cromwell was tottering.[1088] the reason was not far to seek. no sooner had the emperor passed out of france, than he began to excuse himself from fulfilling his engagements to francis. he was resolute never to yield milan, for which francis never ceased to yearn. charles would have found francis a useful ally for the conquest of england, but his own possessions were now threatened in more than one quarter, and especially by the english and german alliance. henry skilfully widened the breach between the two friends, and, while professing the utmost regard for francis, gave charles to understand that he vastly preferred the emperor's alliance to that of the protestant princes. before april he had convinced himself that charles was more bent on reducing germany and the netherlands to order than on any attempt against england, and that the abandonment of the lutheran princes would not lead to their combination with the emperor and francis. accordingly he returned a very cold answer when the duke of cleves's ambassadors came, in may, to demand his assistance in securing for the duke the duchy of guelders.[1089] [footnote 1088: _l. and p._, xv., 486.] [footnote 1089: _ibid._, xv., 735.] cromwell's fall was not, however, effected without some violent oscillations, strikingly like the quick changes which preceded the ruin of robespierre during the reign of terror in france. the vicegerent had filled the court and the government with his own nominees; at least half a dozen bishops, with cranmer at their head, inclined to his theological and political views; lord chancellor audley and the earl of southamton were of the same persuasion; and a small but (p. 394) zealous band of reformers did their best, by ballads and sermons, to prove that the people were thirsting for further religious change. the council, said marillac, was divided, each party seeking to destroy the other. henry let the factions fight till he thought the time was come for him to intervene. in february, 1540, there was a theological encounter between gardiner and barnes, the principal agent in henry's dealings with the lutherans, and barnes was forced to recant;[1090] in april gardiner and one or two conservatives, who had long been excluded from the council, were believed to have been readmitted;[1091] and it was reported that tunstall would succeed cromwell as the king's vicegerent.[1092] but a few days later two of cromwell's satellites, wriothesley and sadleir, were made secretaries of state; cromwell himself was created earl of essex; and, in may, the bishop of chichester and two other opponents of reform were sent to the tower.[1093] at last henry struck. on the 10th of june cromwell was arrested; he had, wrote the council, "not only been counterworking the king's aims for the settlement of religion, but had said that, if the king and the realm varied from his opinions, he would withstand them, and that he hoped in another year or two to bring things to that frame that the king could not resist it".[1094] his cries for mercy evoked no response in that hardened age.[1095] parliament condemned him unheard, and, on the 28th of july, he was beheaded. [footnote 1090: _l. and p._, xv., 306, 312, 334.] [footnote 1091: _ibid._, xv., 486, 804.] [footnote 1092: _ibid._, xiv., ii., 141.] [footnote 1093: _ibid._, xv., 737.] [footnote 1094: burnet, iv., 415-23; _l. and p._, xv., 765-67.] [footnote 1095: merriman, _cromwell_, ii., 268, 273.] henry had in reality come to the conclusion that it was safe to (p. 395) dispense with anne of cleves and her relatives; and with his will there was easily found a way. his case, as stated by himself, was, as usual, a most ingenious mixture of fact and fiction, reason and sophistry. his "intention" had been defective, and therefore his administration of the sacrament of marriage had been invalid. he was not a free agent because fear of being left defenceless against francis and charles had driven him under the yoke. his marriage had only been a conditional form. anne had never received a release from her contract with the son of the duke of lorraine; henry had only gone through the ceremony on the assumption that that release would be forthcoming; and actuated by this conscientious scruple, he had refrained from consummating the match. to give verisimilitude to this last statement, he added the further detail that he found his bride personally repugnant. he therefore sought from "our" church a declaration of nullity. anne was prudently ready to submit to its decision; and, through convocation, henry's church, which in his view existed mainly to transact his ecclesiastical business, declared, on the 7th of july, that the marriage was null and void.[1096] anne received a handsome endowment of four thousand pounds a year in lands, was given two country residences, and lived on amicable terms with henry[1097] and his successors till 1558, when she died and was buried in westminster abbey. [footnote 1096: for the canonical reasons on which this decision was based, see the present writer's _cranmer_, pp. 140, 141.] [footnote 1097: "she is," writes marillac in august, "as joyous as ever, and wears new dresses every day" (xv., 976; _cf._ wriothesley _chronicle_, i., 120).] henry's neck was freed from the matrimonial yoke and the german (p. 396) entanglement. the news was promptly sent to charles, who remarked that henry would always find him his loving brother and most cordial friend.[1098] at antwerp it was said that the king had alienated the germans, but gained the emperor and france in their stead.[1099] luther declared that "junker harry meant to be god and to do as pleased himself";[1100] and melancthon, previously so ready to find excuses, now denounced the english king as a nero, and expressed a wish that god would put it into the mind of some bold man to assassinate him.[1101] francis sighed when he heard the news, foreseeing a future alliance against him,[1102] but the emperor's secretary believed that god was bringing good out of all these things.[1103] [footnote 1098: _l. and p._, xv., 863.] [footnote 1099: _ibid._, xv., 932.] [footnote 1100: _ibid._, xvi., 106.] [footnote 1101: _ibid._, xvi., introd., p. ii. n.] [footnote 1102: _ibid._, xv., 870.] [footnote 1103: _ibid._, xv., 951.] chapter xv. (p. 397) the final struggle. the first of the "good things" brought out of the divorce of anne of cleves was a fifth wife for the much-married monarch. parliament, which had petitioned henry to solve the doubts troubling his subjects as to the validity (that is to say, political advantages) of his union with anne, now besought him, "for the good of his people," to enter once more the holy state of matrimony, in the hope of more numerous issue. the lady had been already selected by the predominant party, and used as an instrument in procuring the divorce of her predecessor and the fall of cromwell; for, if her morals were something lax, catherine howard's orthodoxy was beyond dispute. she was niece of cromwell's great enemy, the duke of norfolk; and it was at the house of bishop gardiner that she was first given the opportunity of subduing the king to her charms.[1104] she was to play the part in the catholic reaction that anne boleyn had done in the protestant revolution. both religious parties were unfortunate in the choice of their lady protagonists. catherine howard's father, in spite of his rank, was very penurious, and his daughter's education had been neglected, while her character had been left at the mercy of any (p. 398) chance tempter. she had already formed compromising relations with three successive suitors. her music master, mannock, boasted that she had promised to be his mistress; a kinsman, named dereham, called her his wife; and she was reported to be engaged to her cousin, culpepper.[1105] marillac thought her beauty was commonplace;[1106] but that, to judge by her portraits, seems a disparaging verdict. her eyes were hazel, her hair was auburn, and nature had been at least as kind to her as to any of henry's wives. even marillac admitted that she had a very winning countenance. her age is uncertain, but she had almost certainly seen more than the twenty-one years politely put down to her account. her marriage, like that of anne boleyn, was private. marillac thought she was already wedded to henry by the 21st of july, and the venetian ambassador at the court of charles v. said that the ceremony took place two days after the sentence of convocation (7th july).[1107] that may be the date of the betrothal, but the marriage itself was privately celebrated at oatlands on the 28th of july,[1108] and catherine was publicly recognised as queen at hampton court (p. 399) on the 8th of august, and prayed for as such in the churches on the following sunday. [footnote 1104: _original letters_, parker society, i., 202. _cf. l. and p._, xv., 613 [12]. winchester, says marillac, "was one of the principal authors of this last marriage, which led to the ruin of cromwell" (_ibid._, xvi., 269).] [footnote 1105: _l. and p._, xvi., 1334.] [footnote 1106: so says the _d.n.b._, ix., 308; but in _l. and p._, xv., 901, marillac describes her as "a lady of great beauty," and in xvi., 1366, he speaks of her "beauty and sweetness".] [footnote 1107: _venetian cal._, v., 222.] [footnote 1108: this is the date given by dr. gairdner in _d.n.b._, ix., 304, and is probably correct, though dr. gairdner himself gives 8th august in his _church history_, 1902, p. 218. wriothesley (_chron._, i., 121) also says 8th august, but hall (_chron._, p. 840) is nearer the truth when he says: "the eight day of august was the lady katharine howard... _shewed openly as queen_ at hampton court". the original authority for the 28th july is the 3rd rep. of the deputy keeper of records, app. ii., 264, _viz._, the official record of her trial.] the king was thoroughly satisfied with his new marriage from every point of view. the reversal of the policy of the last few years, which he had always disliked and for which he avoided responsibility as well as he could, relieved him at once from the necessity of playing a part and from the pressing anxiety of foreign dangers. these troubles had preyed upon his mind and impaired his health; but now, for a time, his spirits revived and his health returned. he began to rise every morning, even in the winter, between five and six, and rode for four or five hours. he was enamoured of his bride; her views and those of her uncle, the duke of norfolk, and of her patron, bishop gardiner, were in much closer accord with his own than anne boleyn's or cromwell's had been. until almost the close of his reign norfolk was the chief instrument of his secular policy, while gardiner represented his ecclesiastical views;[1109] but neither succeeded to the place which wolsey had held and cromwell had tried to secure. henceforth the king had no prime minister; there was no second vicegerent, and the praise or the blame for his policy can be given to no one but henry. [footnote 1109: it was popularly thought that henry called gardiner "his own bishop" (_l. and p._, xiv., i., 662).] that policy was, in foreign affairs, a close adherence to the emperor, partly because it was almost universally held to be the safest course for england to pursue, and partly because it gave henry a free hand for the development of his imperialist designs on scotland. in domestic affairs the predominant note was the extreme rigour with which the king's secular autocracy, his supremacy over the church, and the (p. 400) church's orthodox doctrine were imposed on his subjects. although the act of six articles had been passed in 1539, cromwell appears to have prevented the issue of commissions for its execution. this culpable negligence did not please parliament, and, just before his fall, another act was passed for the more effective enforcement of the six articles. one relaxation was found necessary; it was impossible to inflict the death penalty on "incontinent"[1110] priests, because there were so many. but that was the only indulgence granted. two days after cromwell's death, a vivid illustration was given of the spirit which was henceforth to dominate the government. six men were executed at the same time; three were priests, condemned to be hanged as traitors for denying the royal supremacy; three were heretics, condemned to be burnt for impugning the catholic faith.[1111] [footnote 1110: 32 henry viii., c. 10. married priests of course would come under this opprobrious title.] [footnote 1111: wriothesley, _chron._, i., 120, 121.] and yet there was no peace. henry, who had succeeded in so much, had, with the full concurrence of the majority of his people, entered upon a task in which he was foredoomed to failure. not all the whips with six strings, not all the fires at smithfield, could compel that unity and concord in opinion which henry so much desired, but which he had unwittingly done so much to destroy. he might denounce the diversities of belief to which his opening of the bible in english churches had given rise; but men, who had caught a glimpse of hidden verities, could not all be forced to deny the things which they had seen. the most lasting result of henry's repressive tyranny was the stimulus it gave to reform in the reign of his son, even as the persecutions (p. 401) of mary finally ruined in england the cause of the roman church. henry's bishops themselves could scarcely be brought to agreement. latimer and shaxton lost their sees; but the submission of the rest did not extend to complete recantation, and the endeavour to stretch all his subjects on the procrustean bed of six articles was one of henry's least successful enterprises.[1112] it was easier to sacrifice a portion of his monastic spoils to found new bishoprics. this had been a project of wolsey's, interrupted by the cardinal's fall. parliament subsequently authorised henry to erect twenty-six sees; he actually established six, the bishoprics of peterborough, oxford, chester, gloucester, bristol and westminster. funds were also provided for the endowment, in both universities, of regius professorships of divinity, hebrew, greek, civil law and medicine; and the royal interest in the advancement of science was further evinced by the grant of a charter to the college of surgeons, similar to that accorded early in the reign to the physicians.[1113] [footnote 1112: henry soon recognised this himself, and a year after the act was passed he ordered that "no further persecution should take place for religion, and that those in prison should be set at liberty on finding security for their appearance when called for" (_l. and p._, xvi., 271). cranmer himself wrote that "within a year or a little more" henry "was fain to temper his said laws, and moderate them in divers points; so that the statute of six articles continued in force little above the space of one year" (_works_, ii., 168). the idea that from 1539 to 1547 there was a continuous and rigorous persecution is a legend derived from foxe; there were outbursts of rigour in 1540, 1543, and 1546, but except for these the six articles remained almost a dead letter (see _l. and p._, xviii., i., introd., p. xlix.; pt. ii., introd., p. xxxiv.; _original letters_, parker society, ii., 614, 627; dixon, _church hist._, vol. ii., chaps, x., xi.).] [footnote 1113: in 1518 (_l. and p._, ii., 4450).] disloyalty, meanwhile, was no more extinct than diversity in (p. 402) religious opinion. early in 1541 there was a conspiracy under sir john neville, in lincolnshire, and about the same time there were signs that the council itself could not be immediately steadied after the violent disturbances of the previous year. pate, the ambassador at the emperor's court, absconded to rome in fear of arrest, and his uncle, longland, bishop of lincoln, was for a time in confinement; sir john wallop, sir thomas wyatt, diplomatist and poet, and his secretary, the witty and cautious sir john mason, were sent to the tower; both cromwell's henchmen, wriothesley and sadleir, seem to have incurred suspicion.[1114] wyatt, wallop and mason were soon released, while wriothesley and sadleir regained favour by abjuring their former opinions; but it was evident that the realisation of arbitrary power was gradually destroying henry's better nature. his suspicion was aroused on the slightest pretext, and his temper was getting worse. ill-health contributed not a little to this frame of mind. the ulcer on his leg caused him such agony that he sometimes went almost black in the face and speechless from pain.[1115] he was beginning to look grey and old, and was growing daily more corpulent and unwieldy. he had, he said, on hearing of neville's rebellion, an evil people to rule; he would, he vowed, make them so poor that it would be out of their power to rebel; and, before he set out for the north to extinguish the discontent and to arrange a meeting with james v., he cleared the tower by sending all its prisoners, including the aged (p. 403) countess of salisbury, to the block. [footnote 1114: _l. and p._, xvi., 449, 461, 466, 467, 469, 470, 474, 482, 488, 506, 523, 534, 611, 640, 641; _cf._ the present writer in _d.n.b._, on mason and wriothesley.] [footnote 1115: _ibid._, xiv., ii., 142; xvi., 121, 311, 558, 589, 590; _d.n.b._, xxvi., 89.] a greater trial than the failure of james to accept his invitation to york awaited henry on his return from the north. rumours of catherine howard's past indiscretions had at length reached the ears of the privy council. on all saints' day, 1541, henry directed his confessor, the bishop of lincoln, to give thanks to god with him for the good life he was leading and hoped to lead with his present queen,[1116] "after sundry troubles of mind which had happened to him by marriages".[1117] at last he thought he had reached the haven of domestic peace, whence no roving fancy should tempt him to stray. twenty-four hours later cranmer put in his hand proofs of the queen's misconduct. henry refused to believe in this rude awakening from his dreams; he ordered a strict investigation into the charges. its results left no room for doubt. dereham confessed his intercourse; mannock admitted that he had taken liberties; and, presently, the queen herself acknowledged her guilt. the king was overwhelmed with shame and vexation; he shed bitter tears, a thing, said the council, "strange in his courage". he "has wonderfully felt the case of the queen," wrote chapuys;[1118] "he took such grief," added marillac, "that of late it was thought he had gone mad".[1119] he seems to have promised his wife a pardon, and she might have escaped with nothing worse than a divorce, had not proofs come to light of her misconduct with culpepper after her marriage with henry, and even during their recent progress in the north. this offence was high treason, and (p. 404) could not be covered by the king's pardon for catherine's pre-nuptial immorality. henry, however, was not at ease until parliament, in january, 1542, considerately relieved him of all responsibility. the faithful lords and commons begged him not to take the matter too heavily, but to permit them freely to proceed with an act of attainder, and to give his assent thereto by commission under the great seal without any words or ceremony, which might cause him pain. thus originated the practice of giving the royal assent to acts of parliament by commission.[1120] another innovation was introduced into the act of attainder, whereby it was declared treason for any woman to marry the king if her previous life had been unchaste; "few, if any, ladies now at court," commented the cynical chapuys, "would henceforth aspire to such an honour".[1121] the bill received the royal assent on the 11th of february, catherine having declined henry's permission to go down to parliament and defend herself in person. on the 10th she was removed to the tower, being dressed in black velvet and treated with "as much honour as when she was reigning".[1122] three days later she was beheaded on the same spot where the sword had severed the fair neck of anne boleyn. [footnote 1116: _l. and p._, xvi., 1334.] [footnote 1117: herbert, _life and reign_, ed. 1672, p. 534.] [footnote 1118: _ibid._, xvi., 1403.] [footnote 1119: _ibid._, xvi., 1426.] [footnote 1120: _lords' journals_, pp. 171, 176.] [footnote 1121: _l. and p._, xvii., 124.] [footnote 1122: _ibid._] thus ended one of the "good things" which had come out of the repudiation of anne of cleves. other advantages were more permanent. the breach between francis and charles grew ever wider. in 1541 the french king's ambassadors to the turk were seized and executed by (p. 405) the order of the imperial governor of milan.[1123] the outrage brought francis's irritation to a head. he was still pursuing the shadow of a departed glory and the vain hope of dominion beyond the alps. he had secured none of the benefits he anticipated from the imperial alliance; his interviews with charles and professions of friendship were lost on that heartless schemer, and he realised the force of henry's gibe at his expectations from charles. "i have myself," said henry, "held interviews for three weeks together with the emperor." both sovereigns began to compete for england's favour. the french, said chapuys, "now almost offer the english _carte blanche_ for an alliance";[1124] and he told charles that england must, at any price, be secured in the imperial interest. in june, 1542, francis declared war on the emperor, and, by the end of july, four french armies were invading or threatening charles's dominions. henry, in spite of all temptations, was not to be the tool of either; he had designs of his own; and the breach between francis and charles gave him a unique opportunity for completing his imperialist projects, by extending his sway over the one portion of the british isles which yet remained independent. [footnote 1123: _l. and p._, xvi., 984, 991, 1042.] [footnote 1124: _ibid._, xvii., 124.] * * * * * as in the case of similar enterprises, henry could easily find colourable pretexts for his attack on scots independence.[1125] beton had been made cardinal with the express objects of publishing in scotland the pope's bull against henry, and of instigating james (p. 406) v. to undertake its execution; and the cardinal held a high place in the scots king's confidence. james had intrigued against england with both charles v. and francis i., and hopes had been instilled into his mind that he had only to cross the border to be welcomed, at least in the north, as a deliverer from henry's oppression. refugees from the pilgrimage of grace found shelter in scotland, and the ceaseless border warfare might, at any time, have provided either king with a case for war, if war he desired. the desire varied, of course, with the prospects of success. james v. would, without doubt, have invaded england if francis and charles had begun an attack, and if a general crusade had been proclaimed against henry. so, too, war between the two european rivals afforded henry some chance of success, and placed in his way an irresistible temptation to settle his account with scotland. he revived the obsolete claim to suzerainty, and pretended that the scots were rebels.[1126] had not james v., moreover, refused to meet him at york to discuss the questions at issue between them? henry might well have maintained that he sought no extension of territory, but was actuated solely by the desire to remove the (p. 407) perpetual menace to england involved in the presence of a foe on his northern borders, in close alliance with his inveterate enemy across the channel. he seems, indeed, to have been willing to conclude peace, if the scots would repudiate their ancient connection with france; but this they considered the sheet-anchor of their safety, and they declined to destroy it. they gave henry greater offence by defeating an english raid at halidon rig, and the desire to avenge a trifling reverse became a point of honour in the english mind and a powerful factor in english policy. [footnote 1125: for relations with scotland see the _hamilton papers_, 2 vols., 1890-92; thorp's _scottish calendar_, vol. i., 1858, and the much more satisfactory _calendar_ edited by bain, 1898. a few errors in the _hamilton papers_ are pointed out in _l. and p._, vols. xvi.-xix.] [footnote 1126: this had been asserted by henry as early as 1524; scotland was only to be included in the peace negotiations of that year as "a fief of the king of england"; it was to be recognised that _supremum ejus dominium_ belonged to henry, as did the guardianship of james and government of the kingdom during his minority (_sp. cal._, ii., 680). for the assertion of supremacy in 1543 see the present writer's _england under somerset_, p. 173; _l. and p._, xvii., 1033. in 1527 mendoza declared that all wise people in england preferred a project for marrying the princess mary to james v. to her betrothal to francis i. or the dauphin (_sp. cal._, iii., 156) and that the scots match was the one really intended by henry (_ibid._, p. 192; _cf. l. and p._, v., 1078, 1286).] the negotiations lasted throughout the summer of 1542. in october norfolk crossed the borders. the transport broke down; the commissariat was most imperfect; and sir george lawson of cumberland was unable to supply the army with sufficient beer.[1127] norfolk had to turn back at kelso, having accomplished nothing beyond devastation.[1128] james now sought his revenge. he replied to norfolk's invasion on the east by throwing the scots across the borders on the west. the warden was warned by his spies, but he had only a few hundreds to meet the thousands of scots. but, if norfolk's invasion was an empty parade, the scots attempt was a fearful rout. under their incompetent leader, oliver sinclair, they got entangled in solway moss; enormous numbers were slain or taken prisoners, and among them were some of the greatest men in scotland. james died broken-hearted at the news, leaving his kingdom to the week-old infant, mary, queen of scots.[1129] the triumph of flodden field was repeated; a second scots king had fallen; (p. 408) and, for a second time in henry's reign, scotland was a prey to the woes of a royal minority. [footnote 1127: _l. and p._, xvii., 731, 754, 771.] [footnote 1128: _ibid._, xvii., 996-98, 1000-1, 1037.] [footnote 1129: see _hamilton papers_, vol. i., pp. lxxxiii.-vi.; and the present writer in _d.n.b., s.v._ "wharton, thomas," who commanded the english.] within a few days of the scots disaster, lord lisle (afterwards duke of northumberland) expressed a wish that the infant queen were in henry's hands and betrothed to prince edward, and a fear that the french would seek to remove her beyond the seas.[1130] to realise the hope and to prevent the fear were the main objects of henry's foreign policy for the rest of his reign. could he but have secured the marriage of mary to edward, he would have carried both england and scotland many a weary stage along the path to union and to empire. but, unfortunately, he was not content with this brilliant prospect for his son. he grasped himself at the scottish crown; he must be not merely a suzerain shadow, but a real sovereign. the scottish peers, who had been taken at solway moss, were sworn to henry viii., "to set forth his majesty's title that he had to the realm of scotland".[1131] early in 1543 an official declaration was issued, "containing the just causes and considerations of this present war with the scots, wherein also appeareth the true and right title that the king's most royal majesty hath to the sovereignty of scotland"; while parliament affirmed that "the late pretensed king of scots was but an usurper of the crown and realm of scotland," and that henry had "now at this present (by the infinite goodness of god), a time apt and propice for the recovery of his said right and title to the said crown and realm of scotland".[1132] the promulgation of these high-sounding pretensions was fatal to the cause which henry had at heart. henry vii. had (p. 409) pursued the earlier and wiser part of the scottish policy of edward i., namely, union by marriage; henry viii. resorted to his later policy and strove to change a vague suzerainty into a defined and galling sovereignty. seeing no means of resisting the victorious english arms, the scots in march, 1543, agreed to the marriage between henry's son and their infant queen. but to admit henry's extravagant claims to scottish sovereignty was quite a different matter. the mere mention of them was sufficient to excite distrust and patriotic resentment. the french catholic party led by cardinal beton was strengthened, and, when francis declared that he would never desert his ancient ally, and gave an earnest of his intentions by sending ships and money and men to their aid, the scots repudiated their compact with england, and entered into negotiations for marrying their queen to a prince in france.[1133] [footnote 1130: _l. and p._, xvii., 1221, 1233.] [footnote 1131: wriothesley, _chron._, i., 140.] [footnote 1132: 35 hen. viii., c. 27.] [footnote 1133: _l. and p._, vol. xviii., _passim_.] such a danger to england must at all costs be averted. marriages between scots kings and french princesses had never boded good to england; but the marriage of the queen of scotland to a french prince, and possibly to one who might succeed to the french throne, transcended all the other perils with which england could be threatened. the union of the scots and french crowns would have destroyed the possibility of a british empire. henry had sadly mismanaged the business through vaulting ambition, but there was little fault to be found with his efforts to prevent the union of france and scotland; and that was the real objective of his last war with france. his aim was not mere military glory or the conquest of france, as it had been in his (p. 410) earlier years under the guidance of wolsey; it was to weaken or destroy a support which enabled scotland to resist the union with england, and portended a union between scotland and france. the emperor's efforts to draw england into his war with france thus met with a comparatively ready response. in may, 1543, a secret treaty between henry and charles was ratified; on the 22nd of june a joint intimation of war was notified to the french ambassador; and a detachment of english troops, under sir john wallop and sir thomas seymour, was sent to aid the imperialists in their campaign in the north of france. before hostilities actually broke out, henry wedded his sixth and last wife. catherine parr was almost as much married as henry himself. thirty-one years of age in 1543, she had already been twice made a widow; her first husband was one edward borough, her second, lord latimer. latimer had died at the end of 1542, and catherine's hand was immediately sought by sir thomas seymour, henry's younger brother-in-law. seymour was handsome and won her heart, but he was to be her fourth, and not her third, husband; her will "was overruled by a higher power," and, on the 12th of july, she was married to henry at hampton court.[1134] catherine was small in stature, and appears to have made little impression by her beauty; but her character was beyond reproach, and she exercised a wholesome influence on henry during his closing years. her task can have been no light one, but her tact overcame all difficulties. she nursed the king with great devotion, and succeeded to some extent in mitigating the violence of his (p. 411) temper. she intervened to save victims from the penalties of the act of six articles; reconciled elizabeth with her father; and was regarded with affection by both henry's daughters. suspicions of her orthodoxy and a theological dispute she once had with the king are said to have given rise to a reactionary plot against her.[1135] "a good hearing it is," henry is reported as saying, "when women become such clerks; and a thing much to my comfort to come in mine old days to be taught by my wife!" catherine explained that her remarks were only intended to "minister talk," and that it would be unbecoming in her to assert opinions contrary to those of her lord. "is it so, sweetheart?" said henry; "then are we perfect friends;" and when lord chancellor wriothesley came to arrest her, he was, we are told, abused by the king as a knave, a beast and a fool. [footnote 1134: _d.n.b._, ix., 309.] [footnote 1135: foxe, ed. townsend, v., 553-61.] * * * * * the winter of 1543-44 and the following spring were spent in preparations for war on two fronts.[1136] the punishment of the scots for repudiating their engagements to england was entrusted to the skilful hands of henry's brother-in-law, the earl of hertford; while the king himself was to renew the martial exploits of his youth by crossing the channel and leading an army in person against the french king. the emperor was to invade france from the north-east; the two monarchs were then to effect a junction and march on paris. there is, however, no instance in the first half of the sixteenth century of two sovereigns (p. 412) heartily combining to secure any one object whatever. charles and henry both wanted to extract concessions from francis, but the concessions were very different, and neither monarch cared much for those which the other demanded. henry's ultimate end related to scotland, charles's to milan and the lutherans. the emperor sought to make francis relinquish his claim to milan and his support of the german princes; henry was bent on compelling him to abandon the cause of scottish independence. if charles could secure his own terms, he would, without the least hesitation, leave henry to get what he could by himself; and henry was equally ready to do charles a similar turn. his suspicions of the emperor determined his course; he was resolved to obtain some tangible result; and, before he would advance any farther, he sat down to besiege boulogne. its capture had been one of the objects of suffolk's invasion of 1523, when wolsey and his imperialist allies had induced henry to forgo the design. the result of that folly was not forgotten. suffolk, his ablest general, now well stricken in years, was there to recall it; and, under suffolk's directions, the siege of boulogne was vigorously pressed. it fell on the 14th of september. charles, meanwhile, was convinced that boulogne was all henry wanted, and that the english would never advance to support him. so, five days after the fall of boulogne, he made his peace with francis.[1137] henry, of course, was loud in his indignation; the emperor had made no effort to include him in the settlement, and repeated embassies were sent in the autumn to keep charles to the (p. 413) terms of his treaty with england, and to persuade him to renew the war in the following spring. [footnote 1136: see for the scottish war the _hamilton papers_, and for the war in france _spanish cal._, vol. vii., and _l. and p._, vol. xix., pt. ii. (to december, 1544).] [footnote 1137: for charles's motives see the present writer in _cambridge modern history_, ii., 245, 246.] his labours were all in vain, and henry, for the first time in his life was left to face an actual french invasion of england. the horizon seemed clouded at every point. hertford, indeed, had carried out his instructions in scotland with signal success. leith had been burnt and edinburgh sacked. but, as soon as he left for boulogne, things went wrong in the north, and, in february, 1545, evers suffered defeat from the scots at ancrum moor. now, when henry was left without an ally, when the scots were victorious in the north, when france was ready to launch an armada against the southern coasts of england, now, surely, was the time for a national uprising to depose the bloodthirsty tyrant, the enemy of the church, the persecutor of his people. strangely enough his people did, and even desired, nothing of the sort. popular discontent existed only in the imagination of his enemies; henry retained to the last his hold over the mind of his people. never had they been called to pay such a series of loans, subsidies and benevolences; never did they pay them so cheerfully. the king set a royal example by coining his plate and mortgaging his estates at the call of national defence; and, in the summer, he went down in person to portsmouth to meet the threatened invasion. the french attack had begun on boulogne, where norfolk's carelessness had put into their hands some initial advantages. but, before dawn, on the 6th of february, hertford sallied out of boulogne with four thousand foot and seven hundred horse. the french commander, maréchal du biez, and his fourteen thousand men were surprised, and they left their (p. 414) stores, their ammunition and their artillery in the hands of their english foes.[1138] [footnote 1138: herbert, ed. 1672, p. 589; hall, p. 862.] boulogne was safe for the time, but a french fleet entered the solent, and effected a landing at bembridge. skirmishing took place in the wooded, undulating country between the shore and the slopes of bembridge down; the english retreated and broke the bridge over the yar. this checked the french advance, though a force which was stopped by that puny stream could not have been very determined. a day or two later the french sent round a party to fill their water-casks at the brook which trickles down shanklin chine; it was attacked and cut to pieces.[1139] they then proposed forcing their way into portsmouth harbour, but the mill-race of the tide at its mouth, and the mysteries of the sandbanks of spithead deterred them; and, as a westerly breeze sprang up, they dropped down before it along the sussex coast. the english had suffered a disaster by the sinking of the _mary rose_ with all hands on board, an accident repeated on the same spot two centuries later, in the loss of the _royal george_. but the admiral, lisle, followed the french, and a slight action was fought off shoreham; the fleets anchored for the night almost within gunshot, but, when dawn broke, the last french ship was hull-down on the horizon. disease had done more than the english arms, and the french troops landed at the mouth of the seine were the pitiful wreck of an army.[1140] [footnote 1139: du bellay, _memoirs_, pp. 785-9.] [footnote 1140: _state papers_, ed. 1830-51, i., 794, 816.] france could hope for little profit from a continuance of the war, (p. 415) and england had everything to gain by its conclusion. the terms of peace were finally settled in june, 1546.[1141] boulogne was to remain eight years in english hands, and france was then to pay heavily for its restitution. scotland was not included in the peace. in september, 1545, hertford had revenged the english defeat at ancrum moor by a desolating raid on the borders;[1142] early in 1546 cardinal beton, the soul of the french party, was assassinated, not without henry's connivance; and st. andrews was seized by a body of scots protestants in alliance with england. throughout the autumn preparation was being made for a fresh attempt to enforce the marriage between edward and mary;[1143] but the further prosecution of that enterprise was reserved for other hands than those of henry viii. he left the relations between england and scotland in no better state than he found them. his aggressive imperialism paid little heed to the susceptibilities of a stubborn, if weaker, foe; and he did not, like cromwell, possess the military force to crush out resistance. he would not conciliate and he could not coerce. [footnote 1141: _state papers_, ed. 1830-51, i., 877, 879; odet de selve, pp. 31, 34.] [footnote 1142: _state papers_, v., 448-52; _harleian ms._, 284; _original letters_, i., 37.] [footnote 1143: odet de selve, _corresp. politique_, 1886, pp. 50-120, _passim_.] * * * * * meanwhile, amid the distractions of his scottish intrigues, of his campaign in france, and of his defence of england, the king was engaged in his last hopeless endeavour to secure unity and concord in religious opinion. the ferocious act of six articles had never been more than fitfully executed; and henry refrained from using to the full the powers with which he had been entrusted by parliament. the fall of (p. 416) catherine howard may have impaired the influence of her uncle, the duke of norfolk, who had always expressed his zeal for the burning of heretics; and the reforming party was rapidly growing in the nation at large, and even within the guarded precincts of the king's privy council. cranmer retained his curious hold over henry's mind; hertford was steadily rising in favour; queen catherine parr, so far as she dared, supported the new learning; the majority of the council were prepared to accept the authorised form of religion, whatever it might happen to be, and, besides the howards, gardiner was the only convinced and determined champion of the catholic faith. even at the moment of cromwell's fall, there was no intention of undoing anything that had already been done; henry only determined that things should not go so fast, especially in the way of doctrinal change, as the vicegerent wished, for he knew that unity was not to be sought or found in that direction. but, between the extremes of lutheranism and the _status quo_ in the church, there was a good deal to be done, in the way of reform, which was still consistent with the maintenance of the catholic faith. in may, 1541, a fresh proclamation was issued for the use of the bible.[1144] he had, said the king, intended his subjects to read the bible humbly and reverently for their instruction, not reading aloud in time of holy mass or other divine service, nor, being laymen, arguing thereon; but, at the same time, he ordered all curates and parishioners who had failed to obey his former injunctions to provide an english bible for their church without delay. two months later another proclamation followed, regulating the number of saints' (p. 417) days; it was characteristic of the age that various saints' days were abolished, not so much for the purpose of checking superstition, as because they interfered with the harvest and other secular business.[1145] other proclamations came forth in the same year for the destruction of shrines and the removal of relics. in 1543 a general revision of service-books was ordered, with a view to eradicating "false legends" and references to saints not mentioned in the bible, or in the "authentical doctors".[1146] the sarum use was adopted as the standard for the clergy of the province of canterbury, and things were steadily tending towards that ideal uniformity of service as well as of doctrine, which was ultimately embodied in various acts of uniformity. homilies, "made by certain prelates," were submitted to convocation, but the publication of them, and of the rationale of rites and ceremonies, was deferred to the reign of edward vi.[1147] the greatest of all these compositions, the litany, was, however, sanctioned in 1545.[1148] [footnote 1144: _l. and p._, xvi., 819; burnet, iv., 509.] [footnote 1145: _l. and p._, xvi., 978, 1022, 1027.] [footnote 1146: _ibid._, xvi., 1262; xvii., 176.] [footnote 1147: see the present writer's _cranmer_, pp. 166-72.] [footnote 1148: _ibid._, pp. 172-75.] the king had more to do with the _necessary doctrine_, commonly called the "king's book" to distinguish it from the bishops' book of 1537, for which henry had declined all responsibility. henry, indeed, had urged on its revision, he had fully discussed with cranmer the amendments he thought the book needed, and he had brought the bishops to an agreement, which they had vainly sought for three years by themselves. it was the king who now "set forth a true and perfect doctrine for all his people".[1149] so it was fondly styled by (p. 418) his council. a modern high-churchman[1150] asserts that the king's book taught higher doctrine than the book which the bishops had drafted six years before, but that "it was far more liberal and better composed". whether its excellences amounted to "a true and perfect doctrine" or not, it failed of its purpose. the efforts of the old and the new parties were perpetually driving the church from the _via media_, which henry marked out. on the one hand, we have an act limiting the use of the bible to gentlemen and their families, and plots to catch cranmer in the meshes of the six articles.[1151] on the other, there were schemes on the part of some of the council to entrap gardiner, and we have cranmer's assertion[1152] that, in the last months of his reign, the king commanded him to pen a form for the alteration of the mass into a communion, a design obviously to be connected with the fact that, in his irritation at charles's desertion in 1544, and fear that his neutrality might become active hostility, henry had once more entered into communication with the lutheran princes of germany.[1153] [footnote 1149: _l. and p._, xviii., i., 534.] [footnote 1150: canon dixon.] [footnote 1151: see the present writer's _cranmer_, pp. 144-60.] [footnote 1152: foxe, on the authority of cranmer's secretary, morice, in _acts and monuments_, v., 563, 564; it receives some corroboration from hooper's letter to bullinger in _original letters_, i., 41.] [footnote 1153: see hasenclever, _die politik der schmalkaldener vor ausbruch des schmalkaldischen krieges_, 1901.] the only ecclesiastical change that went on without shadow of turning was the seizure of church property by the king; and it is a matter of curious speculation as to where he would have stayed his hand had he lived much longer. the debasement of the coinage had proceeded apace during his later years to supply the king's necessities, and, (p. 419) for the same purpose, parliament, in 1545, granted him all chantries, hospitals and free chapels. that session ended with henry's last appearance before his faithful lords and commons, and the speech he then delivered may be regarded as his last political will and testament.[1154] he spoke, he said, instead of the lord chancellor, "because he is not so able to open and set forth my mind and meaning, and the secrets of my heart, in so plain and ample manner, as i myself am and can do". he thanked his subjects for their commendation, protested that he was "both bare and barren" of the virtues a prince ought to have, but rendered to god "most humble thanks" for "such small qualities as he hath indued me withal.... now, since i find such kindness in your part towards me, i cannot choose but love and favour you; affirming that no prince in the world more favoureth his subjects than i do you, nor no subjects or commons more love and obey their sovereign lord, than i perceive you do; for whose defence my treasure shall not be hidden, nor my person shall not be unadventured. yet, although i wish you, and you wish me, to be in this perfect love and concord, this friendly amity cannot continue, except both you, my lords temporal and my lords spiritual, and you, my loving subjects, study and take pains to amend one thing, which surely is amiss and far out of order; to the which i most heartily require you. which is, that charity and concord is not amongst you, but discord and dissension beareth rule in every place. saint paul saith to the corinthians, the thirteenth chapter, _charity is gentle, charity is not envious,_ _charity is not proud_, and so forth. behold then, what love and (p. 420) charity is amongst you, when one calleth another heretic and anabaptist, and he calleth him again papist, hypocrite and pharisee? be these tokens of charity amongst you? are these signs of fraternal love amongst you? no, no, i assure you that this lack of charity among yourselves will be the hindrance and assuaging of the perfect love betwixt us, except this wound be salved and clearly made whole.... i hear daily that you of the clergy preach one against another, without charity or discretion; some be too stiff in their old _mumpsimus_, others be too busy and curious in their new _sumpsimus_. thus all men almost be in variety and discord, and few or none preach truly and sincerely the word of god.... yet the temporalty be not clear and unspotted of malice and envy. for you rail on bishops, speak slanderously of priests, and rebuke and taunt preachers, both contrary to good order and christian fraternity. if you know surely that a bishop or preacher erreth, or teacheth perverse doctrine, come and declare it to some of our council, or to us, to whom is committed by god the high authority to reform such causes and behaviours. and be not judges of yourselves of your fantastical opinions and vain expositions.... i am very sorry to know and to hear how unreverently that most precious jewel, the word of god, is disputed, rhymed, sung, and jangled in every ale-house and tavern.... and yet i am even as much sorry that the readers of the same follow it in doing so faintly and so coldly. for of this i am sure, that charity was never so faint amongst you, and virtuous and godly living was never less used, nor god himself among christians was never less reverenced, honoured, (p. 421) or served. therefore, as i said before, be in charity one with another like brother and brother; love, dread, and serve god; to which i, as your supreme head and sovereign lord, exhort and require you; and then i doubt not but that love and league, that i spake of in the beginning, shall never be dissolved or broke betwixt us." [footnote 1154: hall, _chron._, pp. 864-66; foxe, ed. townsend, v., 534-36; herbert, ed. 1672, pp. 598-601.] * * * * * the bond betwixt henry and his subjects, which had lasted thirty-eight years, and had survived such strain as has rarely been put on the loyalty of any people, was now to be broken by death. the king was able to make his usual progress in august and september, 1546; from westminster he went to hampton court, thence to oatlands, woking and guildford, and from guildford to chobham and windsor, where he spent the month of october. early in november he came up to london, staying first at whitehall and then at ely place. from ely place he returned, on the 3rd of january, 1547, to whitehall, which he was never to leave alive.[1155] he is said to have become so unwieldy that he could neither walk nor stand, and mechanical contrivances were used at windsor and his other palaces for moving the royal person from room to room. his days were numbered and finished, and every one thought of the morrow. a child of nine would reign, but who should rule? hertford or norfolk? the party of reform or that of reaction? henry had apparently decided that neither should dominate the other, and designed a balance of parties in the council he named for his child-successor.[1156] [footnote 1155: this itinerary is worked out from the _acts of the privy council_, ed. dasent, vol. i.] [footnote 1156: this is the usual view, but it is a somewhat doubtful inference. henry's one object was the maintenance of order and his own power; he would never have set himself against the nation as a whole, and there are indications that at the end of his reign he was preparing to accept the necessity of further changes. the fall of the howards was due to the fear that they would cause trouble in the coming minority of edward vi. few details are known of the party struggle in the council in the autumn of 1546, and they come from selve's _correspondance_ and the new volume (1904) of the _spanish calendar_ (1545-47). these should be compared with foxe, vol. v.] suddenly the balance upset. on the 12th of december, 1546, (p. 422) norfolk and his son, the earl of surrey, were arrested for treason and sent to the tower. endowed with great poetic gifts, surrey had even greater defects of character. nine years before he had been known as "the most foolish proud boy in england".[1157] twice he had been committed to prison by the council for roaming the streets of the city at night and breaking the citizens' windows,[1158] offences venial in the exuberance of youth, but highly unbecoming in a man who was nearly thirty, who aspired to high place in the councils of the realm, and who despised most of his colleagues as upstarts. his enmity was specially directed against the prince's uncles, the seymours. hertford had twice been called in to retrieve surrey's military blunders. surrey made improper advances to hertford's wife, but repudiated with scorn his father's suggestion for a marriage alliance between the two families.[1159] his sister testified that he had advised her to become the king's mistress, with a view to advancing the howard interests. who, he asked, should be protector, in case the king died, but his father? he quartered the royal arms with his own, in spite of the (p. 423) heralds' prohibition. this at once roused henry's suspicions; he knew that, years before, norfolk had been suggested as a possible claimant to the throne, and that a marriage had been proposed between surrey and the princess mary. [footnote 1157: _l. and p._, xiv., ii., 141.] [footnote 1158: _acts of the privy council_, i., 104; bapst, _deux gentilshommes poètes à la cour d'henri viii._, p. 269.] [footnote 1159: see the present writer in _d.n.b., s.v._ "seymour, edward"; _cf._ herbert, pp. 625-33. g.f. nott in his life of surrey prefixed to his edition of the poet's works takes too favourable a view of his conduct.] the original charge against surrey was prompted by personal and local jealousy, not on the part of the seymours, but on that of a member of surrey's own party. it came from sir richard southwell, a catholic and a man of weight and leading in norfolk, like the howards themselves; he even appears to have been brought up with surrey, and for many years had been intimate with the howard family. when surrey was called before the council to answer southwell's charges, he wished to fight his accuser, but both were committed to custody. the case was investigated by the king himself, with the help of another catholic, lord chancellor wriothesley. the duke of norfolk confessed to technical treason in concealing his son's offences, and was sent to the tower. on the 13th of january, 1547, surrey was found guilty by a special commission sitting at the guildhall;[1160] a week later he was beheaded.[1161] on the 18th parliament met to deal with the duke; by the 24th a bill of attainder had passed all its stages and awaited only the king's assent. on thursday, the 27th, that assent was given by royal commission.[1162] orders are said to have been issued for the duke's execution the following morning. [footnote 1160: see an account of his trial in _stowe ms._, 396.] [footnote 1161: wriothesley, _chron._ i., 177, says 19th january; other authorities give the 21st.] [footnote 1162: _lords' journals_, p. 289.] that night norfolk lay doomed in his cell in the tower, and henry (p. 424) viii. in his palace at westminster. the angel of death hovered over the twain, doubting which to take. eighteen years before, the king had said that, were his will opposed, there was never so noble a head in his kingdom but he would make it fly.[1163] now his own hour was come, and he was loth to hear of death. his physicians dared not breathe the word, for to prophesy the king's decease was treason by act of parliament. as that long thursday evening wore on, sir anthony denny, chief gentleman of the chamber, "boldly coming to the king, told him what case he was in, to man's judgment not like to live; and therefore exhorted him to prepare himself to death".[1164] sensible of his weakness, henry "disposed himself more quietly to hearken to the words of his exhortation, and to consider his life past; which although he much abused, 'yet,' said he, 'is the mercy of christ able to pardon me all my sins, though they were greater than they be'". denny then asked if he should send for "any learned man to confer withal and to open his mind unto". the king replied that if he had any one, it should be cranmer; but first he would "take a little sleep; and then, as i feel myself, i will advise upon the matter". and while he slept, hertford and paget paced the gallery outside, contriving to grasp the reins of power as they fell from their master's hands.[1165] when the king woke he felt his feebleness growing upon him, and told denny to send for cranmer. the archbishop came about midnight: henry was speechless, and almost unconscious. he stretched out his hand to cranmer, and (p. 425) held him fast, while the archbishop exhorted him to give some token that he put his trust in christ. the king wrung cranmer's hand with his fast-ebbing strength, and so passed away about two in the morning, on friday, the 28th of january, 1547. he was exactly fifty-five years and seven months old, and his reign had lasted for thirty-seven years and three-quarters. [footnote 1163: _l. and p._, iv., 4942.] [footnote 1164: foxe, ed. townsend, v., 692; fuller, _church history_, 1656, pp. 252-55.] [footnote 1165: _cotton ms_., titus, f. iii.; strype, _eccl. mem_., ii., ii., 430.] "and for my body," wrote henry in his will,[1166] "which when the soul is departed, shall then remain but as a _cadaver_, and so return to the vile matter it was made of, were it not for the crown and dignity which god hath called us unto, and that we would not be counted an infringer of honest worldly policies and customs, when they be not contrary to god's laws, we would be content to have it buried in any place accustomed to christian folks, were it never so vile, for it is but ashes, and to ashes it shall return. nevertheless, because we would be loth, in the reputation of the people, to do injury to the dignity, which we are unworthily called unto, we are content to will and order that our body be buried and interred in the choir of our college of windsor." on the 8th of february, in every parish church in the realm, there was sung a solemn dirge by night, with all the bells ringing, and on the morrow a requiem mass for the soul of the king.[1167] six days later his body "was solemnly with great honour conveyed in a chariot towards windsor," and the funeral procession stretched four miles along the roads. that night the body lay at (p. 426) sion under a hearse, nine storeys high. on the 15th it was taken to windsor, where it was met by the dean and choristers of the chapel royal, and by the members of eton college. there in the castle it rested under a hearse of thirteen storeys; and on the morrow it was buried, after mass, in the choir of st. george's chapel. [footnote 1166: the original is in the record office; a copy of it was made for each executor, and it has been often printed; see _england under protector somerset_, p. 5 n.] [footnote 1167: wriothesley, _chron._, i., 181.] midway between the stalls and the altar the tomb of queen jane seymour was opened to receive the bones of her lord. hard by stood that mausoleum "more costly than any royal or papal monument in the world,"[1168] which henry vii. had commenced as a last resting-place for himself and his successors, but had abandoned for his chapel in westminster abbey. his son bestowed the building on wolsey, who prepared for his own remains a splendid cenotaph of black and white marble. on the cardinal's fall henry viii. designed both tomb and chapel for himself _post multos et felices annos_.[1169] but king and cardinal reaped little honour by these strivings after posthumous glory. the dying commands of the monarch, whose will had been omnipotent during his life, remained unfulfilled; the memorial chapel was left incomplete; and the monument of marble was taken down, despoiled of its ornaments and sold in the great rebellion. at length, in a happier age, after more than three centuries of neglect, the magnificent building was finished, but not in henry's honour; it was adorned and dedicated to the memory of a prince in whose veins there flowed not a drop of henry's blood. [footnote 1168: _l. and p._, iv., introd., p. dcxviii.] [footnote 1169: _ibid.; cf._ pote, _hist. of windsor castle_, 1749.] chapter xvi. (p. 427) conclusion. so died and so was buried the most remarkable man who ever sat on the english throne. his reign, like his character, seems to be divided into two inconsistent halves. in 1519 his rule is pronounced more suave and gentle than the greatest liberty anywhere else; twenty years later terror is said to reign supreme. it is tempting to sum up his life in one sweeping generalisation, and to say that it exhibits a continuous development of henry's intellect and deterioration of his character. yet it is difficult to read the king's speech in parliament at the close of 1545, without crediting him with some sort of ethical ideas and aims; his life was at least as free from vice during the last, as during the first, seven years of his reign; in seriousness of purpose and steadfastness of aim it was immeasurably superior; and at no time did henry's moral standard vary greatly from that of many whom the world is content to regard as its heroes. his besetting sin was egotism, a sin which princes can hardly, and tudors could nowise, avoid. of egotism henry had his full share from the beginning; at first it moved in a limited, personal sphere, but gradually it extended its scope till it comprised the whole realm of national religion and policy. the obstacles which he encountered in (p. 428) prosecuting his suit for a divorce from catherine of aragon were the first check he experienced in the gratification of a personal whim, and the effort to remove those impediments drew him on to the world-wide stage of the conflict with rome. he was ever proceeding from the particular to the general, from an attack on a special dispensation to an attack on the dispensing power of the pope, and thence to an assault on the whole edifice of papal claims. he started with no desire to separate england from rome, or to reform the anglican church; those aims he adopted, little by little, as subsidiary to the attainment of his one great personal purpose. he arrived at his principles by a process of deduction from his own particular case. as henry went on, his "quick and penetrable eyes," as more described them, were more and more opened to the extent of what he could do; and he realised, as he said, how small was the power of the pope. papal authority had always depended on moral influence and not on material resources. that moral influence had long been impaired; the sack of rome in 1527 afforded further demonstration of its impotence; and, when clement condoned that outrage, and formed a close alliance with the chief offender, the papacy suffered a blow from which it never recovered. temporal princes might continue to recognise the pope's authority, but it was only because they chose, and not because they were compelled so to do; they supported him, not as the divinely commissioned vicar of christ, but as a useful instrument in the prosecution of their own and their people's desires. it is called a theological age, but it was also irreligious, and its principal (p. 429) feature was secularisation. national interests had already become the dominant factor in european politics; they were no longer to be made subservient to the behests of the universal church. the change was tacitly or explicitly recognised everywhere; and _cujus regio, ejus religio_ was the principle upon which german ecclesiastical politics were based at the peace of augsburg. it was assumed that each prince could do what he liked in his own country; they might combine to make war on an excommunicate king, but only if war suited their secular policy; and the rivalry between francis and charles was so keen, that each set greater store upon henry's help than upon his destruction. thus the breach with rome was made a possible, though not an easy, task; and henry was left to settle the matter at home with little to fear from abroad, except threats which he knew to be empty. england was the key of the situation, and in england must be sought the chief causes of henry's success. if we are to believe that henry's policy was at variance with the national will, his reign must remain a political mystery, and we can offer no explanation of the facts that henry was permitted to do his work at all, and that it has stood so long the test of time. he had, no doubt, exceptional facilities for getting his way. his dictatorship was the child of the wars of the roses, and his people, conscious of the fact that henry was their only bulwark against the recurrence of civil strife, and bound up as they were in commercial and industrial pursuits, were willing to bear with a much more arbitrary government than they would have been in less perilous times. the alternatives may have been evil, but the choice was freely made. no government, whatever its form, whatever its (p. 430) resources, can permanently resist the national will; every nation has, roughly speaking, the government it deserves and desires, and a popular vote would never in henry's reign have decreed his deposition. the popular mind may be ill-informed, distorted by passion and prejudice, and formed on selfish motives. temporarily, too, the popular will may be neutralised by skilful management on the part of the government, by dividing its enemies and counterworking their plans; and of all those arts henry was a past master. but such expedients cannot prevail in the end; in 1553 the duke of northumberland had a subtle intellect and all the machinery of tudor government at his disposal; queen mary had not a man, nor a shilling. yet mary, by popular favour, prevailed without shedding a drop of blood. henry himself was often compelled to yield to his people. abject self-abasement on their part and stupendous power of will on henry's, together provide no adequate solution for the history of his reign. with all his self-will, henry was never blind to the distinction between what he could and what he could not do. strictly speaking, he was a constitutional king; he neither attempted to break up parliament, nor to evade the law. he combined in his royal person the parts of despot and demagogue, and both he clothed in tudor grace and majesty. he led his people in the way they wanted to go, he tempted them with the baits they coveted most, he humoured their prejudices against the clergy and against the pretensions of rome, and he used every concession to extract some fresh material for building up his own authority. he owed his strength to the skill with which he (p. 431) appealed to the weaknesses of a people, whose prevailing characteristics were a passion for material prosperity and an absolute indifference to human suffering. "we," wrote one of henry's secretaries of state, "we, which talk much of christ and his holy word, have, i fear me, used a much contrary way; for we leave fishing of men, and fish again in the tempestuous seas of this world for gain and wicked mammon."[1170] a few noble examples, catholic and protestant, redeemed, by their blood, the age from complete condemnation, but, in the mass of his subjects, the finer feelings seem to have been lost in the pursuit of wealth. there is no sign that the hideous tortures inflicted on men condemned for treason, or the equally horrible sufferings of heretics burnt at the stake, excited the least qualm of compassion in the breast of the multitude; the act of six articles seems to have been rather a popular measure, and the multiplication of treasons evoked no national protest. [footnote 1170: sir william petre in tytler's _edward vi. and mary_, i., 427.] henry, indeed, was the typical embodiment of an age that was at once callous and full of national vigour, and his failings were as much a source of strength as his virtues. his defiance of the conscience of europe did him no harm in england, where the splendid isolation of _athanasius contra mundum_ is always a popular attitude; and even his bitterest foes could scarce forbear to admire the dauntless front he presented to every peril. national pride was the highest motive to which he appealed. for the rest, he based his power on his people's material interests, and not on their moral instincts. he took no such hold of the ethical nature of men as did oliver cromwell, but he (p. 432) was liked none the less for that; for the nation regarded cromwell, the man of god, with much less favour than charles ii., the man of sin; and statesmen who try to rule on exclusively moral principles are seldom successful and seldom beloved. henry's successor, protector somerset, made a fine effort to introduce some elements of humanity into the spirit of government; but he perished on the scaffold, while his colleagues denounced his gentleness and love of liberty, and declared that his repeal of henry's savage treason-laws was the worst deed done in their generation.[1171] [footnote 1171: sir john mason, quoted in froude, iv., 306 n.] the king avoided the error of the protector; he was neither behind nor before the average man of the time; he appealed to the mob, and the mob applauded. _salus populi_, he said in effect, _suprema lex_, and the people agreed; for that is a principle which suits demagogues no less than despots, though they rarely possess henry's skill in working it out. henry, it is true, modified the maxim slightly by substituting prince for people, and by practising, before it was preached, louis xiv.'s doctrine that _l'état, c'est moi_. but the assumption that the welfare of the people was bound up with that of their king was no idle pretence; it was based on solid facts, the force of which the people themselves admitted. they endorsed the tyrant's plea of necessity. the pressure of foreign rivalries, and the fear of domestic disruption, convinced englishmen of the need for despotic rule, and no consideration whatever was allowed to interfere with the stability of government; individual rights and even the laws themselves must be overridden, if they conflicted with the interests of the state. torture was illegal in england, and men were proud of the fact, yet, in cases of (p. 433) treason, when the national security was thought to be involved, torture was freely used, and it was used by the very men who boasted of england's immunity. they were conscious of no inconsistency; the common law was very well as a general rule, but the highest law of all was the welfare of the state. this was the real tyranny of tudor times; men were dominated by the idea that the state was the be-all and end-all of human existence. in its early days the state is a child; it has no will and no ideas of its own, and its first utterances are merely imitation and repetition. but by henry viii.'s reign the state in england had grown to lusty manhood; it dismissed its governess, the church, and laid claim to that omnipotence and absolute sovereignty which hobbes regretfully expounded in his _leviathan_.[1172] the idea supplied an excuse to despots and an inspiration to noble minds. "surely," wrote a genuine patriot in 1548,[1173] "every honest man ought to refuse no pains, no travail, no study, he ought to care for no reports, no slanders, no displeasure, no envy, no malice, so that he might profit the commonwealth of his country, for whom next after god he is created." the service of the state tended, indeed, to encroach on the service of god, and to obliterate altogether respect for individual liberty. wolsey on his death-bed was visited by qualms of conscience, but, as a rule, victims to the principle afford, by their dying words, the most striking (p. 434) illustrations of the omnipotence of the idea. condemned traitors are concerned on the scaffold, not to assert their innocence, but to proclaim their readiness to die as an example of obedience to the law. however unfair the judicial methods of tudor times may seem to us, the sufferers always thank the king for granting them free trial. their guilt or innocence is a matter of little moment; the one thing needful is that no doubt should be thrown on the inviolability of the will of the state; and the audience commend them. they are not expected to confess or to express contrition, but merely to submit to the decrees of the nation; if they do that, they are said to make a charitable and godly end, and they deserve the respect and sympathy of men; if not, they die uncharitably, and are held up to reprobation.[1174] to an age like that there was nothing strange in the union of state and (p. 435) church and the supremacy of the king over both; men professed christianity in various forms, but to all men alike the state was their real religion, and the king was their great high priest. the sixteenth century, and especially the reign of henry viii., supplies the most vivid illustration of the working, both for good and for evil, of the theory that the individual should be subordinate in goods, in life and in conscience to the supreme dictates of the national will. this theory was put into practice by henry viii. long before it was made the basis of any political philosophy, just as he practised erastianism before erastus gave it a name. [footnote 1172: the _leviathan_ is the best philosophical commentary on the tudor system; hobbes was tudor and not stuart in all his ideas, and his assertion of the tudor _de facto_ theory of monarchy as against the stuart _de jure_ theory brought him into disfavour with cavaliers.] [footnote 1173: john hales in _lansdowne ms._, 238; _england under protector somerset_, p. 216.] [footnote 1174: _l. and p._, x., 920; "all which died charitably," writes husee of anne boleyn and her fellow-victims; rochford "made a very catholic address to the people saying he had not come there to preach but to serve as a mirror and example, acknowledging his sins against god and the king" (_ibid._, x., 911; _cf._ xvii., 124). cromwell and somerset had more cause to complain of their fate than other statesmen of the time, yet cromwell on the scaffold says: "i am by the law condemned to die, and thank my lord god that hath appointed me this death for mine offence.... i have offended my prince, for the which i ask him heartily forgiveness" (foxe, v., 402). and somerset says: "i am condemned by a law whereunto i am subject, as we all; and therefore to show obedience i am content to die" (ellis, _orig. letters_, ii., ii., 215; _england under somerset_, p. 308). compare buckingham in shakespeare, "_henry viii._," act ii., sc. i.:- "i bear the law no malice for my death ... my vows and prayers yet are the king's; and till my soul forsake shall cry for blessings on him."] the devotion paid to the state in tudor times inevitably made expediency, and not justice or morality, the supreme test of public acts. the dictates of expediency were, indeed, clothed in legal forms, but laws are primarily intended to secure neither justice nor morality, but the interests of the state; and the highest penalty known to the law is inflicted for high treason, a legal and political crime which does not necessarily involve any breach whatever of the code of morals. traitors are not executed because they are immoral, but because they are dangerous. never did a more innocent head fall on the scaffold than that of lady jane grey; never was an execution more fully justified by the law. the contrast was almost as flagrant in many a state trial in the reign of henry viii.; no king was so careful of law,[1175] but he was not so careful of justice. therein lay his safety, for the law takes no cognisance of injustice, unless the injustice is also a breach of the law, and henry rarely, if ever, (p. 436) broke the law. not only did he keep the law, but he contrived that the nation should always proclaim the legality of his conduct. acts of attainder, his favourite weapon, are erroneously supposed to have been the method to which he resorted for removing opponents whose conviction he could not obtain by a legal trial. but acts of attainder were, as a rule, supplements to, not substitutes for, trials by jury;[1176] many were passed against the dead, whose goods had already been forfeited to the king as the result of judicial verdicts. moreover, convictions were always easier to obtain from juries than acts of attainder from parliament. it was simplicity itself to pack a jury of twelve, and even a jury of peers; but it was a much more serious matter to pack both houses of parliament. what then was the meaning and use of acts of attainder? they were acts of indemnity for the king. people might cavil at the verdict of juries; for they were only the decisions of a handful of men; but who should impugn the voice of the whole body politic expressed in its most solemn, complete and legal form? there is no way, said francis to henry in 1532, so safe as by parliament,[1177] and one of henry's invariable methods was to make the whole (p. 437) nation, so far as he could, his accomplice. for pardons and acts of grace the king was ready to assume the responsibility; but the nation itself must answer for rigorous deeds. and acts of attainder were neither more nor less than deliberate pronouncements, on the part of the people, that it was expedient that one man should die rather than that the whole nation should perish or run any risk of danger. [footnote 1175: "i never knew," writes bishop gardiner a few months after henry's death, "man committed to prison for disagreeing to any doctrine unless the same doctrine were established by a law of the realm before" (foxe, ed. townsend, vi., 141).] [footnote 1176: the countess of salisbury and cromwell are the two great exceptions.] [footnote 1177: _l. and p._, vi., 954. it may be reading too much into francis i.'s words, but it is tempting to connect them with machiavelli's opinion that the french _parlement_ was devised to relieve the crown of the hostility aroused by curbing the power of the nobles (_il principe_ c. 19). a closer parallel to the policy of henry viii. may be found in that which tacitus attributes to tiberius with regard to the senate; "he must devolve on the senate the odious duty of trial and condemnation and reserve only the credit of clemency for himself" (furneaux, _tacitus_, introd.).] history, in a democratic age, tends to become a series of popular apologies, and is inclined to assume that the people can do no wrong; some one must be the scapegoat for the people's sins, and the national sins of henry's reign are all laid on henry's shoulders. but the nation in the sixteenth century deliberately condoned injustice, when injustice made for its peace. it has done so before and after, and may possibly do so again. it is easy in england to-day to denounce the cruel sacrifices imposed on individuals in the time of henry viii. by their subordination in everything to the interests of the state; but, whenever and wherever like dangers have threatened, recourse has been had to similar methods, to government by proclamation, to martial law, and to verdicts based on political expediency. the contrast between morals and politics, which comes out in henry's reign as a terrible contradiction, is inherent in all forms of human society. politics, the action of men in the mass, are akin to the operation of natural forces; and, as such, they are neither moral nor immoral; they are simply non-moral. political movements are often as resistless as the tides of the ocean; they carry to fortune, and they bear to ruin, the just and the unjust with heedless impartiality. cato and brutus striving against the torrent of roman imperialism, (p. 438) fisher and more seeking to stem the secularisation of the church, are like those who would save men's lives from the avalanche by preaching to the mountain on the text of the sixth commandment. the efforts of good men to avert a sure but cruel fate are the truest theme of the tragic muse; and it is possible to represent henry's reign as one long nightmare of "truth for ever on the scaffold, wrong for ever on the throne"; for henry viii. embodied an inevitable movement of politics, while fisher and more stood only for individual conscience. that is the secret of henry's success. he directed the storm of a revolution which was doomed to come, which was certain to break those who refused to bend, and which may be explained by natural causes, but cannot be judged by moral considerations. the storm cleared the air and dissipated many a pestilent vapour, but it left a trail of wreck and ruin over the land. the nation purchased political salvation at the price of moral debasement; the individual was sacrificed on the altar of the state; and popular subservience proved the impossibility of saving a people from itself. constitutional guarantees are worthless without the national will to maintain them; men lightly abandon what they lightly hold; and, in henry's reign, the english spirit of independence burned low in its socket, and love of freedom grew cold. the indifference of his subjects to political issues tempted henry along the path to tyranny, and despotic power developed in him features, the repulsiveness of which cannot be concealed by the most exquisite art, appealing to the most deep-rooted prejudice. he turned to his own profit the needs and the faults of his people, as well as their national spirit. he sought the greatness of england, (p. 439) and he spared no toil in the quest; but his labours were spent for no ethical purpose. his aims were selfish; his realm must be strong, because he must be great. he had the strength of a lion, and like a lion he used it. yet it is probable that henry's personal influence and personal action averted greater evils than those they provoked. without him, the storm of the reformation would still have burst over england; without him, it might have been far more terrible. every drop of blood shed under henry viii. might have been a river under a feebler king. instead of a stray execution here and there, conducted always with a scrupulous regard for legal forms, wars of religion might have desolated the land and swept away thousands of lives. london saw many a hideous sight in henry's reign, but it had no cause to envy the catholic capitals which witnessed the sack of rome and the massacre of st. bartholomew; for all henry's iniquities, multiplied manifold, would not equal the volume of murder and sacrilege wrought at rome in may, 1527, or at paris in august, 1572.[1178] from such orgies of violence and crime, england was saved by the strong right arm and the iron will of her tudor king. "he is," said wolsey after his fall,[1179] "a prince of royal courage, and he hath a princely heart; and rather than he (p. 440) will miss or want part of his appetite he will hazard the loss of one-half of his kingdom." but henry discerned more clearly than wolsey the nature of the ground on which he stood; by accident, or by design, his appetite conformed to potent and permanent forces; and, wherein it did not, he was, in spite of wolsey's remark, content to forgo its gratification. it was not he, but the reformation, which put the kingdoms of europe to the hazard. the sphinx propounded her riddle to all nations alike, and all were required to answer. should they cleave to the old, or should they embrace the new? some pressed forward, others held back, and some, to their own confusion, replied in dubious tones. surrounded by faint hearts and fearful minds, henry viii. neither faltered nor failed. he ruled in a ruthless age with a ruthless hand, he dealt with a violent crisis by methods of blood and iron, and his measures were crowned with whatever sanction worldly success can give. he is machiavelli's _prince_ in action. he took his stand on efficiency rather than principle, and symbolised the prevailing of the gates of hell. the spiritual welfare of england entered into his thoughts, if at all, as a minor consideration; but, for her peace and material comfort it was well that she had as her king, in her hour of need, a man, and a man who counted the cost, who faced the risk, and who did with his might whatsoever his hand found to do. [footnote 1178: in three months of "peace" in 1568 over ten thousand persons are said to have been slain in france (_cambr. mod. hist._, ii., 347). at least a hundred thousand were butchered in the peasants' war in germany in 1525-6, and thirty thousand anabaptists are said to have suffered in holland and friesland alone between 1523 and 1546. henry viii.'s policy was _parcere subjectis et debellare superbos_, to protect the many humble and destroy the mighty few.] [footnote 1179: _l. and p._, iv., introd., p. dcxvi.] index. (p. 441) a. abbeville, 142. abergavenny, baron. _see_ neville, george. abingdon, 128. acts of succession. _see_ succession. adrian vi., pope, 155, 156 _n_, 161, 162. agnadello, battle of, 52, 53. agostini, augustine, 247, 248 _n_. albany, duke of. _see_ stewart, john. albret, jean d', 85, 93, 136, 144. aless, alexander, 347. alexander vi., pope, 212, 229. amicable loan, 165, 243. ampthill, 354. ancona, peter, cardinal of, 212. ancrum moor, battle of, 413, 415. andré, bernard, 20 and _note_, 21. angus, earl of. _see_ douglas, archibald. annates, 290 and _note_, 297, 302, 320. _see also_ first-fruits. anne boleyn. _see_ boleyn. ---of brittany, wife of louis xii., 74, 212, 217. ---of cleves, suggested marriage of, 383, 384; arrival in england and marriage, 385, 386; repudiation of, 210, 392, 395, 397, 404. ---of hungary, 51. antigone, 333. antwerp, 396. apparel, act of, 128. appeals, acts of, 298, 299, 319. aquinas, st. thomas, 123, 334. aragon, 26, 28, 31, 51, 93, 104, 313. -----catherine of. _see_ catherine. -----ferdinand of. _see_ ferdinand. arc, jeanne d', 65. ardres, 64, 141, 143. armada, spanish, 249, 307, 376. army, henry viii.'s, 3, 109, 313, 315, 354; wages of, 57, 58; commissariat difficulties, 68, 69; invasions of france, 64, 80, 160, 161. arthur, king, 14. -----prince of wales, 11, 14, 38, 48, 283, 284. artois, 93, 157. ashton, christopher, 11. aske, robert, 354, 356, 357. athequa, george, bishop of llandaff, 319. attainder, use and meaning of, 36, 37, 390, 404, 423, 436. audley, edmund, bishop of salisbury, 338. -----sir thomas, speaker and lord audley of walden, 273, 278, 330 _n_, 393. augmentations, court of. _see_ court. augsburg, peace of, 429. austria, 26, 30, 51, 104, 382. auxerre, bishop of. _see_ dinteville, françois de. b. bacon, francis, lord verulam, 44. badajos, bishop of, 73. badoer, piero, 49, 53, 67, 78, 109. bagnal, sir henry, 253 _n_. bainbridge, christopher, cardinal and archbishop of york, 1 _n_, 53, 55, 89, 229. bangor, bishopric of, 318. -----bishop of. _see_ skeffington, thomas. barbarossa, 311. barcelona, treaty of, 225, 226. barnes, robert, 193, 394. barton, elizabeth, 305, 324, 374. bath and wells, bishops of. _see_ clerk, john; hadrian de castello; stillington, robert. bavaria, albert of, 28. bayard, chevalier, 54. beaton, david, cardinal, 373, 405, 409, 415. beaufort, edmund, second duke of somerset, 6. -------henry, bishop of winchester, 6. -------john, earl of somerset, 6. -------john, first duke of somerset, 6. -------lady margaret, 6, 8, 10, 20, 24. -------thomas, duke of exeter, 6, 272 _n_. beauforts, the, 6, 8. beaulieu, 11, 375. becket, thomas à, archbishop of canterbury, 106, 270, 271, 372, 377. bedford, earl of. _see_ russell, john. belgrade, surrender of, 164. bembridge, 414. bennet, dr. william, 207. berlin, 68. bermondsey abbey, 5, 10. berwick, 368, 375. biez, maréchal oudart du, 413. bilney, thomas, 272. _bishops' book_, or _institution of a christian man_, 379, 417. blackheath, cornishmen defeated at, 11. bloody assize, 357. blount, elizabeth, 47, 183, 185, 210. -----william, fourth baron mountjoy, 22-24, 183. boerio, dr. baptista, 22. boleyn, anne, henry's passion for, 173, 186-192, 209; her "lutheranism," 203-205, 237, 274, 347, 349, 397, 399; canonical obstacles to her marriage with henry viii., 206, 208; her unpopularity, 250, 314; accompanies henry to france, 294, 295; her marriage, 281, 300, 319, 398; coronation, 300; unkindness to princess mary, 304 and _note_; her issue, 300, 315 _n_, 321, 342, 343, 348, 360; nullity of her marriage, 210, 344, 345; her trial and death, 233, 344-346, 404, 434 _n_. -----george, viscount rochford, 344, 434 _n_. -----mary, 185, 188, 208, 344. -----thomas, earl of wiltshire, 138, 188, 203, 273. bologna, 55, 86, 88, 283, 297 _n_. bolton, william, prior of st. bartholomew, 237. bonner, edmund, bishop of london, 316. -----humphrey, 234 _n_. bordeaux, 131, 156. borough, edward, lord, 410. bosworth, battle of, 3, 7, 9, 11, 49, 79. boulogne, 68, 294; besieged, 133, 160, 412-415. bourbon, charles, duc de, 151, 158 and _note_, 159, 160, 162, 163, 171, 176. bourges, 283. boxley, rood of, 380. bradshaw, thomas, 259 _n_. brandenburg, margrave of, 100. brandon, charles, duke of suffolk, his family, 79; promotion and suggested marriage, 80; his previous wives, 80, 81, 199, 205; embassy to france, 81, 85, 86; marriage to mary tudor, 3, 15, 37, 82, 83; henry's displeasure, 82, 83; his favour with henry, 84; tilts with the king, 41, 95; army under, 159, 160, 162, 354, 412; claim to the throne, 181; objects to legatine courts, 223; other references, 2 _n_, 111, 116, 246, 385. ------william, 79. bray, 160. brereton, william, 344. brescia, 61. brest, blockade of, 63. brewer, john sherren, 84 _n_, 189 _n_, 192 _n_, 197 _n_, 234 _n_, 249 _n_, 252 _n_, 261 _n_, 270 _n_. brian, sir francis, 203. brinkelow, henry, 256, 257 _n_. bristol, 401. brittany, 30, 31. browne, ann, 199. bruges, 111, 145, 146, 155, 281. brussels, 94. brydges, john, 260 _n_. buckingham, duke of. _see_ stafford, edward. bullinger, henry, 380. buonarotti, michael angelo, 44. burgundy, 26, 27, 30, 51, 104, 136, 168. _see also_ netherlands. butler, piers, earl of ormond, 189. -----thomas, earl of ormond, 187. byzantinism, 180 _n_, 370 _n_. c. cadwallader, 5. caistor, 353. calais, 63-65, 74, 83, 93, 97, 112, 114, 129, 131, 139, 140, 142-146, 154, 159, 160, 203, 224, 254 _n_, 308-310, 315, 370, 375, 384; parliamentary representation of, 368. calshot castle, 375. cambrai, 94, 296. -----league of (1508), 29, 52, 53, 90, 98. -----peace of (1529), 224, 246, 250, 309. cambridge, 20, 49, 77, 283, 334, 354. campeggio, lorenzo, cardinal, 97, 112, 155, 184, 185 _n_, 186, 190, 204, 206 _n_, 211, 215-218, 219 _n_, 220 _n_, 222, 223, 225, 237, 238, 247, 270, 311 _n_, 318. canon law, 6, 117, 200, 336, 337, 349. canterbury, 106, 140, 143, 260 _n_, 372. ---------archbishopric of, 16, 296, 298, 318, 329, 417. ---------archbishops of. _see_ becket, thomas à; cranmer, thomas; langton, stephen; pole, reginald; warham, william. capua, archbishop of, 225. carroz, luis, 49, 59, 61 _n_, 62, 67, 70, 76 and _note_, 132, 192. casale, giovanni, 170, 207, 211, 224, 226. castello, hadrian de. _see_ hadrian. castile, 26-29, 51, 52, 72, 75, 92, 104, 167, 176, 313. ------isabella of. _see_ isabella. ------_see also_ philip of burgundy and juaña. castillon, louis de perreau, sieur de, 370. catherine of aragon, marriage to prince arthur, 11, 14, 48, 283; proposals for second marriage of, 26, 27; betrothed to henry viii., 27; possibly taught henry spanish, 22; marriage deferred, 28; marriage to henry viii., 45, 46; coronation, 46; commissioned as ferdinand's ambassador, 51; regent in england, 65; ally of charles v., 137; attends field of cloth of gold, 141, 142; legality of her marriage questioned, 173, 174, 281; premature death of her children, 174-177; divorce threatened, 76, 176; ceases to bear children, 178-181; her conscience, 178; purity and courage of, 192, 193; divorce unjust to her, 193, 212; proceedings against her, 202; correspondence with charles, 220; protests in person against the legates' court, 221; her popularity, 250, 314; championed by charles, 226, 294; alleged nullity of her marriage, 296, 319; sentence by cranmer, 300; her treatment by henry viii. and anne boleyn, 303, 304, 309, 310, 311 _n_; dissuaded by charles v. from leaving england, 311; pope pronounces her marriage valid, 321; her death, 335, 336, 342; other references to, 51 _n_, 70, 106, 200, 208, 210, 216, 251, 259, 265, 275, 282, 289, 304 _n_, 305, 312, 313, 327, 347-350, 364, 428. --------of france, queen of henry v., 5. --------sister of charles v., queen of portugal, 100. --------howard, character before her marriage, 397; her marriage, 398, 399; misconduct, 403; death, 404; her fall impairs duke of norfolk's influence, 416. --------parr, her previous marriages, 410; marriage to henry, 410; her tact, 411; favour towards new learning, 416. caxton, william, 20. cecil, william, lord burghley, 38. cervia, 224, 226. chancery, _see_ courts. chapuys, eustace, 114 _n_, 132, 185, 192 _n_, 194, 197 _n_, 247, 248 _n_, 262, 268, 271 _n_, 273 _n_, 274, 275, 284 _sqq._, 285 _n_, 295, 298, 300, 303, 304 and _note_, 305-308, 311, 313-315 and _note_, 319, 321, 332, 335, 339 _n_, 342 _n_, 343, 345 _n_, 350, 352, 359, 362 _n_, 364, 366, 373, 374, 403, 405. charlemagne, 52, 76. charles i. of england, 25 _n_, 258, 259. ------ii., 186, 432. ------v., emperor, suggested marriage to mary tudor, 26, 28, 45, 48, 65, 72-81, 83; heir to both grandfathers, 51 and _note_; assumes government of the netherlands, 85; succeeds ferdinand, 73, 92, 93; enters into treaty of noyon, 93; difficulties in spain, 96; election as emperor, 100-105; treated by wolsey as an equal, 111; pensions to wolsey, 115, 116; his foreign possessions, 136; reasons for peace with england, 137; invitation to visit england, 139; second meeting with henry, 143; war with france, 144, 148; wolsey's mediation between francis and charles, 145-147; proposed marriage to mary of england, 143, 146, 156; wolsey sides with charles, 148-152; battle of pavia, 154; influence on papal elections, 154, 155; promises to aid wolsey's candidature for the papacy, 161, 162; joins england against france, 159; his supremacy in europe, 163, 164; marriage with isabella of portugal, 167; plans for deposing henry, 180; his morals, 186; champions his aunt's cause, 202, 225, 294; peace with henry, 224; treaty of barcelona, 226; appeal to a general council, 230 _n_; appealed to by wolsey, 247; alliance with clement, 249, 295, 297; alliance with francis, 250, 371, 381, 382, 392; objects to carry out the papal sentence, 309, 310; rivalry with francis, 108, 312, 429; anxious for henry's friendship, 322, 359; engaged in conquering tunis, 334; meeting with francis and paul iii., 372; breach with francis, 404, 405; intrigues with james v. of scotland, 406; secret treaty with henry, 410; peace with francis, 412; other references to, 76, 78, 88, 98, 108, 118, 132, 158, 193-196, 197 _n_, 201, 204, 206, 207, 212, 216, 223, 251, 261, 275, 283, 295, 301, 302 _n_, 304, 308, 311 _n_, 314, 332, 349, 361, 366, 370, 373, 376, 377, 383, 386, 393, 396, 398. ------viii. of france, 10, 30. ------the bold, 30, 51 _n_, 136. charlotte, daughter of francis i., 93, 143. chester, bishopric of, 318, 401. chichester, bishop of. _see_ sampson, richard. ---------bishopric of, 319. chieregati, 95, 96, 113, 121, 135. chièvres, william de croy, lord of, 85, 183. chobham, 421. christina of milan, 370, 371 and _note_, 384. cinque ports, 16. civil law, 38, 334, 362 _n_. clarence, duke of. _see_ george. clarendon, constitutions of, 271. claude, queen of france, 188. clement vii., pope, his policy as cardinal de medici, 148, 152-154, 230; proclaimed pope, 162 _n_; forms the holy league, 168; his imperial interests, 169; confirmed suffolk's divorce, 199; his captivity, 201; gives wolsey legatine powers, 202; warned by wolsey that his fall means ruin to the church in england, 204-206, 211, 212, 237; suggests two wives for henry, 207; anxious to avoid responsibility, 213; urges catherine to enter a nunnery, 213 and _note_, 214; commission to campeggio and wolsey to try the divorce, 214, 215, 221; his indecision, 216, 224-227, 280, 294; instructs campeggio to procrastinate, 216, 222; refuses to declare the brief a forgery, 220; his motives for siding against henry viii., 224, 225; his treaty with the emperor, 225, 226; revokes his commission to campeggio and wolsey, 226, 227; bull of 1530, 281, 282; interviews charles, 295; apparent friendship with henry viii., 296, 297; delays in the divorce suit, 298; prepares the final ban of the church against henry viii., 302, 303, 316; pronounces catherine's marriage valid, 321; his dispensation for the marriage of anne boleyn, 208-210, 344; his death, 322; other references to, 187 _n_, 210, 218, 230 _n_, 247, 276, 309, 319, 428. clerk, john, bishop of bath and wells, 154, 155, 161, 197 _n_, 318, 338. cleves, anne of. _see_ anne. -----duke john of, father of anne of cleves, 382, 383. -----duke william of, brother of anne, 383, 386, 393. coinage, debasement of, 418. coire, 99. colet, john, dean of st. paul's, 134. commons, house of. _see also_ parliament. ------ ----more pleads its privileges, 165, 259; throws out attainder against wolsey, 246; packing of, 252 _sqq._; free speech in, 259, 288, 289; powers of, 259 _n_; feared by the church, 270, 280; audley chosen speaker, 278; refuses to remit henry's loan, 279; attacks abuses, 291; passes act of appeals, 299; waits on henry, 320; passes attainder against cromwell, 390; opposition to cromwell, 391. conquêt, 63. constable, sir robert, 357. constantine, the emperor, 363 _n_. contarini, cardinal, 153, 318, 359. copley, sir roger, 253. cork, 10. corneto, 215. cornwall, dukes of. _see_ arthur, prince, and henry viii. coron, 312. corpus christi college, oxford, 49, 206 _n_. council, ordinary, 364 _n_. ------government by, 364 _n_. ------privy, 288, 289, 356, 365, 403, 416. ------of the north, 358, 366. ------of wales, 364 _n_, 365, 366. ------of trent, 299. court of augmentations, 337. ----chancery, 319, 320, 327. ----requests, 38, 368. ----star chamber, 35, 38, 119, 120, 368. ----wards and liveries, 368. courtenay, henry, marquis of exeter, 183, 305, 374, 375. --------sir william, 374. coventry and lichfield, bishopric of, 318. coverdale, miles, 379. cowes, 57. cradock, sir matthew, 11. cranmer, thomas, archbishop of canterbury, suggests an appeal to the universities, 282; appointed archbishop, 296; expedition of his bulls, 296-298; his court made final, 299; declares catherine's marriage void and anne's valid, 300, 302; crowns anne as queen, 300; declares anne's marriage invalid, 344; licenses henry to marry a third wife, 346; informs henry of catherine howard's misconduct, 403; his hold on henry, 416; discusses the _king's book_ with henry, 417; is attacked, 418; sent for in henry's illness, 424, 425; other references to, 191, 197 _n_, 230 _n_, 282 and _note_, 325 _n_, 327 and _note_, 354, 379, 385, 391 _n_, 393, 401 _n_. croke, richard, 282 _n_. crome, edward, 274. cromwell, oliver, 368, 432. -------thomas, earl of essex, humble birth, 38, 42; rising to notice, 159; opposes wolsey's attainder in the commons, 246, 278; his agents, 254; his interference in elections, 260 and _note_, 261, 317; reports on parliament to the king, 263 _n_; becomes secretary, 273, 323; prepares bills for parliament, 289 _n_, 291; said to "rule everything," 318; anxious to make henry despotic, 323 and _note_, 329; anxious to make henry rich, 341; never in wolsey's position, 350; anxious for government by council, 364; appointed vicar-general, 378; vicegerent, 379; induces henry to marry anne of cleves, 384, 385; packs parliament in favour of his own policy, 392; his fall, 397, 416; created earl of essex; his death, 2, 394; other references to, 290, 325 _n_, 339 _n_, 349, 354, 366 _n_, 381, 399, 400, 434 _n_, 436 _n_. crowley, robert, 257 _n._ crown, succession to the. _see_ succession. culpepper, thomas, 398, 403. d. dacre, thomas, lord dacre of the north, 156, 157, 247 _n_. dante, 29. darcy, thomas, baron darcy, 305, 353-355, 357. deal, 385. denmark, 312. denny, sir anthony, 424. deptford, 126. derby, earl of. _see_ stanley, thomas. dereham, francis, 398, 403. derknall, robert, 260 _n_. d'ewes, giles, 20 and _note_, 21. dinteville, françois de, bishop of auxerre, 280. dispensation, papal power of, 173, 174, 176, 193, 207-209, 212, 213, 218, 219, 284, 344; transferred to cranmer, 320, 346. divorce, the law of, 173 _n_, 208, 218, 219, 344, 345, 395. ------of catherine of aragon, first suggestion of, 76, 173, 176, 197 and _note_; origin of, 173; causes of, 179, 183, 186; motives for, 177-179, 189; wolsey's attitude towards, 204, 205; commission to try, 214 _sqq._, 214 _n_; its influence on the reformation, 232, 238, 428; disliked by the people, 250, 251; decision of the universities, 283, 284, 296, 358; its injustice to catherine, 192, 193; sentence of divorce, 187. ------of anne boleyn, 344. ------of anne of cleves, 395. ------other instances of, 199, 200, 209 _n_, 212. dodieu, claude, 196. doncaster, 356. doria, 216. dorset, marquis of. _see_ grey, sir thomas. douglas, archibald, sixth earl of angus, 88, 200. dourlens, 157. dover, 139, 140, 375. ----castle, 16, 375. drogheda, parliament of, 18. du bellay, john, bishop of bayonne, 185 _n_, 196, 197, 203 _n_, 223-225, 237, 244, 246, 273, 282 _n_, 284, 295 _n_, 319. dublin, 9, 367. dubois, pierre, 329. dudley, edmund, 2 _n_, 44, 48. -----john, viscount lisle, afterwards duke of northumberland, 261, 408, 414, 430. dunkirk, 281. dunstable, 300, 302. du prat, cardinal antoine, 145. durham, bishopric of, 318. -----bishops of. _see_ ruthal, thomas; tunstall, cuthbert. dymock, sir robert, 46. e. edinburgh, 69, 413. --------duke of, 18 _n_. education under henry vii., 19, 20. edward i., 37, 187. -----iii., 180, 182, 346. -----iv., beheads owen tudor, 5; his right to the throne, 7; his descendants and their claims, 8, 9, 181, 183, 305, 314; his daughter elizabeth marries henry vii., 13; his tastes, 15, 39; his marriage pronounced void, 306. -----vi., birth at greenwich, 16, 360, 361; forward as a pupil, 19, 267; proposed marriage of, 348, 362, 408, 409, 415; his claim to the throne, 349; his early death, 12; homilies printed in his reign, 417. -----earl of warwick, 9, 11, 179. eleanor, daughter of philip of burgundy, queen of portugal, 26, 168, 196, 197 _n_. elizabeth, queen, born at greenwich, 16, 300, 301; forward as a pupil, 19; foundress of jesus college, oxford, 21 _n_; contended for the supremacy of the state, 233; arbitrary with parliament, 263, 329; pronounced illegitimate, 343 and _note_, 348 and note; claim to the throne, 348 _n_; other references to, 35, 191, 267, 304, 411. --------of york, married to henry vii., 13; described by erasmus, 20. ely, bishop of. _see_ west, nicholas. --bishopric of, 318. embrun, 86. emmanuel, king of portugal, 167. emperors. _see_ maximilian i. and charles v. empire, holy roman, 32, 101, 108. empson, sir richard, 2 _n_, 44, 48. enclosure movement, 119, 120, 256, 352. erasmus, desiderius, his description of elizabeth of york, 20 and _note_; of henry viii., 22, 23, 40, 106, 122, 123, 125; other references to, 19 and _note_, 89, 115 _n_, 134, 183, 236. essex, earl of. _see_ cromwell, thomas. este, alfonso d', 153. ---isabella d', 135. estrada, duke of, 26. étaples, treaty of, 48, 75. eton college, 426. evers, william, lord, 413. exeter, marquis of. _see_ courtenay, henry. -----bishops of. _see_ fox, richard; coverdale, miles. f. falier, ludovico, 179. farnham, 370. ferdinand of aragon, his negotiations for catherine's marriage, 11, 14, 26, 45, 47; claims castile, 27; his methods of government, 37; advises henry viii., 43, 50; his schemes for the aggrandisement of his family, 50-52, 60; attacks the moors, 55; makes peace with them and attacks france, 56; conquers navarre, 57, 58; betrays henry, 59-62; his duplicity, 61, 70, 72, 73; his death, 92; other references to, 28-30, 51 _n_, 52-54, 67, 75-77, 85, 88, 100, 105, 107, 145, 174-176, 179, 284, 351. --------archduke and emperor, 51 and _note_, 52-54, 61 _n_, 71, 76, 94, 101. ferrara, 100, 153, 159, 283. ferrers, sir edward, 252 _n_. ferrers' case, 258, 259. _fidei defensor_, 107, 126, 325. field of cloth of gold, 141-143, 151, 294. first-fruits and tenths, 324, 327, 336, 368. fisher, john, cardinal bishop of rochester, preaches henry vii.'s funeral sermon, 43, 44; denounces luther's books, 125; defends the validity of catherine's marriage, 222, 236, 282; his treasonable practices, 282, 305; sent to the tower, 324; attainted, 331-333; created cardinal, 332; death, 333; other references to, 1 _n_, 50, 150, 279, 280, 287, 289, 319, 331 _n_, 350, 438. fitzgerald, gerald, eighth earl of kildare, 9, 11, 149, 305, 366, 367. fitzroy, henry, duke of richmond and somerset, 183-185, 197, 213, 348. fitzwilliam, sir william, earl of southampton, 144, 146, 147, 157, 203, 254 _n_, 385, 389 _n_, 390, 393. flanders, 52, 93, 140, 144, 223, 224, 308-311, 358, 359, 373. _see also_ burgundy and netherlands. flodden field, 49, 66, 80, 87, 200, 408. florence, 51, 86, 226. floyd's case, 259 _n_. foix, germaine de, 29, 100. ---odet de. _see_ lautrec. fox, richard, bishop of exeter, afterwards bishop of winchester, baptises henry viii., 16; his fortunes linked with the tudors, 48; chancellor of cambridge, 49; founder of corpus christi college, oxford, 49; an intimate counsellor of henry viii., 49; retires to his diocese, 92; debates the legality of henry's marriage, 174, 198; death, 117; other references to, 62, 98, 109, 114, 158, 159, 273. foxe, edward, bishop of hereford, 211, 214. ---john, martyrologist, 191. france, unity of, 30, 31; roman law in, 32; english antipathy to, 53; invasion of, 57, 60, 62-66; friendship with venice, 61; truce with venice, 60; war against, 64, 65; campaigns in, 68, 69; suffolk's embassy to, 85; wolsey's embassy to, 112, 144-146; treaty with england, 138; henry's visit to, 140-143; war with spain, 144; english pretence to the crown of, 149, 150, 158; suggested assembly of cardinals in, 201; alliance with england, 223; threatens italy from the north, 51, 228, 229; other references to, 29, 108, 181, 204, 220, 370, 373, 393. -----catherine of. _see_ catherine. -----kings of. _see_ charles viii., francis i., louis xi., louis xii. francis, duke of angoulême, afterwards francis i. of france, description of, 39, 78; relations with mary tudor, 78-83; designs on milan, 85, 86; omnipotence in italy, 93; joins second league of cambrai, 94; is deceived by charles v., 96; his efforts to be elected emperor, 98-104; rivalry with charles v., 108, 312, 429; his pensions to wolsey, 115, 116; his claim to naples, 136; wolsey's opposition to, 137 and _note_; is anxious for a personal interview with henry viii., 138, 139; meets henry viii. at the field of cloth of gold, 141-143; his war with charles v., 144-148; his immorality, 150, 186; his influence on the papal election, 154, 155; is convinced of english hostility, 156; english make war on, 157, 158; his defeat at pavia, 30, 163, 164; signs treaty of madrid, 168; suggested marriage to princess mary, 195-197 _n_; his defeat at landriano, 226; is appealed to by wolsey, 247; his alliance with charles v., 250; his meeting with henry at boulogne (1532), 294; disapproves of henry's breach with the church, 306; meditates fresh italian schemes, 310, 351; his meeting with clement at marseilles (1533), 316; orders pole to leave france, 359; his friendship with charles v., 371, 381, 382, 392; his meeting with charles v. and paul iii. (1538), 372; his breach with charles v., 404, 405; intrigues with james v., 406, 409; his peace with henry (1546), 412; his advice about parliament, 436; other references to, 81, 88, 94, 97, 127, 129 _n_, 137, 151, 162, 163 _n_, 169, 173, 193, 216, 225, 280, 297, 302 _n_, 311, 315, 334, 349, 361, 369, 370, 376, 377, 383, 386, 393, 396. -----dauphin of france, 138, 143, 148. frederick ii., emperor, 329. frith, john, 272. fuentarabia, 160. g. gardiner, stephen, bishop of winchester, goes to rome to obtain a commission to try the divorce case in england, 214, 220; would be more powerful if he abandoned his order, 237, 273; his pocket-boroughs, 254 and _note_, 317, 390; secretary, 273; led the bishops in the house of lords to reject the concessions made to the king by the church, 293; retires to winchester, 294; his opposition to the divorce, 306; on parliamentary liberties, 259; on the limits of henry's power, 323 _n_, 330; encounters barnes in a theological discussion, 394; patron of catherine howard, 397, 399; champion of the catholic faith, 416, 418; other references to, 211, 259, 290, 316, 327 _n_, 336, 435 _n_. gattinara, mercurio, 147. gatton, 253 and _note_. gaunt, john of, 6, 180. genoa, 51, 70, 71, 76, 147, 168. george, duke of clarence, 8, 18, 305, 314, 358, 373. germany, 30-32, 69, 101, 104, 124, 139, 272, 311, 381, 382, 393, 418. ghinucci, girolamo, bishop of worcester, 202, 206, 207, 218, 318, 338. giglis, silvester de, bishop of worcester, 86, 229. giustinian, sebastian, venetian ambassador, 67, 72, 77 _n_, 87, 88, 92, 97, 98, 102, 106, 108, 109 and _note_, 110-115, 118, 121, 127, 129, 132, 177, 181, 240. gloucester, 40. gordon, lady catherine, 11 and _note_. grammont, gabriel de, bishop of tarbes, 173, 195-197, 280, 281. gravelines, 143. greenwich, 15, 16, 22, 46, 83, 86, 134, 239, 300, 324, 385. grey, lady jane, 19, 435. ---lord leonard, 366, 367. ---thomas, second marquis of dorset, 37 _n_, 57. guelders, 54, 144, 168, 383, 393. guienne, 57, 58, 61, 62. guildford, 389, 421. guinegate, 64, 65. guipuscoa, 57. guisnes, 129, 140, 141, 375. gustavus vasa, king of sweden, 238. h. hadrian de castello, cardinal bishop of bath and wells, 97, 112, 115. hailes, blood of, 380. hales, john, 433 _n_. halidon rig, 407. hamburg, 311. hampton court, 140, 239, 398, 410, 421. harwich, 375. henry ii., 4, 271 and _note_, 275. ----iv., 4, 6, 15, 180, 232. ----iv. of castile, 207. ----v., 53, 66. ----vi., 5, 7. ----vii., his descent, 5-8; his birth, 7; his claim to the throne recognised by parliament, 8, 13; yorkist rivals to, 9; his sons and daughters, 13; marriage, 13; bestows greenwich on his wife, 15; sends arthur and catherine to ludlow castle, 14; centralising policy, 17; irish policy, 18; renaissance under, 20; praised by erasmus, 23; his theological conservatism, 24; proposes marriages for his children, 26; discusses catherine's dower, 26; suggests marrying her himself, 27; entertains philip of burgundy, 27; designs on castile, 28, 29; his suggested marriage with margaret of savoy, 28, 48; his methods of government, 36-38; last advice to his son, 43; death, 43; funeral and tomb, 44; his treasure, 149, 245, 246; other references to, 79, 80, 173, 178, 180, 182, 183, 232, 284, 374, 409, 426. ----viii., his descent and parentage, 5; birth, 15; baptised and said to have been destined for a clerical career, 16; offices and titles, 16, 17; his tutors, 20-22; his handwriting, 21; studies languages, 22; is visited by erasmus, 22, 23; corresponds with erasmus, 23; studies theology, 24; is devoted to music, 24; his minstrels, 24; his choristers and compositions, 25, 47; becomes heir-apparent and duke of cornwall, 25; created prince of wales and earl of chester, 25; suggested matrimonial alliances, 26; is betrothed to catherine of aragon, 27; protests against the marriage, 28; methods of government, 36; decay of the peerage under, 37; the ministers of, 38, 48-50; peaceful accession, 43; executes dudley and empson, 44; marriage to catherine, 45, 46; coronation, 46, 48; intervenes in favour of venice, 53; renews his father's treaties, 54; his first crusade, 55; joins ferdinand against france, 56; unsuccessfully attacks guienne, 57, 58; his league with maximilian, 61 and _note_; his desertion by ferdinand, 61-63; his success in france, 64-66; the pacific character of his reign, 67, 68; makes the treaty of lille, 69; his honesty, 72, 73; discovers duplicity of his allies, 73, 74; makes peace with france, 74, 75; his promotion of charles brandon, 80; anger at brandon's marriage to mary tudor exaggerated, 82-84; rivalry with francis i., 86, 87; claims title of "protector of scotland," 87, 88; is suggested as emperor, 99, 102-104; allows wolsey much power, 109 _sqq._; his services to the papacy, 107; his book against luther, 123-126; receives title of _fidei defensor_, 126; his political activity, 128-131; his meeting with charles, 139, 140; his meeting with francis at the field of cloth of gold, 141-143; his second meeting with charles, 143; his rights to the crown of france, 149, 158; his recourse to war loans, 164, 165; doubts the legality of his marriage with catherine of aragon, 173, 174, 195-199, 219; the premature death of his children, 174-177, 182; his passion for anne boleyn, 189-192; his conscience, 193, 194, 209, 218; his first steps towards divorce, 198-201; his justification for expecting divorce, 199, 200; licence to commit bigamy, 206; ceases to work in harmony with wolsey, 203, 204; his canonical affinity to anne boleyn, 206-208, 344; is urged by clement to settle the divorce for himself, 213; attends the legates' court in person, 221; praises catherine, 221, 222; finds the impossibility of obtaining a favourable verdict at rome, 226; breaks with rome, 228, 231, 428, 429; appeals to a general council, 230; contends for the supremacy of the state, 233; his support necessary to the church, 238; makes peace with charles, 224; reproves wolsey, 242, 243; the difference between the results of his policy and wolsey's, 244, 245; the difficulty of his position, 250; his divorce interwoven with the question of papal jurisdiction in england, 251; he summons parliament, 251 _sqq._; his harmony with parliament, 256, 261 _sqq._; his observance of the constitution and parliamentary privileges, 258, 430, 435, 436; his interest in parliament, 263; encourages the commons to bring complaints to him, 266; his recognition as "supreme head," 268, 286, 325, 328, 330 _n_, 331; is compared to henry ii., 271 and _note_; his anti-clerical bias, 272, 273, 285; his position between two parties, 276; decisions of the universities, 283, 284, 288; his influence with parliament, 284, 285, 287 _sqq._; meets francis at boulogne, 294; his marriage with anne boleyn, 295, 296, 300; cranmer pronounces the divorce, 296, 300, 302; sentence of greater excommunication drawn up against him, 303; his treatment of catherine, 303, 304; his position abroad, 305 _sqq._; closes the staple at calais, 308; his position at home, 313; his episcopal appointments, 318; his marriage to catherine pronounced valid by clement, 321; becomes more despotic, 322, 323; sends fisher and more to the tower, and the friars observants to the block, 324; position as supreme head of the church, 325-330; executes fisher and more, 331-334; rejoices at catherine's death, 335; obtains the statute of uses, 336; orders a general visitation of the monasteries, 337-339; dissolves the monasteries and divides monastic spoils with the laity, 341; dislikes, divorces, and beheads anne boleyn, 343-346; marries jane seymour, 346, 347; power to bequeath the crown given him by parliament (_see_ acts of succession), 348; his position strengthened by the death of catherine and of anne boleyn, 349, 350; refuses to side against francis i., 350, 351; deals with the pilgrimage of grace, 355; his answer to the rebels, 356; conference with aske, 357; establishes council of the north, 358; his relations with cardinal pole, 358, 359; his good fortune culminates in the birth of edward vi., 360, 361; development of his intellect, 363, 364; completes the union of england and wales, 365, 366; establishes peace in ireland, 367; thinks of marrying a french princess, 369, 370; and then of christina of milan, 370, 371; desecrates the shrine of st. thomas, 372; is excommunicated by the pope, 373; removes possible claimants to the throne, 374, 375; and takes other measures for defence, 375-377; issues the ten articles, 378, and _the bishops' book_, 379; permits the bible in english and destroys images, 379, 380; and dissolves the greater monasteries, 381; issues a manifesto against the pope's authority to summon a general council, and enters into negotiations with the german princes, 381, 382; marries anne of cleves, 382-386; but remains a catholic at heart, 387-389; and presses the six articles, 390; repudiates the german alliance, 393; ruins cromwell, 394; and divorces anne, 395; marries catherine howard, 398, 399; renews his alliance with charles v. and represses heresy, 400; erects new bishoprics and endows new professorships, 401; executes the countess of salisbury and catherine howard, 403, 404; makes war on scotland, renewing his feudal claims to that kingdom, 406 _sqq._; joins charles v. against france, 409, 410; marries catherine parr, 410; invades france and captures boulogne, 412; is deserted by charles, and left to face alone the french invasion, 413; on its failure makes peace with france, 415; issues various religious proclamations and _the king's book_, 416, 417; debases the coinage and appropriates the lands of chantries, 418, 419; his last speech to parliament, 419, 420; his illness, 424; and death, 425; will and burial, 426. -------descriptions of, as a child, 19; on his accession, 39; by mountjoy, 40; by sir thomas more, 48, 428; by falier in 1529, 240; in 1541, 402. -------his popularity, 35, 38; his accomplishments, 22, 25, 39, 40, 239; his athletic prowess, 39-41, 95, 239; his display of wealth, 96; his love of pleasure in the beginning of his reign, 46-48; his morality, 185-187; his love of gambling, 241; his hasty temper, 132, 133; his hardening of character, 240, 323, 402; his affection for mary, 304; his egotism, 427; his imperial ideas, 362-364; his piety, 105, 106, 274; his illnesses, 240 and _note_, 402, 424. -------gradual evolution of his character, 427, 428; causes of his dictatorship, 429; a constitutional king, 430; the typical embodiment of his age, 431; careful of law, but careless of justice, 435; use of acts of attainder, 436; imitates tiberius, 436 _n_; illustrates the contrast between morals and politics, 437, 438; character of his aims, 439; comparison of the good and evil that he did, 439, 440. "henry viii." by shakespeare, 110, 116 _n_, 197 _n_, 434 _n_. henry of navarre, 186. herbert, lord, of cherbury, 16. hereford, bishops of. _see_ foxe, edward, and bonner, edmund. hertford, earl of. _see_ seymour, edward. hildebrand, 233. hobbes, thomas, 433. holbein, hans, 140, 371, 384 and _note_. holy league (of 1511), 55, 64, 88, 107. -------(of 1526), 168-170, 225. ---roman empire. _see_ empire. horsey, dr. william, chancellor of london, 236 and _note_. houghton, john, 331. howard, admiral sir edmund, 63. -----catherine. _see_ catherine. -----henry, earl of surrey, poet, 21, 422, 423. -----thomas i., earl of surrey, afterwards second duke of norfolk, one of the four dukes in henry viii.'s reign, 2 _n_; lord high treasurer, 49; wins flodden and is made duke of norfolk, 68, 80; his opinions on the imperial election, 102; his pensions, 116. -----thomas ii., earl of surrey, afterwards third duke of norfolk, was one of the four dukes in henry viii.'s reign, 2 _n_; his military campaigns, 157, 413, 422; his relationship to anne boleyn, 203, 343 _n_; takes the seal from wolsey, 246; his pocket-boroughs, 253; speaks of the "infinite clamours" against the church, 271, 291; sent to the papal nuncio, 282; talks to sir thomas more of the fickleness of princes, 248; presides at anne boleyn's trial, 344; is sent to the north, 355, 357, 358 _n_, 407; mouthpiece of the king in parliament, 391; his relationship to catherine howard, 397, 399, 416; possibility of ruling during edward vi.'s minority, 421; is attainted, 423, 424. hull, 357. hungary, 51, 226 _n_. hunne, richard, 236 _n_. hurst castle, 375. hussey, sir john, baron hussey, 353. hutton, john, 370. i. imperialism, henry viii.'s, 362, 363. indies, the, 51, 104. innocent iii., 334. inquisition, the, 292. _institution of a christian man_. see _bishops' book_. _intercursus magnus_, 48. ireland, yorkist influence in, 9; rebellions in, 10, 11, 305, 306, 366, 367; henry viii. made lord-lieutenant of, 17; henry vii.'s policy in, 18; english hold over, 245, 250; tributary to the pope, 275; english rule firmly established in, 367; other references to, 131, 150, 373. irish parliament. _see_ parliament. isabella of castile, 11, 14, 26, 27, 30, 51 _n_, 370. isabella of portugal, 96, 167. italy, 29-31, 51, 53, 56, 58, 60, 66, 67, 69-71, 76, 90, 93, 94, 100, 104, 105, 114, 144, 148, 154, 159, 164, 168, 170, 215, 216, 224, 225, 227, 228, 251, 294, 358, 376, 382. j. james ii., 186. ----iv. of scotland, 11, 12, 22, 48, 65, 66, 87, 88, 105, 200, 229, 234. ----v. of scotland, 13, 180, 305, 314, 315 _n_, 357, 369, 373, 402-403, 406. jane seymour, henry's attentions to, 343 _n_, 346-348; her marriage to henry, 346; birth of her son, 360; her death and burial, 360, 361; other references to, 379, 384 _n_, 426. jesus college, oxford, 21 _n_. john, king, 275. juaña, queen of castile, 27, 28, 51 and _note_, 52, 93 _n_. julius ii., his warlike tendencies, 1 _n_, 52, 53, 228; grants the dispensation for henry viii. to marry his brother's widow, 26, 45, 173, 193, 316 _n_; joins the league of cambrai, 29; renews his treaties with henry viii., 54; is besieged by louis at bologna, 55, 56, 106, 107; ferdinand's relations with, 59, 60; supposed existence of a brief of, 218; is succeeded by the peaceful leo, 69; other reference to, 176. k. keilway, robert, 234 _n_. kelso, 407. kent, 11, 252. kildare, earl of. _see_ fitzgerald, gerald. kimbolton, 335. "king john," shakespeare's, 35, 308. _king's book, the_, 417, 418. knight, dr. william, 94, 189, 206 and _note_, 207, 208, 210, 214. l. ladislaus of hungary, 90. lambeth, 120. lancastrian claim to the throne, 7, 8, 32, 180 _n_. ----------rule, 32, 33. landriano, battle of, 226. langton, stephen, archbishop of canterbury, 270. lark, peter, prebendary of st. stephen's, 117, 118 _n_. latimer, hugh, bishop of worcester, 273, 354, 401. lautrec, odet de foix, sieur de, 215, 216, 224. lawson, sir george, 407. lee, edward, archbishop of york, sent to spain to examine the forged brief, 218; opposition to the divorce, 306; letter to cromwell, 366 _n_. leicester, 248. leith, 413. leo x., his election as pope, 229; styles henry defender of the faith, 3, 126; gives henry permission to bury james iv. who was excommunicate, 66; becomes pope, 69; makes wolsey a cardinal, 77 and _note_; interview with francis, 86; forms a holy league, 88, 107; sends campeggio to england, 97; desires neither francis nor charles as emperor, 101, 102, 104; refuses preferment to spanish inquisitors, 105; intercedes for polydore vergil, 112; issues bull against luther, 124; receives henry's book, 126; negotiates with charles, 147; is anxious for family aggrandisement, 153; death, 154; supposed attempt to poison, 230; efforts at reform, 234 _n_, 268; other references to, 70, 100, 108, 121, 146, 234 _n_. _leviathan, the_, by hobbes, 433. lewis the bavarian, 329. lewisham, 15. leyva, antonio de, 163. lichfield, bishopric of, 318. lille, 65, 69, 80. lincoln, 353. ------earl of. _see_ pole, john de la. ------bishops of. _see_ longland, john; wolsey, thomas. lisle, viscount. _see_ dudley, john. llandaff, bishop of. _see_ athequa, george. lollardy, 232. london, 11, 52, 128, 129, 147, 165, 166, 177, 187, 221, 225, 236, 247, 253, 260, 298, 313, 318, 319, 353, 358, 366, 388, 421, 439. -----bishops of. _see_ bonner, edmund; stokesley, john; and tunstall, cuthbert. -----treaty of (1518), 110, 138, 144, 147. longland, john, bishop of lincoln, confessor to henry viii., 198 _n_, 306, 403; defends the divorce in the house of lords, 259 _n_, 318; for a time is in confinement, 402. longueville, duc de, 64, 74. lords, house of. _see also_ parliament. ---- ----passes attainder against wolsey, 246; freedom of speech in, 259 _n_; clerical representation in, 287, 318; is anxious to abolish the pope's authority, 319; henry's last address to, 419-421; passes bills of wills and uses, 293. louis xi., 30, 136. ----xii., joins in league of cambrai, 29; anxious to prevent catherine's marriage to henry, 45; at peace with henry, 47; besieges the pope in bologna, 55, 106, 107; his impiety denounced, 56; his secret negotiations with ferdinand, 59, 60; rumours of his intention to proclaim the white rose king of england, 64; agrees to ferdinand's italian plans, 70, 71; makes peace with henry, 74; marries mary tudor, 74; anxious to attack spain, 75; his death, 78, 79; other references to, 52, 53, 62, 81, 87, 176, 212, 297 _n_. ----xiv., 432. louise of savoy, 138, 150, 167, 201, 224. lovell, francis, first viscount lovell, 9, 10, 50. lübeck, 311. ludlow castle, 14. luke, ann, 16. luther, martin, henry's book against, 24, 123, 124, 126; his books burned in st. paul's churchyard, 125; his books, 272, 388; pope's bull against, 124; other references to, 193 _n_, 351. lydgate, john, 21. m. macerata, dr., 161. machiavelli, nicholas, 69, 276, 436 _n_, 440. madrid, 68. -----treaty of, 168. magna carta, 35 and _note_, 271. maidstone, 380. mainz, archbishop of, 100. manners, edward, third earl of rutland, 253 _n_. mannock, henry, 398, 403. mantua, marquis of, 86. manuel, don juan, 154. marck, robert de la, 144, 168. margaret of burgundy, 9, 10, 51 _n_. -------of navarre, 370. -------of savoy, 27, 28, 45, 48, 65, 73, 80, 81, 89, 139, 224. -------tudor, queen of scotland, her children, 12, 13; visited as a child by erasmus, 22; increases english influence in scotland, 87, 88; divorce granted to, 200, 212; is lectured on her sinfulness by henry, 209, 210; mary's issue preferred to her's, 84, 348. marguerite de valois, 28, 146. marignano, battle of, 86, 89, 132. marillac, charles de, 393-395, 397, 398, 403. marny, harry, lord marny, 50, 355. marseilles, 162, 316. marsiglio of padua, 329 and _note_. martyr, peter, of angera, 66, 176. mary of burgundy, daughter of charles the bold, 30, 51 _n_. ---of guise, 369. ---queen of england, her birth, 176; her claim to the throne, 179, 180, 309, 310, 312, 344, 348 _n_; proposed marriages for, 97, 138, 143, 146, 148, 156, 167, 168, 173, 177, 185, 195-197, 213, 305, 422; her legitimacy, 273, 300 _n_, 348; henry's affection for, 304 and _note_; treatment of, 304, 347, 349; accession, 430; conscience of, 194; persecutions of, 401; childlessness 12; other references to, 261, 342. ---queen of scots, 348, 362, 407-409, 415. ---regent of the netherlands (sister of charles v.), 344 _n_, 370. ---tudor, daughter of henry vii., is visited as a child by erasmus, 22; proposed marriages for, 26, 28, 29, 45, 65, 71-74; marriage to louis xii., 74, 107, 188; her appearance, 78; her marriage to suffolk, 78-85, 83 _n_; her children to succeed to the crown by henry's will, before those of her elder sister margaret, 84, 348; other reference to, 212. mason, sir john, 402, 432 _n_. matilda, empress, 179, 180. matthew's bible, 379. maximilian i., emperor, his designs on castile, 28, 29; marries mary of burgundy, 30; the lands of, 51; his alliance with henry, 61 and _note_; serves as a private soldier, 64, 65; signs the treaty of lille, 69; his intended attack on venice, 70, 71; renews his truce with france, 70, 71; makes a secret treaty with ferdinand, 72; his perfidy, 74; joins the holy league, 88; his milan expedition, 89-91, 93; shifts for money, 89-91; joins second league of cambrai, 94; failing health, 98; death, 99; other references to, 51 _n_, 52, 53, 55, 56, 59, 69, 72, 73, 75, 77, 81, 101, 105, 108, 133. may day riots, 119, 135. medici, cardinal de. _see_ clement vii. -----lorenzo de, 86. melancthon, philip, 396. melfi, 215. membrilla, 50. memo, dionysius, 25. mendoza, inigo de, bishop of burgos, imperial ambassador, 114 _n_, 132, 202, 203, 220. michelet, jules, 32, 36, 142 _n_. milan, 51, 52, 61, 66, 70, 71, 75, 76, 78, 85, 86, 89-91, 93, 99, 101, 107, 108, 115, 116 _n_, 136, 147, 154, 155, 163, 168, 310, 351, 393, 404, 412. military science in the sixteenth century, 68, 69. modena, 153. mohacz, battle of, 164, 312. monarchy, mediæval and modern, 29-32. monasteries, condition of, 338-340; visitation of, 337 _sqq._; dissolution of, 339, 341, 342. moncada, hugo de, 170, 171, 215. montdidier, 160. montmorenci, anne de, grand master of france, 203 _n_, 247 _n_. more, sir thomas, lord chancellor, 2, 273; visits henry with erasmus, 22, 23, 42; a friend of richard pace, 89; opposes the divorce, 293 _n_; resigns chancellorship, 294; anxious for peace, 158, 159; as speaker, defends the liberty of the house of commons, 165; his persecution of heretics, 194 and _note_; denounces wolsey, 278; is sent to the tower, 324; attainted, 331; refuses to acknowledge the royal supremacy, 332; death, 333; other references to, 110, 133, 150 and _note_, 236, 248, 293, 328, 331 _n_, 350, 428, 438. morlaix, 157. mortimer, margaret, 199, 200. mortimer's cross, 5. morton's fork, 49. mountjoy, lord. _see_ blount, william. muxetula, j.a., spanish ambassador, 215. n. najera, abbot of, 163. naples, 29, 51, 52, 71, 93, 100, 101, 104, 136, 147, 168, 215, 216, 225, 230 _n_, 380. napoleon bonaparte, 154. nassau, henry, count of, 144. navarre, 29, 57-59, 75, 85, 93, 96, 136, 144, 147, 148, 168. navy, the, 57, 63, 109, 122, 126, 127, 157, 315, 369, 375. ---the french, 145, 413. _necessary doctrine, the._ see _king's book_. nero, henry viii. compared to, 172. netherlands, the, commercial treaty with, 27; margaret of savoy regent of, 27, 28, 65; joined to austria, 30; aided by henry, 54; armies in, 69; charles assumes government of, 85; maximilian joins charles in, 93; wool-market of, 137, 299; protection of, 156; union with spain, 181; executioners in, 344 _n_; other references to, 96, 104, 272, 370, 383, 393. _see also_ burgundy and flanders. neville, george, third baron abergavenny, 305. ------sir john, 402. ------john, baron latimer, 410. newgate prison, 5. nice, 295, 372. nix, richard, bishop of norwich, 273, 319. nonsuch palace, 239. norfolk, dukes of. _see_ howard. normandy, 148, 150. norris, henry, 343, 345. northumberland, duke of. _see_ dudley, john. -------------earl of. _see_ percy, henry. norwich, bishop of. _see_ nix, richard. nottingham, 248. novara, french defeat at, 66. noyon, treaty of, 93, 94, 147. o. oatlands, 398, 421. orléans, louis d'. _see_ longueville, duc de. ------charles, duc d', son of francis i., 168. ------283. ortiz, dr. pedro, imperial ambassador, 305. oxford, 9, 49, 123, 243, 254, 255, 274, 283, 334, 401. -----earl of. _see_ vere. p. pace, richard, dean of st. paul's, his mission to maximilian, 90, 91, 99; mission to the electors, 102, 103; his treatment by wolsey, 114 and _note_, 116, 129, 130, 155, 161; other references to, 77 _n_, 89, 121, 123, 124, 128, 152, 159, 230, 236, 237. padua, 283, 329. paget, william, first baron paget of beaudesert, 194, 424. papacy, the, its triumph over general councils, 174, 328; its corruption in sixteenth century, 154, 229; becomes increasingly italian, 153, 226, 229, 230; englishmen excluded from, 230; confusion of temporal and spiritual interests, 153, 228-231; its subservience to charles v., 153, 169, 216, 224, 225. papal curia, 230, 294, 300. ----powers of dispensation. _see_ dispensation. paris, 65, 68, 83 and _note_, 127, 141, 283, 358, 386, 411, 439. parlement, the french, 436 _n_. parliament, discredited by failure of lancastrian experiment, 32-34; distrusted by wolsey, 120, 235, 258; revived by henry viii. as an instrument of government, 236, 257, 264; henry's treatment of, 258, 260, 262, 263 and _note_, 264-266; how far packed (in 1529, 1534, 1536, 1539), 252 _sqq._, 252 _n_, 260 and _note_, 261, 389, 390; elections and royal nominations to, 252, 261, 368, 389, 390; extensive powers of, 259 _n_; freedom of speech in, 235, 259, 260, 288; strode and ferrers' cases, 259; resists wolsey's demands (1523), 165; independence under henry viii., 259 and _note_, 262, 264; refuses to grant taxes, 260; rejects statutes of wills and uses, 262, 289, 293; rejects bill against wolsey, 246, 278; rejects first draft of proclamations act, 391; refuses taxes, 246, 260, 289; criticises henry's divorce, 259, 260, 289; modifies government measures, 263 _n_; but supports henry against the church and the papacy, 266, 267; complains of clerical exactions and jurisdiction, 235; and passes measures against them, 279, 289, 293; passes the act of annates, 289, 290; act of appeals, 298, 299, 319; act of supremacy, 325; acts of succession (_see_ succession); other references to, 2, 8, 13, 35, 159, 166, 234, 238, 250, 257, 270, 272, 273, 284, 286, 313, 315 _n_, 329, 336, 337, 341, 348 and _note_, 392, 400, 401, 419-421, 427, 430. _see also_ lords, house of, and commons, house of. ---------of drogheda, 18. ---------irish, 367. parr, catherine. _see_ catherine. pasqualigo, 66, 73, 79, 86, 240. passages, 57. paston, john, 253 _n_. paul iii. publishes bull against henry, 302; creates fisher a cardinal, 332, 350; finds himself powerless to deprive henry of his kingdom, 334; sends pole to flanders, 358, 372; other references to, 339, 361. pavia, 154, 163, 169, 216, 283, 351. peerage, decay of the, 37. percy, henry, lord percy, afterwards earl of northumberland, 188, 344. pescara, marquis de, 163. peter's pence, 320. peterborough, 335, 401. petit, john, m.p. for london, 260. peto, cardinal william, 338. petre, dr. william, 378, 431 _n_. philip of burgundy, king of castile, 23, 26, 27, 38, 51 and _note_, 93 _n_, 137. -----of hesse, 311. -----iv., 329. philippa, granddaughter of edward iii., 180. physicians, college of, 401. piedmont, 351. pilgrimage of grace, 357, 358, 369, 406. pisa, 55, 69. plantagenets, the, 4. plymouth, 14, 55. pole, edmund de la, earl of suffolk, the white rose, 27, 38, 43, 44, 64. ---margaret, countess of salisbury, 358, 373, 403, 436 _n_. ---sir geoffrey, 373, 374. ---sir henry, baron montague, 374. ---john de la, earl of lincoln, 10, 44. ---reginald, cardinal, 1, 305, 332 _n_, 358-360, 369, 372-374, 376. ---richard de la, 44. pommeraye, giles de la, 291 _n_. pontefract, 248, 355. popes. _see_ adrian vi.; alexander vi.; clement vii.; julius ii.; leo x.; paul iii. portsmouth, 413, 414. portugal, king of. _see_ emmanuel. -------queens of. _see_ catherine, eleanor, isabella. poynings, sir edward, 18, 50. poynings' law, 18. _præmunire_, 35 _n_, 120, 234, 246, 284, 285, 349, 381. praet, louis de flandre, sieur de, 113. prester john, 229. privy council. _see_ council. proclamations, act of, 391. protestantism, 194, 232, 272, 326, 380-382, 387, 416. provence, 30, 162. provisors, statute of, 282. q. quignon, cardinal, 202. r. ravenna, 224, 226. reading, prior of, 273. reformation, the, partly due to the divorce, 232, 233; partly due to the anti-ecclesiastical bias of the laity, 267 _sqq._, 272; different aspects of, 325-329; not due to henry viii., 439, 440; other references to, 275, 348. reggio, 153. reigate, 253 _n_. renaissance, the, under henry vii., 20, 31. renard, simon, 261. renée, daughter of louis xii., 61 _n_, 71, 85, 100, 202, 205, 206. rhodes, 164, 312. rich, sir richard, first baron rich, 332, 354. richard iii., 4, 7, 10, 49, 80, 158, 165, 305, 306. ------duke of york, 9, 18, 19. richmond, 20 _n_, 43, 44. -------duke of. _see_ fitzroy, henry. -------earl of. _see_ henry vii. and tudor, edmund. rochester, 385. --------bishop of. _see_ fisher, john. rogers, john, 379. roman empire, holy. _see_ empire. ----law, 3, 32, 38, 323 _n_, 362. rome, 1, 12, 17, 69, 74, 89, 93, 99, 115, 119, 126, 132, 162, 186, 191, 197 _n_, 200, 202, 205, 206, 208, 211, 238, 249, 251, 267, 269, 276, 282, 287, 290, 291, 294, 295, 297, 305, 315, 316, 319, 320-323, 349, 350, 351, 359, 364, 372, 381, 387, 402, 428-430, 439. rose, red and white, union of, 13. ---the white. _see_ pole, edmund de la, and courtenay, henry. roses, wars of the, 5, 6, 181, 429. rovere, francis maria della, duke of urbino, 153. royal marriages, 37. roye, 160. russell, john, first earl of bedford, 307. ruthal, thomas, bishop of durham, one of henry's ministers, 49, 127; appointed privy seal, 92, 273; death, 116, 117. rutland, earl of. _see_ manners, edward. s. sack of rome, 171, 172, 178, 200, 212, 216, 226, 230, 316, 428, 439. sadleir, sir ralph, 394, 402. sagudino, 95. st. albans, 6, 117. --andrews, 88, 248, 415. --angelo, 170, 171. --asaph, bishop of. _see_ standish, henry. --bartholomew massacre, 439. --januarius, 380. --john, 172. -----knights of, 164, 381. --leger, sir anthony, 367. --mathias, 163. --omer, 344 and _note_. --paul, 194, 296, 326. --paul's cathedral, 14, 43, 66, 125. --peter's, 170, 171. --pol, francis de bourbon, count of, 225. salisbury, bishopric of, 318. --------bishops of. _see_ audley, edmund; shaxton, nicholas. --------countess of. _see_ pole, margaret. sampson, richard, bishop of chichester, 394. sandwich, 140. sandys, sir william, 131. sanga, gio. batt., 206, 213 _n_, 216, 225. sarpi, paolo, 16 _n_. _sarum use, the_, 417. savoy, louise of. _see_ louise. ----margaret of. _see_ margaret. saxony, duke of, 103, 383. scarborough, 357. schwartz, martin, 10. scotland, henry viii.'s claim to suzerainty over, 406 _n_, 408, 409; war with, 11, 405-408; roman law in, 32; infant king of, 69; english influence in, 88; albany leaves, 97; english interests in, 149, 150; albany again in, 156; peace with, 315, 324; other references to, 159, 250, 369, 375, 383, 399. scottish borders, 11, 17, 66, 157, 315, 362, 364, 375. scotus, duns, 123, 334. selim, sultan, 164. sessa, duke of, 169. seymour, edward, earl of hertford, afterwards duke of somerset, scottish expeditions, 69, 411, 413, 415; rises in henry's favour, 346, 416, 422; commands in france, 413; speech at his execution, 434 _n_. ------queen jane. _see_ jane. ------sir john of wolf hall, 346. ------sir thomas, 410. sforza, francesco maria, 66, 76, 89. shakespeare, william, 21, 35, 110, 114, 116 _n_, 197 _n_, 308, 434 _n_. shanklin chine, 414. shaxton, nicholas, bishop of salisbury, 401. sheen, 43. sheffield, sir robert, 113. ships:- _great harry_ or _henry grace à dieu_, 140. _henry imperial_, 63, 363. _katherine pleasaunce_, 140. _mary rose_, 157, 414. _princess mary_, 127. _royal george_, 414. shoreham, 414. shrewsbury, 252 _n_. ---------earl of. _see_ talbot, george. sibylla of cleves, 383. sicily, 230 _n_. simnel, lambert, 9, 10, 18. sinclair, oliver, 407. sittingbourne, 385. six articles, the, 390, 392, 400, 401, 411, 415, 418, 431. skeffington, thomas, bishop of bangor, 114 _n_. ----------sir william, 366. skelton, john, 19, 21 and _note_, 66, 338. smeaton, mark, 344, 345. smithfield, 400. solway moss, 407, 408. somerset, charles, lord herbert, afterwards earl of worcester, 50, 110, 122. -------duke of. _see_ seymour, edward. southampton, 52, 57, 127, 390. ----------earls of. _see_ fitzwilliam, sir william; wriothesley, sir thomas. southwell, sir richard, 423. spain, 31, 32, 57, 69, 73, 75, 78, 94, 95, 101, 104, 108, 137, 139, 143, 156, 159, 162, 166, 167, 178, 181, 201, 218, 223, 228, 292, 301, 309, 312, 316, 370, 382. spanish alliance, 26, 143, 410. spithead, 414. spurs, battle of, 64, 65, 74. stafford, edward, third duke of buckingham, 9, 37 _n_, 38, 50, 111, 118, 179, 181, 182, 248, 434 _n_. -------henry, earl of wiltshire, 50. stafileo, dean of the rota, 197 _n_. standish, henry, bishop of st. asaph, 130, 234-236, 259 _n_, 269. stanley, thomas, first earl of derby, 8. ------sir william, 10. star chamber. _see_ court. stephen, king, 180. stewart, henry, first lord methven, 200. ------john, duke of albany, 87, 88, 97, 156, 157. stile, john, 37 _n_. stillington, robert, bishop of bath and wells, 306. stirling, 88. stoke-on-trent, 10. stokesley, john, bishop of london, 259 _n_, 282 _n_, 300, 327 _n_. strode's case, 259. stuarts, the, 8, 32, 35 and _note_, 233, 261, 341, 366. succession to the crown, 179-184, 348 _n_; denied to women, 179, 180. ---------acts of, 321, 324, 348. suffolk, countess of. _see_ pole, margaret. ------duke of. _see_ brandon, charles. ------earl of. _see_ pole, edmund de la. supreme head, henry viii. as, 268, 286, 325, 328, 330 _n_, 331, 377, 378, 421. surgeons, college of, 401. surrey, earl of. _see_ howard, henry. switzerland, 272. swynford, catherine, 6. t. talbot, george, fourth earl of shrewsbury, 50, 355 _n_. tarbes, bishop of. _see_ grammont, gabriel de. taunton, 255. taylor, dr. john, 64 _n_, 235, 236. ten articles, the, 378. thames, 63. thérouanne, 64, 65. thomas, st. _see_ aquinas. torregiano, pietro, 44. torture, use of, 432. toulouse, 283. tournay, 10, 65, 68, 73, 74, 77, 80, 115, 181. tower of london, 2, 10, 19, 38, 44, 50, 112, 114 and _note_, 272, 324, 332, 345, 367, 374, 394, 402-404, 422-424. trinity house, 126. tudors, the, pedigree of, 5, 7, 8, 14; infant mortality of, 12, 174-177, 342, 343; education of, 19; orthodoxy of, 24; courage of, 63; liveries of, 21; adulation paid to, 32, 35, 36, 239, 248; autocracy, characteristics of, 38, 233, 433, 435; government of, 30, 34, 36, 134, 270, 279 _n_, 329, 366, 368, 430, 434; discontent under, 256, 313. tudor, edmund, earl of richmond, 5, 6. ---- -----duke of somerset, son of henry vii., 22, 38. ----jasper, 5. ----owen, 5, 6. tunstall, cuthbert, bishop of london and durham, his opinions on foreign policy, 92, 94; present at the burning of luther's books, 125; wide discretion allowed him by henry, 133; sent to spain, 166; is lord privy seal, 273; is not summoned to parliament (1532), 289; in opposition to the divorce, 306; president of the council of the north, 358; other references to, 102, 289, 297 _n_, 386, 394. tyndale, william, 272, 274. u. uniformity, act of, 391, 417. urbino, the pope's seizure of, 376. -----duke of. _see_ rovere. v. vaux, john joachim, 247 _n_. vendôme, duc de, 160. venice, 25, 29, 51-54, 61, 69-71, 76, 89, 90, 99, 112, 114, 118, 159, 168, 224. vere, john de, thirteenth earl of oxford, 355 _n_. vergil, polydore, 77, 111, 112, 182. vinci, leonardo da, 140. vinea, peter de, 329. w. wales, 315, 364 and _note_. ----prince of. _see_ arthur, prince; _also_ henry viii. ----statute of, 365-367. wallop, sir john, 402, 410. walsingham, sir edmund, lieutenant of the tower, 272. ---------sir francis, 38. warbeck, perkin, 10, 11, 18, 19. warham, william, archbishop of canterbury, marries henry viii. to catherine of aragon, and crowns them, 46, 48; is diplomatist, lord chancellor and archbishop, 48, 92, 258; is chancellor of oxford university, 49; is present at the burning of luther's books, 125; debates the legality of henry's marriage, 174; his views on papal authority, 269; compares henry viii. with henry ii., 271; but admits that _ira principis mors est_, 270; death, 296; other references to, 120, 248, 286. warwick, earl of. _see_ edward. waterford, 11. welz, 99. west, nicholas, bishop of ely, 110, 122, 338. westminster, 2, 278, 421, 424. ----------abbey, 5, 44, 46, 175, 300, 395, 426. ----------bishopric of, 401. weston, sir francis, 344. whitehall palace, 239, 421. wight, isle of, 375. william the conqueror, 3. ------iii., 186. wills and uses, statute of, 262, 289, 293, 336. wilton, 242. wiltshire, earls of. _see_ boleyn, thomas; stafford, henry. winchcombe, abbot of, 234, 235. winchester, 14, 198, 247, 254, 255, 294, 318. ---------bishops of. _see_ beaufort, henry; fox, richard; gardiner, stephen. windsor, 156, 157, 167, 361, 421, 425, 426. ------sir andrew, 119. wingfield, sir richard, 166. --------sir robert, 91. woking, 421. wolf, john, 259 _n_. wolman, dr. richard, 198, 199. wolsey, thomas, cardinal archbishop of york, his birth, 38; becomes henry's almoner and member of council, 56; his industry and many preferments, 177 and _note_; is made cardinal, 77 and _note_; is made legate, 97; his domestic policy, peacefulness of, 119; his distrust of parliaments, 120, 235, 258; his partnership with the king, 121, 122, 129-132; his neglect of the navy, 127; his demands for money, 164, 165; his results contrasted with henry's, 244; his foreign policy, 56, 62, 77, 78, 89, 98, 108-110, 137 and _note_, 144-147, 160, 166, 167; opposition to his foreign policy, 92; results of his foreign policy, 163, 164, 224, 245, 246; his alliances with charles v., 148-152, 156, 157; his alliances with francis i., 141, 142, 195; conducts the conference at calais, 144-147; is a candidate for the papacy, 146, 154, 155, 230; his projects for ecclesiastical reform, 268, 269, 338; suppresses monasteries, 338; his educational endowments, 243, 338; his wealth, 97, 115, 209; his pensions, 115, 116; his arrogance, 109 _sqq._; his jealousy of others, 82, 83, 112-114, 182 and _note_; his mistress and children, 117, 118; his impatient temper, 132, 133; his genius for diplomacy, 135, 136; his character by giustinian, 118; his unpopularity, 203; his first steps towards the divorce, 198, 200; visits france in connection with the divorce, 201, 202; his commission with campeggio to try, and the trial of, the divorce, 214, 221-223; his fall precipitated by his failure to obtain the divorce, 154, 204, 223, 239; his fall involves the ruin of the church, 211, 237, 238; his real attitude towards the divorce, 205, 206; his attainder passed in the house of lords, but rejected in the house of commons, 246, 247; devotes his last days to his archiepiscopal duties, 247; accused of treason and arrested, 247; his remarks on the fickleness of royal favour; and his death, 248; other references to, 66, 81, 94, 119, 123, 138, 141, 142, 177, 235, 242, 248 _n_, 251, 272, 273, 278, 350, 399, 401, 410, 426, 439. woodstock, 177. woodville, elizabeth, 15. woolwich, 126. worcester, 254 _n_. --------bishopric of, 318. --------bishops of. _see_ ghinucci, girolamo; giglis, sylvester de; latimer, hugh; pace, richard. --------cathedral, 14. --------earl of. _see_ somerset, charles. worsley, sir james, 259 _n_. wotton, dr. nicholas, 384. wriothesley, sir thomas, afterwards earl of southampton, 390, 394, 402, 411, 423. wulford, ralf, 11. würtemberg, 311. wyatt, sir thomas, 188 and _note_, 189, 402. wycliffe, john, 232, 270, 274. wynter, thomas, 118. x. ximenes, cardinal, 73. y. york, 9, 39, 114, 247, 358, 403, 406. ---archbishopric of, 88, 117, 298, 318, 329. york, archbishops of. _see_ bainbridge, christopher; lee, edward; wolsey, thomas. ---dukes of. _see_ richard; henry viii.; charles i. of england. ---house, 239. yorkist claimants, 9-11, 13. ------plots, 9-11, 15. z. zapolya, john, 226 _n_. zurich, 89. printed in great britain at the university press, aberdeen google books (the university of virginia) 1. page scan source: https://books.google.com/books?id=rkheaaaayaaj (the university of virginia) 2. the diphthong oe is represented by [oe]. darnley or, the field of the cloth of gold, vol. 6 darnley. _by_ g. p. r. james london george routledge and sons limited mdcccciii. _the introduction is written by_ laurie magnus, m.a.: _the title-page is designed by_ ivor i. j. symes. introduction. george payne rainsford james, historiographer royal to king william iv., was born in london in the first year of the nineteenth century, and died at venice in 1860. his comparatively short life was exceptionally full and active. he was historian, politician and traveller, the reputed author of upwards of a hundred novels, the compiler and editor of nearly half as many volumes of letters, memoirs, and biographies, a poet and a pamphleteer, and, during the last ten years of his life, british consul successively in massachusetts, norfolk (virginia), and venice. he was on terms of friendship with most of the eminent men of his day. scott, on whose style he founded his own, encouraged him to persevere in his career as a novelist; washington irving admired him, and walter savage landor composed an epitaph to his memory. he achieved the distinction of being twice burlesqued by thackeray, and two columns are devoted to an account of him in the new "dictionary of national biography." each generation follows its own gods, and g. p. r. james was, perhaps, too prolific an author to maintain the popularity which made him "in some ways the most successful novelist of his time." but his work bears selection and revival. it possesses the qualities of seriousness and interest; his best historical novels are faithful in setting and free in movement. his narrative is clear, his history conscientious, and his plots are well-conceived. english learning and literature are enriched by the work of this writer, who made vivid every epoch in the world's history by the charm of his romance. the parodists of g. p. r. james have been quick to remark the sameness of his openings. he has established a kind of 'james-gambit' in historical fiction, and the present romance is no exception to the rule. once more the irrepressible horseman is riding along the inevitable road, and once more the first chapter is devoted to a careful description of the traveller's accoutrements--material and moral. it is not inappropriately, therefore, that james selected as his motto for this chapter dryden's conventional lines, "in this king arthur's reign, a lusty knight was pricking o'er the plain." donne, cowley, ben jonson, dryden, shakespeare, these are the authors to whom james has chiefly gone for his poetical headings to the chapters of this novel. the feature is a rare one in his works, nor can it truthfully be said that the literary flavour thus imparted is maintained by the text of the book. there is more familiarity, more banality, in its style than is common in james's writings. it is odd, for instance, to read the first paragraph of chapter xvii.--"oh, the man in the moon! the man in the moon! what a prodigious sackful of good resolutions you must have, all broken through the middle ...."--immediately after a solemn quotation from _macbeth_; and a yet more flagrant example occurs at the beginning of chapter xxxix., where a couplet from shakespeare is again used to usher in the following triumph of bathos: "and where was osborne darnley all this while? wait a little, dearly-beloved, and you shall hear more." it should be added that the first sentence is not an intentional pentameter. but, however severely the shortcomings of style may be criticised in a writer who 'broke the record' for rapidity of production, james hardly ever fails to tell a good story, with plenty of adventure and accuracy of learning. "darnley" does not fall behind the rest in these respects. the date is fixed in the first line, as well as in the sub-title, and the gorgeous festivities of midsummer, 1520, as well as the character of king henry viii., are admirably conceived and described. the original picture of the scene in the field near calais, which is preserved at hampton court, should be visited by readers of this volume. those curious in bibliography, by the way, will discover on page 372 a notable instance of want of skill in the abridgment of "darnley" by james or his editors. darnley. chapter i. in this king arthur's reign, a lusty knight was pricking o'er the plain.--dryden. on the morning of the 24th day of march, 1520, a traveller was seen riding in the small, rugged cross-road which, traversing the eastern part of kent, formed the immediate communication between wye[1] and canterbury. far be it from me to insinuate that this road pursued anything like a direct course from the one place to the other: on the contrary, it seemed, like a serpent, to get on only by twisting; and yet truly, as its track now lies pictured on the old county map before me, i can discover no possible reason for its various contortions, inasmuch as they avoid neither ascents nor descents, but proceed alike over rough and smooth, hill and dale, appearing only to wind about for the sake of variety. i can conceive the engineer who planned it laughing in his sleeve at the consummate meanderings which he compelled his travellers to undergo. however, as at the time i speak of this was the only road through that part of the country, every traveller was obliged to content himself with it, such as it was, notwithstanding both its circumvolutions and its ruggedness. indeed, the horseman and his beast, who on the afore-mentioned morning journeyed on together towards canterbury, were apparently well calculated to encounter what the profane vulgar call the ups and downs of life; for never a stouter cavalier mounted horse, and never a stouter horse was mounted by cavalier; and there was something in the strong, quadrate form of each, in the bold, free movement of every limb, and in the firm, martial regularity of their pace, which spoke a habitual consciousness of tried and unfailing power. the rider was a man of about five or six-and-twenty, perhaps not so old; but the hardy exposed life which had dyed his florid cheek with a tinge of deep brown, had given also to his figure that look of set, mature strength which is not usually concomitant with youth. but strength with him had nothing of ungracefulness, for the very vigour of his limbs gave them ease of motion. yet there was something more in his aspect and in his carriage than can rightly be attributed to the grace induced by habits of martial exercise, or to the dignity derived from consciousness of skill or valour: there was that sort of innate nobility of look which we are often weakly inclined to combine in our minds with nobility of station, and that peculiar sort of grace which is a gift, not an acquirement. to paint him to the mind's eye were very difficult, though to describe him were very easy; for though i were to say that he was a tall, fair man, with the old saxon blood shining out in his deep blue eye, and in his full, short upper lip, from which the light brown moustache turned off in a sweep, exposing its fine arching line; though i were to speak of the manly beauty of his features, rendered scarcely less by a deep scar upon his forehead; or were i to detail, with the accuracy of a sculptor, the elegant proportion of every limb, i might, indeed, communicate to the mind of the reader the idea of a much more handsome man than he really was; but i should fail to invest the image with that spirit of gracefulness which, however combined with outward form, seems to radiate from within, which must live to be perfect, and must be seen to be understood. his apparel was not such as his bearing seemed to warrant: though good, it was not costly, and though not faded, it certainly was not new. nor was the fashion of it entirely english: the gray cloth doublet slashed with black, as well as the falling ruff round his neck, were decidedly flemish; and his hose of dark stuff might probably have been pronounced foreign by the connoisseurs of the day, although the variety of modes then used amongst our change-loving nation justified a man in choosing the fashion of his breeches from any extreme, whether from the fathomless profundity of a dutchman's ninth pair, or from the close-fitting garment of the italian sworder. the traveller's hose approached more towards the latter fashion, and served to show off the fair proportions of his limbs without straitening him by too great tightness, while his wide boots of untanned leather, pushed down to the ankle, evinced that he did not consider his journey likely to prove long, or, at least, very fatiguing. in those days, when, as old holinshed assures us, it was not safe to ride unarmed, even upon the most frequented road, a small bridle path, such as that which the traveller pursued, was not likely to afford much greater security. however, he did not appear to have furnished himself with more than the complement of offensive arms usually worn by every one above the rank of a simple yeoman; namely, the long, straight, double-edged sword, which, thrust through a broad buff belt, hung perpendicularly down his thigh, with the hilt shaped in form of a cross, without any farther guard for the hand; while in the girdle appeared a small dagger, which served also as a knife: added to these was a dag or pistol, which, though small, considering the dimensions of the arms then used, would have caused any horse-pistol of the present day to blush at its own insignificance. in point of defensive armour, he carried none, except a steel cap, which hung at his saddle-bow, while its place on his head was supplied by a genoa bonnet of black velvet, round which his rich chesnut hair curled in thick profusion. here have i bestowed more than a page and a half upon the description of a man's dress and demeanour, which, under most circumstances, i should consider a scandalous and illegitimate waste of time, paper, and attention; but, in truth, i would fain, in the present instance, that my reader should see my traveller before his mind's eye, exactly as his picture represents him, pricking along the road on his strong black horse, with his chest borne forward, his heel depressed, his person erect, and his whole figure expressing corporeal ease and power. very different, however, were his mental sensations, if one might believe the knitted look of thought that sat upon his full, broad brow, and the lines that early care seemed to have busily traced upon the cheek of youth. deep meditation, at all events, was the companion of his way; for, confident in the surefootedness of his steed, he took no care to hold his bridle in hand, but suffered himself to be borne forward almost unconsciously, fixing his gaze upon the line of light that hung above the edge of the hill before him, as if there he spied some object of deep interest, yet, at the same time, with that fixed intensity which told that, whilst the eye thus occupied itself, the mind was far otherwise employed. it was a shrewd march morning, and the part of the road at which the traveller had now arrived opened out upon a wide wild common, whereon the keen north-west blast had full room to exercise itself unrestrained. on the one side the country sloped rapidly down from the road, exposing an extensive view of some fine level plains, distributed into fields, and scattered with a multitude of hamlets and villages; the early smoke rising from the chimneys of which, caught by the wind, mingled with the vapour from a sluggish river in the bottom, and, drifting over the scene, gave a thousand different aspects to the landscape as it passed. on the other hand, the common rose against the sky in a wide sloping upland, naked, desolate, and unbroken, except where a clump of stunted oaks raised their bare heads out of an old gravel-pit by the road-side, or where a group of dark pines broke the distant line of the ground. the road which the traveller had hitherto pursued proceeded still along the side of the hill, but, branching off to the left, was seen another rugged, gravelly path winding over the common. at the spot where these two divaricated, the horseman stopped, as if uncertain of his farther route, and looking for some one to direct him on his way. but he looked in vain; no trace of human habitation was to be seen, nor any indication of man's proximity, except such as could be gathered from the presence of a solitary duck, which seemed to be passing its anchoritish hours in fishing for the tadpoles that inhabited a little pond by the road-side. the traveller paused, undetermined on which of the two roads to turn his horse, when suddenly a loud scream met his ear, and, instantly setting spurs to his horse, he galloped towards the quarter from whence the sound seemed to proceed. without waiting to pursue the windings of the little path, in a moment he had cleared the upland, towards the spot where he had beheld the pines, and, instead of finding that the country beyond, as one might have imagined from the view below, fell into another deep valley on that side, he perceived that the common continued to extend for some way over an uninterrupted flat, terminated by some wide plantations at a great distance. in advance, sheltered by a high bank and the group of pines above mentioned, appeared a solitary cottage formed of wood and mud. it may be well supposed that its architecture was not very perfect, nor its construction of the most refined taste; but yet there seemed some attempt at decoration in the rude trellis that surrounded the doorway, and in the neat cutting of the thatch which covered it from the and weather. as the traveller rode towards it the scream was reiterated, now, guided by his ear, he proceeded direct towards a little garden, which had been borrowed from the common, and enclosed with a mud wall. the door of this enclosure stood open, and at once admitted the stranger into the interior, where he beheld--what shall be detailed in the following chapter. chapter ii. patient _yourself_, madam, and pardon _me_.--shakspere. now, doubtless, every romance-reading person into whose hands this book may fall will conclude and determine, and feel perfectly convinced in their own minds, that the scream mentioned in the last chapter announces no less important a being than the heroine of the tale, and will be very much surprised, as well as disappointed, to hear that when the traveller rode through the open gate into the little garden attached to the cottage, he perceived a group which certainly did not derive any interest it might possess from the graces of youth and beauty. it consisted simply of an old woman, of the poorest class, striving, with weak hands, to stay a stout, rosy youth, of mean countenance but good apparel, from repeating a buffet he had bestowed upon the third person of the group, a venerable old man, who seemed little calculated to resist his violence. angry words were evidently still passing on both parts, and before the traveller could hear to what they referred, the youth passed the woman, and struck the old man a second blow, which levelled him with the ground. if one might judge from that traveller's appearance, he had seen many a sight of danger and of horror; but there was something in the view of the old man's white hair, mingling with the mould of the earth, that blanched his cheek, and made his blood run cold. in a moment he was off his horse, and by the young man's side. "how now, sir villain!" cried he, "art thou mad, to strike thy father?" "he's no father of mine," replied the sturdy youth, turning away his head with a sort of dogged feeling of shame. "he's no father of mine; i'm better come." "better come, misbegotten knave!" cried the traveller; "then thy father might blush to own thee. strike an old man like that! get thee gone, quick, lest i flay thee!" "get thee gone thyself!" answered the other, his feeling of reprehension being quickly fled; and turning sharply round, with an air of effrontery which nought but the insolence of office could inspire, he added: "who art thou, with thy get thee gones? i am here in right of sir payan wileton, to turn these old vermin out; so get thee gone along with them!" and he ran his eye over the stranger's simple garb with a sneer of sturdy defiance. the traveller gazed at him for a moment, as if in astonishment at his daring; then, with a motion as quick as light, laid one hand upon the yeoman's collar, the other upon the thick band of his kersey slop breeches, raised him from the ground, and giving him one swing back, to allow his arms their full sweep, he pitched him at once over the low wall of the garden into the heath-bushes beyond. without affording a look to his prostrate adversary, the stranger proceeded to assist the old man in rising, and amidst the blessings of the good dame, conveyed him into the cottage. he then returned to the little garden, lest his horse should commit any ravages upon the scanty provision of the old couple (for he was, it seems, too good a soldier even to allow his horse to live by plunder), and while tying him to the gate-post, his eye naturally turned to the bushes into which he had thrown his opponent. the young man had just risen on his feet, and in unutterable rage, was stamping furiously on the ground; without, however, daring to re-enter the precincts from which he had been so unceremoniously ejected. the stranger contented himself with observing that he was not much hurt; and after letting his eye dwell for a moment on the cognisance of a serpent twined round a crane, which was embroidered on the yeoman's coat, he again entered the cottage, while the other proceeded slowly over the common, every now and then turning round to shake his clenched fist towards the garden, in the last struggles of impotent passion. "well, good father, how fares it with thee?" demanded the traveller, approaching the old man. "i fear that young villain has hurt thee." "nay, sir, nay," replied the other, "not so; in faith he did not strike hard: an old man's limbs are soon overthrown. ah! well, i remember the day when i would have whacked a score of them. but i'm broken now. kate, give his worship the settle. if our boy had seen him lift his hand against his father, 'faith, he'd have broken his pate. though your worship soon convinced him: god's blessing upon your head for it!" the stranger silently sat himself down in the settle, which the old woman placed for him with a thousand thanks and gratulations, and suffered them to proceed undisturbed with all the garrulity of age, while his own thoughts seemed, from some unapparent cause, to have wandered far upon a different track. whether it was that the swift wings of memory had retraced in a moment a space that, in the dull march of time, had occupied many a long year, or that the lightning speed of hope had already borne him to a goal which was still far beyond probability's short view, matters little. most likely it was one or the other; for the present is but a point to which but little thought appertains, while the mind hovers backwards and forwards between the past and the future, expending the store of its regrets upon the one, and wasting all its wishes on the other. he awoke with a sigh. "but tell me," said he to the old man, "what was the cause of all this?" "why, heaven bless your worship!" replied the cottager, who had been talking all the time, "i have just been telling you." "nay, but i mean, why you came to live here?" said the traveller, "for this is but a poor place;" and he glanced his eye over the interior of the cottage, which was wretched enough. its floor formed of hardened clay; its small lattice windows, boasting no glass in the wicker frames of which they were composed, but showing in its place some thin plates of horn (common enough in the meaner cottages of those times), admitting but a dull and miserable light to the interior; its bare walls of lath, through the crevices of which appeared the mud that had been plastered on the outside: all gave an air of poverty and uncomfort difficult to find in the poorest english cottage of to-day. "i think you said that you had been in better circumstances?" continued the traveller. "i did not say so, your worship," replied the old man, "but it was easy to guess; yet for twelve long years have i known little but misery. i was once gate-porter to my good lord fitzbernard, at chilham castle, here hard-by; your worship knows it, doubtless. oh! 'twas a fair place in those days, for my lord kept great state, and never a day but what we had the tilt-yard full of gallants, who would bear away the ring from the best in the land. my old lord could handle a lance well, too, though he waxed aged; but 'twas my young lord osborne that was the darling of all our hearts. poor youth! he was not then fourteen, yet so strong, he'd break a lance and bide a buffet with the best. he's over the seas now, alas! and they say, obliged to win his food at the sword's point." "nay, how so?" asked the traveller. "if he were heir of chilham castle, how is it he fares so hardly, this lord osborne?" "we call him still lord osborne," answered the old woman, "for i was his nurse, when he was young, your worship, and his christened name was osborne. but his title was lord darnley, by those who called him properly. god bless him for ever! now, richard, tell his honour how all the misfortunes happened." "'twill but tire his honour," said the old man. "in his young day he must have heard how empson and dudley, the two blackest traitors that ever england had, went through all the country, picking holes in every honest man's coat, and sequestrating their estates, as 'twas then called. lord bless thee, kate! his worship knows it all." "i have heard something of the matter, but i would fain understand it more particularly," said the stranger. "i had learned that the sequestrated estates had been restored, and the fines remitted, since this young king was upon the throne." "ay, truly, sir, the main part of them," answered the old man; "but there were some men who, being in the court's displeasure, were not likely to have justice done them. such a one was my good lord and master, who, they say, had been heard to declare, that he held perkyn warbeck's title as good as king harry the seventh's. so, when they proved the penal statutes against him, as they called it, instead of calling for a fine, which every peasant on his land would have brought his mite to pay, they took the whole estate, and left him a beggar in his age. but that was not the worst, for doubtless the whole would have been given back again when the good young king did justice on empson and dudley; but as this sequestration was a malice, and not an avarice like the rest, instead of transferring the estate to the king's own hand, they gave it to one sir payan wileton, who, if ever a gallows was made higher than haman's, would well grace it. this man has many a friend at the court, gained they say by foul means; and though much stir was made some eight years agone, by the lord stafford and the good duke of buckingham, to have the old lord's estates given back again, sir payan was strong enough in abettors to outstand them all, and then----; but i hear horses' feet. 'tis surely sir payan sent to hound me out even from this poor place." as he spoke, the loud neighing of the stranger's horse announced the approach of some of his four-footed fraternity, and opening the cottage door, the old man looked forth to ascertain if his apprehensions were just. the cloud, however, was cleared off his brow in a moment, by the appearance of the person who rode into the garden. "joy, good wife! joy!" cried the old man; "it is sir cesar! it is sir cesar! we are safe enough now!" "sir cesar!" cried the traveller; "that is a strange name!" and he turned to the cottage door to examine the person that approached. cantering through the garden on a milk-white palfrey, adorned with black leather trapping, appeared a little old man, dressed in singular but elegant habiliments. his doublet was of black velvet, his hose of crimson stuff, and his boots of buff. his cloak was black like his coat, but lined with rich miniver fur, of which also was his bonnet. he wore no arms except a small dagger, the steel hilt of which glittered in his girdle; and to turn and guide his palfrey he made use of neither spur nor rein, but seemed more to direct than urge him with a peeled osier stick, with which he every now and then touched the animal on either ear. his person was as singular as his dress. extremely diminutive in stature, his limbs appeared well formed, and even graceful. he was not a dwarf, but still considerably below the middle size; and though not misshapen in body, his face had that degree of prominence, and his eye that keen vivacious sparkle, generally discovered in the deformed. in complexion he was swarthy to excess, while his long black hair, slightly mingled with gray, escaped from under his bonnet and fell upon his shoulders. still, the most remarkable feature was his eye, which, though sunk deep in his head, had a quickness and a fire that contradicted the calm, placid expression of the rest of his countenance, and seemed to indicate a restless, busy spirit; for, glancing rapidly from object to object, it rested not a moment upon any one thing, but appeared to collect the information it sought with the quickness of lightning, and then fly off to something new. in this manner he approached the cottage, his look at first rapidly running over the figures of the two cottagers and their guest; but then turning to their faces, his eye might be seen scanning every feature, and seeming to extract their meaning in an instant: as in the summer we see the bee darting into every flower, and drawing forth its sweet essence, while it scarcely pauses to fold its wings. it seemed as if the face was to him a book, where each line was written with some tale or some information, but in a character so legible, and a language so well known, that a moment sufficed him for the perusal of the whole. at the cottage-door the palfrey stopped of itself, and slipping down out of the saddle with extraordinary activity, the old gentleman stood before the traveller and his host with that sort of sharp, sudden motion which startles although expected. the old man and his wife received their new guest with reverence almost approaching to awe; but before noticing them farther than by signing them each with the cross, he turned directly towards the traveller, and doffing his cap of miniver, he made him a profound bow, while his long hair, parted from the crown, fell over his face and almost concealed it. "sir osborne maurice," said he, "well met!" the traveller bowed in some surprise to find himself recognised by the singular person who addressed him. "truly, sir," he answered, "you have rightly fallen upon the name i bear, and seem to know me well, though in truth i can boast no such knowledge in regard to you. to my remembrance, this is the first time we have met." "within the last thousand years," replied the old man, "we have met more than a thousand times; but i remember you well before that, when you commanded a roman cohort in the first punic war." "he's mad!" thought the traveller, "profoundly insane!" and he turned an inquiring glance to the old cottager and his wife; but far from showing any surprise, they stood regarding their strange visiter with looks of deep awe and respect. however, the traveller at length replied, "memory, with me, is a more treacherous guardian of the past; but may i crave the name of so ancient an acquaintance?" "in britain," answered the old man, "they call me sir cesar; in spain, don cesario; and in padua, simply cesario il dotto." "what!" cried sir osborne, "the famous----?" "ay, ay!" interrupted the old man; "famous if it may so be called. but no more of that. fame is but like a billow on a sandy shore, that when the tide is in, it seems a mighty thing, and when 'tis out, 'tis nothing. if i have learned nought beside, i have learned to despise fame." "that your learning must have taught you far more, needs no farther proof than your knowledge of a stranger that you never saw, at least with human eyes," said sir osborne; "and in truth, this your knowledge makes me a believer in that art which, hitherto, i had held as emptiness." "cast from you no ore till you have tried it seven times in the fire," replied sir cesar; "hold nothing as emptiness that you have not essayed. but, hark! bend down thine ear, and thou shalt hear more anon." the young traveller bowed his head till his ear was on a level with the mouth of the diminutive speaker, who seemed to whisper not more than one word, but that was of such a nature as to make sir osborne start back, and fix his eyes upon him with a look of inquiring astonishment, that brought a smile upon the old man's lip. "there is no magic here," said sir cesar: "you shall hear more hereafter. but, hush! come into the cottage, for hunger, that vile earthly want, calls upon me for its due: herein, alas! we are all akin unto the hog: come!" they accordingly entered the lowly dwelling, and sat down to a small oaken table placed in the midst; sir cesar, as if accustomed to command there, seating the traveller as his guest, and demanding of the old couple a supply of those things he deemed necessary. "set down the salt in the middle, richard heartley; now bring the bread; take the bacon from the pot, dame, and if there be a pompion yet not mouldy, put it down to roast in the ashes. whet sir osborne's dagger, richard. is it all done? then sit with us, for herein are men all alike. now tell me, richard heartley, while we eat, what has happened to thee this morning, for i learn thou hast been in jeopardy." thus speaking, he carved the bacon with his dagger, and distributed to every one a portion, while sir osborne maurice looked on, not a little interested in the scene, one of the most curious parts of which was the profound taciturnity that had succeeded to garrulity in the two old cottagers, and the promptitude and attention with which they executed all their guest's commands. the old gentleman's question seemed to untie richard heartley's lips, and he communicated, in a somewhat circumlocutory phrase, that though he had built his house and enclosed his garden on common land, which, as he took it, "was free to every one, yet within the last year sir payan wileton had demanded for it a rent of two pounds per annum, which was far beyond his means to pay, as sir payan well knew; but he did it only in malice," the old man said, "because he was the last of the good old lord's servants who was left upon the ground; and he, sir payan, was afraid, that even if he were to die there, his bones would keep possession for his old master; so he wished to drive him away altogether." "go forth on no account!" interrupted sir cesar. "without he take thee by force and lead thee to the bound, and put thee off, go not beyond the limits of the lordship of chilham castle; neither pay him any rent, but live house free and land free, as i have commanded you." "in truth," answered the old man, "he has not essayed to put me off; but he sent his bailiff this morning to demand the rent, and to drive me out of the cottage, and to pull off the thatch, though our richard, who has returned from the army beyond the seas, is up at the manor to do him man service for the sum." "hold!" cried sir cesar, "let thy son do him man service, if he will, but do thou him no man service, and own to him no lordship. sir payan wileton has but his day; that will soon be over, and all shall be avenged; own him no lordship, i say!" "nay, nay, sir, i warrant you," replied the old man; "'twas even that that provoked peter wilson, the young bailiff, to strike me, because i said sir payan was not my lord, and i was not his tenant, and that if he stood on right, i had as much a right to the soil as he." "strike thee! strike thee! did he strike thee?" cried sir cesar, his small black eyes glowing like red-hot coals, and twinkling like stars on a frosty night. "sure he did not dare to strike thee?" "he felled him, sir cesar," cried the old woman, whose tongue could refrain no longer; "he felled him to the ground. he, a child i have had upon my knee, felled old richard heartley with a heavy blow!" "my curse upon him!" cried the old knight, while anger and indignation gave to his features an expression almost sublime; "my curse upon him! may he wither heart and limb like a blasted oak! like it, may he be dry and sapless, when all is sunshine and summer, without a green leaf to cover the nakedness of his misery; without flower or fruit may he pass away, and fire consume the rottenness of his core!" "oh! your worship, curse him not so deeply; we know how heavy your curses fall, and he has had some payment already," said the old cottager: "this honourable gentleman heard my housewife cry, and came riding up. so, when he saw the clumsy coward strike a feeble old man like me, he takes him up by the jerkin and the slops, and casts him as clean over the wall on the heath as i've seen hob johnson cast a truss out of a hay-cart." "sir osborne, you did well," said the old knight; "you acted like your race. but yet i could have wished that this had not happened; 'twould have been better that your coming had not been known to your enemies before your friends, which i fear me will now be the case. he with whom you have to do is one from whose keen eye nought passes without question. the fly may as well find its way through the spider's web, without wakening the crafty artist of the snare, as one on whom that man has fixed his eye may stir a step without his knowing it. but there is one who sees more deeply than even he does." "yourself, of course," replied sir osborne; "and indeed i cannot doubt that it is so; for i sit here in mute astonishment to find that all i held most secret is as much known to you as to myself." "oh, this is all simplicity!" replied the old man; "these are no wonders, though i may teach you some hereafter. at present i will tell you the future, against which you must guard, for your fortune is a-making." "but if our fate be fixed," said sir osborne, "so that even mortal eyes can see it in the stars, prudence and caution, wisdom and action, are in vain; for how can we avoid what is certainly to be?" "not so, young man," replied sir cesar: "some things are certain, some are doubtful: some fixed by fate, some left to human will; and those who see such things are certain, may learn to guide their course through things that are not so. thus, even in life, my young friend," he continued, speaking more placidly, for at first sir osborne's observation seemed to have nettled him; "thus, even in life, each ordinary mortal sees before him but one thing sure, which is death. it he cannot avoid; yet, how wholesome the sight to guide us in existence! so, in man's destiny, certain points are fixed, some of mighty magnitude, some that seem but trivial; and the rest are determined by his own conduct. yet there are none so clearly marked that they may not be influenced by man's own will, so that when the stars are favourable he may carry his good fortune to the highest pitch by wisely seizing opportunity; and when they threaten evil or danger, he may fortify himself against the misfortunes that must occur, by philosophy; and guard against the peril that menaces, by prudence. thus, what study is nobler, or greater, or more beneficial, than that which lays open to the eye the book of fate?" the impressive tone and manner of the old man, joined even with the singularity of his appearance, and a certain indescribable, almost unearthly fire, that burned in his eye, went greatly in the minds of his hearers to supply any deficiency in the chain of his reasoning. the extraordinary, if it be not ludicrous, is always easily convertible into the awful; and where, as in the present instance, it becomes intimately interwoven with all the doubtful, the mysterious, and the fearful in our state of being, it reaches that point of the sublime to which the heart of every man is most sensible. those always who see the least of what is true are most likely to be influenced by what is doubtful; and in an age where little was certainly known, the remote, the uncertain, and the wild, commanded man's reason by his imagination. sir osborne maurice mused. if it be asked whether he believed implicitly in that art which many persons were then said to possess, of reading in the stars the future fate of individuals or nations, it may be answered, no. but if it be demanded whether he rejected it absolutely, equally no. he doubted; and that was a stretch of philosophy to which few attained in his day, when the study of judicial astrology was often combined with the most profound learning in other particulars; when, as a science, it was considered the highest branch of human knowledge, and its professors were regarded as almost proceeding a step beyond the just boundary of earthly research: we might say even more, when they produced such evidence of their extraordinary powers as might well convince the best-informed of an unlettered age, and which affords curious subjects of inquiry even to the present time. in the mean while, sir cesar proceeded: "i speak thus as preface to what i have to tell you; not that i suppose you will be dismayed when you hear that immediate danger menaces you, because i know you are incapable of fear; but it is because i would have you wisely guard against what i foretell. know, then, i have learned that you are likely to be in peril to-morrow, towards noon; therefore, hold yourself upon your guard. divulge not your proceedings to any one. keep a watchful eye and a shrewd ear. mark well your company, and see that your sword be loose in the sheath." "certainly, good sir cesar, will i follow your counsel," replied sir osborne. "but might i not crave that you would afford me farther information, and by showing me what sort of danger threatens me, give me the means of avoiding it altogether?" "what you ask i cannot comply with," answered the old man. "think not that the book of the stars is like a child's horn-book, where every word is clearly spelled. vague and undefined are the signs that we gain. certain it is, that some danger threatens you; but of what nature, who can say? know that, at the same time as yourself, were born sixty other persons, to whom the planets bore an equal ascendancy; and at the same hour to-morrow, each will undergo some particular peril. be you on your guard against yours." "most assuredly i will, and i give you many thanks," replied sir osborne. "but i would fain know for what reason you take an interest in my fate more than in any of the other sixty persons you have mentioned." "how know you that i do so?" demanded sir cesar drily. "perchance had i met any one of them in this cottage, i might have done him the same good turn. however, 'tis not so. i own i do take an interest in your fate, more than that of any mortal being. look not surprised, young man, for i have cause: nay more--you shall know more. mark me! our fates are united for ever in this world, and i _will_ serve you; though i see, darkling through the obscurity of time, that the moment which crowns all your wishes and endeavours is the last that i shall draw breath of life. yet your enemy is my enemy, your friends are my friends, and i will serve you, though i die!" he rose and grasped sir osborne's hand, and fixed his dark eye upon his face. "'tis hard to part with existence--the warm ties of life, the soft smiling realities of a world we know--and to begin it all again in forms we cannot guess. yet, if my will could alter the law of fate, i would not delay your happiness an hour; though i know, i feel, that this thrilling blood must then chill, that this quick heart must stop, that the golden light and the glorious world must fade away; and that my soul must be parted from its fond companion of earth for ever and for ever. yet it shall be so. it is said. reply not! speak not! follow me! hush! hush!" and proceeding to the door of the cottage, he mounted his palfrey, which stood ready, and motioned sir osborne to do the same. the young knight did so in silence, and rode along with him to the garden-gate, followed by the old cottagers. there richard heartley, as if accustomed so to do, held out his hand; sir cesar counted into it nine nobles of gold, and proceeded on the road in silence. chapter iii. illusive dreams in mystic forms expressed.--blackmore. that which is out of the common course of nature, and for which we can see neither cause nor object, requires of course a much greater body of evidence to render it historically credible than is necessary to authenticate any event within the ordinary operation of visible agents. were it not so, the many extraordinary tales respecting the astrologers, and even the magicians of the middle ages, would now rest as recorded truth, instead of idle fiction, being supported by much more witness than we have to prove many received facts of greater importance. till the last century, the existence of what is called the second sight, amongst the scots, was not doubted: even in the present day it is not disproved; and we can hardly wonder at our ancestors having given credence to the more ancient, more probable, more reasonable superstition of the fates of men being influenced by the stars, or at their believing that the learned and wise could see into futurity, when many in this more enlightened age imagine that some of the rude and illiterate possess the same faculty. it is not, however, my object here to defend long-gone superstitions, or to show that the predictions of the astrologers were ever really verified, except by those extraordinary coincidences for which we cannot account, and some of which every man must have observed in the course of his own life. that they were so verified on several occasions is nevertheless beyond doubt; for it is _not_ the case that, in the most striking instances of this kind, as many writers have asserted, the prediction, if it may be so called, was fabricated after its fulfilment. on the contrary, any one who chooses to investigate may convince himself that the prophecy was, in many instances, enounced, and is still to be found recorded by contemporary writers, before its accomplishment took place. as examples might be cited the prognostication made by an astrologer to henry the second of france, that he should be slain in single combat; a thing so unlikely that it became the jest of his whole court, but which was afterwards singularly verified, by his being accidentally killed at a tournament by montgomery, captain of the scottish guards. also the prediction by which the famous, or rather infamous, catherine de medicis was warned that st. germains should be the place of her death. the queen, fully convinced of its truth, never from that moment set foot in town or palace which bore the fatal name; but in her last moments, her confessor being absent, a priest was called to her assistance, by mere accident, whose name was st. germains, and actually held her in his arms during the dying struggle. these two instances took place about fifty years after the period to which this history refers, and may serve to show how strongly rooted in the minds of the higher classes was this sort of superstition, when even the revival of letters, and the diffusion of mental light, for very long did not seem at all to affect them. the habits and manners of the astrologers, however, underwent great changes; and it is, perhaps, at the particular epoch of which we are now writing, namely, the reigns of henry the eighth of england and francis the first of france, that this singular race of beings was in its highest prosperity. before that time, they had in general affected strange and retired habits, and, whether as magicians or merely astrologers, were both feared and avoided. some exceptions, however, must be made to this, as instances are on record where, even in years long before, such studies were pursued by persons of the highest class, and won them both love and admiration; the most brilliant example of which was in the person of tiphaine raguenel, wife of the famous constable du guesclin, whose counsels so much guided her husband through his splendid career. the magicians and astrologers, however, who were scattered through europe towards the end of the fifteenth century, and the beginning of that which succeeded, though few in number, from many circumstances, bore a much higher rank in the opinion of the world than any who had preceded them. this must be attributed to their being in general persons of some station in society, of profound erudition, of courtly and polished manners, and also to their making but little pretension on the score of their supposed powers, and never any display thereof, except they were earnestly solicited to do so. there was likewise always to be observed in them a degree of eccentricity, if a habitual difference from their fellow-beings might be so called, which, being singular, but not obtrusive, gave them an interest in the eyes of the higher, and a dignity in the estimation of the lower classes, as a sort of beings separated by distinct knowledge and feeling from the rest of mankind. in those ages, a thousand branches of useful knowledge lay hid, like diamonds in an undiscovered mine; and many minds, of extraordinary keenness and activity, wanting legitimate objects of research, after diving deep in ancient lore, and exhausting all the treasures of antiquity, still unsated, devoted themselves to those dark and mysterious sciences that gratified their imagination with all the wild and the sublime, and gained for them a reverence amongst their fellow-creatures approaching even to awe. as we have said before, whatever was the reality of their powers, or however they contrived to deceive themselves, as well as others, they certainly received not only the respect of the weak and vulgar; but if they used their general abilities for the benefit of mankind, they were sure to meet with the admiration and the friendship of the great, the noble, and the wise. thus, the famous earl of surrey, the poet, the courtier, the most accomplished gentleman and bravest cavalier of that very age, is known to have lived on terms of intimacy with cornelius agrippa, the celebrated italian sorcerer, to whose renown the fame of sir cesar of england is hardly second; though early sorrows, of the most acute kind, had given a much higher degree of wildness and eccentricity to the character of the extraordinary old man of whom we speak, than the accomplished italian ever suffered to appear. in many circumstances there was still a great degree of similarity between them: both were deeply versed in classical literature, and were endowed with every elegant attainment; and both possessed that wild and vivid imagination which taught them to combine in one strange and heterogeneous system the pure doctrines of christianity, the theories of the pagan philosophers, and the strange, mysterious notions of the dark sciences they pursued. amongst many fancies derived from the greeks, it seems certain that both sir cesar and cornelius agrippa received, as an undoubted fact, the pythagorean doctrine of the transmission of the souls through the various human bodies for a long period of existence: the spirit retaining, more or less, in different men, the recollection of events which had occurred to them at other periods of being. one striking difference, however, existed between these two celebrated men. cornelius agrippa was all mildness, gentleness, and suavity; while sir cesar, irritated by the memory of much sorrow, was wild, vehement, and impetuous; ever striving to do good, it is true, but hasty and impatient under contradiction. the same sort of mental excitement hurried him on to move from land to land and place to place, without seeming ever to pause for any length of time; and as he stood not upon the ceremony of introduction, but made himself known to whomsoever the fancy of the moment might lead him, he was celebrated in almost every part of the world. so much as we have said seemed necessary, in order to give our readers some insight into the character of the extraordinary man whose history is strongly interwoven with the web of the present narrative, and to prevent its being supposed that he was an imaginary being devised for the nonce; but we shall now proceed with him in his proper person. "let us reason," said sir cesar, breaking form abruptly, after he had ridden on with the young knight some way in silence; "let us reason of nature and philosophy; of things that are, and of things that may be; for i would fain expel from my brain a crowd of sad thoughts and dark imaginings, that haunt the caverns of memory." "i should prove but a slow reasoner," replied the young knight, "when compared with one whose mind, if report speak truth, has long explored the deepest paths of science, and discovered the full wealth of nature." "nay, nay, my friend," answered the old man; "something i have studied, it is true; but nature's full wealth who shall ever discover? look through the boundless universe, and you shall find that were the life of man extended a thousand fold, and all his senses refined to the most exquisite perfection, and had his mind infinite faculty to comprehend, yet the portion he could truly know would be to the great whole as one grain of sand to the vast foundation of the sea. as it is, man not only contemplates but few of nature's works, but also only sees a little part of each. thus, when he speaks of life, he means but that which inspires animals, and never dreams that everything has life; and yet it is so. is it not reasonable to suppose that everything that moves feels? and we cannot but conclude that everything that feels has life. the indian tree that raises its branches when any living creature approaches must feel, must have sensation; the loadstone that flies to its fellow must know, must perceive that that fellow is near. motion is life; and if viewed near, everything would be found to have motion, to have life, to have sensation." sir osborne smiled. "then do you suppose," demanded he, "that all vegetables and plants feel?" "nay, more, much more!" answered the old man. "i doubt not that everything in nature feels in its degree, from the rude stone that the mason cuts, to man, the most sensitive of substantial beings." "it is a bold doctrine," said the young knight, who, willing to gain what insight he could into his companion's character, pressed him for a still further exposition of his opinions, though at the same time he himself felt not a little carried away by the energy of manner and rich modulation of tone with which the old man communicated his singular ideas. "it is a bold doctrine, and would seem to animate the whole of nature. could it be proved, the world would acquire a glow of life, and activity of existence, where it now appears cold and silent." "the whole of nature _is_ animated," replied sir cesar. "life combined with matter is but a thousandth part of life existent. the world teems with spirits: the very air is thick with them. they dance in the sunshine, they ride upon the beams of the stars, they float about in the melodies of music, they nestle in the cups of the flowers; and i am forced to believe that never a flower fades, or a beam passes away, without some being mourning the brief date of loveliness on earth. doubt not, for this is true; and though no one can prove that matter is sensitive, yet it _can_ be _proved_ that such spirits do exist, and that they may be compelled to clothe themselves with a visible form. it can be proved, i say, and i have proved it." "i have heard the same reported of you," replied sir osborne, "when you, with the renowned cornelius agrippa, called up a spirit to ascertain what would be the issue of the battle of ravenna. was it not so?" "speak not of it!" cried the old man, "speak not of it! in that battle fell the bright, the gallant, the amiable nemours. though warned by counsel, by prophecy, and by portent, he would venture his life on that fatal battle, and fell. speak not of it! but now to you and yours. whither go you?" "my first care," replied sir osborne, "must be to seek my father, at whose wish i have now returned to england. to you, who know far more of me and mine than i ever dreamed that mortal here had heard, i need not say where my father dwells." as he spoke, sir osborne drew up his horse, following the example of his companion, whose palfrey had stopped at a point where the road, separating into two branches, gave the traveller the option of proceeding either towards canterbury or dover, as his business or pleasure might impel. at the same time the young knight fixed his eye upon the other's face, as if to ascertain what was passing in his mind, seeking, probably, thence to learn how far the old man's knowledge really extended in respect to himself and his concerns. "it is a long journey," said sir cesar, thoughtfully, "and 'twill take you near three weeks to travel thither and back. much may be lost or won in three weeks. you must not go. hie on to dover, and thence to london: wait there till i give you farther news, and be sure that my news shall be of some avail." "it cannot be," answered sir osborne maurice. "before i take any step whatever i must see my father; and though i doubt not that your advice be good, and your knowledge more than natural, i cannot quit my road, nor wait in any place, till i have done the journey to which duty and affection call me." "your own will then be your guide, though it be a bad one," answered sir cesar. "but mark, i tell you, if you pursue the road you are on you will meet with danger, and will lose opportunity. my words are not wont to fall idly." "whatever danger may occur," replied sir osborne, "my road lies towards london, and it shall not be easy to impede me on my way." "ho, ho! so headstrong!" cried the old knight. "i' god's name, then, on! my palfrey goes too slow for your young blood. put spurs to your steed, sir, and get quick into the perils from which you will need my hand to help you out. spur, spur, sir knight; and good speed attend you!" "by your leave, then," replied sir osborne, taking the old man at his word, and giving his horse the spur. "sir cesar, i thank you for your kindness: we shall meet again, when i hope to thank you better; till then, farewell!" "farewell, farewell!" muttered the old knight; "just the same as ever! if i remember right he was killed in the first punic war, for not taking the advice of valerius the soothsayer; and though now his soul has passed through fifty different bodies, he is just as headstrong as ever." and with these sage reflections sir cesar pursued his way. leaving him, however, to his own meditations, we must now, for some time, follow the track of sir osborne maurice, whose horse bore him quickly along that same little tortuous road in the midst of which we first encountered him. to say sooth, some speed was necessary; for whatever might be the cause that induced the young knight to linger at the cottage of old richard heartley, and whatever might have been the ideas that had occupied him during so long a reverie, he had wasted no small portion of the day, between listening to the garrulity of the old man, thinking over the circumstances which that garrulity called up to memory, and conversing with the singular being from whom he had just parted; and yet, within a mile of the spot where he had left the astrologer, sir osborne drew in his bridle, and standing in the stirrup, looked round him on both sides over the high bank of earth which in that place flanked the road on either hand. after gazing round for a moment, and marking every trifling object with an attention which was far more than the scenery merited from any apparent worth or picturesque beauty, he turned his horse into a small bridle-path, and riding on for about a mile, came in front of a mansion, which, even in that day, bore many a mark of venerable antiquity. a small eminence, at about five hundred yards' distance from it, gave him a full view of the building, as it rose upon another slight elevation, somewhat higher than that on which he stood. through the trees which filled up the intermediate space was seen gliding a small river, that, meandering amongst the copses, now shone glittering in the sun, now hid itself in the shades, with that soothing variety, gay yet tranquil, placid but not insipid, which is the peculiar characteristic of the course of an english stream. the wind had fallen, the clouds had dispersed, and the evening sun was shining out, as if seducing the early buds to come forth and yield themselves to his treacherous smile, and all the choir of nature was hymning its song of joy and hope in the prospect of delightful summer. above the branches, which were yet scarcely green with the first downy promise of the spring, was seen rising high the dark octagon keep of chilham castle. it was a building of the old irregular norman construction; and the architect, who probably had forgot that a staircase was requisite till he had completed the tower, had remedied the defect by throwing out from the east side a sort of square buttress, which contained the means of ascending to the various stories of which it was composed. on the west side of the keep appeared a long mass of building of a still more ancient date, surrounded by strong stone walls overgrown with ivy, forming a broken but picturesque line of architecture, stretching just above the tops of the trees, and considerably lower than the tower, while a small detached turret was seen here and there, completing the castellated appearance of the whole. sir osborne paused and gazed at it for five or ten minutes in silence, while a variety of very opposite expressions took possession of his countenance. now it seemed that the calm beauty of the scene filled him with thoughts of tranquillity and delight; now that the view recalled some poignant sorrow, for something very bright rose and glistened in his eye. at last his brow knit into a frown, and anger seemed predominant, as, grasping the pommel of his sword with his left hand, he shook his clenched fist towards the antique battlements of the castle, and then, as if ashamed of such vehemence of passion, he turned his horse and galloped back on the road he came. the moment after he had again entered upon the road to canterbury, a sudden change took place in the pace of his horse, and perceiving that he had cast a shoe, the young knight was forced, although the sun was now getting far west, to slacken his pace; for the lady who walked over the burning ploughshares would have found it a different story, had she tried to gallop over that road without shoes. proceeding, therefore, but slowly, it was nearly dark when he reached the little village of northbourne, where, riding up to the smithy, he called loudly for the farrier. no farrier, however, made his appearance. all was silent, and as black as his trade; and the only answer which osborne could procure was at length elicited from one of a score of boys, who, with open eyes and gaping mouths, stood round, listening unmoved for a quarter of an hour, while the knight adjured the blacksmith to come forth and show himself. "can i have my horse shod here or not, little varlet?" cried he at length to one of the most incorrigible starers. "ye moy, if ye loyke," answered the boy, with that air of impenetrable stupidity which an english peasant boy can sometimes get up when he is half frightened and half sullen. "he means ye moy if ye can," answered another urchin, with somewhat of a more intellectual face: "for jenkin thumpum is up at the hostel shoeing the merchant's beast, and dame winny, his wife, is gone to hold the lantern. he! he! he!" "ha! ha! ha!" roared his companions, to whose mind dame winny holding the lantern was a very good joke. "ha! ha! ha! wherever jenkin thumpum is, there goes dame winny to hold the lantern. ha! ha! ha!" "but how far is it to the inn, my good boy?" demanded sir osborne. "oh! it's for half an hour up the road, ye see," replied the boy, who still chuckled at his own joke, and wanted fain to repeat it. "but are you sure the blacksmith is there?" demanded sir osborne. "oy, oy!" replied the boy; "as sure as eggs are bacon, if he's not coming back again. so, if ye go straight up along, you'll meet jenkin coming, and dame winny holding the lantern. ha! ha! ha!" chapter iv. the first, forgive my verse if too diffuse, performed the kitchen's and the parlour's use. it was quite dark when sir osborne maurice arrived at the gate of the hostel or inn, which consisted of a long row of low buildings, running by the side of the road, with a straw-yard at the nearer end. into this the traveller guided his horse by the light of a horn lantern, which was held by no other person than dame winny herself, while her husband, master thumpum, pared the hoof of a stout gelding which stood tied to the stable-door. things were arranged differently in those days from what they are now. as soon as the good lady heard the sound of a horse's feet entering the court, she raised her melodious voice to notify to the servants of the house a traveller's arrival. "tim chamberlain! tim chamberlain!" cried she, "here's a master on horseback." the chamberlain, for by such sonorous title did he designate himself, came forth at the summons, presenting not only the appearance of an ostler, but of a bad ostler too; and after assisting the knight to dismount, he took from the saddle the leathern bags which commonly accompanied a traveller on a journey in those days, and running his hand over the exterior, with the utmost nonchalance, endeavoured to ascertain whether the contents were such as might be acceptable to any of his good friends on the road. sir osborne's first care was of his horse, which he ordered to be shod, for the purpose of proceeding immediately; but finding its foot somewhat tender, he at length determined upon passing the night at the inn rather than injure an animal on which his farther journey greatly depended; and leaving the chamberlain to examine his bags more at his leisure, he entered the kitchen, which was then the common room of reception. night had by this time rendered the air chilly; and the sight of a large fire, which greeted his eye as he pushed open the door, promised him at least that sort of reception for which he was most anxious, as he did not propose to himself any great communion with those who might be within. the apartment was not very inviting in any other particular than the cheerful blazing of the large logs of wood with which the earth was strewed, for the floor was of battened mud, and the various utensils which hung round did not do great credit to the hostess's housewifery. much was the confusion which reigned amidst pans, kettles, pots, and plates; and sundry were the positions of spits, gridirons, and ladles: in short, it seemed as if the implements of cooking had all got drunk after a hard day's work, and had tumbled over one another the best way they could in search of repose. from the large black rafters overhead, however, hung much that might gratify the eye of the hungry traveller, for the kitchen seemed to serve for larder as well as drawing-room. there might be seen the inimitable ham of york, with manifold sides of bacon, and dangling capons, and cheeses store; and there, too, was the large black turkey, in its native plumes, with endless strings of sausages, and puddings beyond account. nor was dried salmon wanting, nor a net full of lemons, nor a bag of peas: in a word, it was a very comfortably garnished roof, and in some degree compensated for the disarray of the room that it overhung. in those days, the close of evening was generally the signal for every traveller to betake himself to the nearest place of repose; and with his circle round the fire, and his own peculiar chair placed in the most approved corner of the vast chimney, mine host of the inn seldom expected the arrival of any new guest after dark. it was then, if his company were somewhat of his own degree, that he would tell his best story, or crack his best joke; and sometimes even, after many an overflowing flagon had gone round at the acknowledged expense of his guests, he himself, too, would club his tankard of toast and ale, for which, it is probable, he found sufficient means to make himself kindly reparation in some other manner. in such course flowed by the moments at the inn, when sir osborne maurice, pushing open the door of the kitchen, interrupted the landlord in the midst of an excellent good ghost story, and made the whole of the rest of the party turn their heads suddenly round, and fix their eyes upon the tall, graceful figure of the young knight, as if he had been the actual apparition under discussion. the assembly at the kitchen-fire consisted only of six persons. mine host, as above stated, in his large arm-chair, was first in bulk and dignity. whether it be or not a peculiar quality in beer to turn everything which contains a great quantity of it into the shape and demeanour of a tun, has often struck me as a curious question in natural philosophy; but certain it is that many innkeepers, but more peculiarly the innkeeper in question, possess, and have possessed, and probably will possess, so long as such a race exists, the size, rotundity, profoundness, and abhorrence of locomotion, which are considered as peculiar attributes of the above-named receptacle, as well as the known quality of containing vast quantities of liquor. mine host was somewhat pale withal; but sundry carbuncles illuminated his countenance, and gave an air of jollity to a face whose expression was not otherwise very amiable. next to this dignitary sat a worthy representative of a race now, alas! long, long extinct, and indeed almost unrecorded. oh! could old hall or holinshed have divined that the _portingal captain_ would ever become an animal as much extinct as the mammoth or the mastodon, leaving only a few scattered traces to mark the places through which he wandered, what long and elaborate descriptions should we not have had, to bear at least his memory down to coming ages! but in the days of those worthy writers, portugal, or, as they wrote it, portingal, was the land from which adventure and discovery issued forth over the earth, ay, and over the water, too; and they never dreamt that the flourishing kingdom whose adventurous seamen explored every corner of the known world, and brought the fruits and treasures of the burning zone to the frigid regions of the north, would ever dwindle away so as to be amongst the nations of europe like a sprat in a shoal of herrings; or certainly they would have given us a full and particular description of a portingal captain, from the top of his head down to the sole of his shoe. luckily, however, the learned vonderbrugius has supplied this defect more to my purpose than any other writer could have done, not only by describing a portingal captain in the abstract, but the very identical portingal captain who there, at that moment, sat by the fireside. i have already hinted that the learned theban's latin is somewhat obscure, and i will own that the beginning of his definition rather puzzled me:--"_capitanus portingalensis est homo pedibus sex_----" it was very easy to construe the first four words, like a boy at school: _capitanus portingalensis_, a portugal captain; _est homo_, is a man. that was all very natural; but when it came to _pedibus sex_, with six feet, i was very much astonished, till i discovered that the professor meant thus elegantly to express that he was six feet high. but before i proceed with the particular account, it may be necessary to say a word or two upon the general history and qualifications of the portingal captains of that day. portugal, as has been observed, was then the cradle of adventurous merchantmen; that is to say, of men who gained an honest livelihood by buying and selling, fetching and carrying, lying and pilfering, thieving wholesale and retail, swearing a great deal, and committing a little manslaughter when it was necessary. with these qualifications, it may well be supposed that the portingal captains were known and esteemed in every quarter of the globe except america; and as they were daring, hardy, boasting fellows, who possessed withal a certain insinuating manner of giving little presents of oranges, lemons, nutmegs, cinnamon, &c. to the good dames of the houses where they were well received, as well as of rendering every sort of unscrupulous service to the male part of the establishment, it may equally well be supposed that some few people shut them out of their houses, and called them 'thievish vagabonds,' while a great many took them in, and thought them 'nice, good-humoured gentlemen.' freeholders of the ocean, their own country bound them by no very strict laws; and if they broke the laws of any other, they took to their ship, which was generally near, and, like the greenwich pensioner, 'went to sea again.' speaking a jargon of all languages, accommodating themselves to all customs, cheating and pilfering from all nations, and caring not one straw more for one country than another, they furnished the epitome, the _beau-ideal_ of true citizens of the world. the specimen of this dignified race who occupied a seat between mine host and hostess was, as we have seen, six feet high, and what sailors would term broad over the beam. his neck was rather of the longest, and at the end of it was perched a mighty small head, whose front was ornamented with a large nose, two little, dark, twinkling eyes under a pair of heavy black brows, and a mouth of quite sufficient size to serve a moderate-minded pair. any one who has heard of a red indian may form some idea of his complexion, which would remind one of a black sheep marked with red ochre; and from this rich soil sprang forth and flourished a long thin pair of mustachios, something after the tartar mode. his dress was more tolerable than his face, consisting of a dark-brown doublet slashed with light green, much resembling a garden full of cabbage stalks, with trunks and hosen to correspond; while in his belt appeared a goodly assortment of implements for cutting and maiming, too numerous to be recited; and between his legs, as he sat and rocked himself on his chair, he held his long sword, with the point of which he ever and anon raked fresh ashes round a couple of eggs that were roasting on the hearth. smiling on this jewel of a captain sat our landlady in the next chair, a great deal too pretty to mind the affairs of her house, and a great deal too fine to be very good. now, the captain was a dashing man, and though he did not look tender, he looked tender things; and besides, he was an old friend of the house, and had brought mine hostess many a little sentimental present from parts beyond the sea; so that she found herself justified in flirting with so amiable a companion by smiles and glances, while her rotund husband poured forth his ale-inspired tale. on the right hand of the hostess stood the cook, skewering up a fine breast of house-lamb, destined for the rere-supper of a stout old english clothier, jekin groby by name, who, placed in the other seat of honour opposite mine host, leaned himself back in a delicious state of drowsiness between sleeping and waking, just hearing the buzzing of the landlord's story, with only sufficient apprehension left to catch every now and then "_the ghost, the ghost_," and to combine that idea with strange, misty phantasies in his sleep-embarrassed brain. the sixth person was the turnspit-dog, who, freed from his ixionian task, sat on his rump facing his master, on whose countenance he gazed with most sagacious eyes, seeming much more attentive to the tale than any one else but the cook. as i have said, sir osborne threw open the door somewhat suddenly, startling all within. every one thought it was the ghost. the landlord became motionless; the lady screamed, the cook ran the skewer into her hand; the turnspit-dog barked; jekin groby knocked his head against the chimney; and the portingal captain ran one of the eggs through the body with the point of his sword. it has been said that a good countenance is a letter of recommendation, and to the taste of mine hostess it was the best that could be given. thus, after she had finished her scream, and had time to regard the physiognomy of the ghost who threw open the kitchen-door, she liked it so much better than that of the portingal captain, that she got up with her very best courtesy; drew a settle to the fire next to herself; bade the turnspit hold his tongue; and ordered tim chamberlain, who followed hard upon sir osborne's footsteps, to prepare for his worship the tapestry-chamber. "i seem to have scared you all," said sir osborne, somewhat astonished at the confusion which his entrance had caused. "what is the matter?" "nay, marry, sir, 'twas nothing," replied the landlady, with a sweet simper, "but a foolish ghost that my husband spoke of." "the foolish ghost has broke my head, i know," said jekin groby, rubbing his pole, which had come in contact with the chimney. "nay, then, the ghost was rude as well as foolish," remarked sir osborne, taking his seat. "ha! ha! well said, young gentleman," cried the honest clothier. "nay, now, i warrant thou hast a merry heart." "thou wouldst be out," answered sir osborne: "my heart's a sad one;" and he added a sigh that showed there was some truth in what he said, though he said it lightly. "they sayo that thin doublets cover alway gay heart," said the portingal captain. "now, senhor! your doublets was not very thick, good youth." "good youth!" said sir osborne, turning towards the speaker, whom he had not before remarked, and glancing his eye over his person; "good youth! what mean you by that, sir?" but as his eye fell upon the face of the portingal, his cheek suddenly reddened very high, and the glance of the other sunk as if quelled by some powerful recollection. "oh, ho!" continued the knight, "a word with you, sir;" and rising, he pushed away the settle, and walked towards the end of the room. "pray don't fight, gentlemen!" cried the hostess, catching hold of the skirt of sir osborne's doublet. "pray don't fight! i never could bear to see blood spilled. john alesop! husband! you are a constable; don't let them fight!" "leave me, dame; you mistake me. we are not going to fight," said sir osborne, leading her back to the fire; "i merely want to speak one word to this fellow. come here, sir!" the portingal captain had by this time risen up to his full height; but as he marched doggedly after the young knight, there was a swinging stoop in his long neck that greatly derogated from the dignity of his demeanour. sir osborne spoke to him for some time in a low voice, to which he replied nothing but "dios! it's nothing to i! vary well! not a word!" "remember, then," said the knight, somewhat louder, "if i find you use your tongue more than your prudence, i will, slit your ears!" "pan de dios! you are the only man that dare to say me so," muttered the captain, following towards the fire, at which the knight now resumed his seat, and where mine host was expatiating to jekin groby, the hostess, the cook, and the turnspit-dog, upon the propriety of every constable letting gentlemen settle their differences their own way. "for," said he, "what is the law made for? why, to punish the offender. now, if there is no offence committed, there is no offender. then would the law be of no use; therefore, to make the law useful, one ought to let the offence be committed without intermeddling, which would be rendering the law of no avail." "very true," said his wife. "why, there's something in it," said jekin groby; "for when i was at court, the king himself ordered two gentlemen to fight. lord a' mercy! it seemed to me cruel strange!" "nay, when wert thou at court, master jekin?" demanded the landlord. "why, have i ate lamb and drank ale at thy house twice every year," demanded the indignant clothier, "and knowest thou not, john alesop, that i am clothier, otherwise cloth merchant, to his most gracious grace king henry? and that twice he has admitted me into his dignified presence? and once that i staid six weeks at the palace at westminster? oh! it is a prince of a king! lord a' mercy! you never saw his like!" "nay, nay, i heard not of it," replied the landlord. "but come, master jekin, as these gentlemen don't seem inclined to fight, tell us all about the court, and those whom you saw there, while the lamb is roasting." the honest clothier was willing enough to tell his story, and, including even the knight, every one seemed inclined to hear him, except indeed the portingal captain, who was anxious to recommence his flirtation with master alesop's dame. but she, having by chance heard a word or two about slitting of ears, turned up her nose at her foreign innamorato, and prepared herself to look at sir osborne maurice, and to listen to jekin groby. "oh! it is a prodigious place, the court!" said the clothier, "a very prodigious place, indeed. but, to my mind, the finest thing about it is the king himself. never was such a king; so fine a man, or so noble in his apparel! i have seen him wear as many as three fresh suits a day. then for the broidery, and the cloth of gold, and the cloth of silver, and the coat of goldsmiths' work: there was a world of riches! and amongst the nobles, too, there was more wealth on their backs than in their hearts or their heads, i'll warrant. the nobility of the land is quite cast away, since the youngsters went to fetch back the lady mary from france, after her old husband the french king died. none but french silks worn; and good english cloth, forsooth, is too coarse for their fine backs! and then the french fashions, too, not only touch the doublet, but affect the vest and the nether end; so that, with chamfreed edging, and short french breeches, they make such a comely figure, that except it were a dog in a doublet, you shall not see any so disguised as our young nobility."[2] while the good clothier proceeded, the portingal had more than once fidgeted on his seat, as if with some willingness to evade the apartment; and at length had risen and was quietly proceeding towards the door, when the eye of sir osborne maurice fixed upon him, with a sort of stern authority in its glance, which he seemed well to understand; for, without more ado, he returned to his settle, and showed as if he had merely risen to stretch the unwieldy length of his legs by a turn upon the floor. in the mean time, jekin groby went on. "it is a lewd age and a bad, i wot, and the next will be a worse, seeing that all our young gallants are so full of strange phantasies; that is, not to say all, for there is the young earl of derby, god bless his noble heart! he is an honest one and a merry, and right english to the core. one day he meets me in the ante-chamber, where i had always leave to stand to see all the world go in and out, and he says to me, 'honest jekin groby,' says he, 'dost thou stand here in the ante-room waiting for my lord cardinal's place, if he should chance to die?' 'nay, my good lord,' i was bold to answer, 'i know that here i am out of place, yet my lord cardinal's would not suit me.' so then he laughed. 'why not?' says he, 'for certainly thou art of the cloth.' but hark! they are crying in the court." the honest clothier was right, for sundry sounds began to make themselves heard in the court-yard, announcing the arrival of no inconsiderable party, which, if one might judge by the vociferation of the servants, consisted of people that made some noise in the world. up started mine host as well as his rotundity would let him; up started mine hostess, and out rushed the cook; while, at the same moment, a bustling lacquey with riding-whip in hand, pushed into the kitchen, exclaiming, "what's this! what's this! but one tapestried room, and that engaged? nonsense! it must be had, and shall be had, for my young lady and her woman!" "a torch! a torch!" cried a voice without. "this way, lady. the rain is coming on very hard; we shall be much better here." all eyes turned towards the door with that anxious curiosity which every small body of human beings feels when another person is about to be added to the little world of the moment. but fastidious, indeed, must have been the taste that could have found anything unpleasing in the form that entered. it was that of a sweet, fair girl, in the spring of womanhood: every feature was delicate and feminine, every limb was small and graceful: yet with that rounded fulness which is indispensable to perfect beauty. her colour was not high, but it was fine; and when she found herself before so many strangers, it grew deeper and deeper, till it might have made the rose look pale. i hate long descriptions. she was lovely, and i have said enough. by this time the hostess had advanced, and a venerable old man in a clerical robe had followed into the room, while mine host himself rolled forward to see what best could be done for the accommodation of the large party that seemed willing to honour his inn with their presence. "i heard something about the best chamber being engaged," said the young lady, in a voice that sweetly corresponded with her person, at the same time turning half towards the hostess, half towards the clergyman. "i beg that i may disturb no one. any chamber will do for me and my woman, if you think we cannot reach the manor to-night." "ay! but if we can have the best chamber, i don't see why not, lady," said the lady's-maid, who by this time had followed. sir osborne maurice advanced. "if it is to me," said he, "that the best chamber has been assigned, i shall feel myself honoured in resigning it to a lady, but infinitely more, if my memory serves me right, and that lady be lady constance de grey." "good heaven, master osborne maurice!" said the lady, colouring again with evidently no very unpleasant feelings. "i thought you were in flanders. when did----?" but she had no time to finish her phrase, for the old clergyman cast himself upon sir osborne's neck, and wept like a child. "my dear osborne!" cried he, "how? when? where? but i am a fool; how like you have grown to your dear lady mother! pardon me, my lord--i mean, sir--i don't know what i'm talking of. but you know you were my first pupil, and like my child; and i never thought to see you again before my old eyes were covered with the dust. alack! alack! what a fine man thou art grown! 'tis just five years, come may, since you came to take leave of me at the house of this my honoured lady's father; and mind you how you taught her to shoot with the bow, and how pleased my good lord her father was to see you?" "i have not forgotten one circumstance of the kind hospitality i then received," said sir osborne, "and never shall, so long as i have memory of anything." "ay, but she has lost the archery," said the old clergyman. "she has lost it entirely." "but i have not lost the bow, master osborne," said the lady, with a smile: "i have it still, and shall some day relearn to draw it." there was a strange difference between the manner of the clergyman and that of the lady, when addressing the young knight. lady constance evidently saw him with pleasure; but she seemed to feel, or to suppose, that there existed between them a difference of rank, which made some reserve on her part necessary, while, on the contrary, the old man gave way to unlimited joy at meeting with his former pupil, though qualified by an air of respect and deference which mingled strangely with the expressions of fondness that he poured forth. by this time, the host and hostess having removed from the fire, and the portingal captain having quietly slipped away in the bustle, no one remained near it but jekin groby; and, he not being very terrific of aspect, lady constance placed herself in one of the vacant seats till such time as her chamber should be prepared. sir osborne wrung the old tutor's hand affectionately, and whispered, while he followed to the side of lady constance, "i have a word to say to you, and much upon which to consult you." "good, good!" replied the old man, in the same subdued tone, "when the lady has retired." having seated themselves round the fire, the conversation was soon renewed, especially between the tutor and sir osborne: lady constance sometimes joining in with her sweet musical voice, and her gentle, engaging manner, and sometimes falling into deep reveries, which seemed not of the happiest nature, if one might judge by the grave, and even sad cast that her countenance took, as she fixed her eyes upon the embers, and appeared to study deeply the various forms they offered to her view. in the mean time, the clergyman gradually engaged sir osborne to detail some of the adventures which he had met with during the five years that he had served in the imperial army then combating in flanders; and then he spoke of "moving accidents by flood and field, of hair-breadth 'scapes in th' imminent deadly breach," and of much that he had seen, mingled with some small portions of what he himself had done; and yet, when he told any of his own deeds that had met with great success, he took care to attribute all to his good fortune and a happy chance. it was thus, he said, that, by a most lucky coincidence, he happened to take two standards of the enemy before the eyes of the late emperor maximilian, who, as a recompense, honoured him with knighthood from his own sword. "indeed!" exclaimed lady constance, waking from her reverie; "then i do congratulate you most sincerely. the road to fortune and to fame is now open to you, sir osborne, and i feel sure, i know, that you will reach the goal." "a thousand thanks, lady, for your good augury!" replied the knight; "nor do i lack hope, though there are so many competitors in the field of fame that the difficulty of winning renown is increased. in the army of flanders there is many an aspirant with whom it is hard to contend." "true," replied lady constance; "but even that makes the contention more honourable. oh! we have heard of that army, and its feats of arms, even here. we cannot be supposed to have received the names of all those who have done high deeds; but they say that the young lord darnley, the son of the unhappy earl fitzbernard, is realizing the tales of the knights of old. you must have met him, sir osborne maurice. do you know him?" "i cannot say that i know him well," replied the knight, "though we have served long in the same army. he has gained some renown, it is true, but there are many men-at-arms as good as he." "i know not well why," said lady constance after a pause; "but i have always been much interested in that young gentleman's history. the unexpected, and seemingly undeserved, train of misfortunes that fell upon his house, and the accounts that all men give of his gallantry and daring, his courtesy and accomplishments, have made him quite one of my heroes of romance." whether it, be true that very high praises of another will frequently excite some small degree of envy, even in the most amiable minds, matters not; but sir osborne did not seem very easy in his chair while lady constance recited the high qualities of his companion in arms. "i have heard," replied he at length, "that the fame which lord darnley has acquired, either justly or unjustly, has even reached the ears of our sovereign lord the king, and has worked much in favour of those claims which his family make to their forfeited estates. it is well known that his grace is the flower of this world's chivalry; and as the young lord is somewhat skilful in the tournois, and at the barriers, the king has, i hear, expressed a wish to see him, which, if he should come over, may turn favourably to his cause." "god grant it may!" said lady constance, "although i have never seen the young gentleman, and though the person who now holds his estates is cousin to my deceased father----" "good god! is it possible?" exclaimed sir osborne, "that my lord your father is dead? but i might have divined it from seeing you here alone." lady constance sighed. "i am indeed alone in all the world," said she. "my father has been dead these three years. my lord cardinal wolsey claims me as ward of the crown; and as i am now in my one-and-twentieth year, he calls me to a place i hate: the court. knowing no one there, loved of no one there, i shall feel like an inexperienced being in a sad, strange world. but when the time comes that i may command my own actions, if they will ever let me do so, i will return to my father's halls, and live amongst my own tenantry. but to change a painful subject, my good father," she continued, turning to the clergyman, "were it not well to send a messenger to sir payan wileton, to let him know that we shall not arrive at his house to-night, though we will take our forenoon meal with him to-morrow?" the old clergyman seemed somewhat embarrassed. "i know not what to do," said he. "'twould be better not to go at all, yet what can be done? you promised to go as you went to london, and one ought always to keep one's promise. so what can the lady do?" and he turned abruptly to sir osborne, not so much as if he asked his advice as if he made him an apology. "why, the lady had certainly better keep her word," answered sir osborne, with a smile; "but you know, my good old friend, that i cannot judge of the circumstances." "ay, true; i forgot," answered the other. "she must go, i am afraid, though she knows what the man is, and dislikes him as much as any one----" at this moment the chamberlain entered, with lady constance's woman, announcing that the tapestry chamber was now warmed and lighted; and the young lady left them, with many apologies to sir osborne for depriving him of his apartment. "i warrant you, madam," said tim chamberlain, "his worship will be well lodged; for 'tis but the next room to that he had, and 'tis all as good, bating the tapestry." "i am a soldier, lady," said sir osborne, "and not much accustomed to tapestry to my chamber, without it be the blue hangings of the sky, spangled with the starry broidery of heaven; but in truth i wish they had given me but a tramper's garret, that i might at least have had some merit in giving up the room." as the honest clothier, jekin groby, who was little heedful of ceremony, still sat by the fire, though apparently dipped deeply in the lethean stream of an afternoon's doze, the conversation of sir osborne maurice with his old tutor could not be so private as they could have wished, especially as the cook and the chamberlain were bustling about laying forth a table for the rere-supper, and two or three lacqueys who had accompanied the litter of lady constance were running in and out, endeavouring to make as much noise as possible about nothing. however, they found an opportunity to appoint a place of meeting in london, to which both were journeying, and it was agreed that the first arrived should there wait for the other. many questions concerning the state of england did sir osborne ask of the old man, for whom he seemed to entertain both reverence and love, and deeply did he ponder all the answers he received. often also did the tutor look anxiously in the face of the young knight, and often did sir osborne return it with the same kind of hesitating glance, as if there were some subject on which they both wished to speak, yet doubted whether to begin. at length sir osborne spoke out, more to the clergyman's thoughts than his words. "we will talk of all that hereafter in london," said he; "'twere too long to expose now. but, tell me one thing: know you, my good father, a celebrated man called in italy cesario il dotto? is he to be trusted? for i met with him to-day, when he much astonished me, and much won upon my opinion; but i knew not how far i might confide in him, though he is certainly a most extraordinary man." "trust your life in his hands!" exclaimed the tutor. "he is your father's best and dearest friend, and never has he ceased his efforts to serve him. we used much to dispute, for i am bound by my calling to hold his studies as evil; but certainly his knowledge was wonderful, and his intentions were good. god forgive him if he err in his opinions! as in truth he does, holding strange phantasies of many sorts of spirits, more than the church allows, with various things altogether heretical and vain. but, as i have said, trust him with your life, if it be necessary; for he is a true friend and a good man, although his knowledge and his art be altogether damnable and profane." "'tis strange i never heard my father name him," said sir osborne. "oh! he bore another name once," replied the tutor, "which he changed when he first gave himself to those dangerous studies that have since rendered him so famous. it is a custom among such men to abjure their name; but he had another reason, being joined in a famous conspiracy some thirty years ago." "why," said sir osborne, "he does not seem a very old man now!" "he is full eighty," replied the clergyman; "and there is the wonder, for he seems never to change. for twenty years he was absent from england, except when he came to be present at your birth. at length everybody had forgotten him but your father, and he is now only known by the name of sir cesar. yet, strange as it may seem, he is received and courted by the great; he knows the secrets and affairs of every one, and possesses much influence even in the court. it is true i know his former name, but under so strict a vow to conceal it that it can never pass my lips." "but how came he present at my birth?" demanded sir osborne, whose curiosity was now highly excited. "he came to calculate your nativity," replied the tutor, "which he did upon a scroll of parchment----" "fifty-six yards long by three yards broad," said jekin groby, waking, "which makes just one hundred and sixty-eight: yaw---bless me, i forgot! is supper ready? host, host! cook, serve quick, and these gentles will take a bit of my lamb, i am sure." "i thank you, good sir," said the knight, "but i must to bed, for i ride betimes to-morrow." "so do i, faith," said the clothier; "and by your leave, sir knight, i'll ride with you, if you go toward lunnun; for my bags are well lined, and company's a blessing in these days of plunder and robbery." "with all my heart," replied sir osborne; "so that you have your horse saddled by half-past five, we will to canterbury together." "well, i'll be ready, i'll be ready," said the clothier; "but sure you'll stay and taste the lamb and ale? see how it hisses and crackles! oh! 'tis a rare morsel, a neck of lamb! stay stay!" "i thank you, 'tis not possible," replied the knight. "good night, my excellent old friend!" he continued, pressing the tutor's hand. "we shall soon meet, then, at the house of your relation, doctor butts: till then, farewell!" chapter v. you have the captives, who were the opposites of this day's strife! we do require them of you, so to use them as we shall find their merits and our safety may equally determine.--shakspere. the chamber of sir osborne maurice was next to that of lady constance de grey, and from time to time he could hear through the partition the sweet murmuring of her voice, as she spoke to the woman who undressed her. whatever were the thoughts these sounds called up, the young soldier did not sleep, but lay pondering over his fate, his brain troubled by a host of busy meditations that would not let him rest. it was not that he either was in love with lady constance, or fancied himself in love with her, though he neither wanted ardour of feeling nor quickness of imagination; and yet he thought over all she said with strange sensations of pleasure, and tried to draw the graceful outline of her figure upon the blank darkness of the night. and then, again, he called up the fortnight that he spent some five years before at the mansion of her father, when he had gone thither to bid farewell to his old tutor; and he remembered every little incident as though 'twere yesterday. still, all the while, he never dreamed of love. he gave way to those thoughts as to a pleasant vision, which filled up sweetly the moments till sleep should fall upon his eyelids; and yet he found that the more he thought in such a train, the less likely was he to slumber. at length the idea of the portingal captain crossed his mind, and he strove to fix at what moment it was that that worthy had quitted the kitchen of the inn, by recalling the last time he positively had been there. he tried, however, in vain, and in the midst of the endeavour he fell asleep. the sun had fully risen by the time sir osborne awoke; and finding himself later than he had intended, he dressed himself hurriedly and ran down to the court, where he met the honest clothier already prepared to set out. his own horse, thanks to the care of jekin groby, had been accoutred also; and as nothing remained for him to do but to pay his reckoning and depart, all was soon ready, and the travellers were on the road. "ah, ha! sir knight," said the clothier, with good-humoured familiarity, as sir osborne sprang into the saddle, "what would they say in camp if it were known that jekin groby, the kentish clothier, was in the field before you? ha, ha, ha! that's good! and you talked, too, of being off by cock-crow! lord 'a mercy! poor old chanticleer has almost thrawn his own neck with crowing, and you never heeded his piping." "i have been very lazy," said the knight, "and know not, in truth, how it has happened. but tell me, honest master groby, did you remark last night at what hour it was that the vagabond portingallo took his departure?" "why, 'twas just when my young lady, mistress constance, came in," said the clothier; "he slipped away, just as i've seen a piece of cloth slip off a shelf, fold by fold, so quietly that no one heard it, till, flump! it was all gone together. but, bless us!" he continued, "how comical! our horses are both of a colour. never did i see such a match, only mine has got a white foot, which is a pity. bought him in yorkshire when i went down after the cloth. them damned cheats, however, painted me his white foot, and 'twas not till i'd had him a week that i saw his foot begin to change colour. vast cheats in yorkshire! steal a man's teeth out of his head if he sleeps with his mouth open." "it is a good horse, though," said sir osborne; "rather heavy in the shoulder. but it is a good strong horse, and would bear a man-at-arms well, i doubt not." jekin groby was somewhat of a judge in horse-flesh, notwithstanding his having been gulled by the yorkshire jockeys; and, what was more, he piqued himself upon his knowledge, so that he soon entered upon a strain of conversation with sir osborne which could only be interesting to connoisseurs. this continued some way as they trotted along the road, which offered no appearance of anything bearing the human form divine, till they came to a spot where the way had been cut between two high banks, formed of chalky soil mingled with veins of large flints. on the summit of one of these banks was perched a man, who seemed looking out for something, as he stood motionless, gazing down the road towards them. upon his shoulder he carried a pole, or staff, as it was called, some thirteen feet long, with a sharp iron head, such as was frequently carried by the people of the country in those days, serving both as a means of aggression or defence, and as a sort of leaping-pole wherewith they cleared the deep ditches by which the country was in many parts intersected. the man himself was apparently above the ordinary height. whoever he was, and whatever was his occupation, no sooner did he see the travellers, than, descending the bank by means of the veins of flint, which served him as steps, he ran on as hard as he could, and then, turning off through a little stile, was seen proceeding rapidly across a field beyond. "did you remark that fellow with his long pole?" demanded sir osborne. "we have frightened him: look, he runs!" "he is vexed to see more than one at a time, sir knight," replied jekin groby. "god's fish! i am glad i had your worship with me." "why, he can mean us no harm," said sir osborne. "the moment a man flies he changes from _your_ enemy and becomes his own. but that fellow was evidently looking out for some one: now, if he know not that you are travelling here with your bags well lined, as you express it, which doubtless you are too wise a man to give notice of to every one, he cannot be watching for _us_, for my plunder would not be worth his having. i rather think he is some fellow hawking fowl, by the long staff he has on his shoulder." "it may be so," replied the cloth-merchant. "one is bound to think charitably, and never to judge rashly; but i'faith, i am mistaken if he is not a vast rogue. as to their not knowing that my bags are pretty full of angels, trust them for that. no one is robbed without the consent of the chamberlain or hostler where last he lodged. the moment you are off your beast, they whip you up your cap-case or budget, as it may happen; and if they can't find out by the weight, they give it a shake, after such a sort as to make the pieces jingle. then again, as for his pole or staff, as you term it, those fellows with their staves are so commonly known for robbery on the road, that no honest man rides without his case of dags at his saddle-bow, or something of the kind to deal with them out of reach of their pike, which sort of snapper, truly, i see your worship has got as well as myself." "oh! you need not fear them," said sir osborne, somewhat amused at the alarm of the clothier, though willing to allay it. "you are a stout man, and i am not quite a schoolboy." "oh! i fear them! i don't fear them," replied jekin, affecting a virtue which he had not; for though, in truth, not very sensible to fear of a mere personal nature, yet his terror at the idea of losing his angels was most pious and exemplary. "a couple of true men are worth forty of them; and besides, the fellow has run away. so now to what i was telling your worship about the horse. he cleared the fence and the ditch on t'other side; but then there was again another low fence, not higher, nor--let me see--not higher nor---zounds! there's longpole again! lord! how he runs! he's a-poaching, sure enough." but to continue. during the next mile's journey, the same occurrence was repeated four or five times, till at last the appearance of the man with the staff, whom jekin groby had by this time christened longpole, was hardly noticed either by the knight or his companion. in the mean time the horsemen proceeded but slowly, and at length reached a spot where the high bank broke away, and the hedge receding left a small open space of what appeared to be common ground. its extent perhaps might be half an acre, lying in the form of a decreasing wedge between two thick hedges, full of leafless stunted oaks, terminated by a clump of larger trees, which probably hung over a pond. thus it made a sort of little vista, down which the eye naturally wandered, resting upon all the tranquil, homely forms it presented, with perhaps more pleasure than a vaster or a brighter scene could have afforded. sir osborne looked down it for a moment, then suddenly reined in his horse, and pointing with his hand, cried to jekin groby, who was a little in advance, "i see two men hiding behind those trees, and a third there in the hedge. gallop quick; 'tis an ambush!" the clothier instantly spurred forward his horse; but his passage was closed by two sturdy fellows, armed with the sort of staves which had obtained for their companion the name of longpole. animated with the same courage in defence of his angels that inspires a hen in protection of her chickens, jekin groby drew forth his dags, or horse-pistols, and, with the bridle in his teeth, aimed one at the head of each of his antagonists. the aggressors jumped aside, and would probably have let him pass, had he not attempted too boldly to follow up his advantage. he pulled the triggers, the hammers fell, but no report ensued; and it was then he felt the folly of not having well examined his arms before he left the inn. in the mean while sir osborne maurice was not unemployed. at the same moment that jekin groby had been attacked, a man forced his way through the hedge, and opposed himself to the knight, while sundry others hastened towards them. sir osborne's first resource was his pistol, which, like those of the clothier, had been tampered with at the inn. but the knight lost not his presence of mind, and spurred on his horse even against the pike. the animal, long accustomed to combat where still more deadly weapons were employed, reared up, and with a bound brought the knight clear of the staff, and within reach of his adversary, on whose head sir osborne discharged such a blow with the butt-end of his pistol as laid him senseless on the ground. with a glance of lightning he saw that at least a dozen more were hurrying up, and that the only chance left was to deal suddenly with the two, who were now in a fair way to pull the clothier off his horse, and having despatched them, to gallop on with all speed. without loss of a moment, therefore, he drew his sword and spurred forward. one of honest jekin's assailants instantly faced about, and, with his pike rested on his foot, steadfastly opposed the cavalier. however, he was not so dexterous in the use of his weapon that sir osborne could not by rapidly wheeling his horse obtain a side view of the pike, when by one sweeping blow of his long-sword he cleft it in twain. one moment more and the unhappy pikeman's head and shoulders would have parted company, for an arm of iron was swaying the edge of the weapon rapidly towards his neck, when suddenly a powerful man sprang upon the knight's horse behind, and pinioned his arms with a force which, though it did not entirely disable him, saved the life of his antagonist. using a strong effort, sir osborne so far disengaged his arms as to throw back the pommel of his sword into the chest of this new adversary, who in a moment was rolling in the dust; but as he fell, another sprang up again behind the knight, and once more embarrassed his arms: others seized the horse's bridle, and others pressed upon him on every side. still sir osborne resisted, but it was in vain. a cord was passed through his arms, and gradually tightened behind, in spite of his struggling, where, being tied, it rendered all further efforts useless. hitherto not a word had been spoken by either party. it seemed as if, by mutual understanding, the attacking and the attacked had forborne any conversation upon a subject which they knew could not be decided by words. at length, however, when they had pulled sir osborne maurice off his horse, and placed him by the side of jekin groby, who had now long been in the same situation, the tallest of the party, evidently no other than the agreeable gentleman who had watched them along the road with such peculiar care, and whom we shall continue to call longpole, advanced, holding his side, which was still suffering from the pommel of sir osborne's sword; and after regarding them both, he addressed himself to the knight, with much less asperity than might have been expected from the resistance he had met with. "thou hit'st damned hard!" said he; "and i doubt thou hast broken one of my ribs with thy back-heave. howsoever, i know not which of you is which, now i've got you. faith, they should have described me the men, not the horses; both the horses are alike." "is your wish to rob us or not?" said sir osborne; "because in robbing us both you are sure to rob the right. only leave us our horses, and let us go; for to cut our throats will serve you but little." "if i wished to rob thee, my gentleman," answered longpole, "i'd cut thy throat too, for breaking my companion's head, who lies there in the road as if he were dead, or rather as if he were asleep, for he's snoring like the father-hog of a large family, the portingallo vagabond! however, i'll have you both away; then those who sent to seek you will know which it is they want. hollo there! knock that fellow down that's fingering the bags. if one of you touch a stiver i'll make your skins smart for it." "i see several portingals," said sir osborne, "or i mistake. is it not so?" "ay, portingals and dutchers, and such like mixed," replied longpole. "but come; you must go along." a light now broke upon the mind of sir osborne. "listen," cried he to the englishman, as he was preparing to lead them away; "how comes it that you englishmen join yourselves with a beggarly race of wandering vagabonds to revenge the quarrel of a base-born portingallo captain upon one of your own countrymen? give me but a moment, and you shall hear whether he did not deserve the punishment i inflicted." longpole seemed willing to hear, and one or two others came round, while the rest employed themselves in quieting the knight's horse, that, finding himself in hands he was unaccustomed to, began plunging and kicking most violently. "i will be short," said the knight. "this portingal had agreed to furnish a cargo of fruits to the imperial army in flanders; 'tis now two years ago, for we had a malignant fever in the camp. he got the money when they were landed, and was bringing them under a small escort, which i commanded, when we found our junction cut off by the right wing of the enemy's army, which had wheeled. the greatest exertion was necessary to pass round through a hollow way; the least noise, the least flutter of a pennon, would have betrayed us to the french outposts, who were not more than a bow-shot from us, when our portingal stopped in the midst, and vowed he would not go on, unless i promised to pay him double for the fruit, and not to tell anybody of what he had done. if i had run my lance through him, as i was tempted, his companions would have made a noise, and we were lost; so i was obliged to promise. he knew he could trust the word of an english knight, so he went on quietly enough, and got his money; but then i took him out into a field, and after a struggle, i tied him to a tree, and lashed him with my stirrup-leathers till his back was flayed. he was not worth a knight's sword, or i would have swept his head off. but tell me, is it for this a party of englishmen maltreat their countrymen?" "you served him right, young sir," answered longpole; "and i remember that malignant fever well, for i was then fletcher to sir john pechie's band of horse archers. but, nevertheless, you must come along; for the portingallo and his men only lend a hand in taking you to sir payan wileton, who tells us a very different story, and does not make you out a knight at all." sir osborne replied nothing (for it seemed that the name of sir payan wileton showed him reply was in vain), but suffered himself to be led on in silence by longpole and five of bid stoutest companions, while the rest were directed to follow with jekin groby and the two horses, as soon as the portuguese whom the knight had stunned should be in a fit state to be removed. for some way sir osborne was conducted along the highroad without any attempt at concealment on the part of those who guarded him; and even at a short distance from the spot where the affray had happened they stopped to speak with a carter, who was slowly driving his team on to the village. "ah! dick," said he, addressing longpole, "what hast been at?" "why, faith," answered the other, "i don't well know. it's a job of his worship's. you know he has queer ways with him; and when he tells one to do a thing, one knows well enough what the beginning is, but what the end of it is to be no one knows but himself. he says that this gentleman is the man who excited the miners on his cornish lands to riot and insurrection, and a deal more, so that he will have him taken. he don't look it, does he? if it had been to-morrow i'd not have gone upon the thing, for to-day my sworn service is out." "ay! ay!" said the other; "'tis hard to know sir payan. howsomdever, he has got all the land round about, one way or t'other, and everything must yield to him, for no one ever withstood him but what some mischance fell upon him. mind you how, when young davors went to law with him, and gained his cause, about seven acres' field, he was drowned in the pond when out hawking, not a year after? do not cross him, man! do not cross him! for either god's blessing or the devil's is upon him, and you'll come to harm some way if you do!" "i'll not cross him, but i'll leave him," said longpole; "for i like neither what i see nor what i hear of him, and less what i do for him. so, fare thee well, boy." sir osborne maurice had fallen into a profound reverie, from which he did not wake during the whole of the way. the astrologer's prediction of approaching evil, and a thousand other circumstances of still more painful presage, came thronging upon his mind, and took away from him all wish or power either to question his conductors or to devise any plan for escape, had escape been possible. the way was long, and the path which longpole and his companions followed led through a variety of green fields and lanes, silent and solitary, which gave the young knight full time to muse over his situation. had he given credit to the words of his conductor, and for an instant supposed that the reason of his having been so suddenly seized was the charge of instigating a body of cornish miners to tumult, he would have felt, no apprehension; for he knew it would be easy to clear himself of crimes committed in a county which he had never seen in his life. but sir osborne felt that if such a charge were brought forward, it would merely be as a pretext to place him in the power of his bitterest enemies. the manner in which he had been made a prisoner, so different from the open, fair course of any legal proceeding, the persons who had seized him bearing no appearance of officers of the law, the doubt that the chief of them had himself expressed as to the veracity of the charge, and the presence of a set of smuggling portuguese sailors, all showed evidently to sir osborne that his detention solely originated in some deep wile of a man famous for his daring cunning and his evil deeds. yet still, knowing the full extent of his danger, and blessed with a heart unused to quail to any circumstance of fate, the knight would have felt no apprehension, had not odd little human nature, who always keeps a grain or two of superstition in the bottom of her snuff-box, continually reminded him of the prophecy of his singular companion of the day before, and reproached him for not having followed the advice which would infallibly have removed him from the difficulties by which he was now surrounded. the mysterious vagueness, too, the shadowy uncertainty, of the predicted evil, which seemed even now in its accomplishment, in despite of all his efforts, weighed upon his mind; and it was not till the long, heavy brick front of an old manor-house met his view, giving notice that he was near the place of his destination, that he could arouse his energies to encounter what was to follow. the large folding-doors leading into a stone hall were pushed open by his conductors, and sir osborne was brought in, and made to sit down upon a bench by the fire. one or two servants only were in the hall; and they, unlike the persons who brought him, were dressed in livery, with the cognizance of sir payan--a snake twisted round a crane--embroidered on the sleeve. "his worship is in the book-room, dick," said one of the men; "take your prisoner there." these few words were all that passed, for an ominous sort of silence seemed to hang over the dwelling, and affected all within it. without reply, longpole led the young knight forward, followed by two of those who had assisted in securing him; and at the end of a long corridor, which terminated the hall, knocked at a door in a recess. "come in!" cried a voice within; and the moment after, sir osborne found himself confronted with the man whose name we have often had occasion to mention with but little praise in the course of the preceding pages, sir payan wileton. he was seated in an arm-chair, at the farther end of the small book-room, which, all petty as it was, when compared with the vast libraries of the present day, offered a prodigy in point of literary treasure, in those times when the invention of the press had made but little progress towards superseding the painful and expensive method of manual transcription. about a hundred volumes, in gay bindings of vellum and of velvet, ornamented the shelves, and two or three others lay on a table before him, at which also was seated a clerk, busily engaged in writing. sir payan himself was a man of about fifty, of a deep ashy complexion, and thin, strongly-marked features. his eyes were dark, shrewd, and bright, and sunk deep below his brows, in the midst of which was to be observed a profound wrinkle, which gave his face a continual frown. his cheek-bones were high, his hair was short and grizzled, and his whole appearance had, perhaps, more of sternness than of cunning. on the entrance of sir osborne maurice, for a moment no one spoke, and the two knights regarded each other in silence, with an austere bitterness that might have spoken them old enemies. but while he gazed on the young knight, sir payan's hand, which lay on some papers before him, gradually contracted, clenched harder and harder, till at length the red blood in his thin knuckles vanished away, and they became white as a woman's by the force of the compression. but it was in vain! sir osborne's glance mastered his, and dashing his hand across his brow, he broke forth:-"so, this is he who excited my tenants and labourers to revolt against the king in that unfortunate cornish insurrection, and who led them on to plunder my bailiff's dwelling, and to murder my bailiff! clerk, make out instantly the warrant for his removal to cornwall, with copies of the depositions taken here, that he may be tried and punished for his crimes on the spot where they were committed." "sir payan wileton," said the knight, still regarding him with the same steady, determined gaze, "we meet for the first time to-day; but i think you know me." "i do, sir; i do!" replied sir payan, without varying from the hurried and impatient manner in which he had spoken at first. "i know you for a rebellious instigator to all kinds of mischief, and for a homicide. speak, richard heartley; did the prisoner offer any resistance? has he added any fresh crimes to those he has already perpetrated?" "resist!" cried longpole; "ay, your worship, he resisted enough, and broke one of the portingallos' heads, but not more than was natural or reasonable. the other one resisted too; yet it was easy to see that this one was of gentle blood, which was what your worship wanted, i doubt not. but, however, as they were both mounted on strong black horses, such as your honour described, we brought them both up." "umph!" said sir payan, biting his lip; "there were two, were there?" and he muttered something to himself. "send me here the captain ----, or wilson the bailiff. it must be ascertained which is which--though there can be no doubt--there can be no doubt!" "mark me, sir payan wileton," said sir osborne, the moment the other paused. "mark me, and take good heed before you too far commit yourself. we know each other, and, therefore, a few words will suffice. five people in england are aware of my arrival, and equally aware of where i slept last night, and when i set out this morning. judge, therefore, whether it will not be easy to trace me hither, and to free me from your hands." sir payan wileton had evidently been agitated by some strong feeling on first beholding the young knight; but by this time he had completely mastered it, and his face had resumed that rigid austerity of expression with which he was wont to cover all that was passing in his mind. "railing, sir, and insinuations will be found of no use here," he said, calmly. "clerk, make good speed with those warrants! oh! here is wilson. now, wilson, look at the prisoner well, and tell me if you are sure that he is the person who assaulted you yesterday, and who led the miners when they burned your father's house in cornwall. look at him well!" the young man, whom it may be remembered sir osborne maurice had dispatched so unceremoniously over the wall of old richard heartley's garden, now advanced, and regarded the knight with a triumphant grin. "oh, ho! my brave bird, what! you're limed, are you?" he muttered; and then, turning to sir payan, "yes, your worship, 'tis he," he continued. "i'm ready to swear that 'twas he led the men that burned pencriton house, and that threw me over the wall, because i struck old heartley for calling your worship a usurping traitor and----" but at that moment longpole laid a grasp upon his collar that almost strangled him. "you struck my father, did you?" exclaimed he; "then pray god to make all your bones as soft as whit-leather, for if they're but as crisp as buttered toast, i'll break every one in your skin!" "silence!" cried sir payan wileton; "silence, heartley! if your father has been struck, i will take care he shall have satisfaction." "with your worship's good leave, i will take care of it myself," replied longpole. "i never trust any one to give or to receive a drubbing for me. i like always to calculate my own quantity of crabstick." "silence!" said sir payan; "again i say, silence! my good richard, i assure you, you shall be satisfied. clerk, swear wilson to the depositions he made. oh! here is the portingallo. captain, is that the man you remember having seen in cornwall when you were last there?" "yes, yes, el pero! that was himself!" cried the captain; "i sawed him at the ale-house at penzance with my own eye, when i went to fetch the cargo of coal." "you mean of tin, captain," said sir payan. "yes, yes, of ten," replied the portuguese. "it was just ten, i remember." sir osborne's patience was exhausted. "vagabond! thief!" cried he, "do you remember my scourging you with the stirrup-leathers in flanders, till there was not an inch of skin upon your back?" "yes, yes, that was your turn," said the captain; "i scourge you now." "remark what he says," cried sir osborne, to those who stood round, "and all of you bear witness in case----" "prisoner, you stand committed," cried sir payan, in a loud voice. "take him away! suffer him not to speak! richard heartley, place him in the strong-room at the foot of the stair-case, and having locked the door, keep guard over him. captain, stay you with me; all the rest, go." the commands of sir payan were instantly obeyed; and the room being cleared, he pressed his hands before his eyes, and thought deeply for some moments. "he is mine!" cried he at length, "he is mine! and shall i let him out of my own hands now that i have him, when 'twould be so easy to furnish him with a hook and a halter wherewith to hang himself, as the good chaplain and john bellringer did to the heretic hun, in the lollards' tower last year? but no, that is too fresh in the minds of men, and too many suspicions are already busy. so, my captain--i forgot. sit down, my good captain. i am, as we agreed, about to give this young man into your hands to take to cornwall. why do you laugh?" "he! he! cornwall," cried the captain; "i do not go in cornwall." "nay, some time in your life you will probably voyage to cornwall as well as to other lands," said sir payan. "now, 'tis the same to me whether you take him there now or a hundred years hence: you may carry him all over the world if you will, and drop him at the antipodes." "i understand, i understand," replied the portingal; "you have much need to get rid of him, and you give him to me. well, i will take your present, if you give me two hundred golden angels with him." sir payan nodded assent. "but let me understand quite all well," continued the captain: "you want me to take him to cornwall. there is one cornwall at the bottom of the sea; do you mean that?" "'twere fully as good as the other," said sir payan, "if the journey were short, and the conveyance sure." "two cannon-shot will make it a quick passage," replied the captain; "but they must be made of gold, my good worship." "why of gold?" demanded sir payan. "oh! i catch your meaning. but you grow exorbitant." "not i," said the portingal; "i only ask two hundred angels more. why, an indulgence will cost me half the pay. it's very dear drowning a man. if you like me to take him and leave him in turkey with the ottomites, i will do it for the two; but if i send him to cornwall, he! he! he! you shall give me four." "but how shall i know that it is done?" said sir payan, thoughtfully. "but that must be trusted to. you are not such a child as to be pitiful. _men_ know how to avenge themselves, and you heard his boast of having scourged you. if you be a man, then do not forget it." "forget it!" cried the portingal, his dark brows knitting till they almost hid his eyes; "give me the order under your hand, and fear not." "what! an order to murder him!" cried sir payan. "think you my brain is turned?" "no, no! you have the wrong," said the portingal; "i mean an order to take him to cornwall. it shall be very easy to drop him by the way. if i was exorbitant, as you call me, i had make you pay more, because for why, i know you would eat your hand to get rid of him; else why have you make me bring you news of him when he was in flanders? why you pay three spies two crowns the month to give you news every step he took? oh! i know it all. but it is this: i am an honest merchant and no rogue, and when i pop him in the sea i do a little bit of my own business and a big bit of yours, so i do not charge you so much as if it was all yours. is not that honest?" "honest!" said sir payan, with a grim smile; "yes, very honest. but mark me, sir captain! i'll have some assurance of you. thus shall it be: i'll give you a warrant to take him to cornwall, but you shall sign me a promise to drop him overboard by the way, so that there be no peaching; for when our necks are in the same halter, each will take care not to draw the cord on his fellow, lest he be hanged himself." "well, well," said the portingal, "that's all right. no fear of me, and you will not for your own sake. but look here, sir payan. what have you intended to do with the other man that was taken with him, as they tell me, who was at the inn-house, and will tell it to all the world? he's the fat clothier; give him to me too, and let my men have the clearing of his bags. you owe them something for the job, and one has had his head broke, and will die by the time he is aboard. besides, they were never paid for bringing you up the whole cargo of strong wine, five years past, which was paid for by dudley, the sequestrator." "then he should have paid for the carriage," said sir payan. "but he never got it!" cried the portingal. "you kept all when you heard he was in prison, good sir payan; and when they did take his head off, you drank the wine yourself. but say, will you, or will you not, let my men have all that is inside that fat clothesman's bags, and i will take him, so that you shall never see him again? if not, your whole business shall soon be known by everybody in the world by his tongue." sir payan thought for a moment. "it must e'en be so," said he at length. "take him, but do not hurt him; and as to his bags, do as you like." "oh! hurt him! no!" answered the other. "in six months he shall be so good a sailor as any of the others, and two thousand miles away. but we must get off to-night. i will go down, get the boat close under the cliffs, and be back by about one o'clock in the morning. have all ready against i come, the gold and the order--warrant, as you call it, and all; and lock all my men up in the big granary, with a thing of bacon, and a big cask of liquor; so shall they be all drunk before three, and asleep by four, and sober again by the while i am back, and nobody hear anything about their being here at all." "that you must do yourself before you go," said sir payan. "in the mean time, i must take care that the prisoners be kept out of sight, for a lady cousin is to be here by noon, and neither she nor hers must hear of this. i myself must be away. she came not yesterday when she should have come; and fain would i pick a quarrel with her house, for they have lands too near my own to be any others than my own. so, though i have ordered her a banquet, yet shall she be served with scanty courtesy; then, if one word of anger fall from her, there shall more follow." "oh! if i be here when she shall come," said the portingal, "i will give her some cause either to be pleased or angry." "what wilt thou do, fellow?" demanded sir payan sternly. "beware! remember she is of my blood." "oh! nothing, nothing!" replied the captain, "only tell her some little compliment upon her beauty. but, my good worship, can you trust all your men about these prisoners?" "all! all!" replied sir payan. "there is no fear. no one of them but i could hang one way or another, and they know it. all except heartley, and he is bound to me by an illegal oath, wrung from him by fear of seeing his father driven out this hard winter. but 'tis past noon now. ho! without there! send in my clerk. what! are the horses saddled? farewell, sir portingal, till one i' the morning!" chapter vi. thrice had i loved thee before i knew thy face or name: so in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, angels affect us oft, and worshipped be.--donne. the place to which sir osborne maurice was conveyed, when the servants, according to their master's commands, removed him from the book-room, was a large dark chamber, running along beneath the whole extent of the principal stair-case, and some way into one of the towers beyond. the old manor-house--which for many reasons sir payan still inhabited, even after dispossessing lord fitzbernard of chilham castle--although built of brick, in a more modern style than the ancient holds of the feudal nobility, had not entirely abandoned the castellated architecture formerly in use. here and there, upon the long front of the building, was fastened a large square tower, useless as a defence, and inconvenient as a dwelling; and at every angle appeared an imposthume-like watch-turret, of redder brick than the rest, like carbuncles upon the face of a drunkard. the curse of small windows also was upon the house, making it look as sombre without as it was dark within, and the thick leafless wood that swept round it on both sides excluded great part of that light which might otherwise have found its way into the gloomy mansion. darker than all the rest was the chamber to which sir osborne maurice was conveyed; the whole of that part which was under the stair-case, receiving no light whatever, except from the other half, that, placed in one of the square towers, possessed the privilege of an unglazed window near the ceiling. it would be difficult to say for what purpose this chamber was originally contrived; but it is probable that at the time the house was built (during the contentions of york and lancaster), such rooms might be necessary, even in private houses, both as places of strength and concealment, although too weak to resist long attack, and too easy of discovery to afford any very secure lurking-place. the use to which sir payan wileton applied it was in general that of a prison for deer-stealers and other offenders who came before him in his magisterial capacity, which offenders he took care should ever be as numerous as there were persons of the lower orders who opposed or displeased him. the men who conducted the young knight shut the door immediately upon him; and thus being left to ruminate over his fate, with his arms still tightly pinioned behind him, and scarcely light sufficient to distinguish any objects which the room contained, it may well be conceived that his meditations were not of the most pleasant description. but, nevertheless, indignation had roused his spirit, and he no longer felt that depression of mind, and abandonment of hope, which for a time had overpowered him. his first thoughts, therefore, were now of escape and revenge, but for the moment no means presented themselves of either; and though he searched round the apartment, ascertaining the nature and extent of his prison, which only consisted of that room and a large closet containing some straw, no chance whatever of flight from thence presented itself, and he was obliged to wait in hopes of circumstances proving his friend. in about half an hour, the voice of sir payan wileton was heard without, giving various orders, and a moment after, the trampling of horses sounded as if passing by the window. to sir osborne, accustomed for several years to watch with warlike acuteness every motion of a shrewd and active enemy, these sounds gave notice that his persecutor was gone for the time, and even the circumstance of his absence excited in the bosom of the young knight fresh expectation of some favourable opportunity. hardly had sir payan departed, when the lock, which might well have fastened the door of an antediluvian giant, squeaked harshly with the key; and the tall fellow, whom we have denominated hitherto, and shall still continue to denominate longpole, entered, and pushed the door behind him. "the devil's gone out on horseback," said he, coming near sir osborne, and speaking low, "and i have just got a minute to thank your worship." "to thank me, my friend!" said sir osborne, somewhat doubting the man's meaning; "for what should you thank me?" "for throwing the man over a hedge that struck my father," said longpole, "and by that i see you are a true heart and a gentleman--and a knight into the bargain, i am sure, in spite of all sir payan's tales, and his minion's false swearing; and if i were not his sworn servant i'd let you off this minute, if i could find a way." "but is it not much worse to aid in so black a plot as this than to leave this vile suborner, who is not your born master, and never can be lawfully, if you be the son of old richard heartley? only hear me." "nay, sir knight," said longpole; "faith i must not hear you, for i must mind my oath, and do as i'm bid, though it be the devil bids me. i only came to thank you, before i brought the other prisoner here, and to tell you, that though i have forgotten and forgiven many hard knocks, i never forget a good turn, and that you'll find, whatever you may think now. every dog has his day, but the dog-days don't last all the year." after this quaint hint he waited for no reply, but quitted the room as fast as possible, and in a moment after returned, pushing in the unfortunate jekin groby almost drowned in his own tears. "here, i've brought your worship a great baby," cried longpole, before he closed the door, "who has wasted as much salt water in five minutes as would have pickled a side of bacon." as soon as they were alone, sir osborne attempted to comfort the unhappy clothier as far as he could, assuring him that he had nothing to fear; for that he was not in the least the object of the attack, which had only comprised him on account of his being present at the time. "but my bags! my bags!" blubbered jekin groby; "they've got my bags: four hundred and twelve golden angels, and a pair of excellent shears, oh! oh! oh! i know it's along of you that i've got into the scrape. oh dear! oh dear! why the devil didn't you tell me you had made the cornish men revolt? then i wouldn't have gone with you; i'd ha' seen you hanged first. but i'll tell king henry and lord darby, i will; and i'll have back my angels, i will. lord! lord! to think of my being committed for aiding and abetting osborne maurice, alias osborne darling, alias jenkins, alias thompson, alias brown, alias smith, to make the cornish folks revolt; i that was never there in my life!" "nor i either," said the knight, calmly. "why, they all swear you were!" cried jekin groby, leaving off weeping; "and that you and five hundred miners burnt and sacked the towns, and i believe carried away the steeples on your backs, for a matter of that, you did so much. they all swear it." "and they ail swear falsely," answered sir osborne, "as you may very well see, when they swear that you were there aiding and abetting me." "gads! that's true too," said groby: "if they swear such big lies about me, why mayn't they do the like about you? i thought that nice young lady, and that goodly old priest, would not ha' been so fond of your worship if you had been a robber and an insurrectionist. lord a' mercy! i beg your worship's pardon with all my heart." as groby lost sight of the subject of his bags, his grief abated, and looking round the room, he added, "i say, sir knight, is there no way of getting out of this place? what think ye o' that window?" "if i had my hands free," said sir osborne, "i would try to climb up and see." "gads man! let's see your hands," said groby; "mine are tied too, but i've managed many a tight knot with my teeth. turn round, your worship, more to the light, such as it is. ah, here i have it, the leading cord! now pull; well done, millstones! it gives!" and what by dint of gnawing and pulling, in about five minutes jekin groby contrived to loosen the cord that fastened the knight's arms, and a very slight effort on sir osborne's part finished the work, and freed them completely. the knight then performed the same good office to his fellow-prisoner; and poor jekin, overjoyed even at this partial liberation, jumped and sang with delight. "hist! hist!" cried he, at length; "if i remember, that long rascal of a fellow did not lock the door: let us see. no, as i live, the bolt's not shot. let us steal out; but first i'll look through the keyhole. out upon it! there he sits, talking to two of his fellows; ay, and there's a latch too on the outside of this cursed door, with no way to lift it on the in." "the window is the surest way," said the knight, "if i can but reach it. lend me your back, good master groby, and i will see. the sun shines strong through it, and yet i cannot perceive that it throws the shadow of any bar or grating." "welcome to my back," said the clothier: "but, oh! do not leave me in this place; pray don't ye, sir knight!" "on my honour i will not!" replied the knight, "though it is not you they care to keep. once i were away, you might have your liberty the next hour. but still i will not leave you." "thank you, sir knight, thank you!" said honest jekin. "all i ask is, when you are up, help me up too; and if we can get out, leave me as soon as you like, for the less we are together, i take it, the better for jekin groby. and now upon my back; it is a stout one." jekin now bent his head against the wall, making a kind of step with his two clasped hands, by means of which sir osborne easily got his elbows on the deep opening of the window, which, from the thickness of the wall, offered a platform three feet wide, and with an effort he swung himself up. "clear, all clear!" cried he, joyfully. "and now, my good jekin, let us see how we can get you up. stay, let me kneel here;" and turning round, he knelt down, holding out his hands to jekin groby. but it was in vain that sir osborne, with all his vast strength, strove to pull up the ponderous body of the kentish clothier. he succeeded, indeed, in raising him about a foot from the ground, and holding him there, while he made a variety of kicks against the wall, and sundry other efforts to help himself up, all equally ineffectual; but at length sir osborne was obliged to let him down, and still remained gazing upon him with a sorrowful countenance, feeling both the impossibility, with any degree of honour, to leave him behind, and the impracticability of getting him out. poor jekin, well understanding the knight's feeling, returned his glance with one equally melancholy; and after remaining for a moment in profound silence, he made a vast effort of generosity that again unloosed the flood-gates of his tears, in the midst of which he blubbered forth: "go, sir knight, go, and god speed you! heaven forbid that i should keep you here! go!" sir osborne jumped down, and shook him by the hand. "never!" said he, "never! but there seems still some hope for us. that tall fellow, that we called longpole this morning, is more friendly to us than he seems; and i can tell him something that will perhaps make him serve us more completely, if he will but hear me. let me see whether he is now alone." and by the same means that jekin groby had before used to ascertain that the man was there, sir osborne discovered that the two other servants had left him, and that he was alone. "hist! richard heartley!" said sir osborne, putting his mouth to the keyhole; "hist!" "who calls?" cried longpole, starting up. "'tis i," said sir osborne; "open the door, and speak to me." "i dare not! i must not!" cried longpole. "have patience!" he whispered, "have patience! i will come to you after dark." "yet listen to me," said sir osborne; but at that moment a sound of horses' feet was again heard through the open window, and, unwillingly, he was obliged to desist. the arrival of some guest now took place, as sir osborne judged by the sounds which made themselves heard: the inquiries for sir payan, the directions for tending the horses, and the orders to have them at the gate in an hour, the marshalling to the banquet-hall, the cries of the serving men, and all the fracas that was made, in that day, in honour of a visitor. "by heaven!" said sir osborne, "it is lady constance de grey! i remember she proposed coming here towards noon. if we could but let her know that we are here, or good old dr. wilbraham, her people would soon free us. but never does it fall better. longpole has gone from his watch, or he might tell her. however, the door is only held by this latch; let us try to force it. place your shoulder with mine, good groby. now a strong effort!" but in vain. the giant door stood unmoved, and sir osborne was obliged to resign himself to his fate. presently the noise of serving the repast in the chief hall died away, and the servants, retiring to their own part of the house, left the rest in quiet, while not a sound stirred to communicate to the bosoms of the prisoners any sensation either of hope or expectation. after about a quarter of an hour's pause, however, a door opened, and the voice of lady constance was heard speaking to dr. wilbraham. "nay, my good father," she said, "do not go yourself to seek them. though we have been treated with but little courtesy, yet we may stay a quarter of an hour longer. perhaps the servants have not dined, and that is the reason they do not come." "by your leave, lady, i will go," said the chaplain, "and will see that the horses be brought up; for to my poor mind we have staid here too long already for the civility we have received. i will not be long." "doctor wilbraham!" cried sir osborne, as the door shut; "doctor wilbraham?" but the good tutor turned another way, and passed on without hearing the voice of his former pupil, and silence resumed her dominion over the part of the house in which they were placed. in a minute or two after, however, a heavy foot announced to the watchful ears of the young knight the approach of some other person; but he turned away towards the hall where lady constance had been left, and seemed to enter. shortly the voice of the lady made itself heard, speaking high and angrily, in a tone to which the lips of constance de grey seldom gave utterance. "i do not understand what you mean, sir," said she, coming out of the hall. "where are my servants? where is dr. wilbraham?" "that was not your way, my pretty lady," cried the voice of the portingal captain. "let me kiss your loafly hand, and i will show you the way." "stand off, sir!" exclaimed lady constance. "dare you insult me in my cousin's house?" "this way! this way! lady constance de grey," cried sir osborne, in a voice that shook the hall. "this way there are friends. throw up the latch!" at that moment the unscrupulous portingal seems to have offered some still greater insult to the young lady; for, with a scream, she darted towards the spot to which the voice of sir osborne directed her, and throwing up the latch, as he called to her to do, ran in, followed closely by the portingal. urged by fear, lady constance flew directly to the knight, and recognising a friend, clung to him for protection. the captain, not observing that his hands were freed, did not scruple to pursue her, even close to the side of the prisoner, calling to her not to be afraid; that he would show her the way. but sir osborne raised his arm, and in a moment laid the portingal grovelling on the ground, with the blood gushing from his mouth and nostrils. lady constance still clung to the knight, who totally forgetting the possibility of escape, endeavoured to soothe her and calm her agitation. not so jekin groby: after pausing for a moment, confounded by the whole business, he at length bethought him, that as the door was open he might as well walk out, and with this intent made a quick step or two towards it. his purpose, however, was defeated by the portingal, who recovered from the blow, and perceiving the design of the clothier, started upon his feet, and jumping through the open door, banged it in the face of honest jekin, at the same time making the whole house ring with his cries of "help! help! the lady is letting out the prisoners, and they shall all get loose! help! help!" and getting hold of the rope of the alarum, he rang such a peal as soon brought the whole household, together with the servants of the lady constance, round the door of the strong room. various were now the cries and exclamations: "what's the matter?" "are they out?" "which way did they go?" "where's the lady?" "oh lord!" "oh lauk!" "oh dear!" "dear me!" "how strange!" "who'd have thought it!" while the portingal, with his face all streaming with blood, explained to them that lady constance wished to let the prisoners out; and that he, notwithstanding their efforts, had shut them up all together, by the valour of his invincible arm, and he called his bloody muzzle to bear testimony to the truth of his asseveration. "you lie, you vagabond thief!" cried one of the young lady's servants. "it was you stole my riding whip, when you ran away in such a hurry from the inn last night." "you must make a great mistake, my friend," said dr. wilbraham, who had come up amongst the rest. "lady constance de grey has too much respect for the law to assist any prisoners to escape from the house of a magistrate. let me in here, and we shall soon hear the truth of all this." "and let me in!" "and let me in!" "and let me in too!" cried a dozen voices; and all prepared to rush into the room the moment any one raised the latch, on which longpole had his hand for the purpose. "devil a one of you!" cried longpole. "curiosity, i've heard say, was one of the great vices of the old gentlewoman of babylon, and so certainly i shall not gratify yours. march every one; for his worship, when he went away, gave me charge of the prisoners, and i am to answer for them when he comes back. the only one who goes with me shall be his reverence, who, god bless him, taught me to read and write, and speak french, when i was little dick heartley, the porter's son at the old castle." "and art thou little dick heartley?" exclaimed doctor wilbraham. "we are both changed, dick; but open me the door, good dick, for by that portingalo's speech i fancy the young lady is here also with the prisoners, though i conceive not how." heartley accordingly opened the door sufficiently to allow the clergyman to pass, and then following, he shut it, taking care to put his dagger under the latch, to prevent its obstructing his exit, in case of the servants' leaving the spot during his stay. at first the change from a bright light to comparative obscurity prevented the good tutor from distinguishing clearly the objects in the apartment to which he was admitted by longpole; but who can express his astonishment when he beheld sir osborne? forgetting lady constance and every other circumstance, he clasped his hands in a sort of agony. "good god!" exclaimed he, "is it possible? you here! you, my lord, in the power of your bitterest enemy? oh! osborne, osborne! what can be done to save you? and is it you," cried he, raising his voice, and turning to longpole, in a tone of bitter reproach, "and is it you, richard heartley, that do the work of jailer upon your own born lord and only lawful master?" "my born lord!" cried heartley, springing forward; "what does your reverence mean? who is he? they told me his name was maurice--osborne maurice." "osborne darnley, they should have said," replied the young knight. "your old lord's son, dick heartley." heartley threw himself at his lord's feet. "why did not you tell me? why did not you tell me?" cried he. "i'd sooner have chopped my hand off. i that first taught you to draw a bow and level an arrow! i that sought you all through the camp at terrouenne to be your servant and servitor, as in duty bound, only that you were away guarding the fort bridge on the lambre! cut my hand off! i'd rather have ripped myself up with my dagger." it may be supposed that the surprise of lady constance and of jekin groby was somewhat analogous to that expressed by longpole on finding that the person they had known only as osborne maurice, or at best as sir osborne maurice, an adventurous soldier, whose necessitous courage had obtained for him the honour of knighthood, was in fact the young lord darnley, whose misfortunes and accomplishments had already furnished much employment for the busy tongue of fame. to the young lady, especially, this discovery gave a sensation of timid shame, for the interest she had so unguardedly displayed in his fate; an interest which nevertheless she might perhaps feel heightened when she found all that she had heard of lord darnley identified with all that she knew of osborne maurice. "i too may ask, my lord," she said, "why you did not tell me; or rather, why you did not tell my father, who ever expressed the deepest interest in your fate, and in his life-time might have served you?" "your noble father, lady," replied lord darnley, "was well aware who i was, even when i was a guest at his mansion; and he, as well as the rest of my friends, thought it best that i should still conceal my name while in england, in order to veil me from the machinations of a man whose unaccountable interest at court, and unscrupulous nature, were almost certain to carry through whatever villanous attempt he undertook against me. our lands and lordships he holds, not as we did, by chivalry and tenure of possession, but only as steward of dover castle, an office given and recalled at pleasure. you now see how wise was the precaution, since here, in the midst of the most civilised country in europe, i have been unlawfully seized, on the king's highway, accused of fictitious crimes, and destined to a fate that only time will show. to think that i, a man-at-arms, long used to camps, and, without boasting, on bad soldier either, should be, like an infant, in the hands of this deep-plotting usurper! 'tis enough to drive me mad!" "no, no, my lord," said heartley, or, as we have called him, longpole, "don't you fear. they say that when old nick stirs the fire, he is sure to burn his fingers, and when he salts a birch broom, he pickles a rod for his own back. but stay, let me see that there is no one at the door listening: no, there they are, at the farther end of the hall, but they can't hear. so, my lord, i'll undertake to get you out this blessed night. my oath to sir payan is up at twelve o'clock to-night." "no oath can bind you to commit a crime," said the clergyman; "and that it is a crime to aid in any way in detaining your lord here, can easily be proved." "oh! your worship," said heartley, "i can't reason the matter with your reverence, you'd pose me in a minute; but, nevertheless, i'll keep my oath, and i can give you a good reason for it. it would do my lord no good if i was to break it: there are twenty people round about who would all join to stop him if i were to let him out this moment, and with my young lady's three servants to boot, we should still be beaten by the numbers. we must wait till after dark; ay, and till after the bell rings to bed at eleven; but then i will find means to free my lord." "but may they not have thus time to commit some evil deed?" demanded lady constance, "and your tardy succour may come too late." "no, no, my lady," replied longpole; "i heard yon portingallo, who is just riding away, tell his rascally slavish crew, as he was locking them up in the granary, that at half-past one he was to be back; and then they were to carry down the two prisoners to the ship, for which they were to have two hundred gold angels amongst them. now, we shall be far enough before half-past one." "at all events, my lord," said lady constance, "it will not be long before we are at canterbury, from whence we can send you sufficient succour, backed with authority competent to procure your release." "but remember, lady," said the knight, "that i am but sir osborne maurice, and no one must know me as anything else if it can be avoided; for it is of the utmost consequence to my interest, that at present i should not appear before our noble but somewhat wayward king, as i really am. and now, let me return you a thousand and a thousand thanks for your kind interest past and present; to which but add one favour. when i am free, give me but one little glove from this fair hand," and he raised it to his lips, "and i will place it on my pennon's pike, and write underneath it, _gratitude_; and if it fall in the listed field, or the battle plain, darnley is dead." "nay, nay, my lord," replied lady constance, with a blush and smile, "too gallant by half! but you are a prisoner, and i believe promises made in prison are not held valid. wait, therefore, till you are free, and in the mean time you shall have my prayers and best wishes, and such aid as i can send you from canterbury i will." there is a witchery in the sympathy of a beautiful woman, whose influence all men must have experienced, and all women understand; and though our hero felt the most devout conviction that he was not the least in love in the world with lady constance de grey, there is no knowing how far his gratitude for the interest she took in his fate might have carried him, had she remained there much longer; and even when she left him, and he heard the horses' feet repass the window of his prison, he felt as if he were ten times more a prisoner than before. there was something so kind and so gentle in her manner, and her smile illuminated her countenance with such angelic light, that while she was there, even though speaking of them, his sorrows and his dangers seemed all forgot. she was so young, and so beautiful too, and there was in her look and her gesture and her tone so much of that undefiled simplicity which we love to suppose in a higher nature of beings, that the young knight, as an admirer of everything that is excellent, might well make the fair creature that had just left him the theme of his thoughts long after she was gone; and in such dreams absorbed, he paced up and down the strong-room, finding out that loss of rank and fortune was a much greater misfortune than ever, till then, he had deemed it. at the same time that lady constance departed, our friend longpole also left the prisoners; promising, however, to see them from time to time during the day, and to find means of liberating them at night. in this arrangement jekin groby took care to be specially included; and trusting implicitly to the promises of dick heartley on the score of his freedom, his only farther consideration was concerning his bags. "don't you think, my lord," said he, after waiting a moment or two in order to see whether lord darnley would finish his meditative perambulations; "don't you think king harry will make this sir payan, or sir pagan as they ought to call him, refund my angels? hey! my lord?" "if there be justice in the land," replied darnley; "but mark me, good jekin; you call me my lord. you have heard me say that it may be of the utmost detriment to my interest if i be known as lord darnley. circumstances have put you in possession of my secret; but if you would pleasure me, if you would not injure me, forget from this moment that i am any other than sir osborne maurice: call me by no other title, think of me under no other name." "no, indeed, my lord," said jekin; "i promise your lordship never to call you my lord again; i won't indeed, my lord! lord! there, only see, my lord, i have called you my lord again! well, it does come so natural to one, when one knows that you are my lord, to call you my lord. what a fool i am! but your lordship will forgive me; and so i'll go and sleep in that straw in the closet, and forget it all, for i shan't get my natural rest to-night, that's clear." so saying, jekin nestled himself in the straw, which had attracted his attention, and shutting the door to exclude all light, he was soon buried in a profound sleep; while sir osborne (which, according to his wish, we shall not cease to call him) continued his meditations, walking up and down, as if on guard at some dangerous post. chapter vii. this is a devil, and no monster: i will leave him; i have no long spoon. the tempest. one of the strangest problems of our inexplicable nature is the choice of evil and the rejection of good, even after long experience has proved that evil and misery are uniformly synonymous. virtue, it is true, does not always exempt from sorrow, but crime must ever be wretchedness. hope loses its balsam, and fear acquires a keener sting; the present is anxiety, the past remorse, and the future is despair; and yet wayward man drinks of the bitter cup when the sweet is offered to him, and launches his boat upon an angry sea, where storms attend his course, and shipwreck terminates his voyage, rather than glide down the smooth current of a tranquil stream, where peace pilots him on his way, and happiness waits him at the shore. sir payan wileton knew not what happiness is. he had drunk the intoxicating bowl of pleasure, he had drained the boiling draught of revenge: pride, avarice, vanity, had all been gratified in turn; but peace he had never sought, content he had never found, and vengeful passions, like the promethean vulture, preyed upon him for ever. possessed of the vast estates of chilham castle, joined to those he also held of elham manor and hyndesford, his wealth had been fully sufficient to create for him that interest amongst the powerful of the land which he could not hope to obtain by virtues or qualities. thus powerful, rich, and full of desperate fearlessness, he was dreaded, detested, courted, and obeyed. he felt, too, that he was detested; and hating mankind the more, he became the tyrant of the country round. seeking to govern by fear instead of esteem, he made his misanthropy subservient to his pride and to his avarice; and wherever he received or pretended an offence, there he was sure both to avenge and to enrich himself. thus his life was a continual warfare, and in this active misanthropy he took as much delight as his heart was capable of feeling. it was to him what ardent spirits are to the drunkard, or the dice-box to the gambler. but there was one constant thorn that goaded him, even in the midst of the success which attended his other schemes; namely, the fear that the king might deprive him of the stewardship of dover castle, by which alone he held the estates of chilham. in vain he had used all the influence he possessed to have the grant made absolute, or to hold his land by sergeantry, as it had been held by lord fitzbernard; the king was inexorable, and imagined that he did equal justice when he refused to restore the estates to the forfeited family, or to grant the feof thereof to sir payan. indeed, it had been held by cunning lawyers of the day that lord fitzbernard could not lawfully be dispossessed, except under an attainder, which had never been attempted against him; and that if it could be proved that the estates had not reverted to the crown by any default of tenure, or by extinction, sir payan's right would fall to the ground; and that the only effect of the king's patent of the stewardry of dover would be to alienate that office from the family holding the estates. sir payan was too wise to moot the question; and lord fitzbernard, hiding his indigence in a far part of wales, had neither the means nor opportunity of succeeding in a suit against him. the few friends, indeed, that the test of misfortune had left the earl out of many acquaintances, strongly urged the king to revoke the grant which his father had made to a bad man, and to restore the property to a good one; but they never ventured to hint to the choleric monarch that the grant itself was illegal. however, sir payan had long foreseen that a time would come when the young heir of chilham castle might wrench his heritage from the hand that usurped it, and he resolved at all hazards to strike where the blow would be most effectual. several painful indignities had induced the aged earl of fitzbernard to drop a title and a name to the splendour of which his means no longer were proportioned; and burying himself, as we have before said, in wales, he devoted his whole time to endowing his son both with those elegant and warlike accomplishments which he fondly hoped would one day prove the means of re-instating his family in the halls of their ancestors. "fulbert de douvres," he said, "the founder of our family in england, won the lands and lordships of chilham at the point of his lance, and why should not osborne darnley, the only descendant of rose de douvres, his daughter, regain his patrimony by his good sword?" happily, his very poverty had removed the old earl from any county where the influence of sir payan wileton might be felt, or where his machinations could be carried on successfully. yet more than one attempt had been made to carry off the young heir of chilham castle, and little doubt could be entertained in regard to whose hand had directed them. all, however, had been frustrated by the extraordinary foresight with which the old earl guarded his son, seeming to have an intuitive knowledge of the time when any such attack was likely to take place, and to be always prepared to avoid or repel it. at length, however, the time came when the young osborne maurice (as he was now called) was to encounter alone all that his enemies could do against him; but it seemed as if his father had now lost all fear, and bidding him resume his real name when he joined the army, he sent him forth unhesitatingly to win renown. how he acquitted himself we have in some measure seen, and will now proceed with the circumstances that followed immediately upon his return to his native country, after five years of arduous military service. the bosom of sir payan wileton, during his absence from the house where he had left his prisoner, was agitated by a thousand various passions. triumph--malice--pride--fear that he might yet, by some unforeseen circumstance, escape from his hands--newer and vaster projects of ambition, still, as he made one step sure, seeking to place another still higher--the feeling of a difficult enterprise accomplished--the heart-stealing preparation for a fresh crime, and mingled still withal an unwonted thrilling of remorse, that, like sounds of music amidst cries of riot and tumult, made discord more discordant--all occupied the void place of thought, and made him gallop quickly on, communicating to even his corporeal actions the hurried agitation of his feelings. thus he proceeded for some way; but when he had ridden on for such a time as he computed that lady constance would remain at his dwelling, he turned his horse, and prepared to return home, having by his time striven to remove from his face all trace of any emotion, and having also, in some degree, reduced his feelings to their usual calm, determined action. yet, nevertheless, there was a strange sensation of horror tugging at his heart, when he thought of the near accomplishment of his long-entertained designs. "he is too like his mother," muttered sir payan. "but yet i am not a woman to halt in my purposes for the weak memory of an idle passion, which disappointment and rejection should long have turned into revenge; and yet i wish he were not so like his mother." as he returned he checked the speed with which he had set out, and was proceeding leisurely on the road, when he heard the cantering of a horse coming up behind; and, turning round, perceived the somewhat curious figure of sir cesar the astrologer. it was one, however, well known to sir payan, who (as too often is the case) was destitute of religion, but by no means emancipated from superstition, and who, while he rejected the light of revelation, could not refrain from often yielding to the wild gleams of a dark imagination. in the still agitated state of his mind, too, when a sort of feverish excitement stimulated him to seek from any source knowledge of what would be the future consequences of his meditated actions, he looked upon the coming of sir cesar as a benefit at the hands of fortune, and prepared to take advantage of it. doffing low, therefore, his plumed hat as the old knight rode up, and bowing almost to his saddle-bow, "welcome, worthy sir cesar," he said; "any news from your splendid friend his grace of buckingham?" sir cesar touched his palfrey between the ears with his small baton to make it slacken its pace; and then, after regarding sir payan with his keen dark eyes, as was usual with him on first encountering any one he knew, he replied, "welcome, fortunate sir payan wileton! your star is in the ascendant!" and while he spoke there was a sort of cynical sneer on his countenance, which seemed hardly to wish well to him that he congratulated. "it is," replied sir payan; "but condescend, good sir cesar, to ride to my dwelling and pass one day with me, and i will tell you more." "what can you tell me that i do not know already?" demanded the other. "do you think i know not how much you merited from fortune by your deeds when perkyn warbeck fled from taunton? do you think i know not that your enemy is in your power? i do, i do; and as i love the fortunate, i will come and stay one day at your house, though you know i tarry nowhere long." "i know it well, and hold your sojourn the more honour," answered sir payan; "but let us on, good sir cesar; there is much information which i will seek at your hands, and i know that you never refuse to give it when it is asked for no idle purpose." "no," replied the astrologer; "every man who seeks knowledge from me shall find it, were he worse than satan himself; but woe be unto him if he turn it to an evil account! the deeper damnation be upon his head!" putting their horses into a quick pace, they now soon reached the manor-house, the owner of which showed his guest with some ceremony into the banquet-hall. "how now!" cried he, observing the repast which had been set before lady constance still upon the table; "why have not these things been removed? and where is heartley?" the answer involved a long account of what had happened during his absence, in which the story of the portingallo having frightened lady constance till she fled into the strong-room was told with a greater degree of accuracy than might have been expected, though the length of time which she remained there was rather exaggerated, and some comments upon the conduct of heartley, otherwise longpole, were added, calculated to take from him sir payan's confidence. he had prevented every one from going in, the servant said, but himself, and had remained all the time the lady was there. "he did right," was the laconic reply of sir payan; "go to the granary, where are the portingallos and their contraband goods, and bid the red-haired dutchman who speaks english to come hither directly. the key hangs on the nail in the passage." sir payan's plan was formed at once. he doubted not that the communication which had taken place between his prisoner and lady constance would lead to her seeking means to effect his liberation the moment she arrived at canterbury, or at least to set on foot some investigation; for although he knew not that they had ever met before, he felt sure that the young knight would make his situation known to every one who might in any way procure his release. under this conviction, he determined to risk the event of sending down sir osborne by daylight, in the custody of the portuguese, accompanied by two of his own servants, who might, in case of necessity, produce the warrant for his detention, and who would not be missed from his own household. the servant whom he had sent to the portingals, however, soon returned, with a countenance in which might be seen a strong desire to laugh, contending with a habitual dread of sir payan. "what is the matter, villain?" cried the knight: "where is the dutchman?" "lying in the granary, please your worship," replied the man, restraining his merriment, "dead drunk, tumbled across a portingallo's face, that makes him heave up and down by dint of snoring." sir payan stamped his foot with anger and disappointment. "and the rest?" demanded he; "all the rest?" "all dead drunk, please your worship!" replied the servant; "i kicked them all, to make sure, but not one of them answered me a syllable but umph!" "go!" said sir payan; "fetch me heartley. sir cesar, give me your advice. this is my embarrassment!" and he proceeded to state to his companion the difficulty into which the news he had just heard had cast him. this proceeding may appear at first somewhat extraordinary, but it was very often the case in regard to sir cesar, that people acted as sir payan wileton, in letting him into their most private affairs, and even into secrets where life and death were concerned, having such perfect confidence in his foreknowledge of events that it would have seemed to them folly to conceal them. it is very possible that in this manner the old knight obtained much of the extraordinary information which he certainly did possess, concerning the circumstances and affairs of almost every person with whom he came in contact; and many of those predictions which were so singularly verified may be attributed to the combinations he was thus enabled to form. but at the same time it is perfectly indubitable that he himself attributed all to the sciences which he studied, and placed implicit faith in his own powers; and thus, if he deceived the world, he deceived himself also. it was not, however, the nature of sir payan wileton to confide wholly in any one; and though he informed the old knight that he apprehended the influence of lady constance de grey might be exerted the moment she arrived at canterbury to procure the release of his prisoner, or at all events that her representations might cause an immediate investigation of the affair, which would prevent his disposing of darnley as he proposed; and though also perfectly convinced that sir cesar, by his superhuman knowledge, was well aware of the fate he meditated for his victim, he could not bring himself to unfold to him that part of his plan, merely saying he intended to send the turbulent youth, who, as he was well informed, came to seek no less than his ruin and his death, to some far country from whence it would be difficult to return. sir cesar listened in calm, profound silence; then, fixing his eyes on sir payan, uttered slowly, "the grave!" sir payan started from his seat. "you know too much! you know too much!" cried he. "can you see thoughts as well as actions?" "yes!" replied sir cesar: "i see and know more than you dream of, but calm yourself, and fear not. lady constance will not arrive at canterbury before seven o' the clock: you know the haste of magistrates and magistrates' men, and can well judge whether she be likely to find a man so generous as to abandon his rere-supper and his bed of down, for a cold ride and a cold reception. at all events, they could not be here before two i' the morning, and ere that he will be gone. rest satisfied, i tell you, that they may come if they will, but before they come he will be gone." sir payan's fears were very much allayed by this assurance, for his confidence in sir cesar's prophecies was great; but he felt still more secure from the examination to which he subjected our friend longpole, who managed to evade his questions and to quiet his fears with infinite presence of mind. the lady, he said, had been so terrified by the insolence of the portingal captain, that she had run into the strong-room, not knowing where she went, and was more like one dead than alive; and that as for the prisoner, he thought of nothing but threshing the portingal, against whom he seemed to have an ancient grudge. sir payan was satisfied, but still his roused suspicion was never without some effect; and to longpole's dismay he demanded the key, which he said he would now keep himself. there was, however, no means of avoiding it; and heartley was obliged to resign into the hands of sir payan the means by which he had proposed to effect his young lord's delivery. "sir cesar, i humbly crave your excuse for one moment," said the crafty knight. "stay, heartley, where you are, and removing those things, arrange the board for a second banquet: for a banquet such as i give to my best and noblest friends. open those cupboards of plate, and let the vessels be placed in order." so saying, he quitted the apartment, and proceeded to the room in which sir osborne was still pacing up and down, waiting impatiently the approach of night. the key turned in the door, and with a firm step sir payan entered, and stood before his captive. for a moment they paused, and eyed each other as when they had first met; and it was only by a strong effort that the young knight stayed himself from seizing the persecutor of his race, and dashing him to pieces on the floor of the prison. at length sir payan, after having glanced his eye round the chamber, spoke, and in the deep, hollow tones of his voice no agitation made itself heard. "you said this morning that we knew each other," said the knight; "osborne lord darnley, we do; i have long sought you, i have found you, and you are mine own." "calm, cold-blooded, mean-spirited villain!" answered darnley, "what seek you with me now? is it not enough to have ruined a noble house? is it not enough to have destroyed your benefactor? is it not enough to have swept away the happiness of me and mine, without seeking farther to injure those on whose head your detestable arts must nearly have exhausted themselves?" "i have done enough for my revenge, young man," replied sir payan; "i have done enough for my ambition; but i have not done enough for my security." "for your revenge!" cried darnley: "what mean you, ruffian? my father was your friend, your benefactor. compassionating your indigence, did he not aid to raise you with his purse and with his influence, till you could hold your head amongst your noble kindred, of whose house you are now the opprobrium?" "your father insulted me with his services," answered the knight, "after your mother had insulted me with her scorn." "name not my mother, traitor!" exclaimed darnley, his eyes flashing fire. "profane not her name with your accursed lips, lest i tear you limb from limb!" sir payan laid his hand on his dagger with a grim smile. "we waste time, young man," said he: "to the purpose for which i came! there is yet in my redder blood some drops of that weak thing called pity. i would rather see you live than die; but if you would live, i must be lord of chilham castle, indeed and indeed. no stewardship of dover, and holding by tenure of good pleasure, for me. within this hour, then, sign me over, for yourself and for your father, all right and interest, claim and title, to the lands and lordship which you and yours did formerly possess, and you are free as air. but if you will not--" "what then?" demanded darnley. "why, then i will hold by a still better tenure," replied sir payan; "the extinction of the race of darnley!" "then hold thereby, if such be heaven's will," replied the prisoner. "but beware yourself; for in your best-laid schemes you may chance to fail, and even here on earth meet with that sure damnation for which you have toiled so long. were i willing to stain myself with crimes like yours, this hour were your last; for yon dagger were but a poor defence against a man who knows his life is lost." sir payan took a step forward to the door. "will you sign?" said he, laying his hand on the lock. "never!" "then farewell!" and he quitted the apartment. "oh, the villain!" cried jekin groby, poking his head out of the closet. "oh, the downright, immense villain! what a damaged piece that man's conscience must be! i'm all quaking with only hearing him. but don't you think, my lord--that is to say, sir osborne--that if you had just knocked his brains out, we might have got away?" "no, no!" replied the knight. "if, as heartley told us, we could not have escaped when aided by lady constance de grey's servants, much less could we do so now. better wait till night, which surely cannot be far distant, for it seems to me we have been here an age." nevertheless, hour after hour went by, and the provoking sun, which had now fully come round to that side of the house, continued to pour his beams into the high window, as if willing to sicken the prisoners with his unwished-for light. nor did much conversation cheer the passing of their time. sir osborne was silent and meditative; and jekin groby, growing more and more tired of his situation, kept running in and out of the closet, now sitting still for a moment upon the straw, now walking up and down, not at all unlike a tame bear perambulating to and fro in his den. occasionally, indeed, a word or two of hope, or doubt, or inquiry, passed between the prisoners; and jekin, who felt in himself an internal conviction that he was a man of as much consequence in the world as any human being, could not conceive how sir payan wileton could have forgot to inquire where he was, when he did not find him in the same room with the knight. on this he wondered, and better wondered, till his companion replied, "i told you before, my good jekin, sir payan's designs only affect me, and possibly he may have forgotten you altogether. but it seems growing darker. i wonder longpole has not been here to speak to us, according to his promise." "i should not wonder if he were playing us a trick, and were not to come at all," said jekin. "oh, dear! what would become of us? lord-a-mercy! i don't like it at all!" in about a quarter of an hour, however, their hopes were raised, and disappointed. the key once more turned in the door, and both the knight and his companion expected to see their friend heartley; but in his place appeared two of the servants of sir payan, one of whom brought in some provisions, while the other stood at the door. the sight, however, of the roast beef and jug of ale was very gratifying to the entrails of the worthy clothier, who looked on well contented while the man laid them down on the ground before him. "now, my good fellow, an we had a little salt," said jekin, "we could fall to." "fellow me no fellow!" answered the servant. "eat what you've got, my forward chap, and thank god for it." "ay, but wouldst have me tear it with my teeth?" cried the clothier. "i'm not a wild beast, though you do keep me in a den." "well, i will cut you a nuncheon with my dagger," replied the serving-man. "look to him, will, that he do not smite me while i kneel." and so saying, he stooped and cut several slices from the meat with his side knife, which being done, he rose, and left the strong-room quickly, as if almost afraid of its denizens. "now, sir," cried jekin, "come and keep your spirit up with some of the best comfort in nature. oh! to my mind, there is no consolation on earth like roast beef and ale." but sir osborne had no inclination to join in the good clothier's repast. the auguries which he drew from the appearance of these two strange serving-men, and the absence of longpole, were not of a nature to increase his appetite; and he looked on silently, while jekin, without any sacrifice to the gods, devoured great part of the beef, and made manifold libations of the ale. "jekin," said sir osborne, when the clothier had finished, "i am afraid sir payan wileton has discovered that our friend heartley is not quite cordial to his interests, and that he may take means to prevent his aiding us. now, there is no reason that you should stay here as well as i; therefore, as soon as it is dark, i will help you up to the window as you did me. drop down on the other side, and speed as fast as you can to any town where you are well known, there get together a body of a dozen horsemen, and scour the sea-coast from sandwich to hythe. wherever you hear of a portingallo vessel, there stop, and keep good watch; for i doubt not that this sir payan intends to send me to some far land, and perhaps sell me for a slave. kill me i do not think he dare. your pains shall be well paid. the night is coming on; so you had better mount first, and see the ground on the other side, that you may drop fair." "no, no, my lord--that is, sir osborne," said jekin. "dang it, no! you would not go away and leave me, so i'll not go away and leave you. lord-'a-mercy! that's not fair, any way." "but by going you can serve me far more than by staying," said sir osborne; "so try to mount on my shoulders that you may see the ground." it was with great difficulty, however, that the honest clothier was persuaded to make the attempt, and when he did so it was in vain, somewhat corpulent and shorter than the knight, even when standing upright on sir osborne's shoulders, he could hardly get as much of his arms over the opening as the other had done; and when he attempted to swing himself up, the heavy part of his body, which, according to hudibras, is the seat of honour, and which, in the worthy clothier, was by no means deficient in rotundity, weighed him back again with a strong counteracting force, so that when sir osborne freed him he swang for a moment like a pendulum, and then dropped to the ground. no resource now remained but to wait patiently the event, and much need of patience had they to support them. day waned, night fell, hour after hour passed by, and yet no sound gave them notice that any friendly being existed within the mansion. the curfew bell, the distant village clock, the barking of some watchful dogs in the hamlet, and the remote echoes of persons walking to and fro in the different halls, were all that marked the passing of time to the prisoners; and hope began gradually to wax dimmer and more dim, like the flame of a lamp when its oil is spent. at length, after a weary, silent pause, the clock was heard to strike again; but so faint were the sounds before they reached their ears, that sir osborne could hardly count them. "i counted but eleven," said he, "and yet methought the last hour that struck was eleven too." "oh, 'tis twelve, 'tis twelve!" replied groby; "i did not take heed to count, but i am sure it is twelve." "hush!" cried the knight; "i hear some one on the outside. hark!" "'tis but a bat," said jekin; "i heard its wings whirr past the window." "hush!" cried the knight again, and as he spoke something darted through the opening, and fell at his feet. feeling over the ground with his hands, he soon discovered the object of his search, which was a small roll of parchment. "it is a letter," said he; "but what is the use of throwing me what i cannot see to read? it must be for to-morrow morning." "open it, open it!" cried jekin; "methinks i see something shining through the end. it casts a light upon your hand." sir osborne rapidly unrolled the scroll, when to his joy and surprise he found it covered with large luminous characters, in which, though somewhat smeared by rolling the parchment, was written legibly: "pull up the rope gently that is cast through the window. catch the settle that is tied to it. make no noise. come out, and be speedy." "oons!" cried jekin, "this is magic. the fairies are our friends!" "oh! brave heartley," cried the knight; "i thought he would prove true. but let us lose no time. jekin, stand you under with me, and extend your arms, that the settle may not make a noise by falling." by searching along the wall the rope was found, and by pulling it gently the knight soon began to feel a weight at the farther end. for some way it ascended silently, as if a person without held it from the wall; but then, when it had been raised about six or seven feet, it grated desperately till it entered the opening in the wall, which by courtesy we have termed window. the cord had been so adjusted as to insure its entrance; and as soon as sir osborne was certain that it had passed sufficiently, and hung upon the very brink, he gave it a sudden jerk, and catching it with a strong hand as it fell, secured possession of the tall settle or hall stool with scarcely any noise. "now, good jekin," said he, "we are free. i will mount first, and then help you up; by standing on this settle, and pulled by me above, you will not have much difficulty." "oh, no! i warrant you, your worship," replied jekin. "and when we are once out, let every man run his own way, say i. your worship's company may prove somewhat dangerous, and i am a peaceable man." "well, be it so," answered the knight; and placing the settle directly under the window, he soon contrived to get into the opening, and kneeling in the deep wall, managed with some trouble to raise the heavy body of groby, and place him in a sitting position on the edge, so that the moment he himself dropped down on the other side, the honest clothier could take his place and follow his example. turning round, sir osborne could perceive by the dim light of the night the tall form of longpole standing below, but he took care not to utter a sound; and bending his knees, he gradually stretched himself out, till he hung by nothing but his hands; then dropped, and in a moment stood silently by heartley's side, who instantly placed in his hands the large double-edged sword of which he had been deprived in the morning. it now became poor jekin's turn, who managed the matter somewhat more slowly, and a good deal more clumsily; and at length, when he dropped, although the arms of the knight broke his fall, he uttered a tremendous "oh!" and exhausted, leant against the wall. at that moment a light appeared in a window above, passed by a second one, and instantly the alarum-bell rang out a peal loud enough to awake the dead. "run! run! every one his own way!" cried jekin, who seemed to trust mightily to the activity of his own legs, and plying them with vast rapidity, he fled up an alley before him. "this way, my lord!" cried heartley; "quick, we shall distance them far." and darting off for the thick wood that almost touched the angle of the house, he led the knight into a deep forest path, crying "stoop!" the sounds of pursuit were now loud on every side. whoop, and halloo, and shout, floated on the wind, as the servants, dispersed in all directions, strove to give information or encouragement to their comrades, and one party especially seemed by the sound to come rapidly on their track. at length an alley, bounded by a wall, closed their course in that direction. "we can vault?" said heartley. "on!" cried the knight; and in a moment both had cleared the wall and the dry ditch beyond; but at the same moment the sounds of two parties of pursuers were heard in the parallel alley. "down in the ditch!" cried the knight; "they will see us if we take to the open field." no sooner was it said than done, and immediately after, they heard as they lay, the feet and voices of half a dozen men passing rapidly by. "i was sure they did not take this way, joe," cried one. "and i am sure they did!" answered the other. "they're in the wood now. let us----" what he said more was lost, and after pausing for a moment or two till the sounds were but faintly heard in the wood, longpole and his lord betook them to the open field, and soon were out of sight of the park. chapter viii. i do believe it: the common world teems out with things we know not; and our mind, too gross for us to scan the mighty whole, knows not how busy all creation is. in the original history here follows a long chapter describing how sir payan wileton, sitting in deep and earnest consultation with sir cesar, the magician, regarding the teeming future, was only awakened to a full sense of the present by the very resonant "oh!" uttered by jekin groby as he fell from the window. and the same chapter goes on at great length to detail all that sir payan did and said upon making the discovery of his prisoners' evasion. his fury, his menaces, his orders, his promises to those who should retake them, are all described fully, and in very sublime language by professor vonderbrugius. but nevertheless we shall omit them, as well as the long account by which they are preceded of the strange and curious ceremonies employed by sir cesar to ascertain the event of many dark schemes that were then revolving in the breasts of men; and we think that the reasons which induce us to leave out all those curious particulars, will fully justify our so doing in the opinion of our readers. in the first place, we wish to follow our hero as fast as possible; in the next place, every reader whose head is any better than a turnip, can easily figure the mad rage of a passionate though wily man, on finding that his prey has escaped from his hand; and in the third place, we did not translate this chapter, inasmuch as vonderbrugius, besides being vastly sublime, was wholly unintelligible. making, therefore, that short which was originally long, we shall only say that all the servants, roused from their beds, beat the woods in every direction, searching vainly for the young knight and richard heartley, who, as we have seen, contrived to evade their pursuit. not such, however, was the fate of poor jekin groby, who, running straight forward up one of the avenues, was soon seen and overtaken by a party of servants, who taking it for granted that he would resist most violently, beat him unmercifully out of mere expectation. roaring and grumbling, the unfortunate clothier was brought back to the manor, and underwent sir payan's objurgation with but an ill grace. "you are a villain! you are!" cried jekin. "you had better let me alone, you had! you'll burn your fingers if you meddle with me. you've stolen my bags already. but the king and lord darby shall hear of it; ay, and the cardinal to boot, and a deal more too. did not i hear you promise to murder him, you black-hearted vagabond?" "tie him hand and foot," said sir payan, "and bring him back again into the strong room. bring him along, i would fain see how they reached the window." and followed by the servants, hauling on poor jekin, who ever and anon muttered something about lord darby, and the king, and his bags, he proceeded to the chamber where the young knight had been imprisoned. there the settle and the rope gave evidence of the manner in which the escape had been effected, and were instantly removed by order of the knight, to prevent the honest clothier, though now bound hand and foot, from making the attempt again. "this man's evidence would damn me," thought sir payan. "fool that i was to forget that he was here, and not look in that straw closet, before i committed myself with the other! but he must be taken care of, and never see england again. what is that?" continued he aloud, pointing to the scroll which caught his eye on the ground. "give it me. ha! all fair! can old sir cesar have aided in this trick: we will see." and with hasty strides he proceeded to the high chamber where he had left the astrologer. he slackened his pace, however, with some feelings of awe, for as he approached he heard a voice speaking high. "in the name of god most high," it cried, "answer! shall his head be raised so high for good or for evil? ha! thou fleetest away! let be! let be!" at this moment sir payan threw open the door, and found the old man with his hair standing almost erect, his eye protruded, and his arms extended, as if still adjuring some invisible being. "it is gone!" cried he, as the other entered. "it is gone!" and he sank back exhausted in his chair. notwithstanding the fund of dauntless resolution which sir payan held, his heart seemed to grow faint as he entered the apartment, in which there was a strange sickly odour of incense and foreign gums, and a thin blue smoke, that diffusing itself from a chafing-dish on the table, rendered the various objects flickering and indistinct. nor could he help persuading himself that something rushed by him as he opened the door, like a sudden gust of cold wind, that made him give an involuntary shudder. when he had left the room below, he had determined to tax the old knight boldly with having aided in the prisoners' escape; but his feelings were greatly changed when he entered, and accosting him with a mixture of awe and respect, he asked how it was that people discovered any characters written in a certain sort of ink he had heard of, which was quite pure and white till the person who had the secret submitted it to some other process. "hold the paper to the fire!" said sir cesar, feebly. sir payan immediately extended the parchment over the chafing-dish, but in vain; no trace of any kind appeared, and vexed and disappointed he let it drop into the flame. "know ye that my prisoner has escaped," said he, "and i am again insecure?" "listen to what is of mightier moment," cried sir cesar, with a great effort, as if his powers were almost extinct with some vast excitement just undergone. "listen, and reply not; but leave me the moment you have heard. you besought me to ascertain the fate of edward, duke of buckingham, that you might judge whether to serve him as he would have you. i have compelled an answer from those who know, and i learn that, within one year, buckingham's head shall be the highest in the realm. mark! determine! and leave me!" sir payan, aware that it was useless to remain when sir cesar had once desired to be alone, quitted the chamber in silence. "yes!" said he, thoughtfully, "i will serve him, so long as i do not undo myself. i will creep into his counsels; i will appear his zealous friend, but i will be wary. he aims at the crown: as he rises i will rise; but if i see him make one false step in that proud ascent, i will hurl him down, and when the fair lands of buckingham are void----who knows? we shall see. less than i have risen higher! ho! who waits? when the portingallo returns, give the prisoner into his hands; but first make the captain speak with me. buckingham's head shall be the highest in the realm! that must be king. never did i know his prophecies fail, though sometimes they have a strange twisted meaning. highest in the realm! there can be none higher than the king! harry has no male heir. well, we shall see!" chapter ix. welcome, he said: oh, long expected, to my dear embrace!--dryden. "we must not think ourselves safe," said longpole, when they had got about two miles from the park, "till we have put five estates between us and that double cunning fox, sir payan wileton; for by break of day his horsemen will be out in every direction, and he will not mind breaking a little law to have us." "which way are we going now?" demanded the knight; "i should judge towards canterbury." "a little to the left we bear now," replied longpole; "and yet the left is become the right, for by going left we get right off his land, my lord." "call me not my lord, heartley," said darnley. "did i appear before the king as lord darnley his grace might be offended, and especially the proud wolsey; as, after many entreaties, made by the best in the land, the prelate refused to see either my father or myself, that we might plead our own cause; therefore, for the present, i am but sir osborne maurice. thou hast too much wit i know to give me my lord at every instant, like yon foolish clothier." "oh, no! not i," replied longpole; "i will sir osborne you, sir, mightily. but speaking of the clothier, your worship, how wonderfully the fellow used his legs! it seemed as if every step cried out _ell-wide_; and when he stumbled 'twas but _three quarters_. i hope he escaped, if 'twere but to glorify his running." "even if they took him," said the knight, "sir payan would not keep him after he found i was gone." "if 'twere not for avarice," said longpole; "the fellow had all his better angels in his bags, and sir payan has store of avarice. i've seen him wrangle with a beggar for the change of a halfpenny, when the devil tempted him to commit a charity. and yet avarice, looked upon singly, is not a bad vice for a man to have either. it's a warm, a comfortable solid sin; and if most men will damn their own souls to get money, he can't be much worse off who damns his to keep it. oh, i like avarice! give me avarice for my sin. but i tire your worship." "no, no, faith!" replied the knight. "thy cheerfulness, together with the freedom of my limbs, give me new spirit, heartley." "oh! good your worship," cried longpole, "call me something else than heartley. since the fit is on us for casting our old names, i'll be after the fashion too, and have a new one." "well, then, i will call thee longpole," said the knight, "which was a name we gave thee this morning, when thou wert watching us on the bank." "speak not of it, sir osborne," replied he; "that was a bad trick, the worst i ever was in. but call me longpole, if your worship chooses. when i was with the army they called me dick fletcher,[3] because i made the arrows; and now i'll be longpole, till such time as your honour is established in all your rights again; and then i'll be merry master heartley, my lord's man." "i fear me, dick, that thou wilt have but little beside thy merriment for thy wages," said the knight, "at least for a while; for yon same sir payan has my bags too in safe custody, and also some good letters for his grace of buckingham. yet i hope to receive in london the ransom of a knight and two squires, whom i made prisoners at bouvines. till then we must content ourselves on soldiers' fare, and strive not to grow sad because our purses are empty." "oh! your worship, my merriment never leaves me," said longpole. "they say that i laughed when first i came into the world; and, with god's will, i will laugh when i go out of it. when good dr. wilbraham, your honour's tutor, used to teach me latin, you were but a little thing then, some four years old; but, however, i was a great boy of twelve, and he would kindly have taught me, and made a clerk of me; but i laughed so at the gods and goddesses, that he never could get on. the great old fools of antiquity, as i used to call them; and then he would cane me, and laugh too, till he could not cane me for laughing. i was a wicked wag in those days; but since then i have grown to laugh at folks as much as with them. but i think you said, sir osborne, that you had letters for the duke of buckingham: if we walk on at this pace, we shall soon be upon his land." "what! has he estates in this county?" asked the knight; "my letters were addressed to him at thornbury, in gloucestershire." "oh! but he has many a broad acre too in kent," answered longpole; "and a fine house, windowed throughout with glass, and four chimneys at each end; not a room but has its fire. they say that he is there even now. and much loved is he of the commons, being no way proud, as some of our lords are, with their upturned noses, as if they scorned to wind their mother earth." "were i but sure that his grace were there," said the knight, "i would e'en venture without the letters; for much has he been a friend to my father, and he is also renowned for his courtesy." "surely, your worship," answered longpole, "if his grace have any grace, he must be gracious; and yet i have heard that sir payan is the duke's good friend, and it might be dangerous to trust yourself." "i do not fear," said the knight. "the noble duke would never deliver me into the hands of my enemy; and although, perhaps, sir payan may play the sycophant, and cringe to serve his own base purposes with his grace, i cannot believe that the duke would show him any farther favour than such as we yield to a hound that serves us. however, we must find some place to couch us for the night, and to-morrow morning i will determine." "still, we must on a little farther to-night," said longpole. "that sir payan has the nose of a bloodhound, and i should fear to rest yet for a couple of hours. but the country i know well, every path and field, so that i will not lead your worship wrong." for nearly ten miles more, lighted by neither moon nor stars, did the two travellers proceed, through fields, over gates, and in the midst of woods, through which longpole conducted with such unerring sagacity, that the young knight could not help a suspicion crossing his mind that his guide must have made himself acquainted with the paths by some slight practice in deer-stalking, or other gentle employments of a similar nature. at length, however, they arrived in the bottom of a little valley, where a clear quick stream was dashing along, catching and reflecting all the light that remained in the air. on the edge of the hill hung a portion of old forest ground, in the skirts of which was a group of haystacks; and hither longpole led his master, seeming quite familiar with all the localities round about. "here, sir, leap this little ditch and mound. wait! there is a young hedge: now, between these two hay-stacks is a bed for a prince. out upon the grumblers who are always finding fault with fortune! the old lady, with her purblind eyes, gives, it is true, to one man a wisp of straw, and to another a cap and plume; but if he with the wisp wears it as gaily as the other does his bonnet, why fortune's folly is mended by content. i killed a fat buck in that wood not a month since," continued longpole; "but, good your worship, tell not his grace of buckingham thereof." by such conversation longpole strove to cheer the spirits of his young lord, upon whose mind all the wayward circumstances of his fate pressed with no easy weight. laying himself down, however, between the two haystacks, while heartley found himself a similar bed hard by, the young adventurer contrived soon to forget his sorrows in the arms of sleep; and as he lay there, very inconsiderately began dreaming of lady constance de grey. sir payan wileton also soon took his place on the imaginary scene; and in all the wild romance of a sleeping vision, they both contrived to teaze poor sir osborne desperately. at length, however, as if imagination had been having her revel after judgment had fallen asleep, and had then become drowsy herself, the forms melted gradually away, and forgetfulness took possession of the whole. it was bright daylight when the knight awoke, and all the world was gay with sunshine, and resonant with the universe's matin song. longpole, however, was still fast asleep, and snoring as if in obstinate mockery of the birds that sat and sang above his head. yet even in sleep there was a merry smile upon the honest englishman's face, and the knight could hardly find the heart to wake him from the quiet blessing he was enjoying to the cares, the fears, and the anxieties of active existence. "wake, richard!" said he, at length, "wake; the sun has risen this hour." up started longpole. "so he has!" cried he; "well, 'tis a shame, i own, that that same old fellow the sun, who could run alone before i was born, and who has neither sat down nor stood still one hour since, should still be up before me in the morning. but your worship and i did not go to bed last night so early as he did." "ay!" replied the knight; "but he will still run on, as bright, as vigorous, and as gay as ever, long after our short race is done." "more fool he then!" said longpole; "he'll be lag last. but how have you determined, sir, about visiting the noble duke?" "i will go, certainly," replied the knight; "but, good longpole, tell me, is it far from the manor, for all my food yesterday was imprisonment and foul words." "'ods life! your worship must not complain of hunger, then, for such diet soon gives a man a surfeit. but, in troth, 'tis more than one good mile. however, surely we can get a nuncheon of bread at some cottage as we go; so shall your worship arrive just in time for his grace's dinner, and i come in for my share of good things in the second or third hall, as it pleases master yeoman-usher. so let us on, sir, i' god's name." climbing the hill, they now cut across an angle of the forest, and soon came to a wide open down, whereon a shepherd was feeding a fine flock of sheep, singing lightly as he went along. shepherd's song. "the silly beast, the silly beast, that crops the grassy plain, enjoys more than the monarch's feast, and never tastes his pain. sing oh! sing oh! for high degree, i'd be a sheep, and browse the lee. "the 'broidered robe with jewels drest, the silks and velvets rare, what are they to the woolly vest that shuts out cold and care? sing oh! sing oh! for high degree, a woolly coat's the coat for me. "the king he feeds on dainty meat, then goes to bed and weeps, the sheep he crops the wild thyme sweet, and lays him down and sleeps. sing oh! sing oh! for high degree, a careless life's the life for me." "this shepherd will have his hard-pressed curds and his brown bread," said longpole; "and if your worship's hunger be like mine, no way dainty, we can manage to break our fast with him, though it be not on manchets and stewed eels." the knight was very willing to try the shepherd's fare; and bending their course towards him, they came up just as he was placing himself under an old oak, leaving his sheep to the care of his dogs, and found him well disposed to supply their necessities. his pressed curds, his raveled bread, and his leathern bottle, full of thin beer, were cheerfully produced; and when the knight, drawing from his pocket one of the few pieces that had luckily not been placed in his bags, offered to pay for their refreshment, the honest shepherd would receive no payment; his good lord, he said, the duke of buckingham, let none of his people want for anything in their degree, from his chancellor to his shepherd. "content is as good as a king," said heartley, as they proceeded on their way. "but, there! does not your worship catch a glance of the house where those two hills sweep across one another, with a small road winding in between them? just as if under yon large mass of chalky stone, that seems detached and hanging over the path, with a bright gleam of sunshine seen upon the wood beyond? do you not see the chimneys, sir?" "i do, i do," answered sir osborne. "but, come, let us on, it cannot be far." "not above half-a-mile," answered longpole; "but we must go round to the other side, for on this lie the gardens, which, as i have heard, are marvellous rich and curious. there may be seen all kinds of foreign fruit, corn trees, capers, lemons, and oranges. and they say that by a strange way they call grafting, making, as it were, a fool of dame nature, they give her a party-coloured coat, causing one tree to bring forth many kinds of fruit, and flowers of sundry colours." "i have seen the same in holland," replied the knight, "where the art of man seems boldly, as it were, to take the pencil from nature's hand, and paint the flowers with what hues he will." walking rapidly on, they soon crossed the fields that separated them from the park, and skirting round the grounds reached the high road. this ran along for about a mile under the thick massy wall, which, supported by immense buttresses, and partially overgrown with ivy, enclosed the domain on all sides. every here and there some of the old english oaks, the true aboriginal giants of our isle, waved their wide bare arms over the boundary; while still between, the eye rested on the various hues of tender green which the earlier trees just began to put forth, mingled with the dark shades of the pine and the yew. the thick wall continued uninterrupted till towards the middle, where, turning abruptly round to the right, it was seen flanking on both hands the wide road that led up to a pair of massy iron gates before the house. on each side of these gates appeared a square tower of brickwork, affording sufficient lodging for the porter and his men; and round about the doors of which was a crowd of paupers already collected, waiting for the daily dole which they received from the table of the duke. through these sir osborne took his way, followed by longpole; yet not without a sort of murmur amongst the beggar train, who, thinking everything that remained of the dinners in the various halls their own by right, grumbled at each person who went in, as if they thereby received an injury. the gate being open, the knight entered, and looked round for some one to answer his inquiries. the porter instantly stepped forth from his house; and although the stranger's dress had lost the saucy freshness of its first gloss, he doffed his cap with as much respect as if he had been robed in ermines; and thus it may be invariably observed, that where the noble and the great are affable and easy of access, their dependants are, in their station, civil and courteous; and where, on the contrary, the lord affects those airs of misproud haughtiness which offer but a poor comment on his mind's construction, his servants never fail, by their insolent rudeness, to afford a fine caricature of their master's pride. "sir," said the porter, doffing his cap with a low bow, imagining that the knight came to dine at the table in the second hall, to which all strangers of respectable appearance were admitted; "'tis not yet eleven o'clock, and the dinner is never served till noon." "that will be more to my purpose," replied the knight, "as i wish to have an audience of his grace, if he be now in kent." "his grace walks in the flower-garden," replied the porter, "and i know not whether he may be spoken with; but follow me, sir, and i will bring you to his chamberlain." so saying, he led the way across the court, and ascending the steps of the terrace on which the mansion was raised, he pushed open the hall-door, and conducted the knight through a merry group of servants, engaged in various sports, into a second hall, where were a number of ecclesiastics and gentlemen, of that intermediate grade which raised them above the domestics without giving them a title to associate with the persons admitted to the duke's own table. here the porter looked round, as if searching for some one amongst the various groups that tenanted the apartment; and then begging the knight to wait a moment, he left him. finding that all eyes were fixed upon him with that sort of glance of cool, impertinent inquiry, which few persons scruple to exercise upon a stranger who comes new into a place where they themselves are at home, sir osborne went up to some fine suits of armour which were ranged in order at the end of the hall. amongst the rest was one of those beautiful fluted suits of milan steel, which are now so rarely met with. it was arranged as for use, and the arm extended, with the gauntlet resting on the pommel of an immense double-handed sword, which was supported by a small rail of iron, placed there as a guard. the knight considered it all with the eyes of a connoisseur, and taking the sword from underneath the gauntlet, drew it partly out of the sheath. "you are a bold gentleman!" said one of the starers, coming up to the knight. "do you know that these suits are my lord duke's? what are you going to do with that sword?" "to slit the ears of any one who asks me impertinent questions," answered the knight, turning suddenly round upon him. "cast him out! cast him out!" cried a dozen voices. "who is the beggarly rascal with his gray doublet? cast him out!" but the knight glanced round them with that sort of fierce, determined look, which tells that an adversary would have no easy task to master the heart that so lights up the eye; and though some still cried to cast him out, no one thought fit to approach too near. "peace! peace!" cried an old ecclesiastic, who had been sitting at the farther extreme of the hall, and who now advanced. "peace! see ye not by his spurs the gentleman is a knight? my son," he continued, addressing sir osborne, "those arms are the noble duke of buckingham's, and out of respect for our patron, those who are admitted to this hall refrain from touching his ten suits. that which seems to have excited your curiosity was the prize at a tournament, given by an old friend of his grace some fifteen years ago, and it is one of the most handsome in his possession." "i should not have touched those arms, my good father," answered the knight, "had i not thought that i recognised the suit; and was drawing the blade to see if it was the same." "by what mark would you know it, young gentleman?" demanded the priest. "if it be that i mean," replied sir osborne, "there is written on the blade- i will win my right. or die in the fight." "true, true!" said the clergyman. "there is so; but you must be too young to have been at that tourney." "no matter," said the knight; "but, if i mistake not, here is his grace's chamberlain." as he spoke, a gentleman, dressed in a black velvet suit, with a gold chain round his neck, followed the porter into the hall, and addressed himself to the knight. "i have communicated your desire," said he, "to my lord duke, who has commanded me to say, that if your business with his grace be such as may pass through a third person, he prays you to inform him thereof by me; but if you must needs speak with him personally, he never denies his presence to those who really require it." though he spoke with all courtesy, there was something in the manner of the chamberlain that sir osborne did not like; and he answered full haughtily-"inform his grace that my business is for his private ear, and that a moment will show him whether it be such as he can hear with pleasure." "then i have nought left, sir, but to lead you to his grace," replied the chamberlain; "though, i am sure, you know that it is not well to trouble great men with small matters." "lead on, sir!" said the knight, observing the chamberlain's eye glance somewhat critically over his apparel. "my doublet is not very new, you would say; but if i judge it good enough for your lord, it is too good for his servant's scorn." the chamberlain led on in silence through one of the side doors of the hall, and thence by a long passage to the other side of the dwelling, where, issuing out upon the terrace, they descended into a flower-garden, laid out much after the pattern of a brussels carpet. formed into large compartments, divided by broad paved walks, the early flowers of the season were distributed in all manner of arabesques, each bed containing those of one particular colour; so that, viewed from above, the effect was not ugly though somewhat stiff, and gay without being elegant. as darnley descended, he beheld at the farther end a tall, dignified man, of about the middle age, walking slowly up and down the longest walk. he was dressed in one of the strait coats of the day, stiff with gold embroidery, the upper part of the sleeve puffed out with crimson silk, and held down with straps of cloth of gold. the rest of his attire was of the same splendid nature; the high breeches of silken serge, pinked with gold; the mirabaise, or small low-crowned bonnet, of rich velvet, with a thin feather leaning across, fastened by a large ruby; the silken girdle, with its jewelled clasp: all were corresponding; and though the dress might not be so elegant in its forms as that which we are accustomed to call the vandyk, yet it was far more splendid in its materials, and had perhaps more of majesty, though less of grace. two servants walked about ten paces behind, the one carrying in his hand his lord's sword, the other bearing an orange, which contained in the centre a sponge filled with vinegar. the duke himself was busily engaged in reading as he walked, now poring on the leaves of the book he held in his hand, now raising his eyes and seeming to consider what he had just collected. as the young knight approached, however, he paused, placed a mark between the leaves where he had left off, and advanced a step, with that affable smile and winning courtesy for which he was so famous. "i give you good morrow, fair sir!" said he. "my chamberlain says that you would speak with me. methinks my good fortune has made me see your face before. say, can buckingham serve you?" and as he spoke he considered the young stranger attentively, as if he did really remember him. "your grace is ever courteous," replied the knight; and then added, seeing that the chamberlain still staid--"but, in the first place, let me say that what i was unwilling to communicate to this your officer, i am equally unwilling to speak before him." "leave us!" said the duke. "in truth, i know not why you stay. now, fair sir, may i crave your name?" "'tis now a poor one, my good lord," replied the knight. "osborne darnley." "rich, rich, dear youth, in virtue and in merit!" cried the duke, taking him in his arms and embracing him warmly, which accolade did not escape the reverted eyes of the chamberlain; "rich in honour and courage, and every good quality. the lord of surrey, my good son-in-law, to whom you are a dear companion in arms, wrote me from ireland some two months past that i might expect you here; evolved to me the plans which you have formed to gain the favour of the king, and prepared me to aid you to the best of my poor power. hold you the same purpose of concealing your name which you proposed when you wrote from flanders to lord surrey, and which you observed when last in this our happy country?" "i do, my good lord," replied the knight, "on every account; but more especially as it is the wish and desire of him i am bound most to honour and obey: my father." "my judgment goes with his and yours," said the duke, "more especially as for some cause that proud man wolsey, when, not long since, i petitioned the king to see your noble father, stepped in and staid the wavering consent that hung upon his grace's lips. but think not, my dear youth, that i have halted in your cause! far from it; i have urged your rights with all the noblest and best of the land; while your own merits, and the high name you have acquired in serving with the emperor, have fixed your interest on the sure basis of esteem; so that, wherever you find a real english heart, and but whisper the name of darnley, there you shall have a friend; yet, indeed, i have much to complain of in my lord your father." "indeed, indeed, your grace?" cried the knight, the quick blood mounting into his cheek. "some misconception must make you think so. my father, heaven knows! is full of gratitude and affection towards you." "nay, protest not," replied buckingham, with a smile. "i have the strongest proof of his ingratitude and bad esteem; for what can be so great a proof of either as to refuse an offered kindness?" "oh! i understand your grace," said sir osborne. "but though the noble, the princely offers, of pecuniary assistance which your grace held out to him were declined, my father's gratitude was not the less. for five long years i have not seen him, but in all his letters he speaks of the noble duke of buckingham as one whose virtues have shamed him from misanthropy." "well, well!" answered the duke. "at least remember you were counted once as my page, when you were a child no higher than my knee: so now with you i will command, whereas with your father i could but beg; and i will say, that if you use not my house, my servants, and my purse, you hold buckingham at nought. but we must be more particular: come into my closet till dinner be served, and tell me all, for young soldiers are rarely rich, and i will not have my purpose balked." we shall not pursue the farther conversation of the duke of buckingham and the young knight: suffice that the frank generosity of his noble friend easily drew from sir osborne all his history, even to the very day. his plans, his wishes, and his hopes; the conduct of sir payan wileton, and his desperate designs; his own intention to seek the court, and strive to win the favour of the king before he disclosed himself; were all displayed before the duke, who did not fail to encourage him to persevere, both by words of hope and proffers of assistance. "as to your enemy, sir payan wileton," said the duke, "i know him well: he is a desperate villain; and yet such men are useful in great enterprises. you say you met that strange but wonderful man sir cesar. did he not tell you anything concerning me? but no! he was wise. his grace the king might die without issue male; and then----god knows! however, we will not think of that!" and with these dark hints of some more remote and daring schemes, the duke of buckingham contented himself for the time, and returned to the more immediate affairs of him whose interest he now so warmly embraced. but in the midst of their conversation, the controller of the household entered to marshal the way to the banquet hall. "what said you, my dear youth, was the name you had adopted?" demanded the duke; "for i must gain you the acquaintance of my friends." "ever since the sequestration of our estates," replied the knight, "and their transfer to sir payan wileton, i have, when in england, borne the name of osborne maurice." "osborne maurice!" said the duke, with some emphasis, as if he found something extraordinary in the name. "how came you to assume that?" "in truth, i know not," answered the knight; "'twas fixed on by my father." "yes, i now remember," said the duke, after musing for a while. "he was a dear friend of my good lord your father's: i mean the other sir osborne maurice, who supported perkyn warbeck. but 'twill do as well as another; the name is forgotten now." chapter x. born of noble state, well could he tourney, and in lists debate.--spenser. when, as may be remembered, the porter led the knight into the second hall, our friend longpole remained in the first, with those of his own degree; nor was he long in making acquaintance, and becoming intimate with every one round about, from the old seneschal, who took his place in the leathern chair by right of immemorial service, to the sucking serving-man who was hardly yet weaned from his mother's cottage, and felt as stiffly uncomfortable in his rich livery suit as a hog in armour, a cat in pattens, or any other unfortunate animal in a garb it has not been accustomed to. for all, and each, longpole had his joke and his quibble; he played with one, he jested with the other, and he won the hearts of all. in short, every one was in a roar of laughter when the porter returned from the second hall, followed by one of those inferior gentlemen who had just found it inexpedient to follow up his purpose of casting sir osborne out. immediately on entering, the porter pointed out longpole to the other, who advanced and addressed him with a vastly supercilious air, which, however, did not produce any very awful effect upon the honest fletcher.[4] "so, fellow," said he, "you are the servant of that gentleman in the old gray doublet?" "yes, your worship, even so," answered longpole. "my honoured master always wears gray; for when he is not in gray cloth, he goes in gray iron; and as to its being old, better an old friend than a new foe." "and who is your master? i should like to hear," asked the gentleman. "lord! does not your worship know?" demanded longpole, giving a merry glance round the crowd, that stood already well disposed to laugh at whatever he should say. "bless you, sir! my master's the gentleman that beat gog and magog in single fight, slew seventy crocodiles of the nile before breakfast, and played at pitch and toss with the cramp bones of an elephant's hind leg. for heaven's sake, don't anger him: he'd eat a score such as you at a mouthful!" "come, fellow, no insolence, if you mind not to taste the stirrup leather," cried the other, enraged at the tittering of the menials. "you and your master both give yourselves too great airs." "'ods life, your worship, we are not the only ones!" answered longpole. "every jack carries it as high as my lord, now-a-days; so i'll not be out o' the fashion." "you had better bid your master get a new doublet, then," said the gentleman of the second hall, with a look of vast contempt. "that your worship may have the old one?" asked longpole, slily. what this might have produced it is impossible to say, for a most insupportable roar burst from the servants at longpole's last thrust; but at that moment the chamberlain entered from the second hall, and beckoned to the gentleman, who was no other than his cousin. "take care what you say, william," whispered he; "that knight, with whom i find master wilmotswood quarrelled about touching the armour, is some great man, depend on it. the duke sent me away, and then he embraced him, and hugged him, as he had been his brother; and the old controller, who saw him go by, nods and winks, as if he knew who he is, and says that we shall see whether he does not dine at the first table, ay, and near his grace, too, for all his old gray doublet. hast thou found out his name?" "no," replied the other. "his knave is as close as a walnut, and does not scruple to break his jests on any one, so i'll have no more of him." their farther conversation was interrupted by a yeoman of the kitchen presenting himself at the door of the hall, and a cry of "sewers, sewers!" made itself heard, giving notice that the noon repast was nearly ready to be placed upon the table. the scene was at once changed amongst the servants, and all was the bustle of preparation; the sewers running to serve the dinner, the yeomen of the hall and the butler's men making speed to take their places in the banquet room, and the various pages and servants of different gentlemen residing in the manor hurrying to wait on their masters at the table. in the midst of this, our friend longpole felt some doubt what to do. unacquainted with what had passed between his master and the duke, and even whether the knight had made known his real rank or not, longpole did not well know where to bestow himself. "'ods life!" said he, after fidgeting for a moment on the thorns of uncertainty, "i'll e'en take my chance, and go to the chief hall. i can but walk into the next, if my young master does not show himself soon. ho! youngster," he continued to a page he saw running by, "which is the way to the lord's hall?" "follow, follow, quick!" cried the boy; "i'm going there to wait for my lord abergany, and we are too late." longpole lost no time, and arrived in the hall at the moment the controller was arranging the different servants round the apartment. "stand you here, sir charles poynder's man; why go you higher than sir william cecil's? sir william is a banneret. harry mathers, you keep there. you, jim, by that cupboard. and who are you? who is your master, tall fellow?" he continued, addressing longpole. "oh! the gentleman that is with the duke," cried several of the servants; "the gentleman that is with the duke." "why, i know not where he will sit," said the controller; "but wait about, and stand behind his chair. now, are yon all ranged? bid the trumpets sound." a loud flourish gave notice to the sewers to serve, and to the various guests to descend to the hall, when in a few minutes appeared lord abergany and lord montague, and one by one dropped in sir william cecil, sir charles poynder, and several other knights, who, after the various salutations of the morning, fell into groups of two and three, to gossip out the long five minutes which must pass while the controller informed the duke that the first dish was placed upon the table. in the mean while honest longpole stood by, too anxious to know the reception his lord had met with even to jest with those around him; but instead, he kept examining all the splendid scene, the rich cloth of estate placed for the duke, the various cupboards of magnificent plate, the profusion of venice glasses, and all the princely furnishing of the hall and table, with feelings nearly allied to apprehension. at length the voice of the controller was heard crying "the duke! the duke! make way there for the duke!" and in a moment after the duke of buckingham entered, leaning with familiar kindness on the arm of the young knight. "my lord abergany," said the duke, "my son, and you, my lord montague, my excellent good friend, before we fall to the cheer that heaven has given us, let me introduce to your love this much esteemed knight, sir osborne maurice, of a most noble stock, and what is better still, ennobled by his deeds: and now let us to table. sir osborne, you must sit here on my right, so shall you enjoy the conversation of my lord abergany, sitting next to you, and yet i not lose yours. our chaplain is not here, yet let some holy man bless the meat. lord montague, you will take my left." that profound silence now succeeded which ought always to attend so important an avocation as that of dining, and the whole worldly attention of every one seemed fixed upon the progress of each dish, which being brought up in turn to the duke of buckingham, first supplied those immediately around him, and then gradually travelling down the table from person to person, according to their rank, was at length carried out by a servant into the second hall, where it underwent the same perambulation, and was thence transferred to the third. here, however, its journeys did not cease; for after having thus completed the grand tour, and become nearly a finished gentleman, the remnant was bestowed upon the paupers without. so different was the order of the dinner from that which we now hold orthodox, and so strange would it appear to the modern epicure, that were not such long descriptions insufferably tiresome, many curious pages might be written to show how a roasted pig, disjointed by the carvers without, was the first dish set upon the table; and also to evince the wisdom of beginning with the heavier food, such as beef, mutton, veal, and pork, and gradually drawing to the conclusion with capons, herons, pigeons, rabbits, and other more delicate dishes. however, as our object is to proceed with our history as fast as possible, we shall not stay to detail the various services, or to defend antiquity against the prejudices of to-day: suffice it, that so great was the noble duke of buckingham's attention to his new guest, that longpole, who stood behind to hand his master drink, threw forward his chest, and raised his head two inches higher than ordinary, as if all the stray beams of the great man's favour that passed by the knight lighted upon himself. the duke, indeed, strove generously to distinguish his young friend, feeling that misfortune has much greater claims upon a noble mind than saucy prosperity. the marks of regard which he gave were such as, in those days, might well excite the wonder of lord abergany, who sat next to him. he more than once carved for him himself, and twice invited him to drink; made him notice those dishes which were esteemed most excellent, and spoke to him far more than was usual during the course of dinner. at length the last service appeared upon the table, consisting entirely of sweets. to use the words of holingshed: "gelaffes of all colours, mired with a variety of representations of sundrie flowers, herbes, trees, forms of beasts, fish, fowls, and fruits, and thereunto marchepaines wrought with no small curiosity; tarts of divers heads and sundrie denominations; conserves of old fruits, foreign and homebred: sackets, codinals, marmalats, sugar-bread, ginger-bread, florentines, and sundrie outlandish confections, wherein the sweet hand of the seafaring portingal was not wanting." now also came the finer sorts of wines: muscadel, romanie, and caprike; and the more serious part of the banquet being over, the conversation became animated and interesting. the young knight, as a stranger to all, as well as from the marked kindness of the duke, was, of course, a general object of attention; and as the guests easily judged him a traveller lately returned from abroad, many were the questions asked him concerning the countries he had seen, and the wars he had been in. tilts and tournaments then became the subject of discourse; and at length the duke filled high a venice glass with wine, and calling upon all to do the like, "good gentlemen," said he, "'tis seldom that buckingham will stint his guests, but this is our last just now, for i would fain see a lance broken before night. i know not why, but me thinks those sports and exercises, which are thus undertaken at a moment's notice, are often more replete with joy than those of long contrivance; and here is a good knight, who will balk no man of his humour, when 'tis to strike a strong blow, or to furnish a good course. sir osborne, to your good health, and may all prosperity and success attend you! good lords and friends, join me in drinking his health." sir osborne expressed his willingness to do the duke any pleasure, and to furnish his course with any knight who thought him worthy of his lance. "but your grace knows," he continued, "that i have come here without arms, and that my horse i lost yesterday, as i explained to you." "he would fain excuse himself the trouble," said the duke, smiling, "because we have no fair lady here to view his prowess; but, by heavens! i will have my will. surely in my armoury there is a harness that may suit you, sir knight, and in my stables a steed that will bear you stoutly. my lord of montague, you are unarmed too; quick to the armoury and choose you arms. sir osborne shall maintain the field, and furnish two courses against each comer. we have not time for more; and the horse and harness which the good knight wears shall be the prize. ho! call here the armourer. he is a fleming, most expert, and shall choose your suit, sir osborne." all now rose, and lord montague proceeded to the armoury to choose his arms; while the duke, taking sir osborne and lord abergany into one of the recesses, spoke to them apart for some moments, the effect of which, as it appeared, was, that the duke's kinsman embraced the young knight heartily. while they were still speaking, the armourer appeared, and with a low reverence approached the duke. "billenbach," said the duke, "thou hast an excellent eye, and canst see to the size of a straw that a harness be well adjusted. look at this good knight, and search out amongst the finest suits in the manor one that may be convenient for him." "'tis a damage, your grace," replied the armourer, with the sort of bow a sledge-hammer might be supposed to make. "'tis a great damage that you are not at thornbury, for there is the armour that would have well harnessed him. the gelt armour that is all engrailed with gelt; made for a tall man and a strong, such as his worship: very big upon the chest. then there is the polished suit up stairs, which might suit him, but i doubt that the greaves be long enough, and i have taken away the barbet and volant from the head-piece to give more light, and 'twould take much time to fasten them on. there are none but the ten suits in the second hall: one of the tallest of them might do; but then they are for your grace's own wear;" and he looked inquiringly at the duke, as if he doubted whether he might not have offended by mentioning them. "nay, nay, thou art right, billenbach!" exclaimed the duke; "the fluted suit above all others! i am sure it will do. call thy men, and fetch it here; we will arm him amongst us." the armourer obeyed; and in a few minutes returned with his men bearing the rich suit of fluted armour which had attracted the knight's attention in the hall. "ha! sir osborne," said the duke, "do you remember this armour? you were present when it was won; but yet you were too young for that gay day to rest on your memory." "nay, my good lord, not so," replied the knight; "i remember it well, and how gallantly the prize _was_ won. i doubt not it will fit me." "i feel full sure of it," said the duke, "and that you will fit it, for a better harness was never worn; and surrey says, and i believe, there never was a better knight. come! let us see; first, for the greaves. oh, admirable! does the knee move free? but i see it must. now the corslet: that will fit of course. how, fellow! you are putting the back piece before! the breast-plate! the breast-plate!" "this brassard is a little too close," said the knight. "if you loosen that stud, good armourer, 'twill be better." "'tis padded, good sir, near the elbow," said the man; "i will take out the padding. will your worship try the headpiece? can you see when the barbet is down?" "well enough to charge my lance," said the knight. "these arms are exquisite in beauty, my lord duke, yet very light." "there are none stronger in the world," said the duke, "and therein lies the excellence. though so light that one moves in them more freely than in a coat of goldsmith's work, yet they are so well tempered, both by fire and water, and the juice of herbs, that the sword must be of fine steel indeed that will touch them." "one may see it by the polish that they keep," said the knight. "in each groove one may view oneself in miniature, as in a mirror. they are very beautiful!" "you must win them, my young soldier," whispered the duke. "abergany has gone to arm, with cecil and montague; but i know their force. and now for the horses. the strongest in my stable, with his chanfron, snaffle-bit, manifaire, and fluted poitrel (which i have all, point device corresponding with the suit), goes along as part of the prize. billenbach! take the casque, put a little oil to the visor, and bring it to the lawn of the four oaks. see that the other gentlemen be told that we render ourselves there, where this knight will answer all comers on horseback, and i will judge the field. send plenty of light lances; and as we have not time to put up lists, bid the porter bring seven men with staves to mark the space." thus saying, the duke led the way towards the stable, speaking to the knight, as they went, of various matters which they had not discussed in the morning, and making manifold arrangements for concentrating all sorts of interest to produce that effect upon the mind of the king which might lead to the fulfilment of sir osborne's hopes. nor to the duke of buckingham, who was well acquainted with the character of henry, did the plan of the young knight seem unlikely to be successful. the sort of diffidence implied by concealing his name was that thing of all others calculated to win the monarch's good-will; and there was also a kind of romantic and chivalrous spirit in the scheme altogether, that harmonised well with the tastes of the king, who would fain have revived the days of the round table, not contented with even the wild, adventure-loving character of the times: and yet, heaven knows! those who read the history of the chevalier bayard, and the memoirs of fleurange, will find scenes and details recorded of those days which the novelist dare not venture to portray. only one thing made the duke anxious in regard to his young _protã©ge_: the vast splendour and magnificence of the court of england. he saw that the knight, accustomed alone to the court of burgundy, where merit was splendour, and valour counted for riches, was totally unaware of the thoughtless expense required by henry. sir osborne had, indeed, informed him that in london he expected to receive from a flemish merchant the ransom of a knight and three esquires, amounting in all, together with the value of their arms, to about three thousand french crowns, which the duke well knew would little more than pay for the bard and base[5] of his first just; and yet he very evidently perceived it would be difficult to prevail upon him to accept of any purely pecuniary assistance, especially as he had no time to lay a plan for offering it with any very scrupulous delicacy: sir osborne purposing to depart after the beverage, or three o'clock meal. "now, osborne," said the duke familiarly, after they had seen their horses properly accoutred, and were proceeding towards the place of rendezvous; "now you are once more armed at all points, and fit to encounter the best knight in the land; but we must have that tall fellow who serves you armed too, as your custrel, and mounted; for as you are a knight, and certainly errant, i intend to put you upon an adventure; but here come the counterparty. no one but cecil will run you hard. i last year gave a harness and a purse of a thousand marks as a prize, which cecil had nearly won from surrey. but you must win!" "i will do my best, your grace," replied the knight, "both for the honour of your grace's friendship, and for this bright suit, which in truth i covet. to break two spears with all comers? i think your grace said that was my task. and if i keep the field with equal success against all----" "of course you win the prize," interposed the duke. "and if any other gentleman make as good points as yourself, you furnish two more courses with him to decide. but here we are. well, my lords, the horses will be here before the ground be marked. i stand by, and will be an impartial judge." it is not easy to imagine, in these times, how the revenues of that age could support the nobles in the sort of unbounded expense in their houses which has made _old english hospitality_ a proverbial expression; but it is nevertheless a certain fact, that from fifty to sixty persons commonly sat to dinner each day in the various halls of every wealthy peer. the boards of those who, like buckingham, maintained a more than princely splendour, were generally much better furnished with guests; and when he looked round the spot that had been appointed for their morning's amusement, and beheld not more than a hundred lookers-on, all of whom had fed at his own tables, he felt almost disappointed at the scantiness of spectators. "we have more guests at thornbury," said he; "and yet, porter, you do not keep the ground clear. gentlemen, these four oaks are the bounds; i pray you do not come within. here are our chargers." the fine strong horse which buckingham had chosen for the young knight was now led up, harnessed as if for war; and before mounting, sir osborne could not refrain from walking round to admire him, as he stood pawing the ground, eager to show his speed. the young knight's heart beat high, and laying his left hand on the neck, he sprang at once from the ground into the saddle; while the very clang of his new armour, and the feeling of being once more equipped as he was wont, gave him new life, and hope, and courage. ordered by a whisper from the duke, the groom beckoned longpole from the ground, and the armourer, taking the shield and lance, presented them to the young knight at the end of the course. a note or two was now sounded by the trumpet, and lord abergany offered himself on horseback opposite to sir osborne, who paused a moment to observe if he charged his lance at the head-piece or the shield, that, out of compliment to the duke's relation, he might follow his example. "spur, spur, sir osborne!" cried the duke, who stood near; "abergany comes." the knight struck his spurs into the charger's sides; the horse darted forward, and the spear, aimed low, struck the fess point of lord abergany's shield, and splintered up to the vantplate in sir osborne's hand; at the same moment lord abergany's broke upon the young knight's breast; and suddenly wheeling their chargers, they regained the opposite ends of the lawn. the second lance was broken nearly in the same manner; with only this difference, that sir osborne, having now evinced his respect for his opponent, aimed at the head-piece, which counted a point more. lord montague now succeeded, laughing good-humouredly as he rode towards his place, and bidding sir osborne aim at his head, for it was, he said, the hardest part about him. the knight did as he was desired, and broke his spear twice on the very charnel of his helmet. it being now sir william cecil's turn, each knight charged his spear directly towards the other's head, and galloping on, both lances were shivered to atoms. "gallantly done! gallantly done!" cried the duke of buckingham, though he began to feel some little anxiety lest the knight banneret might carry off the prize, which he had fully intended for sir osborne. "gallantly done! to it again, gentle knights." the spears were now once more delivered, and setting out as before, each struck the other's head-piece; but sir william cecil's, touching obliquely, glanced off, while that of sir osborne was again splintered. "give me your voices, gentlemen all!" cried the duke, turning to the spectators. "who has the day? sir osborne maurice, i say." "sir osborne! sir osborne!" cried a dozen voices; but one person, no other than he who had thought fit to quarrel with the knight about touching the very armour he now wore, could not forbear vociferating the name of sir william cecil, although, fearful of the duke's eye, he took care to keep back behind the rest while he did so. "some one says sir william cecil!" cried the duke, both surprised and angry. "what say you yourself, sir william?" "i say, sir osborne maurice," replied the banneret surlily, "because my lance slipped; but had it not, i think i should have unseated him." "he is not easily unseated," said the duke, "if report speak true. however, the prize is yours, sir osborne. yet, because one voice has differed from my judgment, if you two knights will furnish one more course for my satisfaction, i will give a thousand marks for the best stroke." "your grace knows that i must soon depart," said sir osborne; "but, nevertheless, i am quite willing, if this good knight be so, for i am sure his lance slipped merely by accident." "oh! i am very willing!" cried sir william cecil, somewhat sharply. "a thousand marks, your grace says?" "ay, sir," replied the duke, "i do." "'tis a tough prize!" cried sir william; "so give me a tough ash spear." "to me the same!" cried sir osborne maurice, not exactly pleased with the tone of his opponent. "'tis for the best stroke." at this moment longpole appeared, completely armed by buckingham's command, as a custrel, or shield-bearer; and hearing his master's demand, he searched amongst the spears till he met with one that his practised eye, long used in his quality of fletcher, or arrow-maker, to select the hardest woods, instantly perceived was excellent, and bore it himself to the knight. the trumpet sounded; both galloped forward, and sir william cecil's lance, aimed as before at the knight's casque, struck hard: but sir osborne was as immoveable as a rock; and though of firm, solid wood, the spear shivered. not so sir osborne's; borne forward by a steady, unerring hand, it struck sir william cecil's head-piece just under the crest, wrenched away the crest and plume, and still catching against the ironwork, bore him backwards upon the croupiere, and thence with his horse to the ground; for though sir osborne pulled in his rein as soon as he could, it was not before the weight of his charger had overborne that of his opponent, and thrown him far back upon his haunches. the servants of sir william ran up to disentangle him; and finding him considerably hurt by the fall, they bore him away to his apartments in the manor. in the mean while the duke and his friends were not scanty of the praises which they bestowed upon the young knight; and indeed there might be some sensation of pleasure at cecil's overthrow, mingled with their approbation of sir osborne; for though a good soldier and an honourable man, the banneret was overbearing in society with his equals, and insupportably proud towards those of an inferior rank, so that all the servants winked to each other as he was borne past, taking no pains to conceal their pleasure in his humiliation. "i am sorry that sir william cecil is hurt," said the knight, springing off his horse: "on, longpole, after his men, and discover what is his injury." "'tis no great matter," said lord abergany, "and it will do cecil no harm that his pride is lowered; for in truth, he has lately become beyond all endurance vain. he spoke of quelling the mutiny of the shipwrights at rochester as if his single arm were capable of doing more than lord thomas and all his company. well, fellow!" he continued to longpole, who now returned, "what hurt has sir william?" "why, please your lordship," replied he, "he is neither whole beaten nor whole strangled, but a little of both; for his casque has proved a cudgel, and given him a bloody nose; and his gorget a halter, and half hanged him." "a merry knave!" said the duke. "come, sir osborne, half-an-hour still rests before our beverage; that you shall bestow upon me, when you have taken off your casque. gentlemen, amuse yourselves till three, when we will rejoin you in the hall." thus saying, the duke again led the way to his closet, and concluded all his arrangements with the young knight with the same generosity of feeling and delicacy of manner which had characterised all the rest of his conduct towards him. the prize sir osborne had won he paid to him as a mere matter of course, taking every means to conceal that it had been offered merely that he might win it. but he also exacted a promise, that whenever the young knight was in london, he would use his beautiful manor-house of the rose, in st. lawrence pountney, as if it were his own, and furnished him with a letter which gave him therein unlimited command over whomsoever and whatsoever it contained. "and now," continued buckingham, "let us speak, my young friend, of the means of introducing you to the king, without my appearing in it, for i am not well beloved of the butcher-begotten cardinal. my cousin, the abbot of the benedictines, near canterbury, writes me this morning that his sister, the lady abbess, a most holy and devout woman, has with her, even now, a young lady of high station, a woman of the queen's, one mistress katherine bulmer, who has lately been there to visit and cheer her relation the abbess, who has somewhat suffered from a black melancholy that all her holy piety can hardly cure; and also, as he hints, perhaps to tame down the young damsel's own light spirits, which, it may be, soar a pitch too high. however, the time has come that the queen calls for her lady, and the abbess must send her back; but this mutiny of the shipwrights at rochester puts the good devotees in fear; and they must needs ask me, with an '_if i be sending that way_,' to let the lady journey to the court at greenwich under escort of any of my retainers or friends. if you undertake the charge, our most excellent queen katherine will surely give you her best thanks, and make you know the king; and the mutiny of the shipwrights, who are still in arms, will be a full reason and excuse why you should ride armed. three of my servants shall accompany you. say, does this proposal please you? will you accept it?" "with many thanks!" replied the knight. "your grace is ever kind and thoughtful for your poor friend's good." "your father once saved my life," answered the duke, "and i would almost give that life again to see him what he was. see, here is the letter to the lord abbot. let us now back to our friends, or they will think we are plotting treason. do you favour the bad habit of beverages? no? then we will drain one cup ere you mount, and bid you farewell." the duke now led to the hall, called for a cup of wine, and then pledging the young knight, together with lord abergany and lord montague, conducted him to his horse, notwithstanding the opposition which he made to so marked an honour. "'s life!" cried lord montague, seeing him still armed: "are you going to ride in harness? three of his grace's servants armed too! why you are surely going to deliver some captive damsel from the power of a base ravager." "your lordship is not far wrong," replied the knight, springing on his horse. "but as it is a secret adventure put upon me by the noble duke, him you must ask if you would hear more." "oh, the history! the history! i pray thee, most princely buckingham?" cried lord montague. "but the knight gallops off with his fellow, whom he calls longpole; but i doubt me much that both longpole and osborne maurice at times bear other names. ha! my lord duke? well, well! keep your secret; nothing like a little romance. he seems a noble heart, whoever he be." with this speech the whole party turned into the mansion; the generous-hearted duke congratulating himself on having thus found means to furnish his old friend's son with money and arms, and laying still farther plans for rendering him more extensive and permanent service, and the two lords very well pleased with the little excitement which had broken in upon the sameness of their usual morning amusements. chapter xi. this is no father dominic: no huge overgrown abbey lubber.--spanish friar. who can depict the feelings of sir osborne maurice as he found himself riding on towards that court where, with the ardour of youthful hope, he doubted not to retrieve the fortunes of his family by those qualities which had already acquired for him an honourable fame? clothed once more in arms, which for five years had been his almost constant dress, far better mounted than when he first set out, supported by the friendship of some of the best and noblest of the land, and furnished with a sum which he had never dreamed of possessing, though but starting for the race, he felt as if he already neared the goal; and looking round upon his four attendants, who were all, as they were termed in that day, _especial stout varlets_, he almost wished, like a real knight-errant, that some adventure would present itself wherein he might signalise himself for the first time in his native country. dame fortune, however, was coy, and would not favour him in that sort; and after having ridden on for half-an-hour, enjoying almost to intoxication the deep draughts of renewed hope, he brought to his side, by a sign, our friend longpole, who, now promoted to the dignity of custrel, or shield-bearer, followed with the armed servants of the duke, carrying sir osborne's target and spear. "tell me, longpole," said the knight, who had remarked his faithful retainer in busy conversation with his companions, "hast thou discovered why the duke's servants have not his grace's cognizance or bearing, either on the breast or arm?" "why, it seems, your worship, that they are three stout fellows who attended the noble duke in the wars, and they are commanded to wait upon your worship till the duke shall have need of them. each has his quiver and his bow, besides his sword and pike; so if we should chance to meet that wolf sir payan, or any of his under-wolves, we may well requite them for the day's board and lodging which your worship had at the manor. we, being five, could well match ten of them; and besides, the little old gentleman in black velvet told me that your worship would be fortunate in all things for two months after you got out; but that after that he could not say, for----" "what little gentleman in black are you speaking of?" interrupted the knight. "you forget i do not know whom you mean." "ay, true, your worship," answered longpole. "i forgot you were locked up all that while. but you must know that when sir payan returned yesterday he brought with him a little gentleman dressed in a black velvet doublet and crimson hose; but so small, so small he would be obliged to stand on tip-toe to look me into a tankard. well, sir payan sent for me, and questioned me a great deal about the young lady who had been in with you; and he thought himself vastly shrewd; for certain he is cunning enough to cheat the devil out of a bed and a supper any day; but i did my best to blind him, and then he asked me for the key, and said he would keep it himself. so i was obliged to give up the only way i had of helping your worship; for i saw by that that sir payan suspected me, and would not trust me any more near you, which indeed he did not. well, he made a speech to the little gentleman, and then left the room; and i suppose i looked at the bottom of my wits, for the little fellow says to me, 'heartley! there's a window as well as a door.' so i started, first to find he knew my name, and secondly because he knew what i was thinking about. however, i thought there was no use to be angry with a man for picking my pocket of my thoughts without my knowing it; so i took it quietly, and answered, 'i know there is; but how shall i make him understand what he is to do?' 'tell me what it is,' said he, 'and i will show you how.' so i don't know why, because he might have been a great cheat, but i told him; and thereupon he took a bit of parchment from his pocket, it might be half a skin, and a bit of whitish wax it looked like, out of a bottle, and made as if he wrote upon the parchment; but the more he wrote the less writing i could see. however, he gave me the piece of parchment, and told me to throw it in at the window after dark, with a heap more. i resolved to try, for i began to guess that the little old gentleman was a conjuror; and when i got into the dark, i found that the paper was all shining like a stinking fish; and your lordship knows the rest." "he is an extraordinary man," said sir osborne. "but did you never hear your father speak of sir cesar?" "i have heard my good dad talk about one sir cesar," said longpole, "but i did not know that this was he. if i had i would have thanked him for many a kind turn he did for the two old folks while i was away. but does your worship see those heavy towers standing up over the trees to the left? that is the benedictine abbey, just out of canterbury." "that is where i am going," replied the knight, "if that be wilsbourne." "wilsbourne or st. cummin," answered longpole; "they call it either. the abbot is a good man, they say, which is something to say for an abbot, as days go. your abbey is a very silent discreet place; 'tis like purgatory, where a man gets quit of his sins without the devil knowing anything about it." "nay, nay, you blaspheme the cloister, longpole," said the knight. "i have heard a great deal spoken against the heads of monasteries; but i cannot help thinking that as most men hate their superiors, some of the monks would be sure to blazon the sins of those above them, if they had so many as people say." "faith, they are too cunning a set for that," replied longpole. "they have themselves a proverb, which goes to say, 'let the world wag, do your own business, and always speak well of the lord abbot; so you shall feed well, and fare well, and sleep, while tolls the matin bell.' but your worship must turn up here, if you are really going to the abbey." the knight signified that such was certainly his intention; and turning up the lane that led across to the abbey, in about a quarter of an hour he arrived at a little open green, bordered by the high wall that surrounded the gardens. the lodge, forming, as it were, part of the wall itself, stood exactly opposite, looking over the green, with its heavy wooden doors and small loophole windows. to it longpole rode forward, and rang the bell; and on the appearance of an old stupid-faced porter, the knight demanded to see the lord abbot. "you can see him at vespers in the church, if you like to go, any day," said the profound janitor, whose matter-of-fact mind comprehended alone the mere meaning of each word. "but i cannot speak with him at vespers," said the knight. "i have a letter for him from his grace of buckingham, and must speak with him." "that is a different case," said the porter; "you said you wanted to see the abbot, not to speak to him. but come in." "i cannot come in without you open the other gate," said the knight. "how can my horse pass, old man?" "light down, then!" said the porter. "i shall not let in horses here, unless it be my lord abbot's mule, be you who you will." "then you will take the consequences of not letting me in," replied the knight, "for i shall not light down from my horse till i am in the court." "then you will stay out," said the old man, very quietly shutting the door, much to sir osborne's indignation and astonishment. for a moment, he balanced whether he should ride on without farther care, or whether he should again make an attempt upon the obdurate porter. a moment, however, determined him to choose the latter course; and catching the bell-rope, he rang a very sufficient peal. nobody appeared, and angry beyond all patience, the knight again clapped his hand to the rope, muttering, "if you won't hear, old man, others shall;" and pulling for at least five minutes, he made the whole place echo with the din. he was still engaged in this very sonorous employment, when the door was again opened by the porter, and a monk appeared, dressed simply in the loose black gown of st. benedict, with the cowl, scapulary, and other vestments of a brother of the order. "i should think, sir knight," said he, "that you might find some better occupation than in disturbing myself and brethren here, walking in our garden, without offending you or any one." "my good father," answered sir osborne, "it is i who have cause to be angry, rather than any one else. i came here for the purpose of rendering a slight service to my lord abbot, and am bearer of a letter from his grace of buckingham; and your uncivil porter shuts your gate in my face, because i do not choose to dismount from my horse, and leave my attendants without, though i know not how long it may be convenient for your superior to detain me." "you have done wrong," said the monk, turning to the porter; "first, in refusing to open the gate, next, in telling me what was false about it. open the great gates, and admit the knight and his train. i shall remember this in the penance." the old porter dared not murmur, but he dared very well be slow, and he contrived to be nearly half an hour in the simple operation of drawing the bolts and bars, and opening the gates, which the good monk bore with much greater patience than the knight, who had fondly calculated upon reaching the village of sithenburn that night, and who saw the day waning fast in useless retardation. at length, however, the doors unclosed, and he rode into the avenue that led through the gardens to the back of the abbey, the monk preparing to walk beside his horse. a feeling, however, of respect for a certain mildness and dignity in the old man's manner, induced him to dismount; and giving his horse to one of the servants, he entered into conversation with his conductor, while, as they went along, his clanging step and glistening arms called several of the brethren from their meditative sauntering, to gaze at the strange figure of an armed knight within their peaceful walls. "surely, father," said sir osborne, as they walked on, his mind drawn naturally to such thoughts, "the silent quietude of the scene, and the calm tranquillity of existence which you enjoy here, would more than compensate for all the fleeting unreal pleasures of the world, without even the gratification of those holy thoughts that first call you to this retirement?" "there are many who feel it so, my son, and i among them," answered the old man; "but yet, do not suppose that human nature can ever purify itself entirely of earthly feelings. hopes, wishes, and necessities produce passions even here: pettier, it is true, because the sphere is pettier. but, depend upon it, no society can ever be so constructed as to eradicate the evil propensities of man's nature, or even their influence, without entirely circumscribing his communion with his fellows. he must be changed, or solitary: must have no objects to excite, or no passions to be excited: he must be a hermit or a corpse; have a desert or the grave." "'tis a bad account of human nature," said the knight. "i had fancied that such feelings as you speak of were unknown here: that, at all events, religious sentiments would correct and overcome them." "they do correct, my son, though they cannot overcome them," said the monk. "i spoke of monastic life merely as a human institution; and even in that respect we are likely to meet with more tranquillity within such walls as these than perhaps anywhere else, because the persons who adopt such a state from choice are generally those of a calm and placid disposition, and religion easily effects the rest. but there are others, driven by disappointment, by satiety, by caprice, by fear, by remorse, by even pride; and urged by bad feelings from the first, those bad feelings accompany them still, and act as a leaven amongst those with whom they are thus forced to consort. even when it is but sorrow that, weaning from worldly pleasure, brings a brother here, often the sorrow leaves him, and the taste for the world returns, when an irrevocable vow has torn him from it for ever; or else, if his grief lasts, it becomes a black and brooding melancholy, as different from true religion as even the mad gaiety of the thoughtless crowd. there was a youth here, not long ago, who was wont to call the matin bell _the knell of broken hearts_. others, again, circumscribed in the range of their feelings, become irascible from the very restraint, and vent their irritability on all around them." "but example in the superior does much," said the knight; "and i have heard that your lord abbot----" "whether you are about to praise or blame," said the monk, "stop! i am the abbot. if it were praise you were about to speak i could not hear it silently; if 'twere blame, i would fain save you the pain of uttering to my own ears what many doubtless say behind my back." "indeed, my lord abbot," answered the knight, "i had nothing to speak but praise; and had it been blame, i would sooner have said it to yourself than to one of your monks. but to the business which brings me hither. his grace the duke of buckingham, by this letter, commends him to your lordship; and knowing that i purpose journeying to the court, he has desired me to conduct, and protect with my best power, a young lady, whose name i forget, till i have rendered her safely to her royal mistress, queen katherine." "i thank you for the trouble you have already taken, my son. we will in to the scriptorium," said the abbot; "and when i have perused his grace's letter, will have the lady informed that you are here." although that art was rapidly advancing which soon after entirely superseded the necessity of manual transcription for multiplying books, yet the scriptorium, or copying-room, was still not only to be found, but was also still employed for its original purpose, in almost every abbey or monastery of consequence. in that of the benedictines of wilsbourne, it was a large oblong chamber, vaulted with low gothic arches, and divided into various small compartments by skreens of carved oak. each of these possessed its table and writing apparatus; and in more than one, when sir osborne entered, was to be seen a monk copying some borrowed manuscript for the use of the abbey. the approach of the abbot, whose manners seemed to possess a great deal of primeval simplicity, did not in the least derange the copyists in their occupation; and it is probable that, when unengaged in the immediate ministry of his office, he did not exact that ceremonious reverence to which the mitred abbot was by rank entitled. in politeness, as in everything else, there are of course various shades of difference very perceptible to observation, yet hardly tangible by language: thus, when the abbot had read the duke of buckingham's letter, the character which it gave of sir osborne caused a very discernible change to take place in his manner, though in what it consisted it would be difficult to say. he had always been polite, but his politeness became warmer: when he spoke it was with a smile; and, in short, it was evidently an alteration in his mind, from the mere feeling of general benevolence which inhabits every good bosom, to the sort of individual kindness which can only follow some degree of acquaintance. he expressed much gratification at the idea of lady katrine bulmer having the advantage of the knight's escort, more especially, he said, as the news from rochester became worse and worse. but sir osborne, he continued, had better speak with the lady herself, when they could form such arrangements as might be found convenient; for lady katrine had a good deal of the light caprice of youth, and loved to follow her own fantasies. he then sent some directions to the prior concerning matters of discipline, and gave orders that the attendants of sir osborne should be brought to the hospitaler, whose peculiar charge it was to entertain guests and strangers; and this being done, he led the way towards that part of the abbey which contained the sisters of the order, preceded by a monk bearing a large key. separated throughout by a wall of massy masonry, no communication existed between the two portions of the building, except by a small iron door, the key of which always remained with the abbot, and by some underground communications, as it was whispered, the knowledge of which was confined also to his bosom. of these subterranean chambers many dark tales of cruelty and unheard-of penances were told as having happened in former ages, when monastic sway had its full ascendant; but even their very existence was now doubtful; and when any one mentioned them before the abbot he only smiled, as a man will do at the tales of wonder that amaze a child. however that may be, the way by which he led the young knight to the female side of the monastery was simply through the cloisters; and having arrived at the door of communication, he took the key from the bearer, unlocked it himself, and making the knight pass into the cloister on the other side, he locked the door and rejoined him. the place in which they now were was a gloomy arcade, surrounding a small square court, in the centre of which appeared a statue of scholastica, the sister of saint benedict; and several almost childish ornaments evinced the pious designs of the good sisters to decorate their patroness. but, notwithstanding all their efforts, it was a dreary spot. the pointed arches of the cloister resting upon pillars of scarce a foot in height; the thick embellishments of stone-work forming almost what heralds would call a _bordure fleurã©e_ round the archways; together with the towering height of the buildings round about, took away the scanty light that found its way into deep recesses of the double aisle, and buried all the second or inner row of arches in profound shadow. another small door appeared on the left of the abbot, who still held the key in his hand; but stopping, he pointed along the cloister to the right, and said, "my son, i must here leave you, for i go to my sister's apartment, to have the lady called to the grate, and no layman must pass here; but if you follow that arcade round the court till you see a passage leading again towards the light (you cannot miss your way), you will come to the convent court, as it is called, and exactly opposite you will find a door which leads to the grate. there i will rejoin you." the knight followed the lord abbot's direction; and proceeding round the first side of the square, was turning into the second, when he thought he saw the flutter of a white garment in the shadowy part of the inner aisle. "it is some nun," thought he: but a moment's reflection brought to his mind that the habit of the benedictines was always black; and it may be that curiosity made him take a step or two somewhat faster than he did before. "open the door, and make haste, geraldine," said a female voice, in a low tone, but one that, nevertheless, reverberated by the arches, reached the knight's ears quite distinctly enough for him to hear the lady proceed. "he must be on horseback, i think, by the quickness of his pace and the clanking of his hoofs. cannot you open it? run across the court, then, silly wench, quick! or gogmagog will have you;" and with a light laugh, the lady of the white robe darted out from the archway, and tripped gracefully across the court, with her long veil flowing back from her head as she ran, and showing fully the beautiful brown hair with which it was mingled, and the beautiful sunny face which it was meant to hide, but which, fully conscious of its own loveliness, was now turned with a somewhat playful, somewhat inquisitive, somewhat coquettish glance, towards the knight. following close behind her was a pretty young woman, dressed as a servant-maid, who ran on without looking to the right or left, and who, probably being really frightened, almost tumbled over her mistress, not perceiving that she slackened her pace as she reached the other side of the court. it thus happened that she trod on the young lady's foot, who uttered a slight cry, and leaned upon the servant for support. as may be imagined, sir osborne was by her side in a moment, expressing his hopes that she was not hurt, and tendering his services with knightly gallantry; but the lady suddenly drew herself up, made him a low curtsey, and stiffly thanking him for his attention, walked slowly to the door by which the abbot had entered. not very well pleased with the reception his politeness had met, the knight proceeded on his way, and easily found the passage which the abbot had described, leading, as he had been told into the larger court, exactly opposite the door by which visitors were usually admitted. this door, as usual, stood open; and mounting the steps, sir osborne proceeded on into a small room beyond, separated from the parlour by a carved oak partition, in the centre of which was placed the trellis-work of gilded iron called the grate. nobody appearing on the other side, sir osborne cast himself upon the bench with which one side of the room was furnished, and waited patiently for the appearance of the lady, abandoning now, of necessity, the idea of proceeding farther that night. after having waited for a few minutes, a light step met his ear; and without much surprise, for he had already guessed what was the fact, he saw the same lady approach the grate whom he had met in the court. rising thereupon from his seat, he advanced to the partition, and bowed low, as if to a person he had never seen. the lady, on her part, made him a low curtsey, and both remained silent. "i am here," said the knight, after a long pause, "to receive the commands of lady katrine bulmer, if i have now the honour of speaking to her?" "my name is bulmer, sir knight," replied the lady, "and eke katrine, and some folks call me lady, and some mistress; but by what my lord abbot and my lady abbess just tell me, it seems that i am to receive your commands rather than you to receive mine." "very far from it, madam," said the knight; "you have but to express your wishes, and they shall be obeyed." "there now!" cried the lady, with an air of mock admiration; "sir knight, you are the flower of courtesy! then you do not positively insist on my getting up at five to-morrow morning to set out, as my lord abbot informed me? a thing i never did in my life, and which, please god, i never will do!" "i insisted upon nothing, madam," answered the knight, "i only informed my lord abbot that it would be more convenient to me to depart as speedily as possible; and i ventured to hint that if you knew of how much importance it might be for me to arrive at the court soon, you would gratify me by using all the despatch which you might with convenience to yourself." "then it is of importance to you?" demanded the lady; "that changes the case. name the hour, sir knight, and you shall find me ready. but you know not what a good horsewoman i am; i can make long journeys and quick ones." "not less than two days will suffice, i fear," said the knight; "the first day we may halt at gravesend." "halt!" exclaimed the lady, laughing, and turning to her woman, who stood at a little distance behind, "do you hear that? halt! he talks to me as if i were a soldier. tell me, geraldine, is it possible that i look like a pikeman?" "not any way like a soldier," replied the knight, sufficiently amused with her liveliness and beauty to forget her pertness; "not any way like a soldier, unless it be one of heaven's host." "gracious heaven!" cried the lady, "he says pretty things. only think of a man in armour being witty! but really, sir knight, it frightens me to see you all wrapped up in horrid steel. can it possibly be that these rochester shipwrights are so outrageous as to require a belted knight with lance in rest for the escort of a simple girl like me?" "men are wont to guard great treasures with even superfluous care," replied sir osborne. the lady made him a very profound curtsey, and he proceeded: "this was most probably the lord abbot's reason for sending to request some escort from the duke of buckingham; for though i hear of some riot or tumult at rochester, i cannot suppose it very serious. however, all i know is this, that the right reverend father did send while i was there jousting in the park; and understanding that i was about to proceed to london, his grace resigned to me the honour of conducting you safely thither." "what, then! you are not one of the duke's own knights?" exclaimed lady katrine. "i am no one's knight," replied sir osborne with a smile, "except it be the king's and yours, if such you will allow me to be." "oh, that i will!" answered the lady. "i should like a tame knight above anything; but in troth, i have spoken to you somewhat too lightly, sir." she proceeded more gravely: "from what my lord uncle abbot told me, i judged the duke had sent me one of his household knights,[6] men who, having forty pounds a year, have been forced to receive a slap on the shoulder for the sake of the herald's fee; and then, having nought to do that may become the sir, they pin themselves to the skirts of some great man's robe, to do both knightly and unknightly service." "such am not i, fair lady," replied sir osborne, a little piqued that she could even have supposed so. "i took my knighthood in the battle-plain, from the sword of a great monarch; and so long as i live my service shall never be given but to my lady, my king, or my god!" "nay, nay, do not look so fierce, man in armour," answered lady katrine, relapsing into her merriment. "both from your manner and your mien, i should have judged differently, if i had thought but for a moment; but do not you see, i never think? i take a thing for granted, and then go on acting upon it as if it were really true. but, as i said, you shall be my knight, and before we reach the court i doubt not i shall have a task to give you, and a guerdon for your pains, if the good folks of rochester do not cut our throats in the mean while. but what hour did you say, sir knight, for setting out? for here my poor wenches have to make quick preparations of all my habits." "i have named no hour," replied sir osborne; "but if you will do me the honour to let me know when you are ready tomorrow, my horses shall stand saddled from six in the morning." "but how am i to let you know?" demanded the lady, "unless i take hold of the bell-rope, and ring matins on the convent bell; and then all the good souls will wink their eyes, and think the sun has turned lie-a-bed. dear heart! sir knight, you do not suppose that the monks and the nuns come running in and out between the two sides of the abbey, like the busy little ants in their wonderful small cities? no, no, no! none comes in here but my lord abbot and an old confessor or two, so deafened with the long catalogue of worldly sins that they would not hear my errand, much less do it. but now i think of it, there is a good lay sister; her i will bribe with a silver piece to risk purgatory by going round to the front gate of the abbey, and telling the monk when i am ready. and now, good sir knight, i must go back to my lord abbot, and fall down upon my knees and beg pardon; for i left him so offended that he would not come down with me, because i was pert about going early. farewell! judge not harshly of me till to-morrow; perhaps then i may give you cause; who knows?" thus saying, she tripped lightly away with a gay saucy toss of the head, like a spoiled child, too sure of pleasing to be heedful about doing so. as she turned away, the maid advanced to the grate, and informed sir osborne that the lord abbot would meet him at the place where they had parted, upon which information the knight retrod his steps to the little court of the cloisters, where he found the abbot pacing up and down, with a grave and thoughtful countenance. "i am afraid, sir osborne maurice," said he, as the knight approached, "that the young lady you have just left has not demeaned herself as i could have wished, towards you; for she left me in one of those flighty moods which i had good hope would have been cured by her stay in the convent." "she expected to find you still with the lady abbess," said sir osborne, avoiding the immediate subject of the abbot's inquiry; "and went with the intention of suing for pardon of your lordship, having given you, she said, some offence." "i am glad to hear it, with all my heart!" said the monk; "for then she is penitent, which is all that god requires of us, and all that we can require of others. indeed her heart is good; and though she commits many a fault, yet she repents the moment after, and would fain amend it. but come, sir knight! though our own rules are strict, we must show our hospitality to strangers; and i hope our refectioner has taken care to remember that you will partake the fare of my table to-night. but first you had better seek your chamber, and disencumber yourself of this armour, which, though very splendid, must be very heavy. ho! brother francis, tell the hospitaller to come hither and conduct the knight to his apartment." while this short conversation was taking place, the abbot had led sir osborne back into the cloisters on the male side of the building; and proceeding slowly along towards the wing in which was the scriptorium, and other apartments of general use, they were soon met by the hospitaller, who led the knight to a neat small chamber, furnished with a bed, a crucifix, and a missal. here the worthy officer of the convent essayed with inexpert hands to disengage the various pieces of the harness, speaking all the while, and asking a thousand idle questions with true monastic volubility, without giving sir osborne either time to hear or to reply. "stay, stay!" said the knight at length, as the old man endeavoured to unbuckle the cuissards; "you cannot do it, my good father; and besides, it is an unworthy task for such a holy man as you." "not in the least, my son, not in the least!" replied the monk. "but, as i was saying, i dare say you have heard how the lord mayor and his men went to hogsden lane, especially if you have been lately in london; or have you been down in cornwall, allaying the cornish tumultuaries? a-well, a-well! it is very odd i cannot get that buckle out; though, perhaps, my son, you can tell me whether the prior of gloucester has embraced the mitigated rule instead of the severe; and indeed the mitigated is severe enough: four days' fast in the week! if the duke of buckingham were to send us another fat buck, as he did last year: but i forget, it is not the season. alack, alack! all things have their times and seasons, and truly i am of the season of old age; though, god help us all! i believe i must call your shield-bearer, for i cannot get the buckle out." "do so, my good father," said the knight, glad enough to get rid of him; "and bid him bring my casque hither." accordingly, our friend longpole was soon brought to sir osborne's chamber, and by his aid the knight easily freed himself from that beautiful armour, which we, who are in the secret of all men's minds, may look upon as in a great degree a present from the duke of buckingham, although sir osborne himself did not begin to suspect that the just and the prizes had been entirely given to furnish him with money and arms, till the lapse of two or three days allowed calm consideration to show him the events in their true colours. after once more admiring for a moment or two the beauty of the suit, and having given directions for its being carefully cleansed of all damp that it might have acquired on the road, he descended to the table of the lord abbot, which he found handsomely provided for his entertainment. to the wine, however, and the costly viands with which it was spread, the abbot himself did little justice, observing almost the rigid abstinence of an ascetic; but to compensate for his want of good fellowship, the prior and sub-prior, who shared the same table, found themselves called upon to press the stranger to his food, and to lead the way. chapter xii. to-day is ours! why do we fear? to-day is ours! we have it here. let's banish business, banish sorrow; to the gods belongs to-morrow.--cowley. i have dreamed of bloody turbulence.--shakspere. in profound silence will we pass over sir osborne's farther entertainment at the abbey; as well as how longpole contrived to make himself merry, even in the heart of a monastery; together with sundry other circumstances, which might be highly interesting to that class of pains-taking readers who love everything that is particular and orderly, and would fain make an historian not only tell the truth, but the whole truth, even to the colour of his heroine's garters. for such curious points, however, we refer them to the scrupulously exact vonderbrugius, who expends the greater part of the next chapter upon the description of a flea-hunt, which longpole got up in his truckle-bed in the monastery; and who describes the various hops of the minute vampire, together with all that longpole said on the occasion, as well as the running down, the taking, and the manner of the death, with laudable industry and perseverance. but for the sake of that foolish multitude who interest themselves in the fate and adventures of the hero, rather than in the minor details, we will pass over the whole of the next night much in the same manner as sir osborne, who, sound asleep, let it fleet by in silence undisturbed. his horses, however, were scarcely saddled, and his four attendants prepared, the next morning, than he was informed that the lady katrine bulmer was ready to depart; and proceeding on foot to the great gates of the abbey, which fronted the high road, on the other side from that on which he had entered, he found her already mounted on a beautiful spanish jennet, with her two women and a man, also on horseback. by her side stood the abbot, with whom she had now made her peace, and who, kindly welcoming sir osborne, led him to the young lady. "sir knight," said he, "i give you a precious charge in this my dead sister's child; and i give her wholly to your charge, with the most perfect confidence, sure that you will guide her kindly and safely to her journey's end. and now, god bless you and speed you, my child!" he continued, turning to the young lady; "and believe me, kate, there is no one in the wide world more anxious for your happiness than your poor uncle." "i know it, i know it, dear uncle!" answered the lady; "and though i be whimsical and capricious, do not think your katrine does not love you too." a bright drop rose in her eye, and crying "farewell! farewell!" she made her jennet dart forward, to conceal the emotion she could not repress. the knight sprang on his horse, bade farewell to the abbot, and galloped after lady katrine, who drew in her rein for no one, but rode on as fast as her steed would go. however, notwithstanding her jennet's speed, sir osborne was soon by her side; but seeing a tear upon her cheek, he made no remark, and turning round, held up his hand for the rest to come up, and busied himself in giving orders for the arrangement of their march, directing the two women, with lady katrine's man, and longpole, to keep immediately behind, while the three attendants given him by the duke concluded the array. the young lady's tears were soon dispersed, and she turned laughing to her women, who came up out of breath with the rapidity of their course. "well, geraldine," she cried, "shall i go on as quick? should i not make an excellent knight at a just, sir osborne? oh! i could furnish my course with the best of you. i mind me to try the very next justs that are given." "where would you find the man," said sir osborne, "to point a lance at so fair a breast, unless it be cupid's shaft?" "ah, sir osborne maurice!" answered the lady, "you men jest when you say such things; but you know not sometimes what women feel. but trust me that same cupid's shaft that you scoff at, because it never wounds you deeply, sometimes lodges in a woman's breast, and rankling there will pale her cheek, and drain her heart of every better hope." the lady spoke so earnestly that sir osborne was surprised, and perhaps looked it; for instantly catching the expression of his eye, lady katrine coloured, and then breaking out into one of her own gay laughs, she answered his glance as if it had been expressed in speech, "you are mistaken! quite mistaken!" said she, "i never thought of myself. nay, my knight, do not look incredulous; my heart is too light a one to be so touched. it skims like a swallow o'er the surface of all it sees, and the boy archer spends his shafts in vain; its swift flight mocks his slow aim. but to convince you, when i spoke," she proceeded in a lower voice, "i alluded to that poor girl, geraldine, who rides behind. her lover was a soldier, who, when tournay was delivered to the french, was left without employment; and after having won the simple wench's heart, and promised her a world of fine things, he went as an adventurer to flanders, vowing that he would get some scribe to write to her of his welfare, and that as soon as he had made sufficient, what with pay and booty they would be married; but eighteen months have gone, and never a word." "what was his name?" asked the knight; "i would wish much to hear." "hal williamson, i think she calls him," said the lady: "but it matters little; the poor girl has nigh broke her heart for the unfaithful traitor." "you do him wrong," said the knight; "indeed, lady, you do him wrong. the poor fellow you speak of joined himself to my company at lisle, and died in the very last skirmish before the death of the late emperor. with some money and arms, that i expect transmitted by the first flemish ship, there is also a packet, i fancy, for your maid, for i forget the address. from it she will learn that he was not faithless to her, together with the worse news of his death." "better! a thousand times better!" cried lady katrine, energetically. "if i had a lover, i would a thousand times rather know that he was dead, than that he was unfaithful. for the first, i could but weep all my life, and mourn him with the mourning of the heart; but for the last, there would be still bitterer drops in the cup of my sorrow. i would mourn him as dead to me. i would mourn him as dead to honour; and i should reproach myself for having believed a traitor, almost as much as for being one." "so!" said the knight, with a smile, "this is the heart that defies cupid's shaft: that is too light and volatile to be hit by his purblind aim!" "now you are stupid!" said she, pettishly. "now you are just what i always fancied a man in armour. why, i should have thought, that while your custrel carries your steel cap, you might have comprehended better, and seen that the very reason why my heart is so giddy and so light is because it is resolved not to be so wounded by the shaft it fears." "then it does fear?" said sir osborne. "pshaw!" cried lady katrine. "geraldine, come up, and deliver me from him: he is worse than the rochester rioters." in such light talk passed they their journey, sir osborne maurice sometimes pleased, sometimes vexed with his gay companion, but upon the whole, amused, and in some degree dazzled. for her part, whatever might be her more serious feelings, the lady found the knight quite handsome and agreeable enough to be worthy a little coquetry. perhaps it might be nothing but those little flirting airs by which many a fair lady thinks herself fully justified in exciting attention, with that sort of thirst for admiration which is not content unless it be continually fresh and active. now, with her glove drawn off her fair graceful hand, she would push back the thick curls from her face; now adjust the long folds of her riding-dress; now pat the glossy neck of her pampered jennet, which, bending down its head and shaking the bit, would seem proud of her caresses; and then she would smile, and ask sir osborne if he did not think a horse the most beautiful creature in nature. at length they approached the little town of sittenbourne, famous even then for a good inn, where, had the party not been plagued with that unromantic thing called hunger, they must have stopped to refresh their horses, amongst which the one that carried the baggage of lady katrine, being heavily laden, required at least two hours' repose. the inn was built by the side of the road, though sunk two or three feet below it, with a row of eight old elms shadowing its respectable-looking front, which, with its small windows and red brick complexion, resembled a good deal the face of a well-doing citizen, with his minute dark eyes half swallowed up by his rosy cheeks. from its position, the steps by which entrance was obtained, so far from ascending, according to modern usage, descended into a little passage, from which a door swinging by means of a pulley, a string, and a large stone, conducted into the inn parlour. here, when lady katrine had entered, while the knight gave orders for preparing a noon meal in some degree suitable to the lady's rank, she amused herself in examining all the quaint carving of the old oak panelling; and having studied every rose in the borders, and every head upon the corbels, she dropped into a chair, crying out--"oh dear! oh dear! what shall i do in the mean while? bridget, girl, bring me my broidery out of the horse-basket. i feel industrious; but make haste, for fear the fit should leave me." "bless your ladyship!" replied the servant, "the broidery is at the bottom of all the things in the pannier. it will take an hour or more to get at it; that it will." "then give me what is at the top, whatever it is," said the lady; "quick! quick! quick! or i shall be asleep." bridget ran out, according to her lady's command, and returned in a moment with a cithern or mandolin, which was a favourite instrument among the ladies of the day, and placing it in lady katrine's hand, she cried, "oh, dear lady, do sing that song about the knight and the damsel!" "no, i won't," answered her mistress; "it will make the man in armour yawn. sir knight," she continued, holding up the instrument, "do you know what that is?" "it seems to me no very great problem," replied sir osborne, turning from some orders he was giving to longpole; "it is a cithern, is it not?" "he would fain have said, 'a thing that some fools play upon, and other fools listen to,'" cried lady katrine: "make no excuse, sir osborne; i saw it in your face. i'm sure you meant it." "nay, indeed, fair lady," replied the knight, "it is an instrument much used at the court of burgundy, where my days have lately been spent. we were wont to hold it as a shame not to play on some instrument, and i know not a sweeter aid to the voice than the cithern." "oh, then you play and sing! i am sure you do," cried the giddy girl. "sir osborne maurice, good knight and true, come into court, pull off your gauntlets, and sing me a song." "i will truly," answered the knight, "after i have heard your ladyship, though i am but a poor singer.'" "well, well!" cried lady katrine, "i'll lead the way; and if you are a true knight, you will follow." so saying, she ran her fingers lightly over the strings, and sang. lady katrine's song. quick, quick, ye lazy hours, plume your laggard wings; sure the path is strew'd with flowers that love to true love brings. from morning bright, to fading light, speed, oh, speed, your drowsy flight! if venus' courier be a dove, as ancient poet sings, oh! why not give to absent love at least the swallow's wings, to speed his way, the live-long day, till meeting all his pain repay? thus sang lady katrine; and it may well be supposed that the music, the words, and the execution, all met with their full share of praise, although bridget declared that she liked better the song about the knight and the damsel. "now, your promise, your promise, sir knight!" cried the lady, putting the instrument in sir osborne's hands; "keep your promise as a true and loyal knight." "that i will do, to my best power," said sir osborne, "though my voice will be but rough after the sweet sounds we have just heard: however, to please mistress bridget here, my song shall be of a knight and a damsel, though it be somewhat a long one." the knight's song. the night was dark, and the way was lone, but a knight was riding there; and on his breast the red-cross shone, though his helmet's haughty crest upon was a lock of a lady's hair. his beaver was up, and his cheek was pale his beard was of auburn brown; and as night was his suit of darksome mail, and his eye was as keen as the wintry gale, and as cold was his wintry frown. oh! sad were the tidings thy brow to shade, sad to hear and sad to tell; that thy love was false to the vows she had made, that her truth was gone, and thy trust betray'd by her thou lovest so well. now fast, good knight, on thy coal-black steed, that knows his lord's command, for the hour is coming with fearful speed when her soul the lady shall stain with the deed, and give to another her hand. in the chapel of yon proud towers 'tis bright, 'tis bright at the altar there; for around in the blaze of the tapers' light stand many a glittering, courtly knight, and many a lady fair. but why are there tears in the bride's bright eyes? and why does the bridegroom frown? and why to the priest are there no replies? for the bitter drops, and the struggling sighs, the lady's voice have drown'd. that clang! that clang of an armed heel! and what stately form is here? his warlike limbs are clothed in steel, and back the carpet heroes reel, and the ladies shrink for fear. and he caught the bride in his mailed arms, and he raised his beaver high; "oh! thy tears, dear girl, are full of charms, but hush thy bosom's vain alarms, for thy own true knight is nigh!" and he pull'd the gauntlet from his hand, while he frown'd on the crowd around, and he cast it down, and drew his brand, "now any who dare my right withstand, let him raise it from the ground." but the knights drew back in fear and dread, and the bride clung to his side; and her father, lowly bending, said, in the holy land they had deem'd him dead, but by none was his right denied. "then now read on, sir priest," he cried, "for this is my wedding-day; here stands my train on either side, and here is a willing and lovely bride, and none shall say me nay. "for i'll make her the lady of goodly lands, and of many a princely tower; and of dames a train, and of squires a band, shall wait at their lady's high command, in the knight of de morton's bower." "alack! alack!" cried lady katrine, as sir osborne concluded, "you are not a knight, but a nightingale. well, never did i hear a man in armour chirrup so before! nay, what a court must be that court of burgundy! why, an aviary would be nothing to it! but if the master sings so well," she continued, as longpole entered, bearing in sir osborne's casque and shield, "the man must sing too. bid him sing, fair knight, bid him sing; he will not refuse to pleasure a lady." "oh, no! i am always ready to pleasure a lady," answered longpole; who, as he went along, though he had found it impossible to help making a little love to mistress geraldine, had, notwithstanding, noted with all his own shrewd wit the little coquettish ways of her mistress. "but give me no instrument, my lady, but my own whistle; for mine must not be pryck-song, but plain song." the custrel's song. young harry went out to look for a wife, hey, harry dally! he said he would have her in virtues rife, as soft as a pillow, yet keen as a knife, with a hey ho, harry! the first that he met with was quiet and glum, hey, harry dally! but she'd got a bad trick of sucking her thumb, and when he cried "mary!" the never would come, with a hey ho, harry! the next that he came to was flighty and gay, hey, harry dally! but she would not be play'd with, although she would play, and good-humour was lost if she'd not her own way, with a hey ho, harry! the next that he tried then was gentle and sweet, hey, harry dally! but he found that all people alike she would treat, and loved him as well as the next she should meet, with a hey ho, harry! the next that he thought of was saucy and bold, hey, harry dally! but he found that he had not the patience sevenfold that could bear in one person a jade and a scold, with a hey ho, harry! so, weary with searching for wedlock enow, hey, harry dally! he thank'd his good stars he had made no rash vow, and, like the old woman, went kissing his cow, with a hey ho, harry! "the saucy knave!" cried lady katrine, laughing. "out upon him! bridget, geraldine, if ye have the spirit of women, i am sure ye will not exchange a word with the fellow the rest of the journey? what! could he not make his hero find one perfect woman? but here comes our host with dinner, for which i thank heaven! for had it been later, my indignation would have cost me my appetite." as soon as the horses were refreshed, sir osborne, with his fair charge, once more set out on the longer stage, which he proposed to take ere they paused for the night. the news which he had received at sittenbourne leading him to imagine that the tumults at rochester, having been suffered, by some inexplicable negligence, to remain unrepressed, had become much more serious than he at first supposed, he determined to take a by-way, and, avoiding the town, pass the river by a ferry, which longpole assured him he would find higher up; but still this was longer, and would make them later on the road; for which reason he hurried their pace as much as possible, till they arrived at the spot where the smaller road turned off, at about two miles' distance from rochester. it was a shady lane, with, on each side, high banks and hedges, wherein the tender hand of april was beginning to bring forth the young green shrubs and flowers; and as the knight and lady went along, nature offered them a thousand objects of descant which they did not fail to use. their conversation, however, was interrupted after a while by the noise of a distant drum, and a variety of shouts and halloos came floating upon the gale, like the breakings-forth of an excited multitude. as they advanced, the sounds seemed also to approach. "my casque and lance," said sir osborne, turning to longpole. "lady, you had perhaps better let your jennet drop back to a line with your women." "nay, i will dare the front," said lady katrine; "a woman's presence will often tame a crowd." "you are with a band of soldiers," said sir osborne, hearing the clamour approaching, "and must obey command. what! horse; back, back!" and laying his hand on the lady's bridle, he reined it back to a line with her women. "longpole, advance!" cried the knight. "left-hand spear of the third line to the front! archers behind, keep a wary eye on the banks: shoot not, but bend your bows. i trust there is no danger, lady, but 'tis well to be prepared. now, on slowly." and thus opposing what defence they could between lady katrine and the multitude, whose cries they now heard coming nearer and nearer, sir osborne and the two horsemen he had called to his side, moved forward, keeping a wary eye on the turnings of the road and the high banks by which it was overhung. they had not proceeded far, however, before they descried the termination of the lane, opening out upon what appeared to be a village-green beyond; the farther side of which was occupied by a motley multitude, whose form and demeanour they had now full opportunity to observe. in front of all the host was a sort of extempore drummer, who with a bunch of cocks' feathers in his cap, and a broad buff belt supporting his instrument of discord, seemed infinitely proud of his occupation, and kept beating with unceasing assiduity, but with as little regard to time on his part as his instrument had to tune. behind him, mounted on a horse of inconceivable ruggedness, appeared the general with, a vast cutlass in his hand, which he swayed backwards and forwards in menacing attitudes; while, unheedful of the drum, he bawled forth to his followers many a pious exhortation to persevere in rebellion. on the left of this doughty hero was borne a flag of blue silk, bearing, inscribed in golden letters, _the united shipwrights_; and on his right was seen a red banner, on which might be read the various demands of the unsatisfied crowd, such as, "cheap bread," "high wages," "no taxation," &c. the multitude itself did indeed offer a formidable appearance, the greater part of the men who composed it being armed with bills and axes; some also having possessed themselves of halberts, and even some of hackbuts and hand-guns. every here and there appeared an iron jack, and many a 'prentice-boy filled up the crevices with his bended bow; while half a score of loud-mouthed women screamed in the different quarters of the crowd, and, with the shrill trumpet of a scolding tongue, urged on the lords of the creation to deeds of wrath and folly. the multitude might consist of about five thousand men: and as they marched along, a bustle, and appearance of crowding round one particular spot in their line, led the knight to imagine that they were conducting some prisoner to rochester, in which direction they seemed to be going, traversing the green at nearly a right angle with the line in which he was himself proceeding. "hold!" said sir osborne, reining in his horse. "let them pass by. we are not enough to deal with such numbers as there are there. keep under the bank; we must not risk the lady's safety by showing ourselves. ah! but what should that movement mean? they have seen us, by heaven! ride on then; we must not seem to shun them. see! they wheel! on, on! quick! gain the mouth of the lane!" thus saying, sir osborne laid his lance in the rest, and spurred on to the spot where the road opened upon the green, followed by lady katrine and her women, not a little terrified and agitated by the roaring of the multitude, who, having now made a retrograde motion on their former position, occupied the same ground that they had done at first, and regarded intently the motions of sir osborne's party, not knowing what force might be behind. as soon as the knight had reached the mouth of the road he halted, and seeing that the high bank ran along the side of the green guarding his flank, he still contrived to conceal the smallness of his numbers by occupying the space of the road, and paused a moment to watch the movements of the crowd, and determine its intentions. now, being quite near enough to hear great part of an oration which the general whom we have described was bestowing on his forces, sir osborne strained his ear to gather his designs, and soon found that his party was mistaken for that of lord thomas howard, who had been sent to quell the mutiny of the rochester shipwrights. "first," said the ringleader, "hang up the priest upon that tree, then let him preach to us about submission if he will; and he shall be hanged, too, in his lord's sight, for saying that he, with his hundreds, would beat us with our thousands, and let his lord deliver him if he can. then some of the men with bills and axes get up on the top of the bank: who says it is not lord thomas? i say it is lord thomas; i know him by his bright armour." "and i say you lie, timothy bradford!" cried longpole, at the very pitch of his voice, much to the wonder and astonishment of sir osborne and his party. "please your worship," he continued, lowering his tone, "i know that fellow; he served with me at tournay, and was afterwards a sailor. he's a mad rogue, but as good a heart as ever lived." "oh, then, for god's sake! speak to him," cried lady katrine from behind, "and make him let us pass; for surely, sir knight, you are not mad enough, with only six men, to think of encountering six thousand?" "not i, in truth, fair lady," answered the knight. "if they will not molest us, i shall not meddle with them." "shall i on, then, and speak with him?" cried longpole. "see! he heard me give him the lie, and he's coming out towards us. he'd do the same if we were a thousand." "meet him, meet him, then!" said the knight; "tell him all we wish is to pass peaceably. the right-hand man advance from the rear and fill up!" he continued, as longpole rode on, taking care still to maintain a good face to the enemy, more especially as their generalissimo had now come within half a bow-shot of where they stood. as the yeoman now rode forward, the ringleader of the rioters did not at all recognise his old companion in his custrel's armour, and began to brandish his weapon most fiercely; but in a moment afterwards, to the astonishment of the multitude, he was seen to let the point of the sword drop, and, seizing his antagonist's hand, shake it with every demonstration of surprise and friendship. their conversation was quick and energetic; and a moment after, longpole rode back to sir osborne, while the ringleader raised his hand to his people, exclaiming, "keep your ranks! friends! these are friends!" "our passage is safe," said longpole, riding back; "but he would fain speak with your worship. they have taken a priest, it seems, and are going to hang him for preaching submission to them. so i told him if they did they would be hanged themselves; but he would not listen to me, saying he would talk to you about it." "fill up my place," said the knight; "i will go and see what can be done. we must not let them injure the good man." so saying he raised his lance, and rode forward to the spot where the ringleader waited him; plainly discerning, as he approached nearer to the body of the rioters, the poor priest, with a rope round his neck, holding forth his hands towards him, as if praying for assistance. "my shield-bearer," said he, "tells me that we are to pass each other without enmity; for though we are well prepared to resist attack, we have no commission to meddle with you or yours. nevertheless, as i understand that ye have a priest in your hands, towards whom ye meditate some harm, let me warn you of the consequences of injuring an old man who cannot have injured you." "but he has done worse than injured me, sir knight," said the ringleader; "he has preached against our cause, and against redressing our grievances." "most probably not against redressing your grievances," said sir osborne, "but against the method ye took to redress them yourselves. but listen to me. it is probable that the king, hearing of your wants and wishes, he being known both for just and merciful, may grant you such relief as only a king can grant; but if ye go to stain yourselves with the blood of this priest, which were cowardly, as he is an old man; which were base, as he is a prisoner; and which were sacrilegious, as he is a man of god, ye cut yourselves off from mercy for ever, and range all good men amongst your enemies. think well of this!" "by the nose of the tinker of ashford!" said the man, "your worship is right. but how the devil to get him out of their hands? that's the job; however, i'll make 'em a 'ration. but what i was wanting to ask your worship is, do you know his grace the king?" "not in the least," was the laconic reply of the knight. "then it won't do," said the man; "only, as merry dick heartley said you were thick with the good duke of buckingham, i thought you might know the king too, and would give him our petition and remonstrance. however, i'll go and make them fellows a 'ration: they're wonderful soon led by a 'ration." and turning his horse, he rode up to the front of the body of rioters, and made them a speech, wherein nonsense and sense, bombast and vulgarity, were all most intimately mingled. sir osborne did not catch the whole, but the sounds which reached his ears were somewhat to the following effect: "most noble shipwrights and devout cannon-founders, joined together in the great cause of crying down taxation and raising your wages! to you i speak, as well as to the tinkers, tailors, and 'prentices who have united themselves to you. the noble knight that you see standing there, or rather riding, because he is on horseback: he in the glittering armour, with a long spear in his hand, is the dearly beloved friend of the great and good duke of buckingham, who is the friend of the commons and an enemy to taxation." here loud cries of "long live the duke of buckingham!" "god bless the duke!" interrupted the speaker; but after a moment he proceeded. "he, the noble knight, is not lord thomas howard; and so far from wishing to attack you, he would wish to do you good. therefore he setteth forth and showeth--praise be to god for all things, especially that we did not hang the priest!--that if we were to hang the priest, it would be blasphemous, because he is an old man; and rascally, because he is a man of god; and moreover, that whereas, if we do not, the king will grant us our petition. he will infallibly come down, if we do, with an army of fifty thousand men, and hang us all with his own hands, and the duke of buckingham will be against us. now understand! i am not speaking for myself, for i know well enough that, having been elected your captain, and ridden on horseback while ye marched on foot, i am sure to be hanged anyhow; but that is no reason that ye should all be hanged too; and, therefore, i give my vote that simon the cannon-founder, tom the shipwright, and long-chinned billy the tinker, do take the priest by the rope that is round his neck, and deliver him into the hands of the knight and his men, to do with as they shall think fit. and that after this glorious achievement we march straightway back to rochester. do you all agree?" loud shouts proclaimed the assent of the multitude; and with various formalities the three deputies led forth the unhappy priest, more dead than alive, and delivered him into the hands of longpole: after which the generalissimo of the rioters drew up his men with some military skill upon the right of the green, leaving the road free to sir osborne. the knight then marshalled his little party as best he might, to guard against any sudden change in the minds of the fickle multitude; and having mounted the poor exhausted priest behind one of the horsemen, he drew out from the lane, and passed unmolested across the green into the opposite road, returning nothing but silence to the cheers with which the rioters thought fit to honour them. their farther journey to gravesend passed without any interruption, and indeed without any occurrence worthy of notice. lady katrine and sir osborne, geraldine and longpole, mutually congratulated each other on the favourable termination of an adventure which had commenced under such threatening auspices; and every one of the party poured forth upon his neighbour the usual quantity of wonder and amazement which always follows any event of the kind. the poor priest, who had so nearly fallen a victim to the excited passions of the crowd, was the last that sufficiently recovered from the strong impressions of the moment to babble thereupon. when, however, his loquacious faculties were once brought into play, he contrived to compensate for his temporary taciturnity, shouting forth his thanks to sir osborne maurice from the rear to the front, declaring that the preservation of his life was entirely owing to his valour and conduct; that it was wonderful the influence which his sole word possessed with the multitude, and that he should never cease to be grateful till the end of his worldly existence. sir osborne assured him that he was very welcome; and remarked, with a smile, to lady katrine, who was laughing at the priest's superfluity of gratitude, that in all probability it was this sort of exuberance of zeal that had brought him into the perilous circumstances in which they had at first found him. "but can zeal ever be exuberant?" demanded lady katrine, suddenly changing her tone; and then fixing the full light of her beautiful dark eyes upon the knight, she added, "i mean in a friend." "it can," said sir osborne, "when not guided by prudence. but i do not think a fool can be a friend." "come, sir knight, come!" said the lady; "let us hear your idea of a friend." "a friend," replied the knight, smiling at her earnestness, "must be both a wise man and a good man. he must love his friend with sufficient zeal to see his faults and endeavour to counteract them, and with sufficient prudence to perceive his true interests and to strive for them. but he must put aside vanity; for there is many a man who pretends a great friendship for another merely for the vain purpose of advising and guiding him, when, in truth, he is not capable of advising and guiding himself. the man who aspires to such a name must be to his friend what every man would be to himself, if he could see his own faults undazzled by self-love and his own interests unblinded by passion. he must be zealous and kind, steady and persevering, without being curious or interfering, troublesome or obstinate." "would i had such a friend!" said lady katrine, with a sigh, and for the rest of the way she was grave and pensive. chapter xiii. let us act freely, carelessly, and capriciously, as if our veins ran with quicksilver.--ben jonson. renown'd metropolis, with glistening spires and pinnacles adorn'd.--milton. it is strange, in the life of man, always fluctuating as he is between hope and fear, gratification and disappointment, with nothing fixed in his state of existence, and uncertainty surrounding him on every side, that suspense should be to him the most painful of all situations. one would suppose that habit would have rendered it easy for him to bear; and yet, beyond all questions, every condition of doubt, from uncertainty respecting our fate, to mere indecision of judgment, are all, more or less, painful in their degree. who is it that has not often felt irritated, vexed, and unhappy, when hesitating between two different courses of action, even when the subject of deliberation involved but a trifle? lady katrine bulmer, as has been already said, was grave and pensive when she reached gravesend; and then, without honouring the knight with her company even for a few minutes, as he deemed that in simple courtesy she might have done, she retired to her chamber, and, shutting herself up with her two women, the only communication which took place between her and sir osborne was respecting the hour of their departure the next morning. the knight felt hurt and vexed; for though he needed no ghost to tell him that the lovely girl he was conducting to the court was as capricious as she was beautiful, yet her gay whims and graceful little coquetry, had both served to pique and amuse him, and he could almost have been angry at this new caprice, which deprived him of her society for the evening. the next morning, however, the wind of lady katrine's humour seemed again to have changed; and at the hour appointed for her departure she tripped down to her horse all liveliness and gaiety. sir osborne proffered to assist her in mounting, but in a moment she sprang into the saddle without aid, and turned round laughing, to see the slow and difficult man[oe]uvres by which her women were fixed in their seats. the whole preparations, however, being completed, the cavalcade set out in the same order in which it had departed from the abbey the day before, and with the same number of persons; the poor priest whom they had delivered from the hands of the rioters being left behind, too ill to proceed with them to london. "well, sir knight," said the gay girl as they rode forward, "i must really think of some guerdon to reward all your daring in my behalf. i hope you watched through the livelong night, armed at all points, lest some enemy should attack our castle?" "faith, not i!" answered sir osborne; "you seemed so perfectly satisfied with the security of our lodging, lady, that i e'en followed your good example and went to bed." "now he's affronted!" cried lady katrine. "was there ever such a creature? but tell me, man in armour, was it fitting for me to come and sit with you and your horsemen in the tap-room of an inn, eating, drinking, and singing, like a beggar or a ballad-singer?" the knight bit his lip, and made no reply. "why don't you answer, sir osborne?" continued the lady, laughing. "merely because i have nothing to say," replied the knight, gravely; "except that at sittenbourne, where you did me the honour of eating with me, though not with my horsemen, i did not perceive that lady katrine bulmer was, in any respect, either like a beggar or ballad-singer." "oh! very well, sir knight; very well!" she said. "if you choose to be offended i cannot help it." "you mistake me, lady," said sir osborne, "i am not offended." "well then, sir, i am," replied lady katrine, making him a cold stiff inclination of the head. "so we had better say no more upon the subject." at this moment longpole, who with the rest of the attendants followed at about fifty paces behind, rode forward, and put a small folded paper into sir osborne's hands. "a letter, sir, which you dropped," said he aloud; "i picked it up this moment." the knight looked at the address, and the small silken braid which united the two seals; and finding that it was directed to lord darby at york house, westminster, was about to return it to longpole, saying it was none of his, when his eye fell upon lady katrine, whose head, indeed, was turned away, but whose neck and ear were burning with so deep a red, that sir osborne doubted not she had some deep and blushing interest in the paper he held in his hand. "thank you, longpole! thank you," he said, "i would not have lost it for a hundred marks;" and he fastened it securely in the foldings of his scarf. though he could willingly have punished his fair companion for her little capricious petulance, the knight could not bear to keep her in the state of agitation under which, by the painful redness of her cheek and the quivering of her hand on the bridle, he very evidently saw she was suffering. "i think your ladyship was remarking," said he, calmly, "that it was the height of dishonour and baseness to take advantage of anything that happens to fall in our power, or any secret with which we become acquainted accidentally. i not only agree with you so far, but i think even that a jest upon such a subject is hardly honourable. we should strive, if possible, to be as if we did not know it." lady katrine turned her full sunny face towards him, glowing like a fair evening cloud when the last rays of daylight rest upon it: "you are a good, an excellent creature," she said, "and worthy to be a knight. sir osborne maurice," she continued, after a moment's pause, "your good opinion is too estimable to be lightly lost, and to preserve it i must speak to you in a manner that women dare seldom speak. and yet, though on my word, i would trust you as i would a brother, i know not how----i cannot, indeed i cannot. and yet i must, and will, for fear of misconstruction. you saw that letter. you can guess that he to whom it is addressed is not indifferent to the writer. they are affianced to each other by all vows, but those vows are secret ones; for the all-powerful wolsey will not have it so, and we must needs seem, at least, to obey. darby has been some time absent from the court, and i was sent to the abbey. what would you have more? i promised to give instant information of my return; and last night i spent in writing that letter, though now i know not in truth how to send it, for my groom is but a pensioned spy upon me." "will you trust it to me?" said the knight. the lady paused. "do you doubt me?" he asked. "not in the least," she said; "not in the least. my only doubt is whether i shall send it at all." "is there a hesitation?" demanded the knight in some surprise. "alas! there is," answered she. "you must know all: i see it. since i have been at the abbey they have tried to persuade me that darby yields himself to the wishes of the cardinal; and is about to wed another. i believe it false! i am sure it is false! and yet, and yet----" and she burst into tears. "oh, sir osborne!" she continued, drying her eyes, "i much need such a friend as you described yesterday." "let me be that friend, then, so far as i may be," said sir osborne. "allow me to carry the letter to london, whither i go after i have left you at the court at greenwich. i will ascertain how lord darby is situated. if i find him faithful (which doubt not that he is, till you hear more), i will give him the letter; otherwise i will return it truly to you." "but you must be quick," said lady katrine, "in case he should hear that i have returned, and have not written. how will you ascertain?" "there are many ways," answered the knight; "but principally by a person whom i hope to find in london, and who sees more deeply into the hidden truth than mortal eyes can usually do." "can you mean sir cesar?" demanded lady katrine. "i do," answered the knight. "do you know that very extraordinary being?" "i know him as every one knows him," answered lady katrine; "that is, without knowing him. but if he be in london, and will give you the information, all doubt will be at an end; for what he says is sure: though, indeed, i often used to tease the queer little old man, by pretending not to believe his prophecies, till our royal mistress, whom god protect! has rated me for plaguing him. he was much a favourite of hers, and i somewhat a favourite of his; for those odd magical hop-o'-my-thumbs, i believe, love those best who cross them a little. he gave me this large sapphire ring when he went away last year, bidding me send it back to him if i were in trouble: quite fairy-tale like. so now, sir osborne, you shall carry it to him, and he will counsel you rightly. put it in your cap, where he may see it. there now! it looks quite like some lady's favour; but don't go and tilt at every one who denies that katrine bulmer is the loveliest creature under the sun." "nay, i must leave that to my lord darby," answered sir osborne. "now, that was meant maliciously!" cried lady katrine. "but i don't care! wait a little; and if there be a weak point in all your heart, sir knight, i'll plague you for your sly look." lady katrine bulmer's spirits were of that elastic quality not easily repressed; and before ten minutes were over, all her gaiety returned in full force, nor did it cease its flow till their arrival in greenwich. for his part, sir osborne strove to keep pace with her liveliness, and perhaps even forced his wit a little in the race, that he might not be behindhand. heaven knows what was passing in his mind! whether it really was an accession of gaiety at approaching the court, or whether it was that he wished to show his fair companion that the discovery he had made of her engagements to lord darby did not at all mortify him, notwithstanding the little coquetry that she might have exercised upon himself. they now, however, approached the place of their destination, under the favourable auspice of a fair afternoon. the most pardonable sort of superstition is perhaps that which derives its auguries from the face of nature, leading us to fancy that the bright golden sunshine, the clear blue heaven, the soft summer breeze, and the cheerful song of heaven's choristers, indicate approaching happiness to ourselves; or that the cloud, the storm, and the tempest, come prophetic of evil and desolation. at least both hope and fear, the two great movers in all man's feelings, lend themselves strangely to this sort of divination, combining with the beauty of the prospect, or the brightness of the sky, to exalt our expectations of the future; or lending darker terrors to the frown of nature, and teaching us to dread or to despair. when sir osborne and his party arrived at the brow of shooter's hill, the evening was as fair and lovely as if it had been summer: one of those sweet sunsets that sometimes burst in between two wintry days in the end of march or the beginning of april: a sort of heralds to announce the golden season that comes on. the whole country round, as far as they could see, whether looking towards eltham and chiselhurst, or northwards towards the river, was one wide sea of waving boughs, just tinged with the first green of the spring; while the oblique rays of the declining sun, falling upon the huge bolls of the old oaks and beeches, caught upon the western side of each, and invested its giant limbs as with a golden armour. every here and there, too, the beams, forcing their way through the various openings in the forest, cast across the road bright glimpses of that rich yellow light peculiar to wood scenery, and, alternated with the long shadows of the trees, marked the far perspective of the highway descending to the wide heath below. the eye rested not on the heath, though it, too, was glowing with the full effulgence of the sky; but passing on, caught a small part of the palace of greenwich, rising above the wild oaks which filled the park; and then still farther turning towards the west, paused upon the vast metropolis, with its red and dizzy atmosphere, high above which rose the heavy tower and wooden spire of old paul's church; while to the left, beyond the influence of the smoke, was seen standing almost alone, in solemn majesty, the beautiful pile of the west minster. sir osborne maurice impulsively reined in his horse, and seemed as if he could scarcely breathe when the whole magnificent scene rushed at once upon his view. "so this is london!" cried he; "the vast, the wealthy, and the great; the throne of our island monarchs, from whence they sway a wide and powerful land. on! on!" and striking his horse with his spurs, he darted down the road, as if he were afraid that the great city would, before he reached it, fade away like the splendid phantasms seen by the sicilian shepherds, showing for a moment a host of castles, and towers, and palaces, and then fleeting by, and leaving nought but empty air! chapter xiv. paracelsus and his chymistical followers are so many promethei, will fetch fire from heaven.--burton's anatomy of melancholy. now might i expend five pages of post octavo, with great satisfaction to my readers and myself, in describing minutely the old rambling palace inhabited by henry viii. at greenwich, particularising its several angles and abutments, its small lattice windows, its bays and octagons, together with the various cartouches and mascarons which filled up the spaces and covered the corbels between; but unhappily i am in an egregious hurry, having already expended one whole tome without getting through a fifth part of the portentous bulk of professor vonderbrugius. i might, indeed, comfortably extend my tale to four volumes instead of three. but no, gentle reader! out of consideration for thine exemplary patience, i spare thee the infliction, and shall curtail my descriptions, compress my dialogues, circumscribe my digressions, and concentrate my explanations, so as to restrain my history within the bounds i had originally proposed for its extent. suffice it, then, to say that lady katrine, having recalled to the knight's remembrance that his course lay towards greenwich, and not to london, as he seemed inclined to direct it, they turned their horses to the right at the bottom of the hill, and soon reached the river-side, where, spreading along a little to the eastward of the spot on which the hospital at present stands, lay a large mass of heavy architecture, which, if judged by modern notions, would be regarded as not very fit for the dwelling of a king. the dull appearance of the building, however, was relieved by the gaiety of the objects round about; for though the sun was now half below the horizon, yet loitering round the various gates of the palace, or running to and fro on their separate errands, was seen a host of servants and attendants in rich and splendid suits, while multitudes of guards and henchmen, decked out to pamper the costly whims of their luxurious lord, showed forth their finery to the evening air. more than one group of lords, and ladies too, enjoying the fine sunset before the palace, made the parade a sort of living pageant; while the river beyond, as if emulous of the gay scene, fluttered and shone with the streamers and gilding of the various barges with which it was covered. to every one they met lady katrine seemed known, and all, according to their rank, greeted her as she passed, some with light welcome, some with respectful salutations, all stopping the moment after to turn and fix their eyes upon sir osborne, with that sort of cold, inquiring glance which owns no affinity with its object but mere curiosity. "who is he?" demanded one. "what splendid armour!" cried another. "he must be from rochester," said a third. but no word of gratulation met his ear, no kind, familiar voice bade him welcome; and he rode on with that chill, solitary sensation of friendlessness which we never so strongly feel as in the presence of a crowd, who, possessing some communion of thought and feeling amongst themselves, have no established link of sympathy with us. at one of the smaller doors in the western wing of the palace, lady katrine reined in her horse, and sir osborne, springing to the ground, assisted her to dismount, while one of the royal servants, who came from within, held the bridle with all respect. in answer to her question the attendant replied, that "her highness queen katherine was at that moment dressing for the banquet which she was about to give to the king and the foreign ambassadors, and that she had commanded not to be interrupted." "that is unfortunate, sir osborne maurice," said the young lady, resuming somewhat of that courtly coldness which had given way to the original wildness of her nature while she had been absent: "i am sure that her highness, who is bounty itself, would have much wished to thank you for the protection and assistance which you have given to me her poor servant. but----" and remembering the charge which the knight had taken of her letter to lord darby, she hesitated for a moment, not knowing how to establish some means of communication between them. "oh! they will break all those things!" she cried, suddenly stopping and turning to the servant. "good master alderson, do look to them for a moment; that groom is so awkward: give him the horse. now, knight! quick! quick!" she continued, lowering her voice as the servant left them, "where do you lodge in london? i must have some way of hearing of your proceeding: where do you lodge? bless us, man in armour! where are your wits?" "oh! i had forgot," replied the knight; "it is called the rose, in the laurence poultney." "at the duke of buckingham's! good, good!" she replied; and then making him a low curtsy as the servant again approached, she added with a mock gravity that nearly made the knight laugh, in spite of his more sombre feelings, "and now, good sir knight, i take my leave of your worship, thanking you a thousand times for your kindness and protection; and depend upon it, that when her highness the queen shall have a moment to receive you, i will take care to let you know." thus saying, with another low curtsy, she retired into the palace; and sir osborne, mounting his horse, bade adieu to the precincts of the court, bearing away with him none of those feelings of hope with which he had first approached it. there seemed a sort of coldness in its atmosphere which chilled his expectations; and disappointed, too, of his introduction to the queen, he felt dissatisfied and repelled, and had the fit held, might well have taken ship once more, and returned into flanders. after having thus ridden on for some way, giving full rein to melancholy fancies, he found himself in the midst of a small town, with narrow streets, running along by the river, shutting out almost all the daylight that was left; and not knowing if he was going in the right direction, he called longpole to his side, asking whether he had ever been in london. "oh! yes, sir," replied the custrel, "and have staid in it many a month. 'tis a wonderful place for the three sorts of men: the knaves, the fools, and the wise men; and as far as i can see, the one sort gets on as high as the other. the fool gets promoted at court, the knave gets promoted at the gallows, and the wise man gets promoted to be lord mayor, and has the best of the bargain." "but tell me, longpole," said sir osborne, "where are we now? for night is falling, and in sooth i know not my way." "this is the good town of deptford," said longpole; "but if your lordship ride on, we shall soon enter into southwark, where there is an excellent good hostel, called the tabard, the landlady of which may be well esteemed a princess for her fat, and a woman for her tongue. god's blessing is upon her bones, and has well covered them. if your worship lodge there you shall be treated like a prince." "it may be better," said sir osborne, "for to-night; but you must lead the way, good longpole, for this is my first sight of the great city." longpole readily undertook the pilotage of the knight and his company, and in about half-an-hour lodged them safely in the smart parlour of the tabard: perhaps the very same where, more than a century before, chaucer, the father of our craft, sat himself at his ease; for the tabard was an old house that had maintained its good fame for more than one generation, and the landlady piqued herself much on the antiquity of her dwelling, telling how her great-grandfather had kept that very house, ay, and had worn a gold chain to boot; and how both the inn and the innkeepers had held the same name, till she, being a woman, alack! had brought it as her dower to her poor dear deceased husband, who died twenty years ago come martinmas. all this was detailed at length to sir osborne while his supper was in preparation, together with various other long orations, till the good dame found that the knight was not willing to furnish her with even the _ahs! ohs!_ and _yes-es_, which offer a sort of baiting-places for a voluble tongue; but that, on the contrary, he leaned his back against the chimney, not attending to one word she said after the first ten sentences. upon this discovery, she e'en betook herself to longpole, declaring that his master was a proper man, a fine man, and a pensive. longpole was, we all know, much better inclined to gossiping than his master; and accordingly, as he found that his jolly hostess would fain hear the whole of his lord's history, as a profound secret which she was to divulge to all her neighbours the next morning, he speedily furnished her with a most excellent allegory upon the subject, which found its way (with various additions and improvements, to suit the taste of the reciters) through at least five hundred different channels before the ensuing night. in the mean while the knight supped well, and found himself happier; slept well, and rose with renewed hope. so he was but of flesh and blood, after all. as soon as he was up, and before he was dressed, the door of his chamber flew open, and in rushed a thing called a barber, insisting upon his being shaved. volumes have been written upon barbers, and volumes still remain to be written, but it shall not be i who will write them. suffice it, that for the sake of those who know not what i mean, i define a barber. it is a thing that talks and shaves, and shaves and talks, and talks and shaves again; the true immutable that never varies, but comes down from age to age like a magpie, the same busy chattering thing that its fathers were before it. sir osborne acquiesced in the operation, of which, indeed, he stood in some want; and the barber pounced upon his visage in a moment. "the simple moustache, i see: the simple moustache!" he cried; "well, 'tis indeed the most seemly manner, though the _pique-devant_ is gaining ground a leetle, a leetle: not that i mean to say, fair sir, that the beard is not worn any way, so it be well trimmed, and the moustache is of a sweet comely nature: the simple moustache! you have doubtless heard, fair sir, of the royal pageant, which cheered the heart of the queen and her ladies last night. we use, indeed, to cut beards all ways, to suit the nature of the physiognomy; supplying, as it were, remedies for the evil tricks of nature. now, my good lord darby gives in to the _pique-devant_, for it is a turn that ladies love; and doubtless you have heard his marriage spoken of--to a lady--oh! such a beautiful lady! though i cannot remember her name; but a most excellent lady. your worship would not wish me to leave the _pique-devant_; i will undertake to raise and nourish it, by a certain ointment, communicated to me by an alchymist, in ten days. make but the essay, fair sir; try how it comports with the figure of your face." "no, no!" cried sir osborne, much in the same manner as the young man of bagdad. "cease your babbling, and make haste and shave me." the operation, however, was sooner brought to a termination than in the arabian nights; and being free from his chattering companion, the knight took one or two turns in his apartment in deep thought. "so," said he, "this light-of-love, lord darby does play the poor girl false; and, as she said, the arrow will rankle in her heart, and rob her of every better hope. but still it is not sure. i will not believe it. if _i_ had the love of such a creature as that, could i betray it?" and the thought of lady constance de grey darted across his mind. "i will not believe it; there must be better assurance than a babbling fool like this. oh, longpole!" he continued, as the man entered the room, "i have waited for you. quick! as you know london, speed to the house of an honest flemish merchant, william hans; ask him if he have received the packages from anvers for me. give him my true name, but bid him be secret. bring with you the leathern case containing clothes, and see if he have any letters from wales. greet the old man well for me, and tell him i will see him soon. stay; i forgot to tell you where he lives; it's near the conduit in gracious street, any one near will tell you where. william hans is his name." longpole was soon gone; but, to the mind of sir osborne, long before he returned. when, however, he did once more make his appearance, he not only brought the news that all the packages which sir osborne expected had arrived, but he also brought the large leathern case containing the apparel in which the knight was wont to appear at the court of the duchess regent of burgundy, and a letter which sir osborne soon perceived was from his father, lord fitzbernard. being privileged to peep over men's shoulders, we shall make no apology for knowing somewhat of the contents of the old earl's epistle. it conveyed in many shapes the gratifying knowledge to the son that the father was proud of the child, together with many exhortations, founded in parental anxiety, still carefully to conceal his name and rank. but the most important part of the letter was a short paragraph, wherein the earl laid his injunctions upon his son not to think of coming to see him till he had made every effort at the court, and their fate was fully decided. "and then, my son," continued lord fitzbernard, "come hither unto me, whether the news thou bringest be of good or bad comfort; for, of a certain, thy presence shall be of the best comfort; and if still our enemies prevail, i will pass with thee over sea into another land, and make my nobility in thy honour, and find my fortune in thy high deeds." sir osborne's wishes would have led him into wales, for after five long years of absence, he felt as it were a thirst to embrace once more the author of his birth; but still he saw that the course which his father pointed out was the one that prudence and wisdom dictated, and therefore at once acquiesced. for a while he paused, meditating over all the feelings that this letter had called up; but well knowing that every moment of a man's life may be well employed, if he will but seek to employ them, he cast his reveries behind him, and dressing himself in a costume more proper to appear at the house of the duke of buckingham, he commanded his armour to be carefully looked to, and paying his score at the tabard, departed to fulfil his noble friend's hospitable desire, by taking up his lodging at the manor-house of the rose, in saint laurence poultney. passing through southwark, he soon arrived at london bridge, which, as every one knows, was then but one long street across the water, with rich shops and houses on each side, and little intervals between, through which the passenger's eye might catch the flowing of the thames, and thence only could he learn that he was passing over a large and navigable river. the shops, it is true, were unglazed and open, and perhaps to a modern eye might look like booths; but in that day the whole of europe could hardly furnish more wealth than was then displayed on london bridge. the long and circumstantial history given by stowe will save the trouble of transcribing the eleven pages which vonderbrugius bestows upon this subject; for though i cannot be sure that every one has read the old chronicler's "survey of london," yet certainly every one may read it if they like. passing, then, over london bridge, the knight and his followers took their way up gracious street (now corruptly gracechurch street), and riding through the heart of the city, soon arrived at the gates of the duke of buckingham's magnificent mansion of the rose. as they approached the garden entrance, they observed a man covered with dust, as from a long journey, dismount from his horse at the door, bearing embroidered on his sleeve the cognizance of a swan; from which, with the rest of his appearance, sir osborne concluded that he was a courier from the duke. this supposition proved to be correct: the considerate and liberal-minded nobleman having sent him forward to prepare the household to receive his young _protegã©_, and also for the purpose of conveying various other orders and letters, which might tend to the advancement of his views. but it so unfortunately had happened, the man informed the knight, that he had been attacked on the road by four armed men, who had taken from him his bag with the letters, and that therefore the only thing which remained for him to do was to deliver the verbal orders which he had received to his grace's steward, and then to return to his lord and inform him of the circumstances as they had occurred. the profound respect with which he was treated very soon evinced to sir osborne what those verbal orders were. he found the retinue of a prince ready to obey his commands, and a dwelling that in decoration, if not in size, certainly surpassed that of the king. it was not, however, the object of the young knight to draw upon himself those inquiries which would certainly follow any unnecessary ostentation; nor would he have been willing, even had it coincided with his views, to have made his appearance at the court with so much borrowed splendour. he signified, therefore, to the chamberlain his intention of requiring merely the attendance of the three yeomen, who, with his own custrel, had accompanied him from kent; and added that, though he might occupy the apartments which had been allotted to him when he was in london, and dine at the separate table which, by the duke's command, was to be prepared for himself, he should most probably spend the greater part of his time at greenwich. having made these arrangements, he determined to lose no time in proceeding to seek for dr. butts, the king's physician, at whose house he had good hopes of hearing of his old tutor, dr. wilbraham, and of discovering what credit was to be given to the reported marriage of the young earl of darby. sir osborne knew that the physician was one of those men who had made and maintained a high reputation at the court by an honest frankness, which, without deviating into rudeness, spared not to speak the truth to king or peasant. he was a great well-wisher to human nature; and feeling that if all men would be as sincere as himself, the crop of human misery would be much less to reap, he often lost patience with the worldlings, and flouted them with their insincerity. his character contained many of those strange oppositions to which humanity is subject; he was ever tender-hearted, yet often rough, and combined in manner much bluntness with some courtesy. he was learned, strong-minded, and keen-sighted, yet often simple as a child, and much led away by the mad visions of the alchymists of the time. however, as we have said, he was greatly loved and respected at the court; and, from his character and office, was more intimately acquainted with all the little private secrets and lies of the day than any other person perhaps, except sir cesar, the astrologer, with whom he was well acquainted, and upon whom he himself looked with no small reverence and respect, shrewdly suspecting that in his magical studies he had discovered the grand secret. towards his house, then, sir osborne directed his steps, taking with him no one but a footboy of the duke's to show him the way; for as the good physician lived so far off as westminster, it became necessary to have some guide to point out the shortest and most agreeable roads. instead of taking the highway, which, following the course of the river, ran in nearly a straight line from london to westminster,[7] the boy led sir osborne through the beautiful fields which extended over the ground in the neighbourhood of lincoln's inn, and which, instead of being filled with smoky houses and dirty multitudes, were then breathing nothing but sweets from the primroses and other wild spring flowers that were rising fresh out of a rich and grateful soil. thence, cutting across through many a gate, and over many a stile, his young conductor brought him out into the road just at the little milk and curd-house in the midst of the village of charing, from whence, looking down the road to the left, they could see the palace, and gardens of the bishops of durham and york, with the magnificent abbey, rising over some clumps of trees beyond. passing by york place, where bustling menials and crowding courtiers announced the ostentatious power of the proud prelate who there reigned, they left the royal mansions also behind them, and entering into some of the narrower and more intricate streets in westminster, soon reached a house with a small court before it, which, as the boy informed sir osborne, was the dwelling of the physician. seeing a door open opposite, the knight entered and found himself in a sort of scullery, where a stout servant-girl was busily engaged in scrubbing some pots and crucibles with such assiduity, that she could scarcely leave off even to answer his inquiry of whether her master was at home. "yes, sir; yes, he is at home," replied she at length; "but he cannot be spoken with, unless you are very bad, for he is busy in the laboratory." the knight signified that he had a great desire to speak with him; and the girl, looking at him somewhat more attentively, said that, "if he were from abroad, the doctor would see him she was sure, for he had a great many foreign folks with him always." the knight replied that, though he was not a foreigner, he certainly had come from abroad very lately; upon which assurance the damsel relinquished her crucible-scrubbing, and went to announce his presence. returning in a few minutes, she ushered him through a long dark passage into a large low-roofed room, at the farther end of which appeared a furnace, with the chimney carried through the ceiling, and near it various tables covered with all sorts of strange vessels and utensils. round about, still nearer the door, were strewed old mouldering books and manuscripts, huge masses of several kinds of ore, heaps of coal and charcoal, and piles of many other matters, the nature of which sir osborne could not discover by the scanty light that found its way through two small lattice windows near the roof. the principal curiosity in the room yet remained. standing before the furnace, holding in one hand a candle sweltering in the heat of the fire, and in the other a pair of chemical tongs embracing a crucible, was seen a stout portly man, of a rosy complexion, with a fur cap on his head, and his body invested in a long coarse black gown, the sleeves of which, tucked up above his elbows, exhibited a full puffed shirt of very fine linen, much too white and clean for the occupation in which he was busied. "sir, my wench tells me you are from abroad," said he, advancing a little, and speaking quick. "from flanders, i see, by your dress. pray, sir, do you come from the learned erasmus, or from meyerden? however, i am glad to see you. you are an adept, i am sure; i see it in your countenance. behold this crucible," and he poked it so near sir osborne's nose as to make him start back and sneeze violently with the fumes. "sir, that is a new effect," continued the doctor: "i am sure that i have found it. it makes people sneeze. that is the hundred and thirteenth effect i have discovered in it. every hour, every moment, as it concentrates, i discover new effects; so that doubtless by the time it is perfectly concreted, it will have all powers, even to the great effect, and change all things into gold. but let us put that down;" and taking a paper he wrote, "_one hundred and thirteenth effect, makes people sneeze_; violently, i think you said? _violently_. and now, my dear sir, what news from the great erasmus?" "none that i know, my good sir," answered sir osborne, "as i never had the advantage of his acquaintance." an explanation now ensued, which at last enlightened the ideas of the worthy physician, although he had so fully possessed himself with the fancy that the knight was an adept from flanders, a country at that time famous for alchymical researches, that it was some time before he could entirely disembarrass his brain from the notion. "bless my soul!" cried he; "so you are the young gentleman that my excellent good uncle wilbraham was concerned about; and well he might be, truly, seeing what a lover you are of the profound and noble science. he came here yesterday to inquire for you, and finding that i had heard nothing of you, i thought he would have gone distracted. but tell me, fair sir, have you met with any of the famous green water of palliardo? ha! i see you were not to be deceived. i procured some, and truly, on dipping the blade of a knife therein, it appeared gilt. but what was it? a mere solution of copper." "you mistake, i see, still," replied the knight. "in truth, i know nothing of the science to which you allude. i doubt not that it is one of the most excellent and admirable inquiries in the world; but i am a soldier, my dear sir, and have as yet made but small progress in turning anything into gold." "'s life! i know not how i came to think so." cried the doctor; "sure, the servant told me so. ho, kitty!" and throwing open the door, he called loudly to the woman, "ho, kitty! how came you to tell me the gentleman was an adept? zounds! i've made him sneeze. but who is that i see in the lavery? oh, uncle wilbraham! come in! come in!" no words can express the joy of the good tutor when he beheld the knight. he embraced him a thousand times; he shook him by the hand; he shed tears of joy, and he made him repeat a thousand times every particular of his escape. "the villain! the wretch!" cried he, whenever the name of sir payan was mentioned; "the dissembling hypocrite! we have had news since we left canterbury that the _posse_, which i obtained with great difficulty from the magistrates, when they arrived at the manor-house, found every one in bed, but were speedily let in, when sir payan sent word down, that though he was much surprised to be so visited, being a magistrate himself, yet the officers might search where they pleased, for that he had had no prisoners during the day but two deer-stealers, whom he had liberated that evening on their penitence. they searched, and found no one, and so sent me a bitter letter this morning for putting them on the business." "i am glad to hear they found no one," said the knight; "for then my poor companion, jekin groby, has escaped. but, let me ask, how is lady constance!" "alas! not well, my lord, not well!" answered the clergyman. "first, the anxiety about you: in truth, she has never looked well since, not knowing whether you were dead or alive, and having known you in her youth. then this sudden news, that my lord cardinal will have her marry her noble cousin, lord darby, has agitated her." the knight turned as pale as death, for feelings that had lain unknown in the deepest recesses of his heart swelled suddenly up, and nearly overpowered him. his love for lady constance de grey had run on like a brook in the summer time, which flows sweet, tranquil, and scarcely perceptible, till the first rains that gather in the mountains swell it to a torrent that sweeps away all before it. of his own feeling he had hitherto known nothing: he had known, he had but felt, that it was sweet to see her, that it was sweet to think of her; but now at once, with the certainty that she was lost to him for ever, came the certainty that he loved her deeply, ardently, irrevocably. "umph!" said dr. butts, at once comprehending all that the changes of the knight's complexion implied; "umph! it's a bad business." "nay, my good nephew, i see not that," answered the clergyman; who, a great deal less clear-sighted than the physician, had neither seen sir osborne's paleness, nor for a moment suspected his feelings: "i see not that. 'tis the very best marriage in the realm for both parties, and the lady is only a little agitated from the anxiety and hurry of the business." "if that be all," said the doctor, "i'll soon cure her. but tell me, why did you call him 'my lord,' just now?" dr. wilbraham looked at the knight with a glance that seemed to supplicate pardon for his inadvertence; but sir osborne soon relieved him. "i am going, dr. butts," said he, "to ask your advice and assistance, and therefore my secret must be told you. i ask your advice because you know the court thoroughly, and because having, i am afraid, lost one good means of introducing myself to his grace the king, i would fain discover some other; and i tell you my secret, because i am sure that it is as safe with you as with myself." "it is," said the physician. "but if you would have me serve you well, and to some purpose, you must tell me all. give me no half-confidence. let me know everything and then if i can do you good i will; if not, your counsel shall not be betrayed, my lord, i suppose i must say." "you had better tell him all your history, my dear osborne," said dr. wilbraham. "he can, and i am sure will, for my sake, serve you well." "my dear osborne!" echoed the physician. "then i have it! you are my lord darnley, my good uncle's first pupil. your history, my lord, you need not tell me: that i know. but tell me your plans, and i will serve you heart and hand, to the best of my power." the plans of the young knight need not be again detailed here. suffice it that he laid them all open to the worthy physician, who, however, shook his head. "it's a mad scheme!" said he, in his abrupt manner. "his grace, though right royal, bountiful, and just, is often as capricious as a young madam in the honeymoon. however, if buckingham, abergany, surrey, and such wise and noble men judge well of it, i cannot say against it. a straw, 'tis true, will balance it one way or t'other. however, give me to-day to think, and i will find some way of bringing you to the king, so as to gain his good-will at first. and now i will go to see lady constance de grey." "we will go along, good doctor!" exclaimed the tutor; "for i must be back to speak with her, and osborne must render her a visit to thank her for her good wishes and endeavours in his behalf. she will be so charmed to see him free and unhurt that 'twill make her well again." "will it?" said the doctor, drily. "well, you shall give her that medicine after i have ordered her mine. but let me have my turn first. i ask but a quarter of an hour, then come both of you; and in the mean time, my good learned uncle, study that beautiful amphora, and tell me, if you can, why the ancient greeks placed always on their tombs an empty urn. was it an emblem of the body, from within which the spirit was departed, like the wine from the void amphora, leaving but the vessel of clay to return to its native earth? think of it till we meet." thus saying, the learned physician left them, to proceed on his visit to lady constance de grey. chapter xv. though heaven's inauspicious eye lay black on love's nativity, her eye a strong appeal shall give; beauty smiles, and love shall live.--crashaw. when dr. butts had left them, the knight would fain have excused himself from accompanying his old tutor on the proposed visit. he had encountered many a danger in the "imminent deadly breach," and the battle-field, with as light a heart as that which beats in beauty's bosom when she thinks of sunning herself in admiring looks at the next ball; but now his courage failed him at the thought of meeting the person he loved best, and so much did his spirit quail, that "you might have brained him with a lady's fan." dr. wilbraham, however, pressed, and insisted so intently upon the pleasure it would give lady constance to see him after his escape, and the rudeness which might be attributed to him if he did not wait upon her soon, that he at length consented to go; and shortly after the physician had left them they themselves took their way towards the dwelling of the lady. in this happy age, when choice is as free as thought, we can hardly imagine the generous nobility of england submitting to yield the selection of a companion for life to the caprice of a king or of his favourite; yet such was frequently the case in the times whereof we write; and dangerous would it have been to have opposed the will of the despotic henry, or his tyrant minister, when the whim of the one, or the interest of the other, led them to seek the union of any two families. it is true that the sad example of lady arabella stuart was not yet before their eyes; but still, the arbitrary power of the king was well enough established to judge of what he might do, and few would have been found bold enough to assert their liberty of choice in opposition to his command. nor at that time was wolsey's will less potent than the king's; so that, to the mind of the young knight, the marriage of lady constance with lord darby seemed fixed beyond recall. there was, however, something in all that the old tutor said of her anxiety respecting his fate, joined with a certain tenderness that he had felt in her manner towards himself, and the words she had inadvertently let drop respecting the fame he had acquired in flanders, that gave a vague but delightful feeling of hope to his bosom; and while walking on with dr. wilbraham, there was still amongst the wild confusion of his thoughts a strange sort of dreamy plan for winning her yet: the buoyancy of youthful expectation that would not be depressed, like a child's boat of cork, still rising above the waves that had overwhelmed many a goodlier vessel. "if i dared but think she loved me," thought sir osborne, "i should fear nothing;" and he felt as if his single arm could conquer a world. but then came the remembrance, that as an equivalent for her rich lands and lordships, he had nothing, absolutely nothing! and with a sigh he entered the house, which wolsey had taken care to provide for his fair ward as near his own palace as possible. most doors in that day standing open, dr. wilbraham, whose sacred character gave him much freedom of access, took no pains to call servant or attendant to announce them; but leading the way up the narrow winding stairs, opened the door at the end of the flight, and brought sir osborne into a large room, wherein were sitting several of the young lady's women, occupied in various tasks of needle-work and embroidery. one of these rose, and in silence gave them entrance to a chamber beyond, into which the clergyman conducted his former pupil, without even the ceremony of announcing him. lady constance, at the moment, was seated somewhat listlessly on a pile of oriental cushions, holding her arms extended, while dr. butts kept his hand upon her pulse. she was dressed in white, after the mode of the french of that day: the upper part of her robe, except the sleeves, which were large and floating, fitting close to her figure round the waist and shoulders, but falling back, just above the bosom, into a beautiful standing ruff, or fraise, as the french termed it, of fine italian lace. the skirt of the robe was wide and loose, and, dividing at the girdle, showed part of a satin dress beneath, as well as the beautiful small foot and delicate ankle, which, hanging over the edge of the cushions, indicated, fully as much as the heaviness of her eyes, the languor of sickness and want of rest. a few yards behind her stood her waiting-woman, who remained in the room, fully as much in the capacity of duenna, as for the purpose of serving her mistress. as lady constance did not raise her head when the door opened, thinking that it was some of the domestics who entered, the eyes of the waiting-maid were those that first encountered sir osborne; and as she bore him no small goodwill for having given up with such alacrity the tapestry chamber at the inn to herself and lady, immediately on perceiving him she burst forth with a pleasurable "oh dear!" lady constance looked up, and seeing who entered, turned as red as fire, then pale, then red again; and starting up from the cushions, drew her hand suddenly away from dr. butts, advanced a step, hesitated, and then stood still. "umph!" muttered the physician, "it's a bad business." "oh, sir osborne maurice!" said the lady, her eyes sparkling with pleasure, although she struggled hard to compose herself, to seem disembarrassed, and to hide the busy feelings at her heart; "i am most delighted to see you safe; for indeed i--that is, dr. wilbraham--began to be very seriously alarmed; and though he told me there was no danger, yet i saw that he was very much frightened, and--and i hope you got away easily. will you not take that seat?" the young knight took the chair to which she pointed, and thanked her for the interest and kindness she had shown towards him, with some degree of propriety, though at first he felt his lip quiver as he spoke; and then he fancied that his manner was too cold and ceremonious; so, to avoid that he made it somewhat too warm and ardent, and in the end, finding that he was going from one extreme to the other, without ever resting at the mean, he turned to dr. butts, and said with a sort of anxiety, which went thrilling to the heart of lady constance, that he hoped he had not found his patient really ill. "indeed i did though!" answered the physician; "a great deal worse than i had expected, and therefore i shall go directly and tell my good lord, the reverend father cardinal, that the lady must be kept as tranquil as possible, and as quiet." "nay, nay!" said lady constance; "i am not so ill, indeed, my good physician; i feel better now. however, you may go to my lord cardinal if you will; but i really am better." "umph!" said dr. butts; "now _i_ think you are worse. but tell me, lady, why do you quit the habits of your country, to dress yourself like a frenchwoman?" lady constance smiled. "do you not know," said she, "that i am a french vassal? do you not know that all the estates that belonged to my mother, of the val de marne and boissy, are held from the french crown?" "go and see them, lady," said dr. butts; "the french air would suit you better than the english, i've a notion; for a year or two, at least." "nay, dr. butts," said sir osborne; "why deprive england of lady constance's presence? there are so few like her," he added, in an under-voice, "that indeed we cannot spare her." lady constance raised her eyes for an instant to his face: they met his, and though it was but for a moment, that look was sufficient to determine his future fate. a thousand such looks from lady katrine bulmer would have meant nothing, from lady constance de grey that one meant everything, and sir osborne's bosom beat with renewed hope. true, the same obstacles existed as heretofore; but it mattered not nothing, he thought, nothing now could impede his progress; and he would dare all, defy all, win her, or die. nor in truth was the heart of lady constancy de grey less lightened, although she still felt that trembling fear which a woman, perhaps, does not wholly lose for long, long after the lips of the man she loves have made profession of his attachment; yet still she was almost sure that she was loved. there had been something in darnley's manner, in his agitation, in his anxiety about her, in his very glance, far, far more eloquent than words; and lady constance's certainty that he loved her was more, perhaps, a sensation of the heart than a conviction of the mind: she felt that she was loved. while these thoughts, or feelings, or what you will, were busy in the bosom of each, a servant entered, and with much more ceremony than the good chaplain had used to usher in the young knight, announced that lord darby waited in the ante-chamber to inquire after her ladyship's health. "bid him come in," said the young lady, and in a moment after, sir osborne had his rival before his eyes. he was a slight, elegant young man, dressed with great splendour of apparel, and possessed of that sort of calm, easy self-possession, and gay, nonchalant bearing, that made the knight instantly conceive a violent inclination to cut his throat. "good morrow, my fair cousin!" cried he, advancing: "good morrow, gentles all; god gi'ye good morrow, mrs. margaret," to the waiting woman; "what, have you been standing there ever since i left you yesterday?" (the woman tossed her head pettishly, much to the young lord's amusement.) "gad! you must do like the hens, then: stand upon one leg while you rest the other. but say, my fair cousin, how dost thou do?" "i am not well, my lord," replied the lady, "at least, so dr. butts would fain have me believe, and he says i must have quiet; so, by your leave, i will not have you quarrel with my woman, margaret, as you did yesterday." "'faith, not i," answered he; "i love her dearly, bless the mark! but cousin, his reverend grace the cardinal commends him, by your humble slave, to your most sublime beauty, and adviseth (that is, you know, commandeth) that you should betake yourself, for change of air (which means for his pleasure and purposes), to the court at greenwich, to which you are invited by our royal mistress and queen. and if it seemeth fit to you (which would say, whether you like it or not) he will have his barge prepared for you to-morrow at noon." "present my thanks unto the very reverend father," replied lady constance, "and say that i will willingly be ready at the hour he names." "nay, if you are so sweetly obedient to all his commands," said lord darby, more seriously, "'faith, constance, our plan of yesterday will fall to the ground; for i cannot be rude enough to take it all on myself." then darting off into a thousand other subjects, the young peer laughed, and spoke with light facility of various indifferent matters, while dr. butts looked on, keenly observing all that passed; and sir osborne bent his eyes sternly upon the ground, biting his lip and playing with the hilt of his sword, more irritated, perhaps, with the confident gaiety of his rival than he would have been with a more serious and enthusiastic passion, and certainly not appearing to advantage where he wished most to please. "that sword, i think, must be of spanish mounting," said lord darby, at length turning calmly towards the knight. "sir!" replied sir osborne, raising his eyes to his face. "i asked whether that sword was not mounted in spain, sir knight?" said lord darby, quietly. "will you let me look at it?" and he held out his hand. "i am not in the habit, my lord," replied sir osborne, "of giving my weapon out of my own hands; but in answer to your question, it was mounted in spain." "i never steal folk's swords!" said the peer, with the same imperturbably nonchalant air; and then turning to dr. wilbraham, he went on: "dear dr. wilbraham, do let me see that book you talked of yesterday; for as you go to greenwich to-morrow, i shall never behold any of you again, i am sure." the good chaplain, who had remained silent ever since he had been in the room, not at all understanding what was the matter between lady constance and the young knight, although he evidently saw that they had from the first been both agitated and embarrassed, now rose, and went to search for the book which lord darby required, very willing to get away from a scene he did not in the least comprehend. to make way for him, however, sir osborne raised his cap and plume, which had hitherto lain beside him; and as he did so, the sapphire ring that had been given him by lady katrina bulmer met the eye of lord darby, and instantly produced a change in his whole demeanour. his cheek burned, his eye flashed, and, starting upon his feet, he seemed as if he would have crossed over towards sir osborne; but then recovering himself, he relapsed into his former somewhat drawling manner, took leave of lady constance, and, without waiting for dr. wilbraham's return, left the apartment. a moment after, the physician also rose, in his usual, quick, precipitate manner, saying that he must depart. "but, doctor! doctor!" cried mrs. margaret, the waiting-woman, seeing him proceeding towards the door, "you have not told me how i am to manage my mistress." "i can't stop! i can't stop!" said the physician, still walking on out of the room. "what is it! what is it?" "nay, but, doctor, you must tell me!" cried she, running after him. "indeed, i shall not know what to do with my lady." still the doctor walked on, giving her, however, some necessary directions as he went, and mrs. margaret following for a moment, left the two lovers alone. darnley felt that it was one of those precious instants which, once lost, rarely if ever return; but an irresistible feeling of anxiety tied his tongue, and he could but gaze at lady constance with a look that seemed to plead for pardon, even for what he felt. the fair girl trembled in every limb; and as if she knew all that was passing in his mind, dared not look up but for a single glance, as she heard the last words hang on the physician's lip, as he began to descend the stairs. darnley raised the glove that lay beside her. "may i--may i have it?" said he. "oh, darnley!" she replied; and happy almost to delirium, he placed the glove in his bosom, and pressed an ardent kiss upon her hand. "go!" cried she; "for heaven's sake, go if you love me! we shall meet again soon." the knight obeyed, almost as agitated as herself; and passing out of the room just as mrs. margaret entered, he followed dr. butts, whose steps he heard descending the stairs before him. chapter xvi. tybalt.--gentlemen, good den; a word with one of you. mercutio.--and but one word with one of us? couple it with something; make it a word and a blow. tybalt.--you shall find me apt enough to that, sir, if you give me occasion. _romeo and juliet_. scarcely knowing what he did, sir osborne sprang after dr. butts, and walked on with him for a minute or two in silence, while his brain turned, and all his thoughts and feelings whirled in inextricable confusion. "ah!" muttered the physician to himself, seeing the absent agitated air of his young companion; "ah! you've been making a fool of yourself, i see, though you've not had much time either." the murmuring of the good doctor, however, did not disturb in the least the young knight's reverie, which might have lasted an indefinite space of time, had he not been roused therefrom by a smart tap on the shoulder. laying his hand upon his sword, he turned suddenly round, and beheld lord darby, who, seeing him grasp the hilt of his weapon, pointed to it coolly, saying, "not here, sir, not here; but anywhere else you please." "what would you with me, sir?" demanded the knight, not exactly understanding his object, though quite ready to quarrel upon any provocation that might occur. "but a trifle," replied the earl. "you looked at me some five minutes past as if i had offended you in something. now, that being the case, i am ready to make reparation at the sword's point when and where it may suit your convenience." "but, my good lord," said dr. butts, who had turned back, "this is a mistake. how can you have offended this good knight, who never saw you till to-day?" "oh, the problem! the problem, my good doctor," replied lord darby. "why does a farmer's cur bark at a beggar, and let a ruffling gallant swagger by? perchance the knight may not like my countenance; my complexion, my nose, may not please him; my mouth, the cut of my beard." "faith! neither one nor the other pleases me particularly," answered sir osborne. "at all events, my lord, if your wish be to quarrel with me, i will not balk your humour. so say your will, and have it." "oh! if that be the case," said lord darby, "and you'd rather be quarrelled with than quarrel, the offence shall come on my part. fair sir, i dislike that scar upon your brow so much that i shall not be content till i make its fellow on your heart; therefore, when your good humour serves to give me an opportunity of tilting at your nose, you will find me your very humble servant." "nay, now, my lord!" cried dr. butts, "i must witness that you have given the provocation; for under any other circumstances, this gentleman is so situated that 'twould be mere madness to meet you as you wish." "if it be provocation he desires," cried the earl, "he shall have a dish of it, so cooked as to serve an emperor. he is a gentleman, i suppose, and worth a gentleman's sword?" "your equal in every respect, and your better in many," replied the knight. "and in regard to provocation, i have had as much, my lord, as your body may well bear in repayment. how do you choose to fight?" "quietly! quietly!" answered the earl. "a few inches of tough steel are as good as a waggon load. a double-edged sword, sir, such as we both wear, may serve our turn, i should suppose; and as it may be unpleasant to both of us to make the monster multitude busy with our little affair, we will be single, hand to hand. i do detest the habit of making the satisfaction of private wrongs the public amusement. we'll have no crowd, sir, to look on and criticise our passados, as if we were gladiators on a stage. where shall it be?" "why, faith, my lord!" answered the knight, "as i am a mere stranger here, i know but of one place. the gardens of my lord of buckingham, at the rose, are large; and i remarked this morning a grove, where there must be good space and quiet. if, therefore, you will inquire for me at his grace's dwelling this evening, at four of the clock, you will find me prepared to receive you." lord darby waved his hand for his page to come up, who stood chattering with the foot-boy that had accompanied the knight, and taking from him a case of tablets, he wrote down the name of sir osborne, and the place and hour he had appointed. "and now, fair sir," said he, "i will leave you. i shall not miss my hour. good doctor, your profession has doubtless taught you secrecy, and so farewell!" so saying, lord darby walked away, leaving sir osborne with dr. butts. "ah!" cried the physician, "a bad business! a bad business! yet it cannot be helped; if two people will fall in love with the same woman, what can be done? but it's a bad business for you. if he kills you, why that is not pleasant; and if you kill him, you must fly your country. a bad business! a bad business! but fare ye well! don't kill him if you can help it; for he's not bad, as times go; wound him badly, then it may be mended. fare ye well! fare ye well!" and turning away he left sir osborne, not appearing to take much heed of the approaching duel, though in reality deeply occupied with the means of preventing it, without betraying the trust that had been reposed in him. sir osborne was not displeased to be left to his own meditations; and plunged in thought, he followed his young guide down a narrow lane, running between the gardens of york and durham houses. "i thought, sir, you might like to take boat," said the boy, who was himself completely wearied out with waiting for the knight, "and so brought your worship down here, where there is always a boatman. 'twill save three miles, your worship." sir osborne signified his assent, and the boat being procured, he was soon after landed within a short distance of st. lawrence poulteney, where he was received with great respect by the duke's household, and formally marshalled to his apartment. two hours still remained to the time of rendezvous, which he spent in writing to his father; never thinking, however, of alluding to his approaching rencontre; for in truth, though not vain either of his skill or strength, he had enjoyed so many opportunities of proving both, that he well knew it must be a strong and dexterous man indeed, who would not lie greatly at his mercy in such an encounter as that which was to ensue. in the mean while, lord darby, carried away by passion, thought of nothing but his approaching meeting; and though he looked upon sir osborne as some knight attached to the duke of buckingham, he was very willing to pass over any little difference of rank for the sake of gratifying the angry feelings by which he was possessed. he was, however, very greatly surprised, when on presenting himself, towards four o'clock, at the manor-house of the rose, he found that the same attendance and respect waited sir osborne maurice, a man he never even heard of, as he had seen paid to the duke of buckingham himself. two servants marshalled the way to the knight's apartments, one ran on before to announce him; and with a deference and attention which evidently did not proceed from his own rank, for he had not given his name, but rather, apparently, from the station of the person whom he went to visit, he was ushered into the splendid apartments which had been assigned to the knight. sir osborne rose from the table where he had been writing, and with graceful but frigid courtesy, invited him to be seated, which was complied with by the earl, till such time as the servants were gone. "now my lord," said sir osborne, as soon as the door was shut, "i am at your service; i will finish my writing at my return. will you examine my sword, 'tis apparently somewhat longer than yours, but here is one that is shorter. now, sir." "that is shorter than mine," said lord darby. "have you not another?" "not here," replied the knight; "but this will do, if you are satisfied that it is not longer than your own. by this passage we shall find our way to the garden privately, as i am informed. pardon me, if i lead the way." lord darby followed in silence, perhaps not quite so contented with the business in which he had engaged as when he undertook it. there was a sort of calm determination in sir osborne's manner, that had something in it very unpleasantly impressive, and the young peer began to think it would have been better to have sought some explanation ere he had hurried himself into circumstances of what might be unnecessary danger. however, he felt that it was now too late to make any advance towards such a measure; and there, too, in the knight's cap, still stood the identical large sapphire ring, which, if he might believe his eyes, he had seen a thousand times on the hand of his promised wife. the sight, thereof, served marvellously well to stir up his anger; and striding on, he kept equal pace with sir osborne down the long alley which led from the house into a deep grove near the side of the river. the knight paused at a spot where the trees concealed them from the view of the house, and opening out into a small amphitheatre, gave full space for the deadly exercise in which they were about to be engaged. "now, lord darby," said he, drawing his sword, and throwing down the scabbard before him, "you see me as i stand; and as a knight and a gentleman, i have no other arms, offensive or defensive, but this sword, so help me god!" "and so say i," replied lord darby, "upon my honour;" and following the knight's example, he drew his sword, cast the sheath away from him, and brought his blade across that of his adversary. "madmen! what are ye about to do?" cried a stern voice from the wood. "put up, put up!" and the moment after, the diminutive form of sir cesar the astrologer stood directly between them. "what devil," he continued, parting their drawn swords with his bare hands; "what devil has tempted ye--ye, of all other men, destined to bring about each others' happiness--what devil, i say, has tempted ye to point these idle weapons at each other's life?" "sir cesar," said lord darby, "i am well aware that you possess the means of seeing into the future by some method, for which scurrilous people hint that you are likely to be damned pretty heartily in the next world; so you are just the person to settle our dispute. but tell us, which it is of us two that is destined to slay the other, and then the one who is doomed to taste cold iron this day will have nothing to do but offer his throat, for depend upon it, only one will leave this spot alive." "talk not so lightly of death, young lord," replied the old man, "for 'tis a bitter and unsavoury cup to drink, as thou shalt find when thy brain swims, and thy heart grows sick, and thine eye loses its light, and thy parting spirit reels upon the brink of a dim and shadowy world. but i tell thee that both shall leave this spot alive; though if any one remained upon this sward, full surely it were thyself; for thou art as much fitted to cope with him as the sapling with the thunderbolt of heaven. but listen, each of you, i adjure you: state what you demand of the other; and if, after all, ye be still bent upon blood, blood ye shall have. but full sure am i that now neither fool knows what the other seeks." both the antagonists stood silent, gazing first on each other, and then on sir cesar, as if they knew not what to reply, and both feeling that there might be some truth in what the old man advanced. at length, however, lord darby broke forth, "god's life, what he says is true! sir osborne maurice, what do you seek of me?" "speak! speak!" cried sir cesar, turning to the knight, who seemed to hesitate; "speak, if the generous blood of a thousand noble ancestors be still warm in your veins! be candid, and charge him like a man." sir osborne's cheek burned. "the quarrel is of his own seeking," said he, "and what i have to say, i know not how to speak, without violating the confidence of a lady, which cannot be." "then i will speak for you," said sir cesar. "lord darby he demands that you shall yield all claim and all pursuit of lady constance de grey. this is his demand; now for yours. oh! if i am deceived in you, woe to you and yours for ever!" "i can scarcely suppose," replied the earl, with bitter emphasis, "that such be this knight's demand, when i see the ring of another lady borne openly in his bonnet; a lady that shall never be his, so long as one drop of blood flows in my veins." "this ring, my lord," replied sir osborne, taking it from the plume of his hat, "was only trusted with me as a deposit to transmit to the person to whom it originally belonged, claiming his advice for a lady, whose affianced lover was, as report said, about to wed another; sir cesar, i give it unto you for whom it was intended." "faith, i have been in the wrong!" cried lord darby, extending his hand frankly to sir osborne. "in the first place, pardon me, sir knight, for having insulted you; and next, let me say, that in regard to lady constance de grey, i have no claim but that of kindred upon her affection, and none upon her hand. farther, if you can show that your rank entitles you to such alliance, none will be happier than myself to aid you in your suit. though, let me observe, without meaning offence, that the name of sir osborne maurice is unknown to me, except as connected with the history of the last reign. and now, sir, having said thus much, doubtless you will explain to me how that ring came into your possession, and by what motives lady katrine bulmer could be induced to confide her most private affairs to a gentleman who can be but an acquaintance of a month." "most willingly," replied the knight; and after detailing to lord darby the circumstances which we already know, he added: "the letter of which i speak is still in my possession, and if you will return with me to the house, i will deliver it to you, as i cannot doubt, from what you say, that the report of a marriage being in agitation between yourself and lady constance de grey originated in some mistake." "faith, not a whit!" cried the earl; "the report is unhappily too true. the lord cardinal, whom we all know to be one degree greater than the greatest man in england, has laid his commands upon me to marry my cousin constance, although both my heart and my honour are plighted to another, and has equally ordered my cousin to wed me, although her heart be, very like, fully as much given away as mine. however, never supposing we could think of disobeying, he has already sent to rome for all those permissions and indulgences which are necessary for first cousins in such cases; and on my merely hinting in a sweet and dutiful manner, that it might be better to see first whether it pleased the lady, he replied, meekly, that it pleased him, and that it pleased the king, which was quite enough both for her and me." this information did not convey the most pleasing sensations to sir osborne's heart, and in a moment there flashed through his mind a thousand vague but evil auguries. danger to constance herself, the ruin of his father's hopes, the final destruction of his house and family, and all the train of sorrows and of evils that might follow, if wolsey were to discover his rash love, hurried before his eyes like the thronging phantoms of a painful dream, and clouded his brow with a deep shade of thoughtful melancholy. "fear not, osborne darnley," said sir cesar, seeing the gloomy look of the young knight. "this cardinal is great, but there is one greater than he, who beholds his pride, and shall break him like a reed. nor in this thing shall his will be obeyed. believe what i say to you, for it is true; i warned you once of coming dangers, and you doubted me; but the evils i foresaw fell upon your head. doubt me not then now; but still i see fear sits upon your eyelids. come, then, both of you with me, for in this both your destinies are linked for a time together. spend with me one hour this night, and i will show you that which shall ease your hearts," and he turned towards the house, beckoning them to follow. "i suppose, then, your lordship is satisfied," said sir osborne, taking up the scabbard of his sword, and replacing it with the weapon in his belt, as the astrologer moved away. "i should be more satisfied," said lord darby, laying his hand on the knight's arm with a frank smile, "if you would confide in me. indeed, i have no title to pry into your secrets," he added, "nor in those of constance either, though i think she might have told me of this yesterday, when i made her a partaker of all mine. however, i cannot believe that the profound reverence in which all the duke's servants seem to hold you, can be excited by the unknown sir osborne maurice. besides, sir cesar called you but now osborne darnley. can it be that i am speaking to the lord darnley, who from his feats at the court of the princess dowager, goes amongst us by the surname of the knight of burgundy?"[8] "i shall not deny my name, lord darby," replied the knight. "i am, as you say, lord darnley; but as this has fallen into your knowledge by mere accident, i shall hold you bound in honour to forget it." "nay!" replied the earl. "i shall remember it--to render you, if possible, all service. but come, darnley, as by a mistake we began bitter enemies, now let us end dear friends. i can aid you much, you can aid me much, and between us both surely we shall be able to break the trammels with which the cardinal enthrals us. we will put four young heads against one old one, and the world to nothing we shall win!" there was a frankness in lord darby's manner that it was impossible to resist, and taking the hand he tendered him, the young adventurer met his offered friendship with equal candour. with the openness natural to youth, the plans of each were soon told, the sooner, indeed, that their future prospects and endeavours so greatly depended for success upon their sincere co-operation, and thus they sauntered back to the house, with very different feelings from those with which they had left it. before they had arrived at the steps of the door, they had run through a thousand details, and were as much prepared to act together as if their acquaintance had been of many years' duration. no sooner did the young earl hear that his new friend had not yet been introduced to the king, than he at once proposed to be the person to do it, offering to call for him in his barge the next day but one, and convey him to the court at greenwich, where he undertook to procure him a good reception. "it may be difficult," he said, "to find private audience of those two persons whom we both feel most anxious to meet. dame fortune, however, may befriend us; but we must be cautious even to an excess, for wolsey has eyes that see where he is not present, and ears that hear over half the realm, and the first step to make our plans successful, depend upon it, is to conceal them. but, lo! where sir cesar stands at the window of the hall. now, in the name of fortune, where will he lead us to-night? 'tis strange that there should be men so gifted with rare qualities as to see into the deepest secrets of nature, to view things that to others are concealed, and yet seemingly to profit little by their knowledge; for never did i meet or hear of one of these astrologers that were either happier or more fortunate than other men. and yet, what were the good to sir cesar to boast a knowledge that he did not possess? for he seeks no reward, will accept of no recompense, and hourly exposes what he says to contradiction if it be not true. but doubtless it _is_ true, for every day gives proofs thereof. that man is a riddle, which would have gained the sphynx a good dinner off [oe]dipus. you seem to know him well, but i dare say know no more of him than any one else does; for no one that i ever met knows who he is, nor where he comes from, nor where he goes to; and yet he is well received everywhere, courted, ay, and even loved, for he is beneficent, charitable, and humane; is rich, though it is unknown whence his wealth arises, and possesses wonderful knowledge, though, i fear me, wickedly acquired. i have heard that those poor wretches who have mastered forbidden secrets often strive to repair, by every good deed, the evil that their presumptuous curiosity has done to their own souls: god knows how it is. but come, let us join him. the information we gain from him, at all events, is sure." entering the manor-house, they passed on into the hall, where they found sir cesar buried in deep thought; and while the young knight proceeded to his own apartments, to procure the letter which lady katrine bulmer had entrusted to him, the earl of darby approached the old knight with that sort of constitutional gaiety which, like a spoiled servant, would very often play the master with its lord. "well, sir cesar," cried he, "where are your thoughts roaming? in the world above, or the world below?" "farther in heaven than you will ever be," replied the old man. "nay, then," continued the earl, "as you can tell everything, past, present, and to come, could you divine what we were talking of but now in the gardens?" "at first you were talking of what did concern yourselves, and afterwards of what did _not_ concern you," answered the knight. "magic, by my faith!" cried the earl; "and in truth, your coming just in the nick of time, as folks have it, to save us from slicing each other's throats, must have had a spice of magic in it too." "if one used magic for so weak a purpose as that of saving an empty head like thine," replied the knight, "it would be worthy the jest with which you treat it. fools and children attribute everything to magic that they do not comprehend; but, however, my coming here had none. was it not easy for one friend to tell another that he had heard two mad young men name a place to slaughter each other, they knew not for what? but here comes thy companion. read thy letter, and then come with me; for the light is waning, and the hour comes on when i can show ye both some part at least of your destiny." lord darby eagerly cut the silk which fastened lady katrine's letter, and read it with that air of intense earnestness which can never be put on, and which would have removed from the mind of sir osborne any doubt of the young earl's feelings, even if he had still continued to entertain such. this being done, they prepared to accompany sir cesar, who insisted that not even a page should follow them; and accordingly lord darby's attendant was ordered to remain behind and wait his lord's return. passing, then, out into the street, they soon found themselves in the most crowded part of the city of london, which was at that time of the evening filled with the various classes of mechanics, clerks, and artists, returning to their homes from their diurnal toil. gliding through the midst of them, sir cesar passed on, not in the least heeding the remarks which his diminutive size and singular apparel called forth, though lord darby did not seem particularly to relish a promenade through the city with such a companion, and very possibly might have left sir osborne to proceed alone if he liked it, had not that strong curiosity which we all experience to read into the future carried him on to the end. darkness now began to fall upon their path, and still the old man led them forward through a thousand dark and intricate turnings, till at length, in what appeared to be a narrow lane, the houses of which approached so closely together, that it would have been an easy leap from the windows on one side of the way into those of the other, the old knight stopped and struck three strokes with the hilt of his dagger upon a door on the left hand. it was opened almost immediately by a tall meagre man, holding in his hand a small silver lamp, which he applied close to the face of sir cesar before he would permit any one to pass. "il maestro," cried he, as soon as he saw the dark small features of the astrologer, making him at the same time a profound inclination, "entra, dottissimo! benvenuto, benvenuto sia!" sir cesar replied in an under tone, and taking the lamp from the italian, motioned sir osborne and the earl to follow. the staircase up which he conducted them was excessively small, narrow, and winding, bespeaking one of the meanest houses in the city; and what still more excited their surprise, they mounted near forty steps without perceiving any door or outlet whatever, except where a blast of cold air through a sort of loophole in the wall announced their proximity to the street. at length the astrologer stopped opposite a door only large enough to admit the passage of one person at a time, through which he led the way, when to the astonishment of both sir osborne and the earl, they found themselves in a magnificent oblong apartment, nearly forty feet in length, and rather more than twenty in breadth. on each side were ranged tables and stands, covered with various specimens of ancient art, which, rare in any age, were then a thousand times more scarce than they are now. although the taking of constantinople, about seventy years before, by driving many of the greeks amongst whom elegance and science long lingered, into other countries, had revived already, in some degree, the taste for the arts of painting and sculpture, still few, very few, even of the princes of europe, could boast such beautiful specimens as those which that chamber contained. here stood a statue, there an urn; on one table was an alabaster capital of exquisite workmanship, on another a bas-relief whose figures seemed struggling from the stone; medals, and gems, and specimens of curious ores, were mingled with the rest; and many a book, written in strange and unknown characters, lay open before their eyes. there, too, were various instruments of curious shape and device, whose purpose they could not even guess; while here frowned a man in armour, there grinned a skeleton; and there, swathed in its historic bands, stood an egyptian mummy, resting its mouldering and shapeless head against the feet of a figure, in which some long-dead artist had laboured skilfully to display all the exquisite lines of female loveliness. to observe all this the two young men had full opportunity, while sir cesar proceeded forward, stopping between each table, and bringing the flame of the lamp he carried in contact with six others, which stood upon a row of ancient bronze tripods ranged along the side of the hall. at the end of the room hung a large black curtain, on each side of which was a clock of very curious manufacture; the one showing, apparently, the year, the day, the hour, and the minute; and the other exposing a figure of the zodiac, round which moved a multitude of strange hieroglyphic signs, some so rapidly that the eye could scarcely distinguish their course, some so slow that their motion was hardly to be discerned. as sir osborne and lord darby approached, sir cesar drew back the curtain, and exposed to their sight an immense mirror, in which they could clearly distinguish their own figures, and that of the astrologer, reflected at full length.[9] "mark!" said sir cesar, "and from what you shall see, draw your own inference. but question me not: for i vowed when i received that precious gift, which is now before you, never to make one comment upon what it displayed. mark! and when you have seen, leave me." "but i see nothing," said sir osborne, "except my own reflection in the glass." "patience, patience. impetuous spirit," cried the old man. "will a hundred lives never teach thee calmness? look to the mirror!" sir osborne turned his eyes to the glass, but still nothing new met his view; and after gazing for a minute or two, he suffered his glance to wander to the clock by his side, which now struck eight with a clear, sweet, musical sound. at that moment lord darby laid his hand on his arm. "god's my life!" cried he, "we are vanishing away. look, look!" sir osborne turned to the glass, and beheld the three figures he had before seen plain and distinctly, now growing dimmer and more dim. he could scarcely believe his sight, and passing his hand before his eyes, he strove, as it were, to cure them of the delusion. when he looked again, all was gone, and the mirror offered nothing but a dark shining blank. presently, however, a confusion of thin and misty figures seemed to pass over the glass, and a light appeared to spring up within itself: gradually the objects took a more substantial form; the interior of the mirror assumed the appearance of a smaller chamber than that which they were in, lighted by a lattice window, and in the centre was seen a female figure leaning in a pensive attitude on a table. sir osborne thought it was like lady katrine bulmer, but the light coming from behind cast her features into shadow. the moment after, however, a door of the chamber seemed to open, and he could plainly distinguish a figure, resembling that of lord darby, enter, and clasp her in his arms, with a semblance of joy so naturally portrayed, that it was hardly possible to suppose it unreal. while he yet gazed, the outlines of the figures began to grow confused and indistinct, and various ill-defined forms floated over the glass. gradually, however, they again assumed shape and feature; the mirror represented a princely hall hung with cloth of gold, and a thousand gay and splendid figures ranged themselves round the scene. princes, and prelates, and warriors, moved before their eyes, as if 'twas all in life. there might be seen the slight significant look, the animated gesture, the whisper apart, the stoop of age; the high erect carriage of knight and noble, and the graceful motion of youth and beauty. "by heavens!" cried lord darby, "there is the earl of devonshire, and the duke of suffolk, and the princess mary. it is the court of england! but no! who are all these?" gradually the crowd opened, and two persons appeared, whose apparel, demeanour, and glance, bespoke them royal. "henry himself, as i live!" cried lord darby. "which? which?" demanded sir osborne. "the one to the right," answered the earl; "the other i know not." it was the other, however, who advanced, leading forward by the hand a knight, in whom sir osborne might easily distinguish the simulacre of himself. the prince, whoever he was, seemed to speak, and a lady came forth from the rest. by the graceful motion, by the timid look, by the rich light brown hair, as well as by all a lover's feelings, sir osborne could not doubt that it was constance de grey. the monarch took her hand; placed it in that of the knight; the figures grew dim and the glass misty; but gradually clearing away, it resumed its original effect, and reflected the hall in which they were, their own forms standing before the mirror, and the old man, sir cesar, sitting on the ground, with his hands pressed over his eyes. the moment they turned round, he started up. "it is done!" cried he; "so now, begone! we shall meet again soon;" and putting his finger to his lip, as if requiring silence, he led them out of the hall, and down the stairs, signed them with the cross, and left them. chapter xvii. there grows in my most ill-composed affection a quenchless avarice, that were i king i should cut off the nobles for their lands.--macbeth. oh, the man in the moon! the man in the moon! what a prodigious sackful of good resolutions you must have, all broken through the middle. first, there are all sorts of resolutions of amendment, of every kind and description, except the resolution of a carter to amend his draught, or that of a gourmand whose appetite fails to drink chateau margaux instead of lafitte. all, except these, my dear sir, you clutch by handfuls; and then you get all the resolutions of women of five-and-thirty never to marry whenever the opportunity happens; the resolutions of many young heirs not to be taken in, and of young coquettes not to go too far; of old gentlemen to look young, and of vulgar men to hold their tongues. though i see, my dear sir, that your bag be almost bursting, yet i must trouble you with one more. i had determined, as i hinted in a former chapter, never to quit my hero and go vagabondising about in my history from one part to the other, like a gipsy or a pedlar; but, on the contrary, to proceed in a quiet, respectable, straightforward manner, telling his story, and nobody else's story but his; but it is this individual resolution that i am now under the necessity of foregoing, for it is absolutely necessary, that i should return to what took place at the mansion of the duke of buckingham, in kent, even if i should risk the breaking of my neck, as well as my resolution, in scampering back again afterwards. early in the morning of the day after that on which sir osborne had left the manor-house to proceed to the benedictine abbey, near canterbury, sir payan wileton, with a large suite, rode up to the gates, and demanded an audience of the duke, which was immediately granted. as the chamberlain marshalled him the way to the duke's closet, the knight caught a glance of the old man, sir cesar, passing out, from which he argued favourably for his purposes; doubting not that the discourse of the astrologer had raised the ambition and vanity of the duke, and fitted him to second the schemes with which he proposed to tempt him. when the knight entered, the princely buckingham was seated, and with that cold dignity which he knew well how to assume, he motioned his visiter to a chair, without, however, deigning to rise. "he thinks himself already king," thought sir payan. "well, his pride must be humoured. my lord duke," he said, after a few preliminary words on both parts, "i come to tender your grace my best service, and to beg you to believe, that should ever the occasion offer, you shall find me ready at your disposal, with heart and hand, fortune and followers." "and what is it that sir payan wileton would claim as his reward for such zealous doings?" demanded the duke, eyeing him coolly. "sir payan's wisdom is too well known to suppose that he would venture so much without proportionate reward." "but your grace's favour," replied the knight, somewhat astonished at the manner in which his offers were received. "nay, nay, sir payan!" replied the duke; "speak plainly. what is it you would have? upon what rich lordship have you cast your eyes? whose fair estate has excited your appetite? is there any new chilham castle to be had?" "in truth, i know not well what your grace means," answered the knight, "though i can see that some villain behind my back has been blackening my character in your fair opinion. i came here frankly to tender you, of my own free will, services that you once hinted might be acceptable. men who would climb high, my lord duke, must make their first steps firm." "true, true, sir knight," replied the duke, moderating the acerbity of his manner; "but how can i rise higher than i am? perhaps, indeed, my pride may soar too high a pitch, when i fancy that in this realm, next to his grace the king, my head stands highest." "true," said sir payan; "but i have heard a prophecy, that your grace's head should be of all the highest without any weakening qualification next to any man's. his grace king henry may die, and i have myself known the duke of buckingham declare, that there were shrewd doubts whether the king's marriage with his brother's wife were so far valid as to give an heir to the english crown. kings may die, too, of the sharp sword and the keen dagger. such being the case, and the king dying without heirs male, who will stand so near the throne as the duke of buckingham? who has so much the people's love? who may command so many of the most expert and powerful men in england?" the duke paused and thought. he was "not without ambition, though he was without the illness that should accompany it." no one did he more thoroughly abhor than sir payan wileton; and, yet rich, powerful, unscrupulous, full of politic wile and daring stratagem, sir payan was a man who might serve him essentially as a friend, might injure him deeply as an enemy; and he was, moreover, one that must be treated as one or the other, must be either courted or defied. while a thousand thoughts of this kind passed through the mind of the duke, and connecting themselves with others, wandered far on the wild and uncertain tract that his ambition presented to his view, while the passion by which angels fell was combating in his bosom with duty, loyalty, and friendship, the eye of sir payan wileton glanced from time to time towards his face, watching and calculating the emotions of his mind, with that degree of certainty which long observation of the passions and weakness of human nature had bestowed. at length he saw the countenance of the duke lighted up with a triumphant smile, while, fixing his eyes upon the figure of an old king in the tapestry, he seemed busily engaged in anticipations of the future. "he has them now," thought sir payan, "the crown, the sceptre, and the ball. well, let him enjoy his golden dream;" and dropping his eyes on the table, he gathered the addresses of the various letters which buckingham had apparently been writing: "_the earl of devonshire_"--"_the lord dacre_"--"_sir john morton_"--"_the earl of fitzbernard, to be rendered to the hands of sir osborne maurice_"--"_the prior of langley_." "ha!" thought the knight, "lord fitzbernard! sir osborne maurice! so, so! i have the train. take heed, buckingham! take heed, or you fall;" and he raised his eyes once more to the countenance of the duke, whose look was now fixed full upon him. "sir payan wileton," said buckingham, "we have both been meditating, and perhaps our meditations have arrived at the same conclusion." "i hope, my lord duke," answered sir payan, returning to the former subject of conversation, "that your grace finds that i _may_ be of service to you." "not in the least," replied the duke, sternly; for it had so happened that his eyes had fallen upon sir payan just at the moment that the knight was furtively perusing the address of the letter to lord fitzbernard, and the combinations thus produced in the mind of the noble buckingham had not been very much in favour of sir payan: "not in the least, sir payan wileton. let me tell you, sir, that you must render back chilham castle to its lord; you must reverse all the evil that you have done and attempted towards his son; you must abandon such foul schemes, and cancel all the acts of twenty years of your life, before you be such a man as may act with buckingham." "my lord duke! my lord duke!" cried sir payan, "this is too much to bear. your pride, haughty peer, has made you mad, but your pride shall have a fall. beware of yourself, duke of buckingham, for no one shall ever say that he offended sir payan wileton unscathed. know you that you are in my power?" "in thine, insect!" cried the duke. "but begone! you move me too far. ho! without there! begone, i say, or buckingham may forget himself!" "he shall not forget me," said sir payan. "mark me, lord duke: you wisely deem, that because you have not shown me your daring schemes in your hand-writing, you are safe, but you have yet to know sir payan wileton. we shall see, lord duke! we shall see! so, farewell!" and turning on his heel, he left the duke's closet, called for his horse, and in a few minutes was far on the road homeward. "guilford," cried he, turning towards his attendants, "guilford, ride up." at this order, a downcast, sneering-looking man drew out from the rest of the servants and rode up to the side of his master, who fixed his eyes upon him for a moment, shutting his teeth hard, as was his custom when considering how to proceed. "guilford," said he at last, "guilford, you remember the infant that was found dead in ashford ditch last year, that folks supposed to be the child of mary bly----? ha!" the man turned deadly pale. "i have found an owner for the kerchief in which it was tied with the two large stones," proceeded sir payan. "a man came to me yesterday morning, who says he can swear to the kerchief, and who it belonged to. fie! do not shake so! do you think i ever hurt my own? guilford, you must do me a service. take three stout fellows with you, on whom you can depend; cast off your liveries, and ride on with all speed to the hill on this side of rochester. wait there till you see a courier come up with a swan embroidered on his sleeve; find means to quarrel with him; and when you return to elham manor, if you bear his bag with you, you shall each have five george nobles for your reward. but leave not the place. stir not till you have met with him. and now be quick; take the three men with you; there will be enough left to return with me. mark me! let him not escape with his bag, for if you do, you buy yourself a halter." "which of them shall i take?" said the man. "there are wandlesham and black john, who together stole the prior of merton's horse, and sold it at sandwich. they would have been burned i' the hand if your worship had not refused the evidence. then there is simpkin, the deer-stealer----" "that will do," said sir payan, "that will do; 'tis said he set raper's barn on fire. but be quick; we waste time." it was late the next day before the party of worthies whom sir payan entrusted with the honourable little commission above stated returned to his house at elham manor; but, to his no small satisfaction, they brought the duke of buckingham's letter-bag along with them, which master guilford deposited on the table before sir payan in his usual sullen manner, and only waited till he had received his reward, which was instantly paid; for the honest knight, well knowing by internal conviction that rascality is but a flimsy bond of attachment, took care to bind his serviceable agents to himself by the sure ties both of hope and fear. if they were useful and silent, their hopes were never disappointed; if they were negligent or indiscreet, their fears were more than realised. the moment he was alone, the knight put his dagger into the bag, and ripped it open from side to side. this done, his eye ran eagerly over the various letters it contained, and paused on that to lord fitzbernard. in an instant the silk was cut, and the contents before his eyes. "ha!" said sir payan, reading; "so here it is, the whole business; so, so, my young knight, 'the real name to be told to nobody till the king's good-will is gained.' but i will foil you, and blast your false name before your real one is known. good duke of buckingham, i thank you! 'a villain!' if i am, you shall taste my villany. oh! so he had charge to 'conduct the lady katrine bulmer to the court: his feats of arms and manly daring shall much approve him with the king.' ay, but they shall damn him with the cardinal, or i'll halt for it! now for the rest!" with as little ceremony as that which he had displayed toward the letter addressed to lord fitzbernard, sir payan tore open all the rest, but seemed somewhat disappointed at their contents, gnawing his lip and knitting his brow till he came to the last, addressed to sir john morton. "ha!" exclaimed he, as he read, "duke of buckingham, you are mine! now, proud edward bohun, stoop! stoop! for out of so little a thing as this will i work thy ruin. but what means he by this? sir osborne maurice! it cannot be him he speaks of. it matters not; it shall tell well, too, and in one ruin involve them both. sir osborne maurice! i have it! i have it! sure the disclosure of such a plot as this may well merit wolsey's thanks; ay, and even, by good favour, some few acres off the broad estates of constance de grey. we shall see. but first let us track this young gallant; we must know his every step from canterbury to greenwich." proud in supreme villany, sir payan trod with a longer stride, confidently calculating that he held all his enemies in his power; but, subtle as well as bold, he did not allow his confidence to diminish in the least his care; and calling to his aid one of his retainers, upon whose cunning he could count with certainty, he laid him upon the path of our hero like a hound upon the track of a deer, with commands to investigate, with the most minute care, every step he had taken from canterbury to greenwich. "and now," said sir payan, "to-morrow for greenwich; i must not fail the party of sir thomas neville. when enemies grow strong, 'tis time to husband friends;" and springing on his horse, he proceeded to put in train for execution some of those minor schemes of evil which he did not choose to leave unregulated till his return. chapter xviii. traffic is thy god.--timon. "by my faith!" cried the earl of darby, as soon as they found themselves in the street, or rather lane, before the dwelling of sir cesar, "i know not in the least where we are; and if i had known it before, my brain is so unsettled with all this strange sight, that i should have forgotten it now. which way did we turn?" "the other way! the other way!" cried sir osborne, "and then to the right." "pray, sir, can you tell me where the devil i am?" demanded the earl, when they had reached the bottom of the lane, addressing a man who was walking slowly past. "i'll tell you what, my young gallant," answered the man, "if you don't march home with your foolery, i'll lock you up. i am the constable of the watch." "it is my _way_ home that i want to know, friend constable," replied the earl. "for, 'fore god! i know not where i am any more than a new-born child, who, though he comes into the world without asking the way, finds himself very strange when he is in it." "why, marry, thou art at the back of baynard's castle, sir fool," replied the constable. "ay; then i shall find my road," said the earl. "thank thee, honest constable; thou art a pleasant fellow, and a civil, and hast risked having thy pate broken to-night more than thou knowest. so, fare thee well!" and turning away, he led his companion through various winding lanes into a broader street, which at length conducted them to the mansion of the duke of buckingham. "now, by my faith, darnley, or maurice, or whatever you please to be called," said the earl, "if you have any hospitality in your nature, you will give me board and lodging for a night. may you make so free with the good duke's house?" "most willingly will i do it," said sir osborne, "and find myself now doubly happy in his grace's request, to use his mansion as if it were my own." "were i you," said lord darby, "and had so much of buckingham's regard, i would hear more of that strange man, if he be a man, sir cesar; for 'tis said that the duke and sir john morton are the only persons that know who and what he really is. god help us! we have seen as strange a sight to-night as mortal eyes ever beheld." "i have heard one of my companions in arms relate that a circumstance precisely similar happened to himself in italy," replied the knight. "the famous magician, cornelius agrippa, showed him out of friendship a glass, wherein he beheld the lady of his love reading one of his own letters,[10] which thing she was doing, as he ascertained afterwards, at the very minute and day that the glass was shown to him. i never thought, however, to have seen anything like it myself." it may be easily supposed that various were the remarks and conjectures of the two young noblemen during the rest of the evening, but with these it will be unnecessary to trouble the reader. suffice it that we have translated as literally as possible the account which vonderbrugius gives of the circumstances; nor shall we make any comment on the facts, leaving it to the reader's own mind to form what conclusion he may think right. whether the whole was an artifice on the part of sir cesar, aided by strongly-excited imagination on theirs, each person must judge for himself; but certain it is that they both firmly believed that they saw the same thing; and, as in the well-known case of lord surrey, the argument is of avail, that the magician had no object or interest in deceiving those to whom he displayed his powers. the effect, however, upon the mind of sir osborne was to give him new hope and courage; for so completely had the former prediction of sir cesar been fulfilled, that though he might still doubt, yet his very hesitation leant to the side of hope. lord darby laughed, and vowed 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange, and wrote it down in his tablets, lest he should not believe a word of it the next morning. when the morning came, however, he found that his belief had not fled; and before leaving sir osborne, he talked over the business with more gravity than he could usually command. many arrangements also were necessary to be made in regard to the knight's introduction to the court; but at length it was agreed that the earl should account for his acquaintance with sir osborne by saying that their parents had been friends, and that, having been educated in the court of burgundy, the knight was then in england for the first time since his youth. "all this is true," said lord darby, "for my father was well known to yours, though, perhaps, they could hardly be called friends; but, however, there are not above two grains of lie to an ounce of truth, so it will poison no one." when all their plans were finally settled, lord darby took leave of the knight, and left him to make his preparations for the next morning. as soon as he had departed, sir osborne called for his horse, and, accompanied by longpole, of whom he had seen little since his arrival in london, set out for the house of the honest flemish merchant, william hans, from whom, as we have said, he expected sundry sums of money. as they proceeded, the worthy custrel, who, for the purpose of showing him the way, rode by his side (permitting him, nevertheless, to keep about a yard in advance), did not fail to take advantage of their proximity to regale the knight's ears with many a quaint remark upon the great bee-hive, as he called it, in which they were. "lord! lord!" said he, "to think of the swarm of honey-getting, or rather money-getting insects, that here toil from morn to night, but to pile up within their narrow cells that sweet trash which, after all, is none of theirs; for ever and anon comes my good lord king, the master of the hive, and smokes them for a subsidy. look at yon fat fellow, your worship! for god's sake, look at him! how proud he seems, waddling forward under the majesty of his belly! well, if a paunch like that be the damnation attached to an alderman's gown, heaven absolve me from city feasts, i say! and his lean follower; see! with the quill behind his ear, and inkhorn at his button, so meagre, as if he wished to mock his master's fatness. oh! 'tis the way, 'tis the way; the fat merchant seems to absorb all the lean clerk's portion. everything begets its like; fat gets fat, riches get riches, and even leanness grows more lean, as it were, by living upon itself. now to the left, your worship, up that paved court." the house of the merchant now stood before them, and sir osborne, dismounting from his horse, advanced to the door of what seemed to be a small dark counting-house, in which he found an old man, with many a book and many a slate before him, busily employed in adding to the multitude of little black marks with which the page under his eyes was cumbered. in answer to the knight's inquiry for master william hans, he replied that he was in the warehouse, where he might find him if he wished to see him. "stay, stay! i will show you the way," cried he, with ready politeness. "lord, sir! our warehouse is a wilderness, wherein a man might lose himself with blessed facility. thanks be to god therefor; for on may-day, three years last past, called 'evil may-day,' we should have lost our good master, when the prentices, and watermen, and pick-purses, and vagabonds, broke into all the aliens' houses, and injured many; but, happily, he hid himself under a pile of stockfish, which was in the far end of the little warehouse, to the left of the barrel-room, so that they found him not." while he pronounced this oration, the old clerk locked carefully the door of the counting-house, and led the knight into an immense vaulted chamber, wherein were piled on every side all kinds of things, of every sort and description that human ingenuity can apply to the supply of its necessities or the gratification of its appetites. on one side were displayed a thousand articles of foreign produce or manufacture brought thither for the english market, and on the other appeared the various productions of england, destined soon to be spread over half the world. the objects that met the eye were not more various than the smells that assailed the nose. here was the delicious odour of salted fish, there the delicate scent of whale oil; here dry skins spread their perfume around, and there a cask of fresh tallow wasted its sweetness on the warehouse air; while through the whole was perceived, as a general medium for all the rest, the agglomerated stink of a hundred unventilated years. making his way through all, sir osborne proceeded directly towards the spot where a small window in the roof poured its light upon a large barrel, the contents of which were undergoing inspection by the worthy fleming whom he sought. in flanders the knight had known the good burgess well, and had been sure to receive a visit from him whenever business had called his steps from his adopted to his native country. there might be both an eye to gratitude and an eye to interest in this proceeding of master william hans; for the knight had twice procured him a large commission for the army, and, what was still more in those days, had procured him payment. on perceiving his visitor in the present instance, the merchant caught up his black furred gown, which he had thrown off while busied in less dignified occupations, and having hastily insinuated his arms into the sleeves, advanced to meet the knight with a bow of profound respect. "welcome back to england, my lord!" cried he, in very good english, which could only be distinguished as proceeding from the mouth of a foreigner by a slight accent and a peculiar intonation. "coot now, my lord, i hope you have not given up your company in flanders. i have such a cargo of beans in the mouth of the scheldt, it would have suited the army very well indeet." "but, my good master hans," answered the knight, "the army itself is given up since the peace. when i left lisle, there were scarce three companies left." after a good deal more of such preliminary conversation, in the course of which the knight explained to the merchant the necessity of keeping his name and title secret for the present, they proceeded to the arrangement of those affairs which yet remained unconcluded between them. conducting the knight back to the counting-house, william hans turned over several of his great books, looking for the accounts. "here it is, i think," he cried, at length. "no! that is the lady de grey's." "lady constance de grey?" demanded sir osborne, in some surprise. "yes, yes!" answered the merchant. "i receive all the money for her mother's estates, who was a french lady. did for her father, too, till the coot old lord died. oh! it was hard work in the time of the war; but i got a paris jew to transmit the money to a flemish jew, who sent it over to me. they cot ten per cent. the thieves! for commission, but that very thing saved the estates; for they would have been forfeited by the old king louis, if the jew, who had given him money in his need, had not made such a noise about it, for fear of losing his ten per cent, that the king let it pass. ah! here is the account. first, we have not settled since i furnished the wine for the companie, when they had the fever. five hundred chioppines of wine, at a croat the chioppine, make just twenty-five marks: received thirty marks; five carried to your name. then for the ransom of the sire de beaujeu: you put him at a ransom of two thousand crowns, not knowing who he was, but he has sent you six thousand; because, he says, he would not be ransomed like an ã©cuyer. creat fool! why the devil, when he could get off for a little, pay a much?"[11] "no true knight but would do the same," replied sir osborne. "it was only by my permission that he got away at all: therefore he was bound in honour to pay the full ransom of a person of his condition." "well, then," said the fleming, "here comes the ransom of two esquires, gentlemen they call themselves, five hundred crowns each, making in the whole seven thousand crowns, or two thousand six hundred and twenty-five marks. then there is against you, freight and carriage of armour and goods, four marks; exchange and commission, three marks; porterage, a croat; warehouse-room, two croats: balance for you, two thousand six hundred and seventeen marks, five shillings, and two croats, which i am ready to pay you, as well as to deliver the two suits of harness and the packages." "the money, at present, i do not want," replied sir osborne; "but i will be glad if you would send the arms, and the rest of the packages, to the manor of the rose, in st. lawrence poultney." "to the coot duke of buckingham's? ah! that i will, that i will! but i hope you will stay and take your noon-meal with me; though i know you men of war do not like the company of us merchants. but i will say, i have never found you any way proud." "i would most willingly, master hans," answered the knight; "but i go to the court to-morrow for the first time, and i have no small preparation to make with tailors and broiderers." "oh! stay with me, stay with me, and i will fit you to your desire," answered the fleming. "there is a tailor lives hard by who will suit you well. i am not going to give you a man who can make nothing but a burgomaster's gown or a merchant's doublet. i know your coot companions would laugh, and say you had had a merchant's tailor; but this is a man who, if you like it, shall stuff out your breeches till you can't sit down, make all the seams by a plumb-line, tighten your girdle till you have no more waist than a wasp; and, moreover, he is tailor to the duke of suffolk." the knight found this recommendation quite sufficient; and agreeing to dine with the honest fleming, the tailor was sent for, who, with a great display of sartorial learning, devised several suits, in which sir osborne might appear at court, without being either so gaudy as the butterflies of the day, or so plain as to call particular attention. the only difficulty was to know whether the tailor could furnish a complete suit for the knight, and one for each of his four attendants, by the next morning; but after much calculation, and summing up of all the friendly tailors within his knowledge, he undertook to do it; and, what is wonderful for a tailor, kept his word. chapter xix. what strange adventure do ye now pursue? perhaps my succour or advisement meet mote stead ye much.--spenser. a barber surgeon one day, bleeding a farrier, bound up his arm with a piece of red tape, and pinned it. the farrier went the next day to shoe one of the king of the country's horses; as he was driving the nail, the pin pricked him, the nail went too near the quick, the horse's foot grew tender, the king went out to hunt, the horse threw him, the king was taken up dead, and was succeeded by his son, whom he intended to have disinherited the next day for his cruel disposition. the new king cut off his subjects' heads, made continual war upon all the states around, conquered a great many countries, gained a great many battles, robbed, murdered, and burned, and at last was assassinated himself, when human nature could bear him no longer; and at the end of his reign it was computed that a hundred millions of treasure, and twenty millions of human lives, had been wasted, by a barber pinning a piece of red tape, instead of tying it, like his grandfather. "the luckiest accident for you in the world has just happened!" cried lord darby, entering sir osborne maurice's apartment two full hours before the time he had appointed. "order your men to choose your best suit of harness, to pack it on a strong horse, to lead your own courser by the bridle, and to make all speed to the foot of the hill at greenwich, there to wait till they be sent for; and you come with me: my barge waits at the duke's stairs." "but what is the matter, my lord?" demanded sir osborne; "at least, tell me if my horse must be barded." "no, no; i think not," replied the earl; "at all events, we shall find bards,[12] if we want them. but be quick, we have not a moment to lose, though the tide be running down as quick as a tankard of bastard over the throat of a thirsty serving-man; i will tell you the whole as we go." "longpole," cried the knight to his follower, who, at the moment the earl entered, was in the room, putting the last adjustment to his master's garments; "longpole, quick! you hear what lord darby says. take the fluted suit----" "oh! the fluted, the fluted, by all means," interrupted the earl, "it shows noble and knightly. so shall we go along as in a roman triumph, with flutes before, and flutes behind. the fluted by all means, good longpole, and lose no time on the road: for every flagon you do not drink, you shall have two at greenwich. now, maurice, are you ready? by heaven! you make a gallant figure of it; your tailor deserves immortality. 'tis well! 'tis mighty well! but, to my taste, the cuts in your blue velvet had been better lined with a soft yellow than a white; the hue of a young primrose. the feather might have been the same, but 'tis all a taste: white does marvellous well; the silver girdle and scabbard too! but come; we waste our moments: let two of your men come with us." lord darby conducted his new friend to the barge, and as they proceeded towards greenwich with a quick tide, he informed him that some knights, sir henry poynings, sir thomas neville, and several others--having agreed to meet, for the purpose of trying some newly-invented arms, the king had been seized with a desire of going unknown to break a lance with them on blackheath, and had privately commanded the earl of devonshire to accompany him as his aid: but that very morning, at his house in westminster, the earl had slipped, and had so much injured his leg, that his surgeon forbade his riding for a month. "as soon as i heard it," continued lord darby, "i flew to his lodging, and prayed him to let me be his messenger to the king, to which petition he easily assented, provided i set off with all speed, for his grace expects him early. now, the moment that the king hears that the earl cannot ride, he chooses him another aid, and i so hope to manage, that the choice may fall upon you. if you break a lance to his mind, you shall be well beloved for the next week at least; and during that time you must manage to fix his favour. but first, let me give you some small portraiture of his mind, so that by knowing his humour, you may find means to find it." the character which lord darby gave of henry the eighth shall here be put in fewer words. he was then a very, very different being from the bloated despot which he afterwards appeared. all his life had hitherto been prosperity and gladness; no care, no sorrow, had called into action any of the latent evil of his character, and he showed himself to those around him as an affable and magnificent prince; proud without haughtiness, and luxurious without vice. endowed with great personal strength, blessed with robust health, and flourishing in the prime of his years, he loved with a degree of ostentation all those manly and chivalrous exercises which were then at their height in europe; and placed, as it were, between the age of chivalry and the age of learning, he in his own person combined many of the attributes of each. in temper and in manner he was hasty but frank, and had much of the generosity of youth unchilled by adversity. yet he was ever wilful and irritable, and in his history even at that time may be traced the yet unsated luxurist, and the incipient tyrant, beginning a career in splendour and pride that was sure to end in despotism and blood. it may well be supposed that the knight's heart beat quickly as the boat came in sight of the palace at greenwich. it had nothing, however, to do with that agitation which men often weakly feel on approaching earthly greatness. accustomed to a court, though a small one, if sir osborne had ever experienced those sensations, they had long left him; but he felt that on what was to follow from the present interview, perhaps on that interview itself, depended his father's fortune and his own; more: his own happiness for ever. lord darby's rowers had plied their oars to some purpose, and before ten o'clock the barge was alongside the king's stairs at greenwich. "come, sir osborne," cried the earl; "bearing a message which his grace will think one of great consequence, i shall abridge all ceremony, and find my way as quickly to his presence as i can." the two young men sprang to the shore, followed by their attendants, and passed the parade, which was quite empty, the king having taken care to disperse the principal part of his court in various directions, that his private expedition might pass unnoticed, feeling a sort of romantic interest in the concealment and mystery of his proceedings. the earl led the way across the vacant space to one of the doors of the palace, which opened into a sort of waiting hall, called the "hall of lost steps," where the two friends left their servants; and proceeding up a staircase that seemed well known to lord darby, they came into a magnificent saloon, wherein an idle page was gazing listlessly from one of the windows. "ha, master snell!" cried the earl; "may his grace be spoken with?" "on no account whatever, my noble lord," replied the page, "i am placed here expressly to prevent any one from approaching him: his grace is at his prayers." "go then, good master snell," said the earl, "and bid our royal master add one little prayer for the earl of devonshire, who has fallen in his house at westminster, and is badly hurt; and tell his grace that i bear an humble message from the earl, who dared not confide it to a common courier." "i go directly, my noble lord," said the page. "the king will find this bad news;" and making all haste, he left the room by a door on the other side of the apartment. "this is indeed a kingly chamber," said sir osborne, gazing around upon the rich arras mingled with cloth of gold which covered the walls. "how poor must the court of burgundy have seemed to the king, when he visited the princess regent at lisle. and yet, perhaps, he scarcely saw the difference." even while he spoke, the door by which the page had gone out was again thrown open, and a tall, handsome man entered the apartment, with haste and peevishness in his countenance. he was apparently about thirty years of age, broad-chested and powerfully made, muscular, but not fat, and withal there was an air of dignity and command in his figure that might well become a king. he seemed to have been disturbed half-dressed; for under the loose gown of black velvet which he wore was to be seen one leg clothed in steel, while the other remained free of any such cumbersome apparel. the rest of his person, as far as might be discovered by the opening of the gown, was habited in simple russet garments, guarded with gold, while on his head he wore a small-brimmed black bonnet and a jewelled plume. lord darby and sir osborne immediately doffed their hats as the king entered, the young knight not very well pleased to see the irritable spot that glowed on his brow. "how now, lord? how now?" cried henry, as they advanced. "what is this the page tells me? devonshire is hurt--is ill? what is it? what is it, man? speak!" "i am sorry to be the bearer of evil news to your grace," replied lord darby, with a profound inclination; "but this morning, as my lord of devonshire was preparing to set out to render his duty to your highness, his foot slipped, heaven knows how! and his surgeons fear he has dislocated one of the bones of the leg. he, therefore, being unwilling to trust an ordinary messenger, begged me humbly, in his name, to set forth his case before you, and to crave your gracious pardon for thus unintentionally failing in his service." "tut! he could not help it," cried henry. "the man broke not his bones and wrenched not his leg to do me a displeasure; and yet in this is fortune cross-grained; for where now shall i find an aid who may supply his place? but, how now! what is this? who have you with you? you are bold, young lord, to bring a stranger to my privy chamber! ha! how now! mother of god, you are too bold!" hope sickened in sir osborne's bosom, and bending his head, he fixed his eyes upon the ground, while lord darby replied, nothing abashed by the king's reproof-"pardon me, my liege; but trusting to the known quality of your royal clemency, which finds excuses for our faults, even when we ourselves can discover none, i made bold to bring to your grace's presence this famous knight, sir osborne maurice, who, being himself renowned in many courts in feats of arms, has conceived a great desire to witness the deeds of our most mighty sovereign, whose prowess and skill, whether at the tourney or in the just, at the barriers or with the battle-axe, is so noised over europe, that none who are themselves skilful can refrain from coveting a sight of his royal daring. allow me to present him to your grace." sir osborne advanced, and kneeling gracefully before the king, bent his head over the hand that henry extended towards him; while, pleased with his appearance and demeanour, the monarch addressed him with a smile: "think not we are churlish, sir knight, or that we do not welcome you freely to our court; but, by st. mary! such young gallants as these must be held in check, or they outrun their proper bounds. but judge not of our poor doings by darby's commendation: he has of a sudden grown eloquent." "on such a theme who might not be an orator?" said sir osborne, rising. "were i to doubt lord darby, i must think that fame herself is your grace's courtier, acting as your herald in every court, and challenging a world to equal you." "fie, fie! i must not hear you," cried the king. "darby, come hither: i would speak with you. come hither, i say!" sir osborne drew a step back, and the king, taking the young earl into the recess of a window, spoke to him for a moment in a low tone, but still sufficiently loud for a great part of what he said to be audible to the knight, especially towards the conclusion. "a powerful man," said the king; "and, if he be but as dexterous and valiant as he is strong, will prove a knight indeed. think you he would?" "most assuredly, my liege," replied the earl. "he is your grace's born subject; only, his father having fallen into some unhappy error in the reign of our last royal king, sir osborne has had his training at the court of burgundy, and received his knighthood from the sword of maximilian, the late emperor." "good, good!" said henry: "i remember hearing of his father; 'twas either simnel, or perkyn warbeck, or some such treasonous cause he espoused. but all that is past. sir knight," he continued, turning to sir osborne, "what if in my armoury we could find a harness that would fit you? are you minded to break a lance as consort with the king?--ha! this very morning--ay, this very hour? what say you?--ha!" "that i should hold an honour never to be forgot, my liege," replied the knight. "and for the arms, my own are here in greenwich. they might be brought in a moment." "quick, quick, then!" cried the king. "but we must be secret. stop, stop! you go, lord darby. send for the arms quick. is your horse here, sir knight? by st. mary, 'tis happy you came! darby, bid them take the knight's horse into the small court, and shut the gates. quick with his armour! bid them put no bards on the horses, and be secret. i'll go arm. you arm here, sir knight. snell! stand firm at that door; let no one pass but lord darby and the knight's armourer. be quick, sir knight! i charge you be quick: and, above all, let us be secret. remember, we will never raise our visors. these knights think of no such encounter, but fancy they have it all amongst themselves. they have kept their just mighty secret; but we will break their lances for them--ha!" the king now left sir osborne, who, delighted with the unexpected turn which his humour had taken, waited impatiently for lord darby's return, expecting every minute to see the other door open and henry re-appear before he had even received his armour. at length, however, lord darby came, and with him our friend longpole, who, as the page would only allow one person to enter with the earl, received that part of the armour which he did not carry himself from the attendant without, and then flew to assist his lord. sir osborne lost no time, and, expert by constant habit, he put on piece by piece with a rapidity that astonished the young earl, who, accustomed alone to the tilt-yard, was unacquainted with the facility acquired by the unceasing exercises of the camp. at length, while longpole was buckling the last strap, the king re-entered alone, completely armed, and with his beaver down. "what! ready, sir knight?" cried he; "nay, 'faith, you have been expeditious." "lord bless you, sir!" cried longpole, never dreaming that he spoke to the king, "my master puts on his arms as king hal took terouenne." "how now!" cried sir osborne, afraid of what might coms next; but the king held up his hand to him to let the man speak. "how is that, good fellow?" demanded he. "why, he just puts his hand on it, and it is done," replied longpole. "thou art a merry knave," said henry, better pleased perhaps with the unquestionable compliment of the yeoman than he would have been with the more refined and studied praise of many an eloquent oration. "thou art a merry knave. say, canst thou blow a trumpet?" "ay, that i can, to your worship's contentment," replied longpole, who began to see by the looks of lord darby and his master that something was wrong. "i hope i have not offended." "no, no," answered henry, "not in the least. snell, fetch him a trumpet with a blanche banner. now, fellow, take the trumpet that the page will bring you, and, getting on your horse, follow us. when you shall come to a place where you see lists up, blow me a defiance. hast thou never a vizard to put thy muzzle in? darby, in that chamber you will find him a masking vizard, so that we may not be recognised by his face hereafter." longpole was soon furnished with one of the half masks of the day, the long beard of which, intended to conceal the mouth and chin, as it had been worn by the king himself, was composed of threads of pure gold, so that the yeoman bore an ample recompense upon his face for the duty the king put him on. he would fain have had his remark upon the vizard; but beginning to entertain a suspicion of how the matter really stood, he wisely forebore, and followed his master and lord darby, who, preceded by the king, passed down a narrow back-staircase into the smaller court, wherein stood the horses prepared for their expedition. all now passed in almost profound silence. the king and his aid mounted, and, followed by longpole with his trumpet, issued forth through two gates into the park, where, taking the wildest and most unfrequented paths, they made a large circuit, in order that their approach might seem from any other quarter than the palace. after gaining the forest on shooter's hill, the king led the way through one of the roads in the wood, to what we may call the back of blackheath, on the very verge of which they might behold a group of gentlemen on horseback, with a crowd of lookers-on afoot, disposed in such sort as to show that their exercises were begun. the spot which they had chosen was a very convenient one for their purpose: shaded on the south by a grove of high elms, whose very situation has not been traceable for more than two centuries, but which then afforded a width of shade sufficient for several coursers to wheel and charge therein, without the eyes of the riders being dazzled by the morning sunshine. at the foot of these trees extended an ample green, soft, smooth, and even, round which the tilters had pitched the staves and drawn the ropes, marking the limits of the field; and at the northern end was erected a little tent for them to arm in before, and rest after, the course. the four knights themselves, who had met to try their arms, together with several grooms, an armourer, a mule to bear the spears, and two horses for the armour, with their several drivers, formed the group within the lists, which, in the wide-extended plain whereon they stood, looked but a spot, and would have seemed still less had it not been for the crowd of idlers that hung about the ground, and the four knightly pennons, which, disposed in a line, with a few yards' distance between them, caught the eye as it wandered over the heath, and attracted it to the spot by their flutter and their gaudy hues. the king paused for a moment to observe them, and then beckoning longpole to come up, "now, ride on, trumpet!" cried he; "blow a challenge, and then say that two strange knights claim to break two lances each, and pass away unquestioned."[13] at this command longpole rode forward, and while henry and his master followed more slowly, blew a defiance on his trumpet at the entrance of the lists, and then in a loud voice pronounced the message with which the king had charged him. as he finished, henry and sir osborne presented themselves; and sir thomas neville, the chief of the other party, after some consultation with his companions, rode up and replied: "though we are here as a private meeting, for our own amusement only, yet we will not refuse to do the pleasure of the stranger knights; and as there are four of us, we will each break a spear with one of the counter-party, which will make the two lances a-piece that they require. suffer the knights to enter," he continued to the keeper of the barrier; and henry, with the young knight, taking the end of the ground in silence, waited till their lances should be delivered to them. whether the tilters suspected or not who was the principal intruder on their sport matters not, though it is indeed more than probable that they did; for it was well known to everybody, that if henry heard of any rendezvous of the kind, he was almost certain to be present, either privately or avowedly; and indeed on one occasion, recorded by hall, the chronicler of that day, this romantic spirit had almost cost him dear, the sport being carried on so unceremoniously as nearly to slay the gentleman by whom he was accompanied, and to bring his own life into danger. on the present occasion no words passed between the two parties, and after a few minutes' conversation amongst the original holders of the ground as to who should first furnish the course to the strangers, sir thomas neville presented himself opposite to the king, and sir henry poynings, one of the best knights of the day, prepared to run against sir osborne. "now do your best, my knight," said the king to his aid; "you have got a noble opponent." the spears were delivered, the knights couched their lances, and galloping on against each other like lightning, the tough ash staves were shivered in a moment against their adversaries' casques. "valiantly done!" said henry to sir osborne, as they returned to their place; "valiantly done! you struck right in the groove of the basnet, and wavered not an inch. who are these two, i wonder? they have their beavers down." while he spoke the spears were again delivered; and upon what impulse, or from what peculiar feeling, would be difficult to say, but sir osborne felt a strong inclination to unhorse his opponent; and couching his lance with dexterous care, as far as possible to prevent its splintering, he struck him in full course upon the gorget, just above its junction with the corslet, and bore him violently backwards to the ground, where he lay apparently deprived of sense. by this time the king had shivered his lance, and some of the attendants ran up to unlace the fallen man's helmet, when, to his surprise, sir osborne beheld the countenance of sir payan wileton. he appeared to be much hurt by his fall; but that was a thing of such common occurrence in those days, that no further notice was ever taken of an accident of the kind than by giving the injured person all the assistance that could be administered at the time. however, it may well be supposed that sir osborne maurice felt no ordinary interest in the sight before him. by an extraordinary coincidence, overthrown by his hand, though without intention, and apparently nearly killed, lay the persevering enemy who had swallowed up the fortunes of his house, and had sought so unceasingly to sweep it for ever from the face of the earth; and while he lay there, prostrate at his feet, with the ashy hue of his cheek paler than ever, and his dark eye closed as if in death, sir osborne still thought he could see the same determined malignity of aspect with which he had declared that he would found his title to the lordship of chilham castle on the death of its heir. still holding the lance in his hand, the knight bent over the bow of his saddle, and through the bars of his volant-piece contemplated the face of his fallen adversary, till he began to unclose his eyes and look around him; when sir thomas neville, thinking that the stranger was animated merely by feelings of humanity, turned to him, saying that sir payan had only been a little stunned, and would do very well now. "gentlemen," continued he, addressing the king and sir osborne, "we must, according to promise, let you pass away unquestioned; but i will say, that two more valiant and skilful knights never graced a field, nor is it possible to say which outdoes the other; but ye are worthy companions and true knights both, and so fare ye well." the king did not reply, lest he should be recognised by his voice; but bending low, in token of his thanks, rode out of the lists, accompanied by sir osborne and followed by longpole. "now, by my fay, sir knight!" cried henry, when they had once more reached the cover of the wood, "you have far exceeded my expectations; and i thank you heartily--good faith, i do!--for your aid. but i must have you stay with me. our poor court will be much graced by the addition of such a knight. what say you? ha!" "to serve your grace," replied sir osborne, "is my first wish; to merit your praise my highest ambition. it is but little to say that you may command me when you command all; but if my zeal to obey those commands may be counted for merit, i will deserve some applause." "wisely spoken," answered the king; "we retain you for ours from this moment; and that you may be ever near our person, we shall bid our chamberlain find your apartments in the palace. how say you, sir knight? are you therewith contented?" "your grace's bounty outstrips even the swift wings of hope," replied sir osborne; "but i will try to fly gratitude against it; and though, perhaps, she may not be able to overtop, she shall, at least, soar an equal pitch." the knight's allusion to the royal sport of falconry was well adapted to the ears that heard it. every one must have remarked, that whatever impressions are intended to be produced on the mind of man are always best received when addressed to his heart through its most common associations. whether we wish to explain, to convince, to touch, or to engage, we must refer to something that is habitual and pleasing; and, therefore, the use of figures in eloquence is not so much to enrich and to deck, as to find admission to the soul of the hearer, by all the paths which its own habits have rendered most easy of access. thus, sir osborne, without knowing it, drew his metaphor from a sport in which the king delighted; and, more convinced of his zeal by these few words than if the young knight had spoken for an hour, the king replied, "i doubt ye not; 'faith, i doubt ye not. but this night we give a mummery unto our lady queen, when i will bring you to her knowledge: 'tis a lady full of graciousness, and though 'tis i who say it, one that will love well all that i love. but now let us haste, for the day wears; and as you shall be my masking peer, we must think of some quaint disguise: darby shall be another; and being all light of foot, we will tread a measure with the fair ladies. you are a proper man, and may, perchance, steal some hearts, wherein you shall have our favour, if 'tis for your good advancement. but turn we down this other path; in that i see some strangers. quick! mary mother! i would not be discovered for another kingdom!" chapter xx. not rain she finds the charmful task, in pageant quaint, in motley mask.--collins. during this expedition of henry and sir osborne, lord darby had acted with more prudence than might have been expected from one so light and volatile as himself. but, with all the levity of youth, he had a great fund of shrewdness and good sense, which enabled him keenly to perceive all the weaknesses of the king's character, and adapt his own behaviour exactly to the circumstance, whenever he was brought particularly in contact with the monarch. in the present instance, seeing that the spirit of mystery had seized upon henry, he consented to forego all more active amusement; so that, when the king and his young companion returned, they found the earl seated in the saloon wherein sir osborne had been armed, never having quitted it during their absence. henry was in high spirits. all had gone well with him: his expedition had been both successful and secret, and he was not a little pleased to find that the earl had not joined any of the gay parties of the court while he had been away. "ha, my lord!" cried he, as he entered; "still here! you have done well; you have done well. 'tis a treasure you have brought me, this good knight. snell, unlace my casque; i must thank you for him as a gift, for he is now mine own. he outdoes all expectation; nay, say not against it, sir osborne; i should be able to judge of these matters: i have broken spears enow, and i pronounce you equal to any knight at this court. call some one to undo these trappings. but, darby, you must not quit the court to-night. dine here; 'tis time, i'faith; near one o' the clock! and take sir osborne maurice with you. make him known to the best of the court: say the king holds him highly. but stay," he added, "i had forgot;" and sending for the sub-controller of the household, he gave commands that the young knight should be furnished with apartments in the palace from that moment, and receive the appointment of a gentleman of the privy chamber. "the number is complete," he continued, turning to sir osborne; "but, nevertheless, you shall be rated as such, and yourself and men provided in the palace. see it be done, sir john harvey. darby, return hither privately with your friend, at nine to-night. we have a masque and revel afoot; but take no heed to send to london for disguise; we will be your furnishers." "i hope, sir," said the sub-controller, as the knight and his friend followed him from the presence, "you are aware that only three servants are allowed to a gentleman of the privy chamber." "three will be as much as i shall have occasion for," answered the knight; "the other shall remain in london." "if you will follow me, then," said the officer, "i will show you to the apartment. ho! send me a yeoman usher there," he continued, speaking to a servant who passed. "this way, sir, we shall find the rooms." "what!" cried lord darby, after they had ascended a good many steps in one of the wings of the building; "are you going to put my friend in a third story? think, sir john harvey, may not the king find it strange when he hears that a knight he honours with his regard has been so lodged?" "i can assure you, my lord," answered the controller, "they are absolutely the only ones in the palace vacant which are at all equal to the knight's quality; and in truth, were it not for the height, are among the best in the place. they are large and spacious; exactly the same size as those which were appointed yesterday, by the queen's command, for lady constance de grey, and which are immediately underneath." "i was going to offer sir osborne the use of mine," said lord darby, with a laughing glance towards the knight, "till you could find him better; but if they are so very good as you say, maybe he will prefer having his own at once. ha! sir osborne?" the controller looked solemn, seeing there was some joke, and not understanding it; but, however, he was joined in a moment after by a yeoman usher, bearing a bunch of keys, from which he selected one, and opened the door at which they had been standing while the earl spoke. a little ante-chamber conducted into three others beyond, all very well furnished according to the fashion of the day, with a beautiful view of the wild park from the windows of some of the rooms, and of the river from the others; on which advantage the worthy sub-controller descanted with much the tone and manner of a lodging-house keeper at a watering-place; little knowing that one word regarding the proximity of constance de grey would have been a higher recommendation to the young knight than all the prospects in the world, though he loved the beautiful and varied face of earth as much as any one. "go to the wardrobe of beds, usher," said the officer, when he had promenaded the knight and lord darby through the apartment; "go to the wardrobe of beds, and tell the undermaster to come hither and garnish this apartment with all speed. as i do not know the honourable knight's face," continued he, "it is probable that he is new to this court, and is not aware of the regulations, which, therefore, i will make bold to tell him. dinner and supper are served at the board of estate, every day, at noon and at nightfall. no rere-suppers are given, nunchions, beverages, or breakfast; but to each gentleman of the privy-chamber his grace commands a livery every night." "a livery!" said sir osborne; "pray, sir john, what is that?" "its value, sir," said the controller, "depends upon the station of the person to whom it is given. i have known it cost as much as ten pounds; such was sent every night to the gentlemen who came to seek the princess mary for the french king; but the livery given by his grace the king to the gentlemen of the privy-chamber, and others bearing the same rank, is a cast of fine manchet bread, two pots of white or red wine at choice, one pound weight of sugar, four white lights, and four yellow lights of wax, and one large staff torch, which is delivered every evening at seven of the clock." without proceeding further with such discourse, we shall merely say that the arrangement of sir osborne's apartment was soon completed, himself unarmed, his servants furnished with what modern lacqueys would call dog-holes, and with truckle-beds; and having, by intercession with a gentleman wearing black velvet and a gold chain, and calling himself the chief cook, obtained some dinner, for the board of estate had long been cleared, lord darby and sir osborne sauntered forth on the parade, where the young gallants of the court were beginning to show themselves; some taking, as it were, a furtive walk across, afraid to be seen there before the moment of fashion sanctioned their appearance, and some, who, from either ignorance or boldness, heeded no mode but their own convenience. fashions are nine times out of ten affectations; affectations in those who lead and in those who follow; and as it is now, so was it in the days of henry the eighth. the presence of lord darby, however, who gradually gathered round him a little multitude as he walked, soon rendered the parade more populous. sir osborne was introduced to all who were worthy of his acquaintance; and the same persons who three days before might hardly have given him a courteous answer, if he had asked them a question, were now mortified at not being numbered with his acquaintance. the knight himself, however, was absent and inattentive, his eye continually seeking lady constance de grey through the crowd, and his mind sometimes occupied with pleasing dreams of love, and hope, and happiness to come, and sometimes pondering over his unexpected encounter with sir payan wileton, and its probable results. so strange is the world, that this very abstractness of manner and carelessness in regard to those about him had its grace in the eyes of the court. they seemed to think that he who cared so little about anybody, must be somebody of consequence himself; and when, after a prolonged saunter, the two friends re-entered the palace, sir osborne's name had acquired a degree of _ã©clã¢t_ which the most attentive politeness would scarcely have obtained. still no constance de grey had he seen, and he sat down in the apartments of lord darby, not peculiarly satisfied with their walk. the young earl himself had also suffered a similar disappointment, for in the midst of all the _nonchalant_ gaiety which he had displayed to the crowd, his eye had not failed to scan every group of ladies that they met for the form of lady katrine bulmer, and he felt a good deal mortified at not having seen her. but very different was the manner in which his feelings acted, from the deeper and more ardent love of darnley. he laughed, he sung, he jested his companion upon his gravity, and in the end consoled him, by assuring him that they should meet with both their lady-loves that night at the queen's, so that if he were not in a very expiring state, he might hope to live to see her once more. the hours quickly flew, and a little before nine the knight and his companion presented themselves at the door of the king's private apartments, where they were admitted by a page. when they entered henry was reading, and pursued the object of his study without taking any notice of their approach by word or sign. nothing remained to be done but to stand profoundly still before him, waiting his good pleasure, which remained full a quarter of an hour unmanifested. "well, gentlemen both," cried the king at last, starting up and laying down the book; "i have kept ye long--ha? but now, to make amends, i will lead ye to the fair ladies. oh, the disguises! the disguises! bring the disguises, minton; the three i chose but now. you, darby, shall be a muscovian; you, maurice, a polacco; and i an almaine. say, darby, did you see my good lord cardinal this morning ere you came? holds he his mind of going to york, as he stated yesterday?" "i did not see the very reverend lord this morning," replied lord darby, who was wolsey's ward, as well as the chief lord of his household. "but his master of the horse informed me that he still proposed going at ten this morning. your grace knows that he never delays when business calls him; and in the present case he thinks that his presence may quell the murmurers of yorkshire, as well as lord howard has put down the rochester fools." "ah, 'twas a shrewd business that of rochester," said the king. "now would i give a thousand marks to know who 'twas that set that stone a-rolling. be you sure, darby, that the brute shipwrights would ne'er have dreamed such a thing themselves. they were set on! they were set on, man! ha, the disguises! quick! come into this closet, and we will robe us. 'tis late, and our lady has promised to give, as well as to receive, a mask." so saying, henry led the way to a cabinet at the side of the saloon in which they were; and here the two young lords offered to assist in dressing him, but of this he would not permit, bidding them haste with their own robes, or he would be ready first. the disguise assigned to sir osborne was a splendid suit of gold brocade trimmed with fur, intended to represent the dress of a pole; having a sort of pelisse with sleeves of rich gold damask and sables thrown over the back, and held by a baldrick, crossing from the right shoulder under the left arm. his head was covered with a square bonnet of cloth of gold, like his dress, with an edge of fur; and his face concealed by a satin mask with a beard of golden threads. the dress of lord darby was not very dissimilar, with only this difference, that in place of the pelisse, he was furnished with a robe with short sleeves, and wore on his head a sort of turban, or toque, with a high feather. in a very different style was the king's disguise, being simply a splendid german dress of cloth of gold, trimmed with crimson velvet, but certainly not so unlike his usual garments as to afford any great degree of concealment. all being masked and prepared, henry sent the page to see if the torchbearers were ready, and issuing out of the palace the three maskers, preceded by half-a-dozen attendants, crossed the greater quadrangle, passed out at the gate, and making a circuit round the building, came immediately under the windows of the queen's great hall, from each of which a broad blaze of light flashed forth upon the night, and cast a line of twinkling splendour across the river, that otherwise flowed on, dark and indistinct, under a clouded and moonless sky. "sir osborne," said henry, in a low voice, as they entered the open doors, and turned into a suite of apartments anterior to the room where the queen held her assembly--"sir osborne, your voice being unknown, you shall be our orator, and in your fine wit seek a fair compliment for our introduction." had his face been uncovered, perhaps the young knight might have sought to excuse himself; but there is wonderful assurance in a mask; and feeling a boldness in his disguise, which perhaps the eye of constance de grey might have robbed him of, had he not been concealed from its glance, he at once undertook the task, saying that he would do his best. as he spoke, a couple of hautboys, by which henry was preceded, paused at the entrance of the great hall, and placing themselves on each side, began a light duet, to announce that some masks were coming. the doors were thrown open, and a splendid scene burst on the view of sir osborne, full of bright and glittering figures, fleeting about in the blaze of innumerable lights, like the gay phastasms of a brilliant dream. the knight instinctively paused, but henry urged him on. "quick! quick!" whispered he; "to the lady, to the lady; you forget your task." sir osborne instantly recollected himself, and seeing a lady, who, standing unmasked at the farther end of the hall, bore about her that air of royalty, and that majestic beauty, scarcely touched by time, for which the noble catherine was famous, he advanced directly towards her, and bent one knee to the ground. nature had given him somewhat of a poet's inspiration, which came now happily to his aid, and if his verses were not very good, they were at least ready. "lady of beauty, queen of grace, strangers three have come to thee, to gaze on thine unclouded face, where so many maskers be. oh! never shade that brow so high with the mummers' painted wile. sure you keep that lip and eye, welcome on your slaves to smile." "i thank you, fair sir; i thank you," replied the queen, with a pleased and gracious smile: "be most welcome, you and your company. i should know you, and yet i do not. but will you not dance? choose your fair ladies; and, chamberlain, bid the music sound." sir osborne passed on, and the king and lord darby followed. "excellent well, my knight! excellent well!" whispered henry. "now show your wit in choice of a fair dame. i'faith, one must be keen in these same masks to tell the foul from the fair. however, let us disperse and find the jewels, though they be hid in such strange rinds." at the word the three maskers took different paths amongst the various figures with which the hall was now nearly filled; lord darby and the knight, each in search of the object of his love; while henry, as yet unrecognised, glided through the apartment, it might be in quest of some fair one also. for some time sir osborne sought in vain, bewildered amongst the crowd of quaint disguises with which he was surrounded. now he thought he beheld the form of lady constance here, and after following it for a moment was called away by the sight of one that resembled her more. that again he gave up, convinced by some turn or some gesture that it was some other. another presented itself, which perhaps he might have mistaken, but the gay flutter of her manner at once showed that it was not the person he sought. he saw that already lord darby had found his partner; the tuning of the musical instruments was over, and mentally cursing his own stupidity, or his own ill-fortune, he was proceeding once more towards the part of the room where stood the queen, with his heart beating between eagerness and vexation, when he beheld a lady, dressed in silver brocade, with a plain satin mask, glide into the hall, and passing by several who spoke to her, approach that spot, as if to take a seat which stood near. sir osborne darted forward. he felt that it was her; and, eager to prevent any one intercepting him, almost startled her with the suddenness of his address. "fair mask," said the knight, in a voice that trembled with delight and hope, "will you tread a measure with a stranger, for courtesy's sake?" "i should know your voice," said the lady, in a low tone; "but i can scarce believe i see you here. but one word, to tell me who you are?" "my motto," replied the knight, "is _constanc-y_; my crest, a lady's glove." the lady instantly put her hand into his. "darnley!" said she, in a voice so low as to be inaudible to any one but himself, who, bending his head over her, trembled to catch every accent. "ah! constance," he replied, in the same subdued tone, "what is it i have dared to say to you? what is it i have dared to hope? friendless and fortuneless as i am, can you ever pardon my boldness?" "hush!" she said, "for pity's sake speak not in that way. now i know you love me, that is enough. friendless you are not, and fortuneless you cannot he, when all that is constance's is yours. but see! they are going to dance; afterwards we will speak more. do not think me bold, darnley, or too easily won; but were i to affect that reserve which still perhaps might be right, we are so circumstanced that we might be ruined before we understood each other." the knight poured forth a thousand thanks, and strove to explain to lady constance how deeply grateful he felt for that generous candour which is ever the companion of the truest modesty; and, the music now beginning, he led her through the dance with calm and graceful ease. as soon as the measure was ended, the queen's chamberlain pronounced, with a loud voice, that in the other halls the knights and ladies who had danced would find cool air and shady bowers; and, gladly taking advantage of this information, sir osborne led his partner into the chamber beyond, which by the queen's device had been divided into a thousand little arbours, where artificial trees and shrubs, mingled with real ones, and often ornamented with gilt fruit or flowers, formed a sort of enchanted garden, for the dancers to repose themselves; not very exquisite in its taste, indeed, but very much to the taste of the day. singling out the farthest of all the arbours, and the one which permitted its occupants most easily to observe the approach of any other party, darnley led lady constance to one of the seats which it contained, and placing himself by her side, paused for a moment in silence, to enjoy the new delights that came thrilling upon his heart. "oh, constance!" said he at length, looking up to the sweet hazel eyes that gazed upon him through the meaningless mask; "never, never did i think to know such happiness on earth! could i have dreamed of this when i left you for flanders?" "i do not know," replied constance; "i have done nothing but think ever since--ever since you took my glove; and i have fancied that my dear father foresaw this, and wished it, as you tell me he was aware who you were; for never, even at that age, was i permitted to know, and converse with, and see intimately, any young cavalier but yourself. and then, do not you remember, when you used to teach me to shoot with the bow, how he would stand by and praise your shooting? oh! i can call to mind a thousand things to make me think so." "could i but believe it," said darnley, "i should be even happier than i am. but still, dear constance, i hope, i trust, that in the end i may be enabled to seek your hand, not as an outcast wanderer. your good cousin, lord darby, has brought me to the knowledge of the king, whose favour i have been happy enough to gain. he has retained me as one of the gentlemen of his privy chamber, appointed me apartments in the palace, which are just above your own; and i hope so far to win his regard by this opportunity, that he may be induced to hear my cause against the villain who has seized our inheritance, and do justice to us at last. and then, constance, with rank, and fortune, and favour, all restored, darnley may hope." "and what if not restored, darnley?" said lady constance. "do you think that rank, or fortune, or favour, will make any difference in the regard of constance de grey? no, darnley: if--but i won't say _if_---you love me, the cardinal may do what he will, but i will never wed another. he may find means, as they hint, to forfeit my english lands, yet he cannot take my french ones; and even if he did, i would rather be beggar and free than married to a man i do not love. not that i do not love darby as my cousin; he is kind, and generous, and frank; but oh!! it is very, very different. but you say that he introduced you to the king; i did not know you were even acquainted." "it is a long story, dear constance," replied the knight; "i will give it you some other time; but now tell me, while we are yet uninterrupted, how may i see you? to watch for you, even to catch a word during the day, certainly were delight; but still 'tis hard, situated as we are, not to be able to communicate together more freely. may not i come to see you?" "certainly," replied lady constance; "but you know that i can hardly have any private conversation with you even when you do; for good dr. wilbraham is with me the greater part of the morning, and one of my women always." she paused for a moment in thought, and, raising her eyes to his, "darnley," she said, "i never could love a man in whose honour i could not entirely confide; therefore i do not think it shows me either weak or wrong when i say that i will be entirely guided by you. we are not situated as people in general, and therefore we cannot act as people in general do. tell me, then, what you think right, and i will do it. but here are two of the maskers coming directly towards us. say what must i do?" "it is necessary, constance," said the knight quickly, "absolutely necessary, that i should sometimes be allowed half-an-hour's conversation alone, especially at the present moment. i will come to-morrow early, very early, if it can be then. may i?" "yes," said lady constance, "i will see. but who are these? they are coming to us." "it is lord darby," said the knight, "and, if i mistake not, lady katrine bulmer." "dear polacco!" cried lord darby, approaching with a lady, who, to use an old writer's description, was wondrous gay in her apparel, with a marvellous strange and rich tire on her head: "dear polacco, i am but now aware of how much i have to thank you for. what! you were near tilting at the rochester host, and broaching me half-a-dozen plank-shavers on your spear in defence of a fair lady, and also took my part even before you knew me? now, will i guess who is this silver fair one by your side? she's blushing through her mask as if i were going to pronounce her name with the voice of a trumpet. well, sweet cousin! will you own that you have a wild and rattle-pated relation in the good town of westminster? and if so, though you cannot love him, will you love a very loveable creature for his sake?" "hush, mad-cap! let me speak!" said the voice of lady katrine bulmer. "lady," she continued, placing herself by the side of lady constance, "will you hate one that would fain love you very much, and have your love again?" "heaven forbid!" replied lady constance. "'tis so sweet to be loved ourselves, that feeling it, we can scarce refuse it again to those that love us: with a reservation, though," she added. "granted the reservation, that there is still a one must be loved best," said lady katrine; "we all four know it," and she glanced her merry eyes round the circle. "oh, what a happy thing is a mask! here one may confess one's love, or laugh at one's friends, or abuse one's relations, without a blush; and surely, if they were worn always, they would save a world of false smiles and a world of false tears. oh, strange economy! what an ocean of grimaces might be spared if man were but to wear a pasteboard face!" "i am afraid that he does so more than you think, lady," replied sir osborne. "you will own that his countenance is hollow, and that its smiles are painted: in short, that it is all a picture, though a moving one." "listen to him!" cried lady katrine, raising her look to lord darby; "think of his having the impudence to moralise in the presence of two women! would you have believed it?" "nay, fair lady! it was you who led the way," replied sir osborne. "but what means that trumpet in these peaceful halls?" "'tis either a sound to supper," replied lord darby, "or the entrance of one of those pageants of which our gracious king is so fond. at all events, let us go and see." thus speaking, he led away lady katrine gaily to the door, towards which all the other parties from the enchanted garden were now proceeding. sir osborne and lady constance followed more slowly. "darnley," said the fair girl, as she leaned on his arm, "i know not what sort of presentiment led me hither to-night, for i have been so vexed and so distressed with much that has happened since my arrival in london, that i can hardly call myself well. i am now much fatigued, and if i can escape, i will hie me to my bed. when you come to-morrow, you shall answer me a thousand questions that i have to ask. oh! i see i can pass round by that other door. farewell for this night!" "oh, that i dared hope it had been a happy one to you, as it has been to me!" said the knight, still holding her hand with a fond and lingering pressure. "it has, darnley; it has!" replied lady constance; "it has been one that i shall never forget. farewell!" and turning away, she passed out of the door at the side, which led to the apartments in that wing of the building: not, however, without one look more into the room where her lover stood gazing still, to catch the last glance of that graceful figure ere it left his sight. when she was gone, the young knight, with a high-beating heart, turned to the door of the great hall, and entered with some of the last lingerers, who were now changing their slowness into speed, in order to get a place before the pageant entered. the thoughts of sir osborne, however, were employed on so much more engrossing subjects, that he took no pains to hasten his steps till he was fairly within the chamber, when, seeing the whole of the guests arranged on the farther side of the hall, with the queen in the centre, under her canopy or cloth of estate, he felt the impropriety of standing there alone, and hastened to seek a place. at that moment he observed henry, who, still disguised, was seated amongst the rest, and who made him a sign to take a place beside him. notwithstanding his mask, however, it was very evident that the king was known; for, on his sign to sir osborne, all around made way for the young knight to approach the monarch. scarcely had he taken his seat when, through the great doors of the hall, a huge machine was rolled in, before which extended a double cloth of arras, so arranged as to hide every part of the gewgaw within, only leaving a twinkling light here and there, seen through the crevices, like the lamps that, through the cracks of the last scene in a pantomime, announce the brilliant change that is soon to take place to the temple of love or venus, or some other such sweet power, that deals in pasteboard and spangles. but such a thing can never be so well described as in the words of those who saw it, and whose old stiff style harmonises admirably well with the quaint and graceless show that they detail. we shall therefore only so far modify the account which hall, the chronicler, gives of this very pageant, as to render him generally intelligible. "then," says he, "there was a device or pageant brought in, out of which pageant issued a gentleman richly apparelled, that showed how, in a garden of pleasure, there was an arbour of gold, wherein were lords and ladies, much desirous to show pleasure and pastime to the queen and ladies, if they might be licensed so to do; who was answered by the queen, how sire and all other there were very desirous to see them and their pastime, when a great cloth of arras, that did hang before the same pageant, was taken away, and the pageant brought more near. it was curiously made and pleasant to behold; it was solemn and rich, for every post or pillar thereof was covered with frieze gold. therein were trees of hawthorn, eglantines, roses, vines, and other pleasant flowers of divers colours, with gillofers and other herbs, all made of satin, damask, silk, silver and gold, accordingly as the natural trees, herbs, or flowers ought to be. in which arbour were six ladies, all apparelled in white satin and green, set and embroidered full of h. and k. of gold, knit together with laces of gold of damask, and all their garments were replenished with glittering spangles gilt over; and on their heads were bonnets all opened at the four quarters, overfriezed with flat gold of damask. in this garden also were six lords, apparelled in garments of purple satin, all of cuts with h. and k. every edge garnished with friezed gold, and every garment full of posies, made in letters of fine gold in bullion, as thick as might be; and every person had his name in like letters of massy gold. the first, _c[oe]ur loyal_; the second, _bonne volure_; the third, _bon espoir_; the fourth, _valiant dã©sire_; the fifth, _bonne foi_; the sixth, _amour loyal_. their hose, caps, and coats, were full of posies and h. k.'s of fine gold in bullion, so the ground could scarce appear, and yet in every void place were spangles of gold. when time was come, the said pageant was brought forward into presence, and then descended a lord and lady by couples, and then the minstrels, which were disguised, also danced, and the lords and ladies danced, that it was a pleasure to behold." such is old hall's description of the pageant which now entered: and it may easily be imagined that sir osborne, accustomed to a less luxurious court, was somewhat astonished at the splendour of the scene, if he was not much gratified by the good taste of the device. when the eye of henry, pampered with such gaudy food from day to day, had taken in enough of the pageant, he rose from his seat, and waving his hand for the musicians to cease, "thanks, gentle lords and ladies; thanks!" he cried; and taking off his own mask, added, "let us ease our faces of their vizards." as he spoke, every one rose and unmasked; and henry, taking sir osborne by the hand, led him forward to the queen, while all eyes naturally fixed upon him. "fair lady mine," said the king, "i bring you a good knight, sir osborne maurice, who, as you see, has wit at will, and who, i can vouch, is as keen a champion in the saddle as he is a graceful dancer in the hall. in short, he is a very gentle perfect knight, whom you must cherish and receive for my love." while sir osborne knelt and kissed the hand that she extended to him, katherine replied, "indeed, my lord, you have brought me one that i have longed to see. this is the good knight who, on his journey towards london, took charge of my giddy girl and namesake, katrine bulmer, and defended her from the rochester rioters. come hither, kate, and in our presence thank the knight for all the trouble i am sure he had with thee upon the road." "nay, your grace," said lady katrine, advancing, "i have thanked him once already, and men are all too saucy and conceited to thank them twice." "'tis thou art saucy, my fair mistress," said the king, laughing; and then bending down his head to the queen, who was still seated, he whispered something to her which made her smile and raise her eyes to the knight and lady katrine. "a handsome pair, indeed!" said she, in reply to what the king had whispered. "but the banquet is ready." "lords and ladies," said henry, raising his voice, "our royal mistress will not let us part without our supper. all, then, come in pairs, for in the white hall is prepared a banquet. sir osborne, lead in lady katrine there; you shall be coupled for an hour at least." sir osborne glanced his eye to lord darby; but the earl was perfectly master of his countenance, and looking as indifferent as if nothing had happened, led in some other lady, while the knight endeavoured to entertain lady katrine as well as he might, labouring under the comfortable assurance that she would very much have preferred another by her side. chapter xxi. would i a house for happiness erect, nature alone should be the architect.--cowley. light hath no tongue, but is all eye; if it could speak as well as spy, this were the worst that it could say, that being well i fain would stay.--donne. we must now pass over a brief space of time with but little commemoration. it was a bright and beautiful morning in the beginning of the month of may, when the sky was of that soft, tender blue which it possesses in the early year, ere the ardent rays of summer have dyed it with a deeper tint; and yet there was nothing of that misty faintness of hue which foretels that the blue eye of heaven may be filled with tears before nightfall. it was clear, though it was soft; and the light white clouds that, winged by the breeze, sped quickly over the wide expanse, gave to the earth no trace of their passing, except the fleeting shadows that followed them, which, hurrying rapidly over the distant fields and woods, made each spot as they left it look brighter than before. every object that met the eye spoke of spring. the bright green of the trees, and the fields, and the woods, clearly told that they had not known the burning touch of summer, which, like manhood and the world's experience, coming o'er the fresh dreams of youth, withers while it ripens, and with its very first approach steals somewhat of the refreshing hue of early nature. the wild singing of the birds, rejoicing in the return of brightness to the earth, and making the whole air vocal with the bursting happiness of their renewed enjoyment; the busy hum of animated being rising up from hill, and dale, and wood, and joining with their song upon the breeze; all spoke of refreshed existence. flowers painted the fields, and blossoms hung upon the trees, and perfume shook its light wings in the morning air and sprinkled it with balm. it was one of those mornings when the heart opens, and when every vein thrills with glad existence; when we feel, as it were, the deity on the morning's breath; when we hear him in the voice of creation; when we worship him in his works, and adore him in the temple he himself has raised. the scene, too, was lovely. it was in a wide open park, where the rich thick grass spread like velvet over every slope and lawn; so rich, so thick, its elasticity almost raised the foot that trod it. on its luxuriant bosom the wide old trees, scattered in clumps, or gathered together in broad sweeping woods, cast a deep shadow, defined and clear, making the glossy softness and the vivid green shine out more strongly for the contrast. it was the elm and the oak that principally tenanted that park, though occasionally a hawthorn or a beech would interpose; and wherever they congregated in a wood there was to be found every sort of shrub and brushwood clinging round their roots. many a glade, however, appeared, and many a lawn between; and where the trees broke away, there a wide extended view presented itself, showing a rich and fertile country beyond, full of green hedgerows and fields, broken and diversified by the lines of hamlets and villages, mingling an air of wealth, prosperity, and living gladness, with the bright sweetness of the morning and the calm tranquillity of the park itself. at the foot, then, of one of the old oaks in richmond park sat lady constance de grey, while her woman margaret stood at a little distance with a page, and sir osborne maurice leaned by her side. they had met by chance--really by chance--at that early hour in that remote part of the park; though it is more than probable that the same thoughts, acting on hearts so nearly allied, had led them both forth to meditate on their fate. and even after they had met, the stillness of the scene seemed to have found its way to their souls, for they remained almost in silence watching the clouds and gazing at the view, content to feel that they enjoyed together the same sweet morning and the same lovely scene. it may be as well, however, before proceeding further, to give some slight sketch of what had occurred since the close of the last chapter; though were we to account for every day, it would be but detail of just after just, tourney after tourney, revel upon revel, wearisome from their repetition, and sickening from their vain splendour. suffice it that sir osborne still maintained his place in the king's favour. his lance was always held by the judges of the field as next to the king's: his grace in the hall, or at the court, his dexterity in martial exercises, his clerkly learning, and his lighter accomplishments, won him much admiration; while a sort of unassumingness, which seemed to hold his own high qualities as light, silenced much envy. in short, it became the fashion to praise him; and it is so easy for courtiers to applaud or to decry, as the veering breath of favour changes, that to believe the outward semblance, sir osborne maurice, next to the king himself, and charles brandon duke of suffolk, was the god of the court's idolatry. there was, however, many a curious whisper of--who was he? whence did he come? what was his family? and some of the knights who had served abroad, and had been with the king at terouenne and tournay, conferred together, and shook the wise head; but still it was remarked that they were amongst those who most praised and sought the young knight. sir osborne marked with a keen and observing eye all that passed about him; and seeing that he was recognised by more than one, he felt that he must hasten to prevent his secret being communicated to the king by any lips but his own; and now high in favour, he only waited a fitting opportunity to hazard all by the avowal of his name and rank. wolsey had been absent for nearly a month in his diocese at york, and, removed from the influence of his presence, lord darby and lady katrine bulmer, sir osborne and constance de grey, seemed to have forgot his stern authority, and given course to the feelings of their hearts. the knight had seen lady constance almost every day; and good mistress margaret, her woman, with whom sir osborne was no small favourite, took care not to exercise towards him that strict etiquette which she practised upon all other visitors, leaving them full opportunity to say all that the heart sought to communicate, as she very well perceived what feelings were busy in their breasts. thus everything between them was explained, everything was known: there was no coldness, there was no reserve, there was none of that idle and base coquetry which delights in teasing a heart that loves. constance de grey loved sincerely, openly, and she had too high an esteem for the man she had chosen, to suppose that the acknowledgment of that love could make it less worthy in his eyes. happy indeed it was for them both that the most perfect confidence did exist between them, for henry had conceived the project of marrying the young knight to lady katrine; and though the queen, with the instinctive perception of a woman in those matters, soon saw that such a plan would very ill accord with the feelings of either party, and quickly discouraged it, yet henry, giving way to all his own impetuosity, hurried it on with precipitation, took every occasion to force them together, and declared that he would have them married as soon as the court returned from the meeting with the french king at guisnes. the situation of sir osborne was not a little embarrassing, the more especially as lady katrine, in her merry malice, often seemed to give in entirely to the king's schemes, having a threefold object in so doing, if object can be attributed to such heedless gaiety; namely, to coquet a little with sir osborne, which she did not dislike with anybody, to enjoy his embarrassment, and, at the same time, to tease lord darby. with these three laudable motives she might have contrived to make sir osborne and lady constance unhappy, had not that mutual confidence existed between them which set all doubts at defiance. nor, indeed, was it lady katrine's wish to do harm: whimsical, gay, and thoughtless, she gave way to the impulse of the moment. if she was in good humour, she was all liveliness and spirit, running as close to the borders of direct flirtation as possible with whomsoever happened to be near; but, on the contrary, if anything went wrong with her, she would be petulant and irritable, showing forth a thousand little airs of affected dignity and reserve which were not natural to her. no one's good regard did she seek more than that of lady constance de grey; and yet she seemed to take every way to lose it. but constance, though so different herself, understood her character, appreciated the good, made allowance for the faults, and secure in darnley's affection, forgave her little coquetry with her lover. in regard to lord darby, he knew lady katrine too; and if ever he gave himself a moment's uneasiness about her waywardness, he did not let it appear. if she flirted, he flirted too; if she was gay, he took care not to be a whit behind; if she was affectionate, he was gentle; and if she was cross, he laughed at her. she never could put him out of humour, though, to do her all manner of justice, she tried hard; and thus finding her attempts to tease ineffectual, she gradually relaxed in the endeavour. in the mean time, the days of sir osborne and lady constance flew by in a sweet calm, that had something ominous in its tranquillity. he had almost forgotten sir payan wileton; and in the mild flow of her happiness, constance scarcely remembered the schemes with which the avaricious and haughty wolsey threatened to trouble the stream of her existence. but, nevertheless, it was to be expected that if the dispensation had not yet arrived from rome, it could not be delayed more than a few days; and that, at the return of the minister from york, the command would be renewed for her to bestow her hand upon lord darby. such thoughts would sometimes come across constance's mind with a painful sensation of dread; and then, with a spirit which so fair and tender an exterior hardly seemed to announce, she would revolve in her mind a plan for baffling the imperious prelate at all risks, and yet not implicate her lover at the very moment that his "fortunes were a-making." then, again, she would often hope that the extraordinary preparations that were going forward for the speedy meeting of the two courts of france and england, all the ceremonies that were to be arranged, and the many important questions that were to be discussed, would divert the mind of the cardinal from herself, at least till after that meeting had taken place; during which interval chance might produce many circumstances more favourable to her hopes. at all events, her resolution was taken: she felt, too, that no power on earth was adequate to combat that determination; and thus, with fixed purpose, she turned her mind from the contemplation of future dangers to the enjoyment of her present happiness. the scene in richmond park, to which the court had now removed from greenwich, as well as the bright gentleness of the may morning in which she met sir osborne there, was well calculated to nurse the most pleasing children of hope; and yet there was something melancholy even in the magnificent aspect of the day. i know not how, but often in those grand shining mornings the soul seems to swell too powerfully for the body; the spirit to feel galled, as it were, by the chain that binds it to mortality. whatever be the cause, there is still, in such a scene, a pensiveness that steals upon the heart; a solemnity that makes itself felt in those innermost recesses of the mind where thought and sensation blend so intimately as to be hardly separable from each other. constance and darnley both felt it; but still it was not sorrow that it produced; for, mingling with their fervent love and their youthful hope, it gave their feelings something of divine. "this is very, very lovely, darnley," said lady constance, after they had long gazed in silence. "oh, why are not all days like this! why must we have the storm, and the tempest, and the cloud!" "perhaps," replied the knight, "if all days were so fair, we might not esteem them so much: we should be like those, constance, who in the world have gone on in a long course of uninterrupted prosperity, and who have enjoyed so much that they can no longer enjoy." "oh, no, no!" cried she; "there are some pleasures that never cloy, and amongst them are those that we derive from contemplating the loveliness of nature. i cannot think that i should ever weary of scenes like these. no! let me have a fairy sky, where the sunshine scarcely knows a cloud, and where the air is always soft and sweet like this." at this moment mistress margaret approached, with some consternation in her aspect. "good now, lady!" cried she; "look! who is that coming? such a strange-looking little man, no bigger than an atomy! oh! i am glad the knight is with us; for it is something singular, i am sure." "you are very right, mistress margaret," said sir osborne; "this is, indeed, a most singular being that approaches. constance, you have heard the queen and her ladies speak of sir cesar, the famous alchymist and astrologer. he is well known to good dr. wilbraham, and seems, for some reason, to take a strange interest in all my proceedings. depend on it, he comes to warn us of something that is about to happen, and his warning must not be slighted; for, from wheresoever his knowledge comes, it is very strange." lady constance and the knight watched the old man as he came slowly over the green towards them, showing little of that vivacity of demeanour by which he was generally characterised. on approaching near, he bowed to lady constance with courtly ease, saluted the knight in a manner which might be called affectionate; and, without apology for his intrusion, seated himself at the lady's feet, and began a gay and easy conversation upon the justs of the day before. "there is no court in the world," said he, after a little--"and there are few courts i have not seen--where such sports are carried to the height of luxury that they are here. i never saw the tournaments, the justs, the pageants of henry the eighth, king of england, excelled but once." "and when was that, may i ask?" demanded lady constance, whose feelings towards the old man were strangely mingled of awe and curiosity, so much had she heard of him and his strange powers during her residence at the court. "it was in germany," replied sir cesar, "at the city of ratisbon; and it was conducted as all such displays should ever be conducted. each knight wore over his armour a motley suit, and on his casque a cap and bells; the hilt of his sword was ornamented with a bauble, and as they made procession to the lists, the court fools of all the electors in the empire followed behind the knights, and whipped them on with blown bladders." "nay, nay, you are a satirist," said lady constance; "such a thing, surely, could never happen in reality." "in truth it did, lady," answered sir cesar; "it was called the _tournament of fools_, though i wot not to distinguish it from other tournaments, which are all foolish enough. osborne," he continued, turning abruptly to the young knight, "you will ride no more at this court." "how mean you?" demanded sir osborne: "why should i not?" "i mean," replied the old man, "that i come to forewarn you of approaching evil. perhaps you may turn it aside, but there is much that threatens you. are you not losing time? the king's regard is gained; wherefore, then, do you delay? while wolsey is absent--mark me! while wolsey is absent--or you are lost for the moment." "oh! say not so," cried lady constance, clasping her hands; "oh! say not so, for i hear that he returns to-morrow." "fear not, lady," said sir cesar, who had now risen; "the danger will last but for a time, and then pass away. so that, whatever happens to either of you, let not your hearts sink; but be firm, steadfast, and true. all the advice i can give you is but the advice of an ordinary mortal like yourselves. men judge rashly when they think that even those who see clearest can yet see clear. all that i know, all that i behold, is but a dim shadowing forth of what will be, like the indistinct memory of long gone years; a circumstance without a form. i see in both your fates an evil and a sorrowful hour approaching, and yet i cannot tell you how to avoid it; but i can descry that 'twill be but for a while, and that must console you." "good sir cesar," said the young knight, "i will ask you no questions, for i have now learned that you were a dear friend of my father, and i feel sure that you will give all knowledge that may be useful to me; and if you will tell me what is good to do in this conjuncture, i will follow it." "good, now!" said sir cesar, with a gratified look: "good! i see you are overcoming your old fault, though you have been a long while about it. three thousand years! three thousand years to my remembrance." constance turned an inquiring look to her lover, who, however, was not capable of giving her any explanation. "think you," demanded he, addressing sir cesar, "that it would be best to inform his grace of everything at once?" "i think it would," said the old man; "i think it would, but i scarcely dare advise you. osborne, there is a conviction pressing on my mind, which i have perhaps learned too late. can it be that those who are permitted to read certain facts in the book of fate are blinded to the right interpretation of that which they discover? perhaps it may be--i have reason to believe it. nought that i have ever calculated has proved false; but often, often it has been verified in a sense so opposite to my expectations, yet so evident when it did appear, that it seems as if heaven held the search presumptuous, and baffled the searcher even with the knowledge he acquired. never more will i presume to expound aught that i may learn. the fact i tell you: an evil and a bitter hour is coming for you both, but it shall not last, and then you shall be happy--when i am no more." and turning away without other farewell, he left them, and took the way to the palace. lady constance gazed on the face of her lover with a look of apprehensive tenderness that banished all thought of himself. "oh, my constance!" said he, "to think of your having to undergo so much for me is too, too painful! but fear not, dear constance; we are still in a land where laws are above all power, and they cannot, they dare not ill-treat you!" "for myself, darnley," replied constance, "i have no fear. they may threaten, they may wrong me, they may do what they will, but they can never make me marry another. it is for you i fear. however, he said that we should be happy at last, though he hinted that you would be driven from the court. oh, darnley! if that be the case--if you find there be the least danger--fly without loss of time----" "and leave behind me," said darnley, "all i love in the world! oh, constance! would not the block and axe itself be preferable? it would, it would, a thousand times preferable to leaving you for ever!" "it might," said constance; "i myself feel it might, if you feel as i feel. but, darnley, i tell you at once i boldly promise to follow." "but still, constance, dear, excellent girl!" said the knight, "would it be right, would it be honourable, in me to accept such a sacrifice?" "darnley," said lady constance, firmly, "my happiness is in your hands, and what is right and honourable is not to throw that happiness away. now that my love is yours, now that my hand is promised to you, you have no right to think of rank, or fortune, or aught else. if i were obliged to fly, would you not follow me? and wheresoever you go, there will i find means to join you. all i ask, all i pray in return is, that if there be the least danger, you will instantly fly. will you promise me? if you love me you will." "i will," said sir osborne. "what would i not do to prove that love! but i trust, dear constance, there may be no need of hasty flight. all they can do will be to banish me the court, for i have committed no crime but coming here under a feigned name." "i know not; i know not," said the lady; "'tis easy, where no crime is, to forge an accusation; and, if report speak truth, such has been wolsey's frequent policy, when any one became loved of our gracious king; so that even the favour you have gained may prove your ruin. but you have promised to fly upon the first threatening of danger, and i hold as a part of that promise that you will stay for no leave-taking." "well, well, constance," replied the knight, "time will show us more. but, at all events, i will try to anticipate wolsey's return, and, by telling henry all, secure my fate." "do so, do so!" said lady constance; "and, oh! lose no time. fly to him, darnley; he must be risen by this time. farewell! farewell!" sir osborne would fain have lingered still, but constance would not be satisfied till he went. at last then he left her, and proceeded with quick steps to the palace; while she, with a slower pace, pursued another path through the park, having been rejoined by mistress margaret, who, not liking the appearance of old sir cesar, had removed to a secure distance on his approach, and who now poured forth no inconsiderable vituperation on his face, his figure, and his apparel. chapter xxii. _gloucester_.--talking of hawking--nothing else, my lord.--shakspere. on arriving at the palace, sir osborne found that he had been sent for by the king; and hurrying his steps towards the privy chamber, he was met by henry himself, bearing a hawk upon his hand, and armed with a stout leaping-pole, as if prepared for the field. "come, sir knight," cried the king, "if you would see sport, follow quick. bennet has just marked a heron go down by the side of the river, and i am resolved to fly young jacob here, that his wings may not rust. follow quick!" thus speaking, the king made all speed out of the palace; and cutting partly across the park, and round the base of the hill, soon reached the edge of the river, where slower progress became necessary, and he could converse with the young knight without interrupting his sport. their conversation, however, was solely about hawking and its accessories; and winding along by the side of the sedges with which the bank was lined, they tried to raise the game by cries, and by beating the rushes with the leaping-pole. for a long way no heron made its appearance; and henry was beginning to get impatient, just in the same proportion as he had been eager in setting out. unwilling, however, to yield his sport, after persisting some time in endeavouring, with the aid of sir osborne, to make the prey take flight, he sent back the only attendant that had followed him for a dog, and went on slowly with the knight, pursuing the course of the river. when they had proceeded about two hundred yards, and had arrived at a spot where the bank rose into a little mound, the knight paused, while henry, rather crossed with not having instantly met with the amusement he expected, sauntered on, bending his eyes upon the ground. "hist, your grace! hist!" cried sir osborne: "i have him!" "where, man? where?" cried henry, looking round without seeing anything. "'odslife, where?" "here, your grace! here!" replied the knight. "do you not see him, with one leg raised and the claw contracted, gazing on the water as intently as a lady in a looking-glass, by that branch of a tree that is floating down?" "ha! yes, yes!" cried henry. "the long neck and the blue back! 'tis he. whoop! sir heron! whoop! cry him up, maurice! cry him up!" sir osborne joined his voice to the king's; and their united efforts reaching the ears of the long-legged fowl they were in search of, he speedily spread his wings, stretched out his neck, and rose heavily from the water. with a whoop and a cry the king slipped the jesses of his falcon, and flew him after the heron, who, for a moment, not perceiving the adversary that pursued him, took his flight over the fields, instead of rising high. on went the heron, on went the falcon, and on went henry after them; till, coming to a little muddy creek, which thereabouts found its way into the river, the king planted his pole with his accustomed activity, and threw himself forward for the leap. unfortunately, however, at the very moment that his whole weight was cast upon the pole, in the midst of the spring, the wood snapped, and in an instant sir osborne saw the king fall flat on his face, and nearly disappear in the ooze and water with which the creek was filled. henry struggled to free himself, but in vain; for the tenacity of the mud prevented his raising his head, so that in another minute he must inevitably have been drowned, had not sir osborne plunged in to his aid, and lifted his face above the water, thus giving him room to breathe. short as had been the time, however, that respiration had been impeded, the king's powers were nearly exhausted, and even with the knight's assistance he could not raise himself from the position in which he had fallen. though an unsafe experiment for both, considering the mud and slime with which they were entangled, nothing remained for sir osborne but to take the king in his arms, and endeavour to carry him to the bank; and this at length he accomplished, sometimes slipping, and sometimes staggering, from the uncertain nature of the footing and the heavy burden that he carried; but, still supported by his vast strength, he contrived to keep himself from falling, proceeding slowly and carefully forward, and assuring himself of the firmness of each step before he took another.[14] with a feeling of inexpressible gladness, he seated henry on the bank, and kneeling beside him expressed his hopes that he had received no injury. "no," said the king, faintly; "no. but, maurice, you have saved my life. thank god, and thank you!" a pause now ensued, and the young knight endeavoured, as well as circumstances would permit, to cleanse the countenance and hands of the monarch from the effects of the fall. while he was thus employed, the king gradually recovered his breath and strength, and from time to time uttered a word or two of thanks or directions, till at last bennet, the attendant, was seen approaching with the dog. "stay, stay, sir osborne," said the monarch; "here comes bennet. we will send him for fresh clothes. where is the falcon? by my faith, i owe you much; ay, as much as life! whistle for the falcon; i have not breath." sir osborne uttered a long falconer's whistle, and in a moment the bird hovered above them, and perched upon the hand the monarch extended to it, showing by its bloody beak and claws that it had struck the prey. nearly at the same time came up bennet, who, as may be supposed, expressed no small terror and surprise at beholding the king in such a situation, and was preparing to fill the air with ejaculations and lamentations, when henry stopped him in the midst. "no, bennet, no!" cried he; "keep all that for when i _am_ dead quite! ha, man! 'twill be time enough then. thanks to sir osborne, i am not dead at present. here, take this bird. i have lost both hood and jesses in that foul creek. hie to the manor, bennet, and fetch me a large cloak with a hood, and another for sir osborne. we will not return all draggled with the ooze; ha, maurice! quick, bennet! but mind, man; not a word of this misadventure, on your life!" "ah! your grace knows that i am discreet," replied the footman. "ay, as discreet as the babbling echo, or a jay, or a magpie," cried henry; "but get thee gone, quick! and return by the path we came, for we follow slowly. lend me your arm, sir osborne. we will round by yon little bridge. a curse upon the leaping-pole, say i! by my fay, i will have all the creeks in england stopped. i owe my life to you, but hereafter we will speak of that: i will find means to repay it." "i am more than repaid, your grace," said sir osborne, "by the knowledge that, but for my poor aid, england might have lost her king, and within a few hours the whole realm might have been drowned in tears." "ay, poor souls! i do believe they would regret me," said the monarch; "for, heaven knows, it is my wish to see them happy. a king's best elegy is to be found in the tears of his subjects, sir osborne; and every king should strive to merit their love when living and their regret when dead." strange as it may seem, to those accustomed to picture themselves henry the eighth as the sanguinary and remorseless tyrant which he appeared in later years, such were the sentiments with which he set out in his regal career, while youth, prosperity, and power were all in their first freshness: 'twas the tale of the spoiled child, which was always good-humoured when it was pleased. now the first twelve years of henry's reign offered nought but pleasure, and during their lapse he appeared a gay, light-hearted, gallant monarch, fit to rule and win the hearts of a brave people; for nothing yet had arisen to call into action the mighty vices that lay latent in his nature. gradually, however, luxury produced disease, and disease pain, and pain called up cruelty; while long prosperity and uncontradicted sway made him imperious, irascible, and almost frantic under opposition. but such was not the case now, and it was only the close observer of human nature that could at all perceive in the young and splendid monarch the traits that promised what he would afterwards become. discoursing on the unlucky termination of their sport, henry proceeded with sir osborne into the park, and there awaited the coming of the servant with their cloaks; feeling a sort of foppish unwillingness to enter the palace in the state in which his fall had left him, his whole dress being stiff with mud, and both face and hands in anything but a comely condition. many men might have taken advantage of sir osborne's situation to urge their suit; but notwithstanding the very great claim that the accident of the morning had given him upon henry, the knight was hardly satisfied that it had occurred. he deemed that, in common decency, he should be obliged to delay the communication which he had proposed to make that very evening, and thereby allow wolsey to arrive before the event was decided, which for every reason he had hoped to avoid. were he to press his suit now, it would seem, he thought, surprising from the king's gratitude what his justice might have denied, and indelicately to solicit a high reward for an accidental service. his great hope, however, was that in the course of the evening the king might himself renew the subject, and, by offering some token of his thanks, afford him an opportunity of pleading for justice for his father and himself. the discomfited falconers waited not long in the park before they were rejoined by the servant bearing the cloaks which the king had commanded; but although they soon reached the palace, the clammy wetness of his whole dress caused several slight shiverings to pass over the limbs of henry, and after some persuasion by sir osborne he was induced to ask the counsel of his surgeon, who recommended him instantly to bathe, and then endeavour to sleep. this was, of course, a signal for the young knight to withdraw; and taking leave of the king, he retired to his apartments to change his own dress, which was not in a much more comfortable state than that of the monarch. our old friend longpole soon answered to his call; and while aiding him in his arrangements, without any comment upon the state of his clothes, which he seemed to regard as nothing extraordinary, the honest custrel often paused to give a glance at his master's face, as one who has something to communicate, the nature of which may not be very palatable to the hearer. "well, longpole," said the knight, after observing several of these looks, "when you have trussed these three points, you shall tell me what is the matter, for i see you have something on your mind." "i only wished to ask your worship," said the custrel, "if you had seen him; for he's lurking about here, like a blackbird under a cherry-tree." "seen whom?" demanded the knight. "why, the devil, your worship," replied longpole. "i've seen him twice." "indeed!" said sir osborne; "and pray what did his infernal highness say to you when you did see him? or rather, what do you mean?" "why, i mean, sir," replied the other, "that i have seen sir payan wileton twice here in the park during yesterday, if it was not his ghost; for he looked deadly pale, and i fancied i could smell a sort of brimstony smell. now, i wot, a cunning priest would have told by the flavour whether 'twas purgatory half and half, or unadulterated hell: though, if he's not there, hell's empty." "hush!" said sir osborne; "speak not so lightly. when was this?" "the first time i saw him, sir," answered the yeoman, "was yesterday in the forenoon, soon after the justs, when i took a stroll out into the park with mistress geraldine, the lady katrine's maid, for a little fresh air after the peck of dust i had broken my fast upon in the field. we had got, i don't know how, your worship, into that lonely part under the hill, when beneath one of the trees hard by i saw sir payan standing stock-still, with his hand in the bosom of his doublet. his colour was always little better than that of a turnip, but now it looked like a turnip boiled." "did he speak to you?" demanded sir osborne, "or give any sign that he recognised you?" "he did not speak," replied longpole; "but when he saw me, he quietly slipped his hand out of the bosom of his doublet, and getting it down to the hilt of his poniard, kept fingering it with a sort of affectionate squeeze, as much as to say, 'dearly beloved, how i should like to pluck you out of your leathern case, and furnish you with one of flesh and blood!' he was ever fond of playing with his poniard; and when he spoke to you, if it were but of sousing a toast, he would draw it in and out of the scabbard all the time, as though he were afraid of losing the acquaintance if he did not keep up the intimacy." "you neither spoke nor took any notice, i hope," said sir osborne. "oh, no, your worship!" answered the custrel; "i did not even give him _bon jour_, though he was fond of talking french to me when he wished to say something privately. i only twitched mistress geraldine over to the other side, and passed him by close; thinking to myself, 'if i see your dagger in the air, i'll go nigh to sweep your head off with my broadsword, if i have to run to france for it;' but seeing that i looked him in the face, he turned him round upon his heel, with a draw down of the corner of his mouth, which meant a great deal if it were rightly read. "why, first, it meant--i hate you sufficiently to pretend to despise you. then--i'll murder you whenever i can do so safely; and again it went to say--give my best love to your master, and tell him he'll hear more of me soon." "by my faith! a good reading, and, i doubt not, a true one," replied the knight; "but we must try and render his malice of no avail. and now, tell me, when did you see him the second time?" "the second time was after dinner, sir," said longpole, "when his grace the king, yourself, and the duke of suffolk kept the barriers against all comers." "he did not try the field, did he?" demanded sir osborne. "oh, no!" replied longpole; "he stood looking on at a good distance, wrapped up in a cloak, so that it needed sharp eyes to recognise him; but i saw him all the time fix his eyes upon you, so like a cat before a mouse-hole, that i thought every minute to see him overspring the barrier and take you by the throat. depend upon it that good and honest knight, like his german-cousin, satan, never travels for any good, and we shall hear more of him." "i doubt it not," answered sir osborne; "and we must guard against him. but now, longpole, a word or two to you. did you give the packet, as i directed you, to mistress geraldine, lady katrine's woman?" "i did, your worship," answered longpole, somewhat surprised at the serious air that came over his lord's countenance: "i gave it immediately i received it from your hands." "that was right," replied sir osborne. "and now, let me say to you, my good heartley, that i have remarked you often with this same girl geraldine, and it seems to me that you are seeking her love." "oh! good now! your worship," cried longpole; "if you prohibit me from making love, it's all over with me. indeed, your worship, i could not do without it. it is meat, drink, and sleep to me; better than a stirrup-cup when i rise in the morning, or a sleeping cup when i go to bed at night. 'faith i could not sleep without being in love. there, when i was with sir payan, where there was nothing to fall in love with but the portrait of his grandmother against the wall, i could not sleep o' nights at all, and was forced to take to deer-stealing, just for amusement. 'odslife! your worship is hard on me. there, you have a bellyful of love, all day long, from the highest ladies of the court, and you would deny me as much as will lie in the palm of a serving-woman." "nay, nay, longpole!" said sir osborne, laughing; "you have taken me up too hastily. all i meant to say was, merely, that seeing you are evidently seeking this poor girl's love, you must not play her false. i do not wish to imply that you would wrong her virtue: of that i am sure you are incapable; but i mean you must not win her love, and then leave her for another." "dear heart, no!" cried longpole; "i would not for the world. poor little soul! she has suffered enough; so i'm now consoling her, your worship. it's wonderful how soon a broken heart is patched up with a little of the same stuff that broke it. it is the very reverse of piecing a doublet; for in love you mend old love with new, and it's almost as good as ever. however, some day soon we intend to ask your worship's leave and the priest's blessing, and say all those odd little words that tie two folks together." "my leave and good wishes you shall have, longpole," replied the knight, "and all i can do to assist your purse. hark! is not that the trumpet to dinner? give me my bonnet; i will down and dine at the board of estate to-day, as i was not there yesterday." on descending to the hall, sir osborne was instantly assailed by a thousand questions respecting the accident which had befallen the king; for, what between the diligent exertions of the attendants and those of the surgeon, the news had already spread through the whole court. in reply, the knight gave as brief and exact an account of the whole occurrence as possible, endeavouring to stop the lying tongue of rumour by furnishing her with the truth at least. after dinner he returned to his own apartments, and only left them once for a momentary visit to constance de grey, remaining in hopes all the evening that the king might send for him when he arose. such hopes, however, were in vain: day waned and night fell, and the knight's suit was no farther advanced than when sir cesar warned him to hasten it in the morning. chapter xxiii. a spirit fit to start into an empire, and look the world to law. he, full of fraudful arts, this well-invented tale for truth imparts--dryden. we must now for a while change our place of action, and endeavour to carry the mind of the reader from the sweeter and more tranquil scenes of richmond park, one of the most favoured residences of henry the eighth, to york place, the magnificent dwelling of that pampered child of fortune, cardinal wolsey. his progress, his power, and his fall; his arrogance, his splendour, and his vices; all the many changes that may be traced to his government of the realm, or to his artifices with the king, and of which to this day we feel the influence--changes which, though beneficial in their effects, like many of our most excellent institutions, originated in petty passions or egregious errors; in short, all his vast faults and his vast powers have so often called the eyes of the world to the proud prelate, that he seems hardly one of those remote beings which the cloud of past centuries has shadowed with misty indistinctness. his image, as well as his history, is familiar to the mind's eye. he lives, he moves before us, starting out from the picture of the times of old to claim acquaintance with our memory, as something more tangibly real than the vague, undefined forms that float upon the sea of history. such skilful pens also have depicted him in every scene and situation, that it becomes almost unnecessary, and, perhaps, somewhat presumptuous, to say more concerning him than that which strictly interweaves itself with the web of this tale. york place, which, as every one knows, was afterwards called whitehall, though it offered an appearance very different from the building at present known by that name, stood nearly on the same spot which it now occupies. surrounded by splendid gardens, and ornamented with all that the arts of the day could produce of luxurious or elegant, so far from yielding in any degree to the various residences of the king, it surpassed them all in almost every respect. the combination, also, of ecclesiastical pomp with the magnificence of a lay prince, created in the courts and round the gates of the palace a continual scene of glitter and brilliancy. whether it were deputations from abbeys and monasteries, the visits of other bishops, the attendance of noblemen and gentlemen come to pay their court, the halt of military leaders with their armed bands, prepared for service and waiting for command, still bustle, activity, and splendour were always to be met with in the open space before the building on every morning when the fineness of the weather permitted such display. there were to be seen passing to and fro the rich embroidered robes of the clergy, in all the hues of green and purple and of gold; the splendid liveries of the cardinal's own attendants, and of the followers of his visitors; the white dresses of the soldiery, traversed with the broad red cross of england; the arms of the leaders, and the many-coloured housings of the horses; while above the crowd was often displayed the high-wrought silver cross or the glittering crook of bishop or mitred abbot, borne amongst banners, and pennons, and fluttering plumes. it was on a morning when the scene before the palace was full of more than usual life, owing to the arrival of the cardinal the night before from york (which was, be it remarked, one day earlier than he had been expected), that sir payan wileton rode through the crowd to the grand entrance. he was followed by ten armed attendants, the foremost of whom were cornishmen, of that egregious stature which acquired for their countrymen in the olden time the reputation of sprouting out into giants. these two sir payan had sent for expressly from his estates in cornwall, not without a purpose; and now, having dressed them in splendid liveries, he gave orders for his train to halt at such a distance as to be plainly visible from the windows of the palace. dismounting from his horse at the door, he gave him to his page, and entering the hall passed through the crowd of attendants with which it was tenanted, and mounted the grand staircase with that sort of slow, determined step which is almost always to be found in persons whose reliance on their own powers of mind is founded in long experience and success. the number of people whom he met running up and down the wide staircase, with various papers in their hands, announced at once the multitude of affairs which the cardinal was obliged to despatch after his long absence at york, and foreshowed some difficulty in obtaining an audience. here was a sandalled monk, slowly descending from what seemed some disappointed suit; there, a light courtier hurrying forward in fear of being too late; now, the glad look of a satisfied applicant; now, the vexed mien of one whose expectations were delayed; while, ever between, the familiar servants of the place glided to and fro on their various errands, passing coldly amongst that crowd of throbbing bosoms as beings apart, whose feelings had no community with the hopes, the fears, the wishes, and all the thronged emotions which were then excited or destroyed. following one of these into the waiting-hall at the top of the staircase, sir payan found it crowded almost to suffocation with persons staying for an audience, either from wolsey himself or from one of his secretaries. above their heads appeared a misty atmosphere of condensed human breath, and all around was heard the busy buzz of many voices murmuring in eager but whispered consultation. the hall was a large chamber, cutting directly through the centre of the house, with a high gothic window at each end, to the right and left of which, at both extremities, appeared a door. the one opposite to that by which sir payan entered stood open, though a small wooden bar prevented the entrance of the crowd into the room beyond, which was occupied by six or seven ordinary clerks, busily employed in filling up various papers, and speaking from time to time to the persons who presented themselves on business. at each of the doors, at the other end of the room, stood an usher with his rod and a marshal with his staff, opposing the ingress of any but such as the highest rank or personal interest entitled to enter beyond the porch of the temple; for there the right-hand path led to the privy chambers of wolsey himself, and the left to the offices of his principal secretaries. it was round this left-hand door that the crowd took its densest aspect; for many, who were hopeless of obtaining a hearing from the cardinal himself, fondly flattered themselves that their plaint or petition might reach his ear through his secretary, if, either by bribe or flattery, they could secure the interest of the secondary great man. winding in and out through the meandering path left by the various groups in the hall, sir payan approached the door which led to the cardinal's apartments, and demanded admission. there was something in his tone which implied right, and the usher said, if he would give his name he would inquire, though an applicant who had remained long unlistened to audibly murmured his indignation, and claimed to be admitted first. sir payan turned to look at him while the usher was gone, and at once encountered the eyes of a near neighbour of his own, who, under his fostering care, had dwindled from a rich landholder to a poor farmer, and thence had sunk to beggary, while his possessions, one by one, had merged into the property of sir payan, which, like the norwegian whirlpool, seemed to absorb everything that came within its vortex. no sooner did the old man's eyes fall upon his countenance, and behold who it was that kept him from the light, than, giving way to his rage, he clasped his hands, and, stamping upon the ground, cursed him before all the multitude, with the energy of despair. sir payan cast upon him a cold look, mingled of pity and contempt, and passed through the door, which the usher now held open for his entrance. the room at which he arrived was a large ante-room, occupied by various groups of lords and gentlemen attached to the household of the cardinal, who, prouder than royalty ever needs to be, would at least be equal with the king himself in the rank of his various officers. these were scattered about in various parts of the room talking with the select visitors whom the ushers had permitted to enter, or staring vacantly at the figures on the rich tapestry by which they were surrounded, wherein, though scrutinised a thousand times, they still found sufficient to occupy their idle eyes, while waiting till the minister should go forth. with almost every one he saw sir payan was in some degree acquainted; but in their bow or gratulation, as he passed, there was none of the frank, cordial welcome of regard or esteem: it was simply the acknowledgment of a rich, powerful man, whose only title to reverence was in his influence and his wealth. about the centre stood lord darby, and to him sir payan approached with a "good morrow, my good lord!" "sir!" said the earl, looking him steadfastly in the face for a moment; then, turning on his heel, he walked to the other end of the room. nothing abashed, sir payan kept his ground, tracing the young lord with his eyes, in which no very amicable expression was visible; and then, after a moment, he approached a small table, near the door of the minister's cabinet, whereat was seated a clerk, whom, as it so happened, sir payan himself had recommended to the cardinal. "can his grace be spoken with, master taylor?" demanded the knight, as the clerk bowed low at his approach. "he is busied, honoured sir," replied the man, with a second profound reverence, "in conversation with the prior of his abbey of st. albans on matters of deep importance----" a loud laugh from the chamber within reached sir payan's ear, through the door by which he stood; but he took no notice of this comment on the important business which wolsey was transacting, and the clerk went on. "i am sorry to say, sir, also, that there are five or six persons of distinction who have waited on his grace's leisure for near an hour." "but the cardinal sent for me," said sir payan; "and besides----" and he whispered something to his former servant which seemed convincing. in a minute or two after, the door opened, and the prior of st. albans issued forth. rustling up to the table in his rich silk robes, he said to the clerk, in a low and important voice, "his grace commands you to send in the person of the highest rank that came next." "well, holy father," said the clerk rising; and then, appearing to search the room with his eyes, he waited till the prior was gone, when, turning to sir payan, he added in a loud voice, "sir payan wileton, the lord cardinal is waiting for you." the knight instantly proceeded to the door, which was opened by one of the ushers who stood near; and passing on, he found himself directly in the presence of the cardinal, who, seated in a chair of state, waited the next comer, with a countenance prepared to yield a good or bad reception, according to his rank and purpose. he was, at that time, not apparently much above fifty-five; tall, erect, and dignified; with a face replete with thought and mind, and a carriage at once haughty and graceful. his dark eye was piercing and full of fire; and lurking about the corners of his mouth might be seen the lines of unbounded pride, striven against and repressed, but still existing with undiminished force. the robes of bright scarlet satin, which he wore without any other relief than a tippet of rich sables, made his cheek look almost ashy pale; and the shade of the broad hat which covered his brow gave an air of pensive solemnity to his features, which, joined with the fire of his eye, the pride of his lip, and the knowledge of his power, invested his presence with an impressiveness not devoid of awe. as sir payan entered, wolsey's brow gradually contracted into a frown; and fixing his glance full upon him, he let him stand for several moments before he motioned him to a seat. at length, however, he spoke. "sir payan wileton," said he, "i have sent for you to speak on many subjects that may not be very agreeable for you to discuss. however, as they concern the welfare of society and the fame of the king's justice, they must be inquired into; nor must any man's rank or wealth shelter him from the even eye of equity." "your grace hardly does me justice," replied sir payan, resolving to keep to vague professions till he had ascertained, as far as possible, what was passing in wolsey's mind. "had i been unwilling to discuss any part of my conduct with your grace, should i have importuned your gates every day for the last week in hopes of your return? and if, on the most minute investigation, i found any of my acts which would not meet the eye of equity itself, should i voluntarily present myself before the cardinal of york?" "you were sent for, sir payan," replied wolsey. "last night the messenger set out." "by your grace's pardon," said the knight, "if you but calculate, you will find that i could not have come from a far part of kent in so short a space of time. it is true that i have received the packet, but that was only by sending last night to know if you had then returned. my servant met your messenger at the very door, and received the letter intended to be sent to chilham. but every day, as i have told your grace, since i have risen from a bed of sickness, where a cross accident had thrown me, i have not ceased to seek your presence on business of some import." wolsey, long accustomed to encounter every species of wily art, was not to be led away by the exhibition of a new subject; and pursuing his first object, he proceeded:-"we will speak of that anon. at present, it is my task to inform you, sir, that various are the complaints, petitions, and accusations against you, that daily reach my hand. and many prayers have been addressed to his royal grace the king, by the very best and noblest of the land, to induce him to re-establish the house of fitzbernard in the lordship and estates of chilham castle. all these things have led me to inquire--as indeed is but my duty as chancellor of this kingdom--into the justice of your title to these estates, when i find that the case stands thus: the earl of fitzbernard, in the last year of his late majesty's reign, was accused by those two infamous commissioners, empson and dudley, and was, upon the premises, condemned to the enormous fine of one hundred thousand pounds, under the penal statutes; and, as a still further punishment for some words lightly spoken, the king, then upon his death-bed, recalled the stewardship of dover castle, which involved, as was supposed, the forfeiture of chilham castle and its lands. was it not so?" "it was so far, your grace," replied sir payan; "but allow me to observe----" "hush!" said the cardinal, waving his hand; "hear me, and then your observations, if you please. such being the case, as i have said, and the wide barony of chilham supposed to be vacant, the stewardship of dover castle, with those estates annexed, is bestowed upon you: how, or why, is not very apparent, though the cause alleged is service rendered in the time of perkyn warbeck. now it appears, from some documents placed in the hands of lord dacre, of the north, by the duke of buckingham, that chilham castle was granted to fulbert de douvre, at a period much subsequent to the grant of the stewardship of dover; that it was totally distinct, and held by tenure of chivalry, in fee and unalienable, except under attainder or by breach of tenure. what say you now, sir payan?" "why, simply this, your grace," replied sir payan, boldly: "that the good duke of buckingham--the noble duke of buckingham, as the commons call him--seems to be nearly as much my good friend as he is to the king, his royal master, or to your grace;" and, knitting his brow and clenching his teeth, he fixed his eyes upon the rose in his shoe, remaining sternly silent, to let what he had said, and what he had implied, work fully on the mind of the cardinal. wolsey's hatred to the princely buckingham was well known, and sir payan easily understood that hatred to be the most maddening kind, called jealousy; so that not a word he had said but was meted to the taste and appetite of the cardinal with a skilful hand. the minister's cheek flushed while the knight spoke; and when, after implying by tone, and look, and manner, that he could say more, sir payan suddenly stopped, and bent his eyes upon the ground, wolsey had nearly burst forth in that impatient strain of question which would have betrayed the deep anxiety he felt to snatch at any accusation against his noble rival. checking himself, however, the politic churchman paused, and seemed to wait for some further reply, till, finding that sir payan still maintained his silent attitude of thought, he said-"have you any reason, sir, to suppose that the duke is ill-disposed towards his grace the king? of myself i speak not. his envy touches me not personally; but where danger shows itself towards our royal master, it becomes a duty to inquire. your insinuations, sir payan, were strong: you should be strongly able to support them." "i know not, your grace," replied the knight, with the unhesitating daring that characterised all his actions, "how far a man's loyalty should properly extend; but this i know, that i am not the tame and quiet dog that fawns upon the hand that snatches its mess from before its muzzle. what i know, i know; what i suspect remains to be proved; but neither knowledge, nor suspicion, nor the clue to guide judgment through the labyrinth of wicked plotting, will i furnish to any one, with the prospect before my eyes of being deprived, for no earthly fault, of my rightful property, granted to me by the free will of our noble king henry the seventh." an ominous frown gathered upon wolsey's brow, and fain would he have possessed the thunder to strike dead the bold man who dared thus to withhold the information that he sought, and oppose him with conditions in the plenitude of his power. "you are gifted with a strange hardihood, sir," cried he, in a voice, the slight trembling of whose tone told the boiling of the soul within. "did you ever hear of misprision of treason--say?" "i have, your grace," replied sir payan, whose bold and determined spirit was not made to quail even before that of wolsey. acting, however, coolly and shrewdly, he was moved by no heat as was the cardinal; and though calculating exactly the strength of his position, he knew that it was far from his interest to create an enemy in the powerful minister, who, sooner or later, would find means to avenge himself. at the same time, he saw that he must make his undisturbed possession of chilham castle the price of any information he could give, or that he might both yield his secret and lose his land. "i have heard, your grace," he said, "of misprision of treason, but i know not how such a thing can affect me. first, treason must be proved; then it must be shown that it was concealed with full knowledge thereof. doubts and suspicions, your grace knows, are not within the meaning of the law." sir payan paused, and wolsey remained in silence, as if almost disdaining to reply. the knight clearly saw what was passing in his mind, and continued, after an affectation of thought, to give the appearance of a sudden return of affectionate submission to what he was about to say. "but why, your grace, why," cried he, "cast away from you one of your most faithful servants? why must it be, when i have waited at your door day after day, to give you some information, much for the state's and for your grace's benefit to know, that the very first time i am admitted to your presence, i find my zeal checked and my affection cooled by an express intention to deprive me of my estates?" "nay, sir payan," said wolsey, glad of an opportunity of yielding, without compromising either pride or dignity, "no such intention was expressed. you have mistaken entirely: i only urged these reasons, that you might know what had been urged to me; and i was about to put it to you what i could do if the young lord darnley came over to this country and claimed these estates; for, probably, the old earl will not have energy enough to make the endeavour. what could i do, i say?" "let him proceed by due course of law, my lord," replied sir payan, the calculation in whose mind was somewhat to the following effect, though passing more rapidly than it could when embodied in words:--"before his claim is made in law (thought he) he shall taste of the axe of the tower, or i am mistaken. however, i will not let wolsey know who he is, for then my interest in the business would be apparent, and i could claim no high recompense for ridding myself of my own enemy. no; i will crush him as osborne maurice, a perfect stranger to me: then will my zeal seem great. pride will prevent him from owning his name till the death; and if he does own it, his coming here concealed, joined to the crimes that i will find means to prove against him, shall but make him appear the blacker." such was the train of thought that passed instantly through his mind; while, with an affectation of candour, he replied, "let him proceed by due course of law, my lord; then, if he succeed, let him have it, in god's name. all i ask is, that your grace will not moot the question; for one word of the great wolsey throws more weight into one or other of the scales of justice than all the favour of a dozen kings." wolsey was flattered, but not deceived. however, it was his part not to see, at least for the time; and though he very well understood that sir payan would take special means to prevent the young lord from seeking justice by law, he replied, "all that i could ever contemplate, sir payan, was to do equal right to any one that should bring his cause before me. it is not for me to seek out occasions for men to plunge themselves in law; and be you very sure, that unless the matter be brought before me in the most regular manner, i shall never agitate the question, which is one that, even should it be discussed, would involve many, many difficulties. from what i say now you may see, sir, that your haste has hurried you into unnecessary disrespect, which, heaven knows, i feel not as regards my person, but as it touches my office i am bound to reprove you." "most deeply do i deplore it," replied sir payan, "if i have been guilty of any disrespect to one whom i reverence more than any other on the earth; but i think that the information which i have to communicate will at least be some atonement. i have then, my lord," he proceeded, lowering his voice--"i have then discovered, by a most singular and happy chance, as dangerous a conspiracy as ever stained the annals of any european kingdom; and i hold in my hand the most irrefragable proofs thereof, together with the names of the principal persons, the testimony of several witnesses which bears upon the subject, and various letters which are in themselves conviction. i will now, with your grace's leave----" at that moment one of the ushers opened the door of the cabinet, and with a profound reverence informed wolsey that the earl of knolles desired to know when he could have an audience, as he had been waiting long without. "ha! what!" exclaimed the cardinal, his eye flashing, and his lip quivering with anger at the interruption; "am i to be disturbed each moment? tell him i cannot see him; i am busy; i am engaged; occupied on more important things. were he a prince i would not see him. and you, beware how you intrude again! now, sir payan, speak on. this is matter of moment indeed. what was the object of this conspiracy?" "nothing less, i can conceive, my lord, than to make the commons dissatisfied with the government under which they live; to incite them to various insurrections, and, if possible, into general rebellion, under favour of which my lord duke of buckingham might find his way to the throne: at least, there are fixed his eyes." "ha, ha! my proud lord of buckingham!" cried wolsey, with a triumphant smile. "what! hast thou wired thine own feet? but you say you have proofs, sir payan. we must have full proof; but you are not a man to tread on unsteady ground: your proofs are sure?" he reiterated, with a feverish sort of anxiety to ascertain that his rival was fully in his power. "in the first place, read that, my lord," said sir payan, putting in his hand one out of a bundle of papers that he had brought with him. "that is the first step." "why, what is this?" cried wolsey. "this is but 'the deposition of henry wilson, of pencriton, in the duchy of cornwall, who maketh oath and saith, that the prisoner osborne maurice, _alias_ sir osborne maurice, is the man whom he saw at the head of the cornish miners in insurrection, on the 3rd of january last, and who incited them, by cries and words, to burn and destroy all that came in their way, till they should have satisfaction in everything that they required; but for the further acts of the said osborne maurice, he, the deponent, begs leave to refer to his former depositions, taken before sir john balham, knight, of the city of penzance, in cornwall; only upon oath he declareth, that the said osborne maurice, now present, is the ringleader or conductor of the mob mentioned in his former deposition, in witness whereof----' ha!" said wolsey, thoughtfully; "there is one, i find, of this same name, sir osborne maurice, who, during my absence, has crept into the king's favour. surely it may be the same!" "on my life, my lord, the very same!" replied sir payan. "'twas but the morning before last, that, at the justs at richmond, i saw him with our noble king, his chosen companion, with the duke of suffolk, to keep the barriers against all comers; and there he ruffled it amongst the best, swimming, as 'twere, on the top of the wave." "then will we lay this on his head," said wolsey, placing his forefinger emphatically on the paper, "and that shall sink him. but how does this touch the duke of buckingham?" "your grace shall hear," replied sir payan. "this wilson, who made the deposition you there hold, came to me one day in the last of march--you must know he is my bailiff--and told me a sad story of his woeful plight; how in a cottage hard by he had met the man whom he had seen burn down his father's house in cornwall, and who was there employed in the same devilish attempt to instigate the peasants to revolt. wilson, it seems, accused him; whereon, being a most powerful and atrocious traitor, he struck the bailiff to the ground, and left him for dead. this being sworn on oath before me, as a magistrate, i sent forth and had the villain arrested, after a most desperate struggle. with the intention of sending him to cornwall, i had him committed to the strong room of the manor; but somehow, during the night, he contrived to escape through a window, and made his way to the court----" "but still, sir payan," interrupted the cardinal, "this does not implicate the duke of buckingham, who, as i have good reason to believe, is but a scant lover of our royal king, and towards myself bears most inveterate malice. i have heard many a rumour of his plots and schemes. but it is proof, sir payan; it is proof that we must have." "and proof your grace shall have," replied the knight, counting the hatred that wolsey bore towards the duke as his own gain, and enjoying the inveteracy of his malice not only with the abstract satisfaction of fellow-feeling, but as a fisherman delights to see the voracious spring of the trout at the fly he casts before his snout. "let your grace listen to me; for my story, though somewhat long, is nevertheless conclusive. this osborne maurice, in his escape, left behind him the leathern horsebags with which he rode when he was taken, and, in my capacity as magistrate, i made free to open them----" "you did right, you did right!" cried wolsey, almost forgetting his dignity in eagerness. "what did you find? say, sir payan! what did you find?" "i found several letters from his grace the duke of buckingham," answered sir payan, "being principally written to bring this sir osborne maurice to the knowledge of persons about the court, recommending him as one that _may be trusted_. your grace will mark those words, '_may be trusted_.' but amongst the rest was one which shows for _what_ he may be trusted. behold it here, my lord! you know the duke's hand and style;" and he presented the letter to wolsey. the cardinal snatched it eagerly; but remembering himself, he turned more composedly to the address, and read, "'sir john morton.' ah!" cried he. "so! an old perkyn warbeckist! the last i believe alive. but for the contents: '_trusty and well-beloved friend!_ '--um--um--um--'_everlasting friendship!_--of course, one traitor loves another. but let us see. how! the daring villain! '_to inform you, that before another year arrive, my head shall be the highest in the realm, at least so promises sir osborne maurice, whose promises, as you know, are not such as fail!_' ha, sir payan! ha! did you read it? this is treason, is it not? by my life, the duke's own hand! but what says he farther? ha! '_the butcher's cur wolsey has long wanted the lash, and he shall have it soon_.' see you how rank is his malice! we will read no farther. this condemns him; and as for sir osborne maurice, to-night he shall have his lodging in the tower." "though other proof might be deemed superfluous," said sir payan, "yet, my lord, when i came to the part where he calls your grace a butcher's cur" (and the knight dwelt somewhat maliciously on the words), "my zeal and affection for your grace's service made me instantly resolve to track this osborne maurice on his journey, after escaping from prison. in person i could not do it, for a fall from my horse laid me in my bed for three weeks. but i took care that it should be done, and found that he returned straight to my lord of buckingham's; from thence he went to the benedictine abbey at canterbury, where he seems to have been sent to escort a lady katrine bulmer to the court. then, passing by rochester, he had an interview with the chief of the rioters at hilham green. your grace will be at no loss to know how, and by whom, that memorable tumult was instigated. there he pretended to save a good simple priest from the mob; but, by the clergyman's own account, they gave him up at a single word from this maurice, which shows what was his influence with them; for they were, the moment before, about to hang the man they yielded so quietly after. the priest is at my lodging here. this was the traitor's last adventure before arriving at the court, where, either by some sorcery or other damned invention, he has bewitched the better judgment of the king, so that none is so well loved as he. perhaps he waits but an opportunity to put his dagger in our royal master." "heaven forbid!" cried wolsey. "we will instantly set off for richmond. without there! let the barge be prepared directly: sir payan, you have saved the realm, and may claim a high reward." "the reward i most affect," replied the knight, in a well-acted tone of moderation, "is simply to remain in quiet possession of that which i have. life is now wearing with me, your grace, and i covet not greater charges than those which i enjoy. let me but be sure of them." "rest tranquil on that point," replied wolsey. "i will look thereto." "there are, indeed," continued sir payan, "some hereditary estates, which, though they should be mine, are held by another; and on that score i may claim your grace's assistance before i endeavour to recover them; for i put my whole actions in your grace's hands, that, like a mere machine, i may move but as you please." "what estates are these, sir payan?" demanded wolsey, with something very nearly approaching to a smile, at the peculiar line of the knight's cupidity. "if they be truly yours, doubt not but you shall have them." "they are those estates in cornwall," replied the knight, "lately held by my cousin, the earl de grey, which have since passed to constance, his daughter; though, by all custom of succession, according to their tenure, i hold them to pass directly in the male line." "nay, nay, sir payan," cried wolsey, with a curl of his lip; "this is too much! constance de grey is my ward, and shall not lose her estates lightly. she is, indeed," added he, thoughtfully, and speaking to himself more than to the knight, though not a word was lost to his attentive ears; "she is, indeed, somewhat wilful. that letter, in which she refuses to wed her cousin, though calm and humble, was full of rank obstinacy. the fear of losing her estates, however----. but we shall see. sir payan, i must hold my opinion suspended till such time as you lay before me some proofs of the matter. and now tell me: think you, in this plot of buckingham's, is there any other person of high rank implicated? indeed there must be, for he would never undertake such daring schemes without some sure abettors. sir payan, these lords are all too proud. we must find means to humble them. it may be as well to let this arch-traitor buckingham proceed for some short time, till we find who are his accomplices. but, for this sir osborne maurice, he shall to the tower to-night, for therein is the king's life affected." "might it not be better, in your grace's good judgment," said sir payan, "to take the duke's person at once? for assuredly, as soon as he hears that his minion is committed, he will become alarmed, and find security in some foreign land." "he shall be so well watched," said wolsey, closing his hand tightly, as if he grasped his enemy, "that were he no larger than a meagre ermine, he should not escape me. no; we must let him condemn himself full surely. but, sir payan, are you prepared to accompany me to richmond?" "if by any chance this maurice were to see me with your grace," replied sir payan, "he would lose no time, but fly instantly, before you had speech of his grace the king. if you think it necessary, my lord, that i should attend you, it may be well to arrest the traitor immediately on your arrival." "nay, nay, nay!" said wolsey, shaking his head. "you know not henry, sir payan; he is hard and difficult to rule, and, were i to arrest sir osborne, would take for insult what was meant as a service. but you shall not go: there is, indeed, no need. these papers are quite enough, with the testimony of the priest. let him be sent down post-haste to richmond after me." "he shall, my lord," replied sir payan. "but one word more, your grace. if the duke of buckingham be condemned, his estates, of course, are forfeited to the crown. near me lies his beautiful manor of the hill, in kent, and i know your grace will not forget your faithful servants." wolsey paused, and sir payan went on. "to show how constantly present your grace is to all my thoughts, you told me some time ago that you desired to have two of the tallest men in the realm for porters of the gate. cast your eyes through that window, my lord, and i think you will see two that no prince in europe can match in his hall." no service that sir payan could have rendered, either to the state or to himself, would have given half so much pleasure to wolsey as the possession of the two gigantic cornishmen we have before mentioned; for, amongst all his weaknesses, his passion for having tall men about him was one of the most conspicuous. as soon as for a moment or two he had considered them attentively through the window, and compared them with all the pigmy-looking race around, he thanked sir payan with infinite graciousness for his care; and hinted, though he did not promise, that buckingham's manor in kent might be the reward. while he yet spoke, a gentleman-usher entered, to announce that the barge was ready; and, giving some more directions to sir payan, in regard to sending the priest, wolsey rose to proceed on his journey. the procession, without which he never moved, was already arranged in the ante-chamber, consisting of marshals and gentlemen-ushers, with two stout priests bearing the immense silver crosses of his archbishopric and his legacy; and the moment he moved towards the door, the ushers pressed forward, crying, "on before, my lords and masters! on before! make way for the lord cardinal! make way for my lord's grace! on before! on before!" wolsey immediately followed, and proceeded to his barge; while sir payan returned to his own house in westminster, and despatched the priest to richmond, after which he sat himself down to write. what he did write consisted of but a few lines, but they were of some import; and as soon as they were finished, he entrusted them to one of his shrewdest and most assured servants, with many a long direction, and many an injunction to speed. chapter xxiv. this hour's the very crisis of your fate: your good or ill, your infamy or fame, and all the colour of your life depends on this important _now_.--the spanish friar. if any one will look at the almanac for the year 1520, he will find marked, opposite the 4th day of may, the following curious piece of information: "high-water at london bridge at half-past three;" and, if he calculate rightly, he will discover that as wolsey set out from what was then called the cardinal's bridge[15] at high noon, he had the most favourable tide in the world for carrying him to richmond. his rowers, too, plied their oars with unceasing activity; and his splendid barge, with its carved and gilded sides, cut rapidly through the water, but still not rapidly enough for his impatience. siting under an awning, with a table before him, at which was placed a clerk, he sometimes read parts of the various papers that had been presented during the morning, and sometimes dictated to the secretary; but more frequently gave himself up to thought, suffering his mind to range in the wild chaos of political intrigue, which was to him like the labyrinth a man makes in his own garden, in which a stranger might lose his way, but where he himself walks for his ease and pleasure. not that wolsey's mind was one that soared above the pains of political life; for his were all the throbbing anxieties of precarious power, his was all the irritation of susceptible pride and insatiable vanity; while jealous envy, avarice, and ambition, at once made the world a desert, and tormented him with unquenchable thirst. no surer road to wolsey's hatred existed than the king's favour; and since his return to london, though but one evening had passed, yet often had his heart rankled at hearing from those who watched for him in his absence, that a young stranger, named sir osborne maurice, had won the king's regard and become the sharer of all his pleasures. the information given him by sir payan wileton had placed in his hand arms against this incipient rival, as he deemed him, which were sure to crush him; and, with a sort of pride in the conquest he anticipated, he muttered to himself, as he saw the narrowing banks of the river, approaching towards richmond, "now, sir osborne maurice! now!" the boat touched the shore; and while the chief yeoman of the barge, as his privilege, supported the arm of the cardinal, the two stout priests bearing the crosses hurried to land with the other attendants, and ranged themselves in order to proceed before him. two of his running footmen sped on to announce his approach, and the rest, with the form and slowness of a procession, traversed the small space that separated them from the court, reached the gate, and entering the palace, wolsey, more like an equal prince than a subject, passed towards the king's privy-chamber, amidst the profound bows and reverences of all the royal attendants, collected to do honour to his arrival. many had been the rumours in the palace during the morning respecting the king's health, and it was generally reported that the accident of the day before had thrown him into a fever. this, however, was evidently not the case; for a little before noon sir osborne maurice had received a message by one of the royal pages, to the effect that at three o'clock the king would expect him in his privy-chamber. that hour had nearly approached, and the young knight was preparing to obey henry's commands, when a note was put into his hands by mistress margaret, the waiting-woman of lady constance de grey. it was a step which sir osborne well knew she would not have taken had it not been called for by some particular circumstance, and with some alarm he opened the paper and read-the lord cardinal is here: remember your promise. tarry not rashly, if you love constance. as wolsey had ever been a declared enemy to his father, and a steady supporter of sir payan wileton, sir osborne felt that the prospect was certainly in some degree clouded by his arrival; and while at the court, he had heard enough of the jealousy that the favourite entertained towards all who often approached the king, to make him uneasy with regard to the future. but yet he could not imagine that the regard of henry would be easily taken from him, nor the service he he had rendered immediately forgotten; and strong in the integrity of his own heart, he would not believe that any serious evil could befall him; yet the warning of sir cesar still rung in his ears, and made an impression which he could not overcome. it would be very easy to represent our hero as free from every failing and weakness, even from those of the age he lived in; easy to make him as perfect as ever man was drawn, and more perfect than ever man was known: but then we should be writing a romance, and not a true history. sir osborne was not perfect; and living in an age whose weakness it was to believe implicitly in judicial astrology, he shared in that weakness, though but in a degree; and might, indeed, have shared still less, had not the very man who seemed to take such an interest in his fate acquired in the court where he lived a general reputation for almost unerring perception of approaching events. no one that the young knight met, no one that he heard of, doubted for a moment that sir cesar possessed knowledge superhuman: to have doubted of the possibility of acquiring such knowledge, would have been in those times a piece of scepticism fully equal in criminality to doubting the sacred truths of religion; and therefore we cannot be surprised that he felt a hesitation, an uneasiness, a sort of presentiment of evil, as he approached the privy chamber of the king. at the door of the ante-chamber, however, he found stationed a page, who respectfully informed him that the king was busy on affairs of state with the cardinal lord chancellor, and that his grace had bade him say, that as soon as he was at leisure he would send for him to his presence. sir osborne returned to his own apartment, and after calling for longpole, walked up and down the room for a moment or two, while some curious, vague feelings of doubt and apprehension passed through his mind. "'tis very foolish!" said he, at length; "and yet 'tis no harm to be prepared. longpole, saddle the horses, and have my armour ready. 'tis no harm to be prepared;" and quitting his own chambers, he turned his steps towards those of lady constance, which here, not like the former ones in the palace at greenwich, were situated at the other extremity of the building. his path led him again past the royal lodgings; and as he went by, sir osborne perceived that the page gave entrance to a priest, whose figure was in some degree familiar to his eye. where he had seen him he did not know; but, however, he staid not to inquire, and proceeded onward to the door of lady constance's apartments. one of her women gave him entrance, and he soon reached her sitting-chamber, where he found her calmly engaged in embroidery. but there, also, was good dr. wilbraham, who of late had shrewdly begun to suspect a thing that was already more than suspected by half the court; namely, that sir osborne maurice was deeply in love with constance de grey, and that the lady was in no degree insensible to his affection. now, though the good doctor had thought in the first instance that lady constance's marriage with lord darby would be the very best scheme on earth, he now began to think that the present arrangement would be a great deal better: his reasoning proceeding in the very inverse of wolsey's, and leading him to conclude that as lord darby had quite enough of his own, it would be much better for lady constance to repair, with her immense wealth, the broken fortunes of the ancient house of fitzbernard, and at the same time secure her own happiness by marrying the best and the bravest of men. notwithstanding all this, he could not at all comprehend, and never for a moment imagined, that either constance or her lover might in the least wish his absence; and therefore, with great satisfaction at beholding their mutual love, he remained all the time that sir osborne dared to stay, and conducted him to the door with that affectionate respect which he always showed towards his former pupil. while the old clergyman stood bidding sir osborne farewell, a man habited like a yeoman approached, inquiring for the lodging of lady constance de grey; and on being told that it was before him, he put a folded note into the hands of dr. wilbraham, begging him to deliver it to the lady, which the chaplain promised to do. and now, leaving the good clergyman to perform this promise, and sir osborne to return to his apartment, somewhat mortified at not having had an opportunity of conversing privately with constance, even for a moment, we will steal quietly into the privy-chamber of the king, and seating ourselves on a little stool in the corner, observe all that passes between him and his minister. "god save your royal grace!" said wolsey, as he entered, "and make your people happy in your long and prosperous reign!" "welcome back again, my good lord cardinal," replied the king; "you have been but a truant of late. we have in many things wanted your good counsel. but your careful letters have been received, and we have to thank you for the renewed quiet of the west riding." "happily, your grace, all is now tranquil," replied the cardinal, "and the kingdom within itself blessed with profound peace; but yet, my lord, even when this was accomplished, it was necessary to discover the cause and authors of the evil, that the fire of discord and sedition might be totally extinguished, and not, being only smothered, burst out anew where we least expected it. this has been done, my liege. the authors of all these revolts, the instigators of their fellow-subjects' treason, have been discovered; and if your grace have leisure for such sad business, i will even now crave leave to lay before you the particulars of a most daring plot, which, through the activity of good sir payan wileton, i have been enabled to detect." "without there!" cried the king, somewhat impatiently. "see that we are not interrupted. tell sir osborne maurice that we will send for him when we are free. sit, sit, my wolsey!" he continued. "now, by the holy faith, it grieves me to hear such things! i had hoped that, tranquillity being restored, i should have sped over to france to meet my royal brother francis, with nothing but joy upon my brow. however, you are thanked, my good lord, for your zeal and for your diligence. we must not let the poisonous root of treason spread, lest it grow too great a tree to be hewn down. who are these traitors? ha! have you good proof against them?" "such proof, my liege, that, however willing i be to doubt, uncertainty, the refuge of hope, is denied me, and i must needs believe. when we have nourished anything with our grace, fostered it with kindly care, taught it to spread and become great, heaped it with favours, loaded it with bounty, we naturally hope that, having sowed all these good things, our crop will be rich in gratitude and love; but sorry i am to say, that your grace's royal generosity has fallen upon a poisoned soil, and that edward duke of buckingham, who might well believe himself the most favoured man in the realm, now proves himself an arrant traitor." "by heaven!" cried the king, "i have lately much doubted of his loyalty. he has, as you once before made me observe, much absented himself from the court, keeping, as i hear, an almost royal state in the counties; and lately, on the pretence that he is sick, that his physicians command him quiet, he refuses to accompany us to guisnes. i fear me, i fear me, 'tis his loyalty is sick. but let me hear your reasons, my good lord cardinal. fain would i still behold him with an eye of favour; for he is in many things a noble and a princely peer, and by nature richly endowed with all the shining qualities both of the body and the mind. 'tis sad, indeed 'tis sad, that such a man should fall away and lose his high renown! but your reasons, wolsey! give me the history." it were needless in this place to recapitulate all that we have seen, in the last chapter, advanced by sir payan wileton to criminate the duke of buckingham. suffice it that wolsey related to the king the very probable tale that had been told him by the knight: namely, that buckingham, aspiring to the throne, affected an undue degree of popularity with the commons, and by his secret agents rendered them dissatisfied with the existing government, exciting them to various tumults and revolts, of which he cited many an instance; and that, still further, he had contrived to introduce one of the most active agents of his treason into the court, and near to the king's own person. "whom do you aim at?" cried the king. "quick! give me his name. i know of no such person. all about me are men of trust." "alas! no, my liege," answered wolsey: "the man i mean calls himself sir osborne maurice." "ha!" cried henry, starting; and then, after thinking for a moment, he burst into a fit of laughter. "nay, nay, my good wolsey," he said, shaking his head: "nay, nay, nay; sir osborne saved my life no longer ago than yesterday, which looks not like treason;" and he related to the cardinal the accident that had befallen him while hawking. wolsey was somewhat embarrassed; but he replied, "we often see that, taken by some sudden accident, men act not as they proposed to do; and there is such a nobility in your grace's nature, that he must be a hardened traitor indeed who could see you in danger, and not by mere impulse hasten to save you. perhaps such may have been the case with this sir osborne, or perhaps his master's schemes may not yet be ripe for execution: at all events, my liege, doubt not that he is a most assured traitor." "i cannot believe it!" cried henry, striking the table with his hand. "i will not believe it! by heaven! the very soul of honour sparkles in his eye! but your proofs, lord cardinal! your proofs! i will not have such things advanced against my faithful subjects, without full and sufficient evidence." the more eagerness that henry showed in defending his young friend, the more obnoxious did sir osborne become to wolsey, and he laid before the king, one by one, the deposition of wilson, sir payan's bailiff; several letters which buckingham had written in favour of the young knight; and lastly, the duke's letter to sir thomas morton, where, either by a forgery of sir payan wileton's, or by some strange chance, it appeared that sir osborne maurice had promised that within a year the duke's head should be the highest in the realm. while he read, henry's brow knit into a heavy frown, and, biting his lip, he went back to the beginning, and again read over the papers. "cardinal," said he, at length, "bid the page seek pace, my secretary, and ask him for the last letter from the duke of buckingham." wolsey obeyed; and, while waiting for the return of the page, henry remained with his eyes averted, as if in deep thought, beating the papers with his fingers, and gnawing his lip in no very placable mood; while the cardinal wisely abstained from saying a word, leaving the irritation of the king's mind to expend itself, without calling it upon himself. as soon as the letter was brought, henry laid it side by side with those that wolsey had placed before him, and seemed to compare every word, every syllable, to ascertain the identity of the handwriting. "true, by my life!" cried he, casting down the papers. "the writing is the same; and now, my lord cardinal, what have you farther to say? are there any farther proofs, ha?" "were there none other, your grace," replied wolsey, "than the duke's handwriting, and the deposition of a disinterested and respectable witness, who can have no enmity whatever against this sir osborne maurice, and who probably never saw him but on the two occasions he mentions, i think it would be quite sufficient to warrant your grace in taking every measure of precaution. but there is another witness, whom, indeed, i have not seen, but who can give evidence, i understand, respecting the conduct of the person accused towards the rochester rioters. knowing how much your grace's wisdom passeth that of the best in the realm, i have dared to have this witness (a most honourable priest) brought hither, hoping that the exigency of the case might lead you to examine him yourself, when, perhaps, your royal judgment may elicit more from him than others could do." "you have done wisely, my good lord cardinal," replied henry, whose first irritation had now subsided. "let him be called, and bid your secretary take down his deposition, for 'tis not fitting that mine be so employed." at the command of wolsey, one of the pages went instantly to seek the priest, who, by the care and despatch of sir payan, had been sent down with all speed, and was now waiting with the cardinal's attendants in no small surprise and agitation, not being able to conceive why he was thus hurried from one place to another, and breathing also with some degree of alarm in the unwonted atmosphere of a court. on being ushered into the royal presence, the worthy man fell down upon both his knees before henry, and, clasping his hands, prayed for a blessing on his head with such fervour and simplicity that the monarch was both pleased and amused. "rise, rise, good man!" said the king, holding out his hand for him to kiss: "we would speak with you on a business of import. nay, do not be alarmed. we know your worth, and purpose to reward you. place yourself here, master secretary, and take down his replies. sit, my good lord cardinal; we beg you to be seated." as soon as wolsey had taken a low seat near the king, and the secretary, kneeling on one before the table, was prepared to write, henry again proceeded, addressing the priest, who stood before him the picture of a disquieted spirit. "say, do you know one sir osborne maurice?" demanded the king. "yes, surely, please your royal grace," replied the priest. "at least that was the name which his attendants gave to the noble and courageous knight that saved me from the hands of the rochester shipwrights." "first," said wolsey, "give us your name, and say how you came to fall into the hands of these rebellious shipwrights." "alas! your grace," answered the priest, "i am a poor priest of dartford, my name john timeworthy; and hearing that these poor misguided men at rochester were in open rebellion against the government, from lack of knowledge and spiritual teaching, i resolved to go down amongst them and preach to them peace and submission. i will not stay to say how and where i found them; but getting up upon a bench that stood hard by, under an apple-tree, i gathered them round me like a flock of sheep, and began my discourse, saying, 'woe! woe! woe! woe unto ye, shipwrights of rochester, that you should arm yourselves against the king's grace! you are like children, that must fain eat hot pudding, and burn their mouths withal; for ye will cry, and ye will cry, till the sword fall upon you; and then, when lord thomas comes down with his men-at-arms, ye will turn about and fly; and the spears will stick in your hinder parts, and ye shall be put to shame: for though he have but hundreds, and ye have thousands, his are all men of the bow and of the spear, and ye know no more of either than a jackass does of the harp and psaltery.' and thereupon, your grace, they that i took for strayed sheep showed themselves to be a pack of ravening wolves, for they haled me down from the bench, and beat me unmercifully, and putting a halter round my neck, led me along to hang me up, as they vowed, in sight of rochester castle; when, just as they were dragging me along, more dead than alive, across a little green, the knight, sir osborne maurice, came up, and, as i said, rescued me; and for a surety he is a brave and generous knight, and well deserving your grace's favour." "by my faith, i have always thought so," said henry. "what say you now, cardinal? question him yourself, man." wolsey eagerly snatched at the permission, for he plainly saw that the matter was not proceeding to his wish. "pray, my good master timeworthy," said he, "how was it that this sir osborne rescued you? did he put his lance in rest, and charge the whole multitude, and deliver you from their hands?" "not so! not so!" cried the priest. "he did far more wisely, for there would have been much blood spilt; but he sent forward one, who seemed to be his shield-bearer, who shook hands with the chief of the rioters, and spoke him fair; and then the knight came forward himself, and spoke to him; and the chief of the rioters cried with a loud voice to his people, that this was not lord thomas, as they had thought, but a friend and well-beloved of the good duke of buckingham; and it was wonderful how soon the eloquence of that young man worked upon the multitude, and made them let me go. he was, indeed, a youth of a goodly presence, and fair to look upon, and had something noble and commanding in his aspect; and his words moved the rioters in the twinkling of an eye, and made them wholly change their purpose." henry's brow, which had cleared during the former part of the priest's narration, now grew doubly dark and cloudy; and he muttered to himself, "too clear! too clear!" while wolsey proceeded to question the priest more closely. "indeed, your grace," replied he, in answer to the cardinal's more minute questions, "i can tell you no more than i have told; for, as i said, i was more dead than alive all the time, till they gave me up to the knight, and did not hear half that passed." "and what did you remark after you were with the knight?" demanded wolsey. "was there no particular observation made on the whole transaction?" "not that i can call to mind," answered the priest. "all i remember is, that they seemed a very merry party, and laughed and joked about it; which i, being frightened, thought almost wicked, god forgive me! for it was all innocency and high blood of youth." "well, sir," said wolsey, "you may go. go with him, secretary; and see that he be well tended, but allowed to have speech of no one." the priest and the secretary withdrew in silence; and no sooner were they gone, than, abandoning his kingly dignity, henry started from his seat, and strode up and down the room in one of those fits of passion which, even then, would sometimes take possession of him. at length, stopping opposite wolsey, who stood up the moment the king rose, he struck the table with his clenched hand. "he shall die!" cried he; "by heaven, he shall die! let him be attached, my wolsey." "my sergeant-at-arms is with me, your grace," replied the cardinal, "and shall instantly execute your royal will. better arrest him directly, lest he fear and take flight." "whom mean you?" cried the king. "ha! i say attach edward bohun, duke of buckingham." "in regard to the duke of buckingham, my liege," replied wolsey, less readily than he had before spoken, "will you take into your royal consideration whether it may not be better to suffer him to proceed a while with his treasonous schemes? for i question if the evidence we have at present against him would condemn him with the peers." "but he is a traitor," cried henry; "an evident traitor; and, by my faith! shall suffer a traitor's death." "most assuredly he is a black and heinous traitor," answered wolsey. "and yet your grace will think what a triumph it would be for him if his peers should pronounce him innocent. he has store of friends among them. far better let him proceed yet a while, and, with our eyes upon him, watch every turn of his dark plot, and seize him in the midst, when we shall have such proof that even his kindred must, for very shame, pronounce his guilt. in the mean time, i will ensure that he be so strictly guarded that he shall have power to do no evil." "you are right, my wolsey; you are right!" cried the king, seating himself, and laying his hand upon the papers; "let it be conducted as you say. but see that he escape not, for his ingratitude adds another shade to what is black itself. as to this sir osborne maurice, 'tis a noble spirit perverted by that villain buckingham. i have seen and watched the seeds of many virtues in him." "it must be painful, then, for your grace to command his arrest," said wolsey; "and yet he is so near your royal person, and his treason is so manifest, that the very love of your subjects requires that he should suffer death." "and yet," replied henry, fixing his eye upon the cardinal, and speaking emphatically; "and yet, even now i feel the warm blood of the english kings flowing lightly in my veins, which but for him would have been cold and motionless: and shall i take his life that has saved mine? no, wolsey, no! it must not be! he has been misled, but is not wicked." "still, your grace's justice requires," said wolsey (pardon me my boldness), "that he should undergo his trial. then, if condemned, comes in your royal mercy to save him; saying to him, you are judged for having been a traitor, you are pardoned for having saved your king." "but be assured, my wolsey," replied henry, "that if his trial were to take place now, the great traitor buckingham will take alarm, and either endeavour to do away all evidence of his treason, or take to flight and shelter himself from justice." "no need that his trial be immediate," answered the cardinal; "if your grace permits, he shall be committed privately to the tower, and there await your return from france; by which time, depend on it, the duke of buckingham will have given further tokens of his mad ambition, and both may be tried together. then let the greater traitor suffer and the lesser find grace, so that your royal justice and your clemency be equally conspicuous." "be it so, then," said the king; "though in truth, good cardinal, it grieves me to lose this youth. he is, without exception, the best lance in christendom, and would have done our realm much credit in our journey to france: i say it grieves me! ay, heartily it grieves me!" "nay, your grace," said wolsey, "you will doubtless find a thousand as good as he." "not so! not so, lord cardinal!" cried henry; "these are things not so easily acquired as you churchmen think. i never saw a better knight. when his lance breaks in full course, you shall behold his hand as steady as if it held a straw: nor knee, nor thigh, nor heel shall shake; and when the toughest ash splinters upon his casque, he shall not bend even so much as a strong oak before a summer breeze. but his guilt is clear, so the rest is all nought." "then i have your grace's commands," said wolsey, "to commit him to the tower. he shall be attached directly by the sergeant-at-arms, and sent down by the turn of the tide." "hold, hold!" cried the king; "not to-night, good wolsey. before we fly our hawk we cry the heron up, and he shall have the same grace. to-morrow, if he be still found, arrest him where you will; but for to-night he is safe, nor must his path be dogged. he shall have free and fair start, mark me, till tomorrow at noon; then slip your greyhounds on him, if you please." "but, your grace," cried wolsey, "if you let him----" "it is my will," said the king, his brow darkening. "who shall contradict it? ha! see that it be obeyed exactly, my lord!" "it shall, your grace," said wolsey, bending his head with a profound inclination. "your will is law to all your faithful servants; but only let your noble goodness attribute to my deep love for your royal person the fear i have that this traitorous agent of a still greater traitor may be tempted in despair, if he find that he is discovered, to attempt some heinous crime against your grace." "fear not, man! fear not!" replied the king. "he, that when he might have let me die, risked his own life to save mine, will never arm his hand against me: i fear not, cardinal. so be you at ease. but return to london; see that buckingham be closely watched; and be sure that no preparation be wanting for the meeting with francis of france. be liberal, be liberal, lord cardinal! i would not that the nobles of france should say they had more gold than we. let everything be abundant, be rich, and in its flush of newness; and as to sir osborne maurice, arrest him to-morrow, if he be still here. let him be fairly tried, and if he come out pure, well. yet still, if he be condemned, his own life shall be given him as a reward for mine. however, till tomorrow let it rest. it is my will!" though wolsey would have been better pleased to have had the knight safely in the tower, yet, even in case of his making his escape before the next morning, his great object was gained, that of banishing from the court for ever one whose rapid progress in the king's regard bade fair, with time, to leave every one behind in favour. he therefore ceased to press the king upon the subject, especially as he saw, by many indubitable signs, that henry was in one of those imperious moods which would bear no opposition. a few subjects of less import still remained to be discussed, but the monarch bore these so impatiently, that wolsey soon ceased to importune him upon them; and resolving to reserve all further business for some more auspicious day, he rose, and taking leave with one of those refined, yet high-coloured, compliments which no man was so capable of justly tempering as himself, he left the royal presence, and proceeded to another part of the palace on business whose object is intimately allied to the present history, as we shall see hereafter. chapter xxv. and knowing this, should i yet stay, like such as blow away their lives, enamoured of their golden gyves?--ben jonson. away! though parting be a fretful corrosive, it is applied to a deathful wound.--shakspere. who would be a king if he could help it? when wolsey had left him, henry once more raised the papers which lay upon the table, and read them through; then leant his head upon his hand, and passed some moments in deep and frowning meditation. "no!" said he, "no! i will not show them to him, lest he warn the traitor buckingham. ho, without! tell pace to come to me;" and again falling into thought, he remained musing over the papers with bent brows and an absent air, till the secretary had time to obey his summons. on his approach, the good but timid pace almost trembled at the angry glow he saw upon the king's face; but he was relieved by henry placing in his hands the papers which wolsey had left, bidding him have good care thereof. pace took the papers in respectful silence, and waited an instant to see whether the king had further commands; but henry waved his hand, crying, "begone! leave me, and send the page." the page lost not a moment in appearing; for the king's hasty mood was easily discernible in his aspect, and no one dared, even by an instant's delay, to add fuel to the fire which was clearly burning in his bosom; but still henry allowed him to wait for several minutes. "who waits in the ante-chamber?" demanded he, at length. "sir charles hammond, so please your grace," replied the page. "and where is denny?" asked the king. "where is sir anthony denny, ha?" "he has been gone about an hour, your grace," replied the page. "they hold me at nought!" cried henry. "strike his name from the list! by my life, i will teach him to wait! go call sir osborne maurice to my presence," and rising from his seat, he began again to pace the apartment. the page, as he conducted the young knight to the hall in which henry awaited him, took care to hint that he was in a terrific mood, with that sort of eagerness which all vulgar people have to spread evil tidings. the knight, however, asked no question and made no comment, and passing through the door which he had seen give admission to the priest about an hour before, he entered the ante-chamber, in which was seated sir charles hammond, who saluted him with a silent bow. proceeding onward, the page threw open the door of the privy-chamber, and sir osborne approached the king, in the knitting of whose brow, and in the curling of whose lip, might be plainly seen the inward irritation of his impetuous spirit. as he came near, henry turned round, and fixed his eye upon him; and the knight, not knowing what might be the cause or what the consequence of his anger, bent his knee to the ground, and bowing his head, said, "god save your grace!" "marry, thou sayest well!" cried henry. "we trust he will, and guard us ever against traitors! what say you?" "if ever there be a man so much a traitor to himself," replied sir osborne, "as to nourish one thought against so good a king, oh, may his treason fall back upon his own head, and crush him with the weight!" "well prayed again," said henry, more calmly. "rise, rise, sir osborne; we must speak together. give me your arm. we cannot sit and speak when the heart is so busy. we will walk. this hall has space enough," and with a hurried pace he took one or two turns in the chamber, fixing his eyes upon the ground, and biting his lip in silence. "now, by our lady!" cried he at length, "there are many men in this kingdom, sir osborne maurice, who, seeing us here, holding your arm and walking by your side, would judge our life in peril." sir osborne started, and gazed in henry's face with a look of no small surprise. "did i but know of any one," said he, at length, "who could poison your royal ear with such a tale, were it other than a churchman or a woman, he should either confess his falsehood or die upon my sword. but your grace is noble, and believes them not. however," he continued, unbuckling his sword and laying it on the table as far away as possible, "on all accounts i will put that by. there lays the sword that was given me by an emperor, and here is the hand that saved a king's life; and here," he continued, kneeling at the king's feet, "is a heart as loyal as any in this realm, ready to shed its best blood if its king command it. but tell me, only tell me, how i have offended." "rise, sir knight," said the king. "on my life, i believe you so far, that if you have done wrong, you have been misled; and that your heart is loyal i am sure: yet listen. you came to this court a stranger; in you i found much of valour and of knightly worth. i loved you, and i favoured you; yet now i find that you have in much deceived me. speak not, for i will not see in you any but the man who has saved my life; i will know you for none other. say, then, sir osborne, is not life a good return for life? it is? ha?" "it is, my liege," replied sir osborne, believing his real name discovered. "whatever i have done amiss has been but error of judgment, not of heart, and surely cannot be held as very deep offence in eyes so gracious as my noble king's." "we find excuses for you, sir, which rigorous judges might not find," replied the monarch; "yet there are many who strive to make your faults far blacker than they are, and doubtless may urge much against you; but hitherto we stand between you and the law, giving you life for life. but see you use the time that is allowed you well, for to-morrow, at high noon, issues the warrant for your apprehension, and if you make not speed to leave this court and country, your fate upon your head, for you have warning." sir osborne was struck dumb, and for a moment he gazed upon the king in silent astonishment. "i know not what to think," he cried, after a while; "i cannot believe that a king famous for his clemency, can see in my very worst crime aught but an error. your grace has said that many strive to blacken me; still humbly at your feet let me beseech you to tell me of what they do accuse me." "of many rank offences, sir!" replied the king, somewhat impatiently; "offences of which you might find it hard to wash yourself so clear as not to leave enough to weigh you down. however, 'tis our will that you depart the court, without further sojourn; and if you are wise, you'll speed to leave a country where you may chance to find worse entertainment and a harder lodging if you stay. go to the keeper of our private purse, who will give a thousand marks to clear your journey of all cost; and god befriend you for the time to come!" "nay, your grace," replied sir osborne, "poor as i came i'll go; but thus far richer, that for one short month i won a great king's love, and lost it without deserving; and if to this your grace will add the favour to let me once more kiss your royal hand, you'll send me grateful forth." henry held out his hand towards him. "by my faith," cried he, "i do believe him honest! but the proofs! the proofs! go, go, sir osborne; i judge not harshly of you. you have been misled; but fly speedily, i command you; for your own sake, fly!" sir osborne raised himself, took his sword from the table, and, with a low obeisance to the king, quitted the room, his heart far too full to speak with any measure what he felt. his hopes all broken, his dream of happiness dispelled like a wreath of morning mist in the sunshine, the young knight sought his chamber, and casting himself in a seat, leant his head upon his hands, in an attitude of total despondency. he did not think; for the racking images of despair that hurried through his brain were very different from the defined shapes of the most busy thought. his bosom was a chaos of dark and gloomy feelings, and it was long before reason lent him any aid to arrange and disentangle his ideas. as it did so, however, the thought of whither he should fly presented itself, and his first resolution was to go to his father in wales; but then, to be the bearer of such news! it was more than he could undertake. besides, as he reflected, he saw that, use what speed he might, his course would be easily tracked in that direction, and that the facilities which the messengers of the government possessed of gaining fresh horses would soon enable them to overtake and arrest him if the warrant were issued the next day at noon, as the king had said, and followed up with any degree of alacrity. that it would be so he had no reason to doubt, attributing, as he did, the whole of his misfortune to the hatred and jealousy of wolsey; whose haste to ruin him had been sufficiently evinced by his having begun and completed it within one day after his arrival from york. these thoughts brought on others; and not knowing the stinging impulse of a favourite's jealousy, he pondered over the malice of the cardinal, wondering whether in former days his father might have offered the then rising minister either offence or injury, and thus entailed his evil offices on himself and family. but still the question, whither he should fly, returned; and after much consideration he resolved that it should be to flanders, once more to try the fortune of his sword; for though peace nominally subsisted between the french king and the new emperor, it was a peace which could be but of short duration, and it was even then interrupted by continual incursions upon each other's territories, and incessant violation of the frontier by the various garrisons of france and burgundy. once arrived, he would write, he thought, to his father, who would surely join him there, and they would raise their house and name in a foreign land. but constance de grey--could she ever be his? he knew not; but at her very name hope relighted her torch, and he began to dream again. as he thought thus, he raised his eyes, and perceived his faithful attendant longpole watching him with a look of anxious expectation, waiting till his agitated reverie should end. "how! longpole!" said he. "you here? i did not hear you come in." "i have been here all the time, your worship," replied the yeoman. "and i've made some noise in the world, too, while you have been here, for i let all the armour fall in that closet." "i did not hear you," said the knight. "my thoughts were very busy. but, my good heartley, i am afraid the time is come that we must part." "by my faith, it must be a queer time, then, your worship!" answered longpole; "for it is not every-day weather that will make me quit you, especially when i see you in such a way as you were just now." "but, my good longpole," answered the knight, "i am ruined. the king has discovered who i really am; wolsey has whetted his anger against me, and he has banished me his court, bidding me fly instantly, lest i be to-morrow arrested, and perhaps committed to the tower. i must therefore quit this country without loss of time, and take my way to flanders, for my hopes here are all at an end. wolsey is too powerful to be opposed." "well, then, my lord," said longpole, "i will call you by your real name now; and so i'll go and saddle our horses, pack up as much as i can, and we'll be off in a minute." "but, my good longpole," said his master, "you do not think what you are doing. indeed, you must not leave your country and your friends, and that poor girl geraldine, to follow a man ruined in fortune and expectations, going to travel through strange lands, where he knows not whether he may find friends or enemies." "more reason he should have a companion on the road," replied longpole. "but, my lord, my determination is made. where you go, there will i go too; and as to little mistress geraldine, why, when we've made a fortune, which i am sure we shall do, i'll make her trot over after me. but, as i suppose there is but little time to spare, i will go get everything into order as fast as possible. _carpe diem_, as good dr. wilbraham used to say to me when i was lazy. there is your lordship's harness. if you can manage to pop on the breast and back pieces, i will be back directly." "nay," said the knight, "there is yet one person i must see. however, be not long, good fellow, for i shall not stay. give me that wrapping cloak with the hood." longpole obeyed; and enveloping himself in a large mantle, which he had upon a former occasion used to cover his armour, in one of those fanciful justs where every one appeared disguised, the knight left his own apartments, and proceeded to those of lady constance de grey. many were the sounds of mirth and merriment which met his ears as he passed by the various ranges of apartments, jarring harshly with all his own sorrowful feelings, and in the despondency of his mind he marvelled that any but idiots or madmen could indulge in laughter in a world so full of care. hurrying on to avoid such inharmonious tones, he approached the suite of rooms appropriated to lady constance, and was surprised at finding the door open. entering, nothing but confusion seemed to reign in the ante-chamber, where her maids were usually found employed in various works. here stood a frame for caul-work, there one for embroidery; here a cushion for italian lace thrown upon the ground; there a chair overturned; while two of the maids stood looking out of the window (to make use of the homely term), crying their eyes out. "where is your mistress?" demanded sir osborne, as he entered; the agitation of his own feelings, and the alarm he conceived from the strange disarray of the apartment, making him stint his form of speech to the fewest words possible. "we do not know, sir," replied one of the desolate damsels. "all that we know is, that she is gone." "gone!" cried sir osborne. "gone! in the name of heaven, whither is she gone? who is gone with her?" "jesu maria, sir! don't look so wild," cried the woman, who thought herself quite pretty enough, even in her tears, to be a little familiar. "dr. wilbraham is with the lady constance, and so is mistress margaret, and therefore she is safe enough, surely." "but cannot you say whither she is gone?" cried the knight. "when did she go? how?" "she went but now, sir," replied the woman. "she was sent for about an hour or more ago to the little tapestry-hall, to speak with my lord cardinal; and after that she came back very grave and serious, and made mistress margaret pack up a great parcel of things, while she herself spoke with dr. wilbraham; and when that was done, they all three went away together; but before she went she gave each of us fifty marks a-piece, and said that she would give us news of her." "did she not drop any word in regard to her destination?" demanded sir osborne. "anything that might lead you to imagine whither she was gone?" "mistress margaret said they were going to london," said the other girl, turning round from the window, and speaking through her tears. "she said that they were going because such was my lord cardinal's will. but i don't believe it, for she said it like a lie; and i'm sure i shall never see my young lady again. i'm sure i shan't! so now, sir knight, go away and leave us, for we can tell you nothing more." the knight turned away. "oh, constance! constance!" thought he, as he paced back to his apartments; "will you ever be able to resist all the influence they may bring against you? when you hear, too, of your lover's disgrace! well, god is good, and sometimes joy shines forth out of sorrow, like the sun that dispels the storm." as he thought thus, the prediction of sir cesar, that their misfortune should be but of short duration, came across his mind. "the evil part of his prophecy," thought he, "is already on my head. why should i doubt the good? come, i will be superstitious, and believe it fully; for hope is surely as much better than fear as joy is better than sorrow. will constance ever give her hand to another? oh, no, no! and surely, surely, i shall win her yet." of all the bright gifts with which heaven has blessed our youth, there is none more excellent than that elasticity of spirit which rebounds strongly from the depressing load of a world's care, and after the heaviest weight of sorrow, or the severest stroke of disappointment, raises us lightly up, and gives us back to hope and to enjoyment. it is peculiar to youth, and it is peculiar to good conduct; for the reiterated burdens that years cast upon us as they fly gradually rob the spring of expectation of its flexibility, and vice feels within itself that it has not the same right to hope as virtue. sir osborne's spirit was all rebound; and though surrounded with doubts, with difficulties, and with dangers, it was not long before he was ready to try again the wide adventurous world, with unabated vigour of endeavour, though rebuffed in his first endeavours and disappointed in his brightest expectations. on returning to his apartment he found his faithful attendant ready prepared; and there was a sort of easy, careless confidence in the honest yeoman's manner, that well seconded the efforts of reviving hope in his master's breast. it seemed as if he never thought for a moment that want of success was possible; and, besides, he was one of those over whom fortune has little power. he himself had no extraneous wants or wishes. happy by temperament, and independent by bodily vigour, he derived from nature all that neither stoic nor epicurean could obtain by art. he was a philosopher by frame; and more than a philosopher, as the word is generally used, for he had a warm heart and a generous spirit, and joined affection for others to carelessness about himself. such was the companion, of all others, fitted to cheer sir osborne on his way; far more so than if he had been one of equal rank or equal refinement, for he was always ready to assist, to serve, to amuse, or advise, without sufficient appreciation of finer feelings to encourage, even by understanding them, those thoughts upon which the knight might have dwelt painfully in conversation with any one else. at the same time, longpole was far above his class in every respect. he had some smattering of classical knowledge, which was all that rested with him of the laborious teaching which good dr. wilbraham had bestowed upon his youth; he not only could read and write, but had read all the books he could get at, while a prisoner in france, and had, on more than one occasion, contrived to turn a stanza, though neither the stuff nor the workmanship was very good; and he had, moreover, a strange turn for jesting, which he took care to keep in perpetual exercise. to these he joined all the thousand little serviceable qualifications of an old soldier, and an extraordinary fluency in speaking french, which had proved very useful to him in many instances. thus equipped inwardly, he now stood before sir osborne, with his outward man armed in the plain harness of a custrel, or shield-bearer, with casque and corslet, cuissards, brassards, and gauntlets; and considering that he was nearly six feet three inches in height, he was the sort of man that a knight might not be sorry to see at his back in the _mãªlã©e_ or the skirmish. "longpole," said the knight, "give me my armour; i will put it on while you place what clothes you can in the large horsebags. but, my good custrel, we must put something over our harness: give me that surcoat. you have not barded my horse, i trust?" "indeed i have, my lord," replied he; "and depend on it you may have need thereof. remember how dear the barding of a horse is: i speak of the steel, which is, in fact, the true bard, or bardo, as the italians call it, for the cloth that covers it is not the bard; and if you carry the steel with you, you may as well have the silk too." "but 'twill weary the horse," said sir osborne; "however, as 'tis on, let it stay: only it may attract attention, and give too good a track to any that follow; though, god knows, i can hardly determine which way to turn my rein." "to london! to london, to be sure, your worship," cried longpole; "that is the high road to every part on the earth, and off the earth, and under the earth. if a man want to go to heaven, he will there find guides; if he seek hell, he will find plenty going the same road; and if he love this world better, there shall he meet conveyance to every part of it. what would you think of just paying a visit to good master william hans, the merchant, to see if he cannot give us a cast over to flanders? a thousand to one he has some vessel going, or knows some one that has." "well bethought," answered sir osborne, slowly buckling on his armour. "it will soon grow dusk, and then our arms will call no attention. my hands refuse to help me on with my harness: i am very slow. nay, good longpole, if you have already finished, take a hundred marks out of that bag, which will nearly empty it, and seek the three men the duke of buckingham gave me. divide it between them for their service; and, good longpole, when you have done that, make inquiries about the palace as to what road was taken by lady constance de grey and dr. wilbraham. do not mention the lady; name only dr. wilbraham, as if i sought to speak with him." longpole obeyed, and after about half-an-hour's absence returned, tolerably successful in his inquiries; but, much to his surprise and disappointment, he found his young lord very nearly in the same situation in which he had left him, sitting in his chair, half armed, with his casque upon his knee, his fine head bare, and his eye fixed upon the fading gleams of the evening sky, where some faint clouds just above the distant trees seemed as if lingering in the beams of the sun's bright eye, like man still tenacious of the last ray of hope. "well, longpole," cried he, waking from his reverie, "what news? have you heard anything of lady constance?" and, as if ashamed of his delay, he busied himself to finish the arrangement of his armour. "let me aid you, my lord," said longpole, kneeling down, and soon completing, piece by piece, what his master had left unfinished, replying at the same time to his question. "i have spoken with the man who carried the baggage down to the boat, my lord; and he says that dr. wilbraham, lady constance, and one of her women, took water about half-an-hour after the lord cardinal, and seemed to follow his barge." sir osborne fell into another reverie, from which, at last, he roused himself with a sigh. "well, i can do nothing," said he; "like an angry child i might rage and struggle, but i could do no more. were i to stay, 'twould but be committing me to the tower, and then i must be still perforce----" longpole heard all this with an air of great edification; but when he thought that his master had indulged himself enough, he ventured to interrupt him by saying, "the sun, sir, has gone to bed; had not we better take advantage of his absence, and make our way to london? remember, sir, he is an early riser at this time of year, and will be up looking after us tomorrow before we are well aware." "ay, longpole, ay!" replied the knight; "i will linger no longer, for it is unavailing. the trumpet must have sounded to supper by this time; has it not? so we shall have no idlers to gaze at our departure." "the trumpet sounded as i went down but now," said longpole, "and i met the sewer carrying in a brawn's head so like his own, that i could not help thinking he had killed and cooked his brother: they must be hard at his grace's liege capons even now." "well, i am ready," said the knight; "give me the surcoat of tawny velvet. now; no more feathers!" he continued, plucking from his casque the long plume that, issuing from the crest in graceful sweeps, fell back almost to his girdle, taking care, however, at the same time, to leave behind a small white glove wrought with gold, that had surrounded the insertion of the feather, and which he secured in its place with particular attention. "some one will have rare pillage of this apartment," he added, looking round. "that suit of black armour is worth five hundred marks; but it matters not to think of it: we cannot carry them with us. the long sword and baldrick, longpole, and the gold spurs: i will go as a knight, at least. now, take the bags. i follow. farewell, king henry! you have lost a faithful subject!" thus saying, he proceeded down the stairs after longpole, and following a corridor, passed by one of the small doors of the great hall, through the partial opening of which were to be heard the rattle and the clatter of plates, of dishes, and of knives, and the buzz of many busy jaws. a feeling of disgust came over sir osborne as he heard it, he scarce knew why, and stayed not to inquire, but striding on, came speedily to the stable-yard, and was crossing towards the building in which his horses stood, when he observed a man loitering near the door of the stable, whom he soon discovered to be one of the yeomen given him by the duke of buckingham. "on, longpole!" cried the knight; "on, and send him upon some errand, for i am in no fit mood to speak with him now." while sir osborne drew back into the doorway, longpole advanced, and in a moment after the man was seen traversing the court in another direction. the knight then proceeded, the horses were brought forth, and springing into the saddle, sir osborne, with a sigh given to the recollection of lost hopes, touched his charger with the spur, and rode out of the gates. longpole followed, and in a few minutes they were on the high road to london. chapter xxvi. he is a worthy gentleman, exceedingly well read, and profited in strange concealments.--henry iv. it was hardly night when sir osborne departed; a faint and diminishing blush still tinged the eastern sky; the blackbird was still singing his full round notes from every thicket; and not a star had yet ventured forth upon the pathway of the sun, except one, that, bright and sweet even then, seemed like a fond and favoured child to the monarch of the sky, following fearlessly on his brilliant steps, while others held aloof. the calm of the evening sank down gently on the young adventurer's heart: it was so mild, so placid; and though, perhaps, pensive and tinged with melancholy, yet there was a sort of promise in that last smile of parting day, which led hope forward, and told of brighter moments yet to come. for some time the knight indulged in vague dreams, made up, as indeed is the whole dream of human life, of hopes and fears, expectation and despondency; then giving up thought for action, he spurred forward his horse, and proceeded as fast as he could towards london. longpole followed in silence; for, in spite of all his philosophy, he felt a sort of qualm at the idea of the long period which must intervene ere he could hope to see his pretty geraldine, that took away several ounces of his loquacity. london, at length, spread wide before them, and after some needless circumambulation, owing to the knight's total ignorance of the labyrinthian intricacies of the city, and the dangerous littleness of longpole's knowledge thereof, they at length reached gracious street, and discovered the small, square paved court, long since built over, and i believe now occupied by a tea-dealer, but which then afforded a sort of area before the dwelling of the flemish merchant, william hans. on the left hand, nearest the river, was situated the counting-house; and to the front, as well as to the right, stretched a range of buildings which, from their polyphemus-like appearance, having but one window or aperture in the front (except the door), the knight concluded to be those warehouses whose indiscriminate maw swallowed up the produce of all parts of the earth. over the counting-house, however, appeared several smaller windows, principally glazed, and through one of these shone forth upon the night the light of a taper, giving notice that some one still waked within. while longpole dismounted, and knocked with the hilt of his dagger against a little door by the side of that which led to the counting-house, the knight watched the light in the window; but he watched and longpole knocked in vain; for neither did the light move nor the door open, till sir osborne bethought him of a stratagem to call the merchant's attention. "make a low knocking against the windows of the counting-house, longpole," said he, "as if you were trying to force them. i have known these money-getters as deaf as adders to any sound but that which menaced the mammon." longpole obeyed, and the moment after the light moved. "hold! hold!" cried the knight, "he hears;" and the next moment the casement window was pushed open, through which the head of the good merchant protruded itself, vociferating, "who's tere? what do you want? i'll call te watch. watch! watch!" "_taisez-vous!_" cried the knight, addressing him in french, not being able to speak the brabant dialect of the merchant, and yet not wishing to proclaim his errand aloud in english. "_nous sommes amis_; _descendez, guillaume hans: c'est le sire de darnley_." "oh! i'll come down, i'll come down," cried the merchant "run, skippenhausen, and open te door. i'll come down, my coot lord, in a minute." the two travellers had not now long to wait; for in a moment or two the little door at which longpole had at first in vain applied for admission was thrown open by a personage, the profundity of whose nether garments, together with his long waistcoat, square-cut blue coat, with the seams, and there were many, all bound with white lace, induced sir osborne immediately to write him down for a dutch navigator. descending the stairs, immediately behind this first apparition, came the merchant himself, with his black gown, which had probably been laid aside for the night, now hurried on, not with the most correct adjustment in the world, for it looked very much as if turned inside out, which might well happen to a robe, the sleeves of which were not above six inches long. sir osborne, however, did not stay to investigate the subject very minutely; but explaining to the good merchant that he had something particular to say to him, he was conducted into the counting-house, where he informed him as succinctly as possible of what had occurred and what he desired. good master hans was prodigal of his astonishment, which vented itself in various exclamations in flemish, english, and french; after which, coming to business, as he said, he told the knight that he could put up his horses in the same stable where he kept his drays, and that after that they would talk of the rest. "but on my wort, my coot lord," said he, "i must go with your man myself, for there is not one soul in the place to let him in or out of the stable, which is behind the house." the most troublesome part of the affair for the moment was to take off the bard or horse armour that covered the knight's charger, as it could not be left in the stable till the next morning, when the merchant's carters would arrive; and poor william hans was desperately afraid that the round of the watch would pass while the operation was in execution, and suppose that he was receiving some contraband goods, which might cause a search the next day. the business, however, was happily accomplished by the aid of the dutch captain, who, seeing that there was something mysterious going forward, and having a taste that way, gave more active assistance than either his face or figure might have taught one to expect. he also it was who, while the good merchant, with the candle in his hand, led our friend longpole with the horses to the stable, conducted the knight up-stairs into the room where they had first discovered the light, and invited him, in extremely good english, to be seated. by the appearance of the chamber it seemed that master hans had been preparing to make great cheer for his captain; for various were the flagons and bottles that stood upon the table, together with trenchers and plates unused, and a pile of manchet and spice bread, with other signs and prognostications of a rere-supper; not to mention an immense bowl which stood in the midst, and whose void rotundity seemed yearning for some savoury mass not yet concocted. it was not long before the merchant re-appeared, accompanied by longpole, who, according to the custom of those days, when many a various rank might be seen at the same board, seated himself at the farther end of the table, after having taken his master's casque, and soon engaged the dutch captain in conversation, while the knight consulted with william hans regarding the means of quitting england as speedily as possible. "it is very unlucky you did not let me know before," said the merchant, "for we might easily have cot the ship of my coot friend skippenhausen there ready to-day, and you could have sailed to-morrow morning by the first tide. you might trust him; you might trust him with your life. bless you, my coot lord! 'tis he that brings me over the bibles from holland." "but cannot we sail the day after to-morrow," said the knight, "if one day will be sufficient to complete his freight?" "oh, that he can!" answered the merchant; "but what will you do till then?" he added, with a melancholy shake of the head; "you will never like to lie in warehouse like a parcel of dry goods." "why, it must be so, i suppose," said the knight, "if you have any place capable of concealing me." "oh, dear life, yes!" cried william hans; "a place that would conceal a dozen. i had it made on purpose after that evil may-day, when the wild rabblement of london rose, and nearly murdered all the strangers they could find. i thought what had happened once might happen again; and so i had in some of my own country people, and caused it to be made very securely." the matter was now soon arranged. it was agreed that the knight and longpole should lie concealed at the merchant's till the ship was ready to sail, and that then master skippenhausen was to provide them a safe passage to some town in flanders; which being finally settled between all parties, it only remained to fix the price of their conveyance with the dutchman. "i am an honest man," said he, on the subject being mentioned, "and will not rob you. if you were in no hurry to go, and could go quietly, i would charge you ten marks a ton; but as you are in distress, i will only charge you fifteen." "faith!" burst forth longpole, "you are very liberal! why, do you charge us _more_, not _less_, because we are in distress?" "certainly," answered the dutchman, with imperturbable tranquillity; "nine men out of ten would charge you five times as much when they found you wanted to go very bad, now i only charge you one-half more." "i believe you are right," said sir osborne. "however, i do not object to your price; but tell me, what do you mean by fifteen marks a ton? do you intend to weigh us?" "to be sure," answered the dutchman; "why not? all my freight is weighed, and why not you, too? no, no. i'll have nothing on board that is not weighed: it's all put in the book." "well," said the knight, with a smile, "it does not much matter. can you take my horses too by weight?" "certainly," replied the other, "i can take anything; but i am responsible for nothing. if your horses kick themselves to death in the hold, that is not my fault." "i will take care of that," said the knight. "here, longpole, help me to put off my harness: i cannot sit in it all night." while the custrel was thus employed in aiding his lord to disarm, the door opened, and in bustled a servant-maid of about two or three-and-thirty, whose rosy cheeks had acquired a deeper tinge by the soft wooing of a kitchen fire, and whose sharp eyes shot forth those brilliant rays generally supposed to be more animated by the wrathful spirit of cookery and of ardent coals than by any softer power or flame. immediately that she beheld two strangers, forth burst upon the head of william hans the impending storm. she abused him for telling her that there would only be himself and the captain; she vowed that she had not cooked half salmon enough for four; she declared that she had only put down plates and bread for two; and she ended by protesting that she never in her life had seen anybody so stupid as he himself, william hans. to the mind of sir osborne, the lady somewhat forgot the respect due to her master; but, however, whether it was from one of those strange, mysterious ascendancies which cooks and housekeepers occasionally acquire over middle-aged single gentlemen, or whether it was from a natural meekness of disposition in the worthy fleming, he bore it with most exemplary patience; and when want of breath for a moment pulled the check-string of the lady's tongue, he informed her that the two strangers had come unexpectedly. thereupon, muttering to herself something very like "why the devil did they come at all!" she set down on the table a dish of hot boiled salmon; and, after flouncing out of the room, returned with the air of the most injured person in the world, bringing in a platter-full of dried peas, likewise boiled. these various ingredients (the salmon was salted) william hans immediately seized upon, and emptied them into the great bowl we have already mentioned. then casting off his gown, and tucking up the sleeves of his coat, he mashed them all together; adding various slices of some well-preserved pippins, a wooden spoon's capacity of fine oil, and three of vinegar. fancy such a mess to eat at eleven o'clock at night, and then go to bed and dream! boiled salmon and peas! apples and oil! and vinegar to crown it! however, sir osborne resisted the tempting viands, and contented himself with some of the plain bread, although both the merchant and the captain pressed him several times to partake; assuring him, while the oil and vinegar ran out at the corners of their mouths, that it was "very coot; very coot indeed; excellent!" and so much did they seem to enjoy it, that the unhappy longpole was tempted for his sins to taste the egregious compound, and begged a small quantity at the hands of good master hans. the bountiful merchant shovelled a waggon-load of it upon his plate, and the yeoman, fancying himself bound in common politeness to eat it, contrived to swallow three whole mouthfuls with a meekness and patience that in the succeeding reign would have classed him with the martyrs; but at the fourth his humanity rebelled, and thrusting the plate from him with a vehemence that nearly overturned all the rest, "no!" cried he. "no, by----! there is no standing that!" the merchant and his countryman chuckled amazingly at poor longpole's want of taste, and even the knight, albeit in no very laughter-loving mood, could not help smiling at his custrel's discomfiture. but as all things must come to an end, the salt salmon and peas were at length concluded, and some marmalades and confections substituted in their place, which proved much more suitable to the taste of such of the company as were uninitiated in the mysteries of flemish cookery. with the sweatmeats came the wines, which were all of peculiar rarity and excellence; for in this particular, at least, william hans was a man of no small taste, which he kept indeed in continual practice. not that we would imply that he drank too much or too often, but still the god of the gilded horns had been gently fingering his nose, and with a light and skilful pencil had decorated all the adjacent parts with a minute and delicate tracery of interwoven rosy lines. as the wine diffused itself over his stomach, it seemed to buoy up his heart to his lips. prudence, too, slackened her reins, and on went his tongue, galloping as a beggar's horse is reported to do, on a way that shall be nameless. many were the things he said which he should not have said, and many were the things he told which would have been better left untold. amongst others, he acknowledged himself a lutheran, which in that age, if it tended to find out bliss in the other world, was very likely to bring down damnation in this. he averred that he looked upon the bishop of rome, as he called the pope, in the light of that babylonish old lady whose more particular qualification is not fit for ears polite; and he confessed that when dr. fitz-james, the bishop of london, had bought up all the translations of the bible he could find, and burnt them all at paul's cross, he had furnished the furious romanist with a whole cargo of incomplete copies. "so that," continued he, "the bishop damned his own soul the more completely by burning god's word, and paid the freight and binding of a new and complete set into the bargain." and he chuckled and grinned with mercantile glee at his successful speculation, and with puritanic triumph over the persecutors of his sect. sir osborne soon began to be weary of the scene, and begged to know where he should find his chamber, upon which master hans rose to conduct him, with perfect steadiness of limb, the wine having affected nothing but his tongue. lighting a lamp, he preceded the knight with great reverence; and while longpole followed with the armour, he led the way up a little narrow stair to a small room, the walls of which, though not covered with arras, were hung with painted canvass, after a common fashion of the day, representing the whole history of jonah and the whale; wherein the fish was decidedly cod, and the sea undoubtedly butter and parsley, notwithstanding anything that the scientific may say to such an assemblage. the ship was evidently one that would have sunk in any sea except that she was in: she could not have sailed across chancery lane in a wet day without foundering; and, as if to render her heavier, the artist had stowed her to the head with dutchmen, rendering her, like the _dinde ã  la sainte alliance_ (viz. a turkey stuffed with woodcocks), one heavy thing crammed full of another. the whole of the room, however, was cleanliness itself: the little bed that stood in the corner with its fine linen sheets, the small deal table, even the very sand upon the floor, all were as white as snow. "i am afraid, my coot lord," said the merchant, who never lost his respect for his guest, "that your lordship will be poorly lodged; but these three chambers along in front are what i keep always ready, in case of any of my captains arriving unexpectedly, and it is all clean and proper, i can assure you. i will now go and bring you a cushion for your head, and what the french call the _coupe de bonne nuit_, and will myself call your lordship to-morrow, before any one is up, that you may take your hiding-place without being seen." the knight was somewhat surprised to find his host's recollection so clear, notwithstanding his potations; but he knew not what much habit in that kind will do, and still doubted whether his memory would be active enough to remind him that he was to call him when the next morning should really come. however, he did master hans injustice; for without fail, at the hour of five, he presented himself at the knight's door; and soon after rousing longpole, he conducted them both down to the warehouses, through whose deep obscurity they groped their way, amidst tuns, and bags, and piles, and bales, with no other light than such straggling rays as found their way through the chinks and crevices of the boards which covered the windows for the night. at length an enormous butt presented itself, which appeared to be empty; for without any great effort the old merchant contrived to move it from its place. behind this appeared a pile of untanned hides, which he set himself to put on one side as fast as possible, though for what purpose sir osborne did not well understand, as he beheld nothing behind them but the rough planks which formed the wall of the warehouse. as the pile diminished, a circumstance occurred which made all the parties hurry their movements, and despatch the hides as fast as possible. this was nothing else than a loud and reiterated knocking at the outer door, which at first induced master hans to raise his head and listen; but then, without saying a word, he set himself to work again harder than ever, and with the assistance of the knight and longpole, soon cleared away all obstruction, and left the fair face of the boarded wall before them. kneeling down, the merchant now thrust his fingers under the planks, where the apparently rude workmanship of the builder had left a chink between them and the ground, then applied all his strength to a vigorous heave, and in a moment three of the planks at once slid up, being made to play in a groove, like the door of a lion's den, and discovered a small chamber beyond, lighted by a glazed aperture towards the sky. "in, in, my coot lord!" cried the merchant; "don't you hear how they are knocking at the door? they will soon rouse my maid julian, though she sleeps like a marmot. what they want i don't know." sir osborne and longpole were not tardy in taking possession of their hiding-place; and having themselves pulled down the sliding door by means of the cross-bars, which in the inside united the three planks together, they fastened it with a little bolt, whereby any one within could render his retreat as firm, and, to all appearance, as immoveable as the rest of the wall. they then heard the careful william hans replace the hides, roll back the butt, and pace away; after which nothing met their ear but the unceasing knocking at the outer door, which seemed every minute to assume a fiercer character, and which was perfectly audible in their place of refuge. the merchant appeared to treat the matter very carelessly, and not to make any reply till it suited his convenience; for during some minutes he let the knockers knock on. at length, however, that particular sound ceased, and from a sort of rush and clatter of several tongues, the knight concluded that the door had been at length opened. at the same time the voice of the fleming made itself heard, in well-assumed tones of passion, abusing the intruders for waking him so early in the morning, bringing scandal upon his house, and taking away his character. "seize the old villain!" cried another voice; "we have certain information that they are here. search every hole and corner; they must have arrived last night." such, and various other broken sentences, pronounced by the loud tongue of some man in office, reached the ears of sir osborne, convincing him, notwithstanding henry's assurance that till noon of that day he should remain unpursued, that wolsey, taking advantage of the king's absence at richmond, had lost no time in issuing the warrant for his arrest. sitting down on a pile of books, which was the only thing that the little chamber contained, he listened with some degree of anxiety to the various noises of the search. now it was a direction from the chief of the party to look here or to look there; now the various cries of the searchers when they either thought they had discovered something suspicious or were disappointed in some expectation; now the rolling of the butts, the overturning of the bales, the casting down of the skins and leathers; now the party was far off, and now so near that the knight could hear every movement of the man who examined the hides before the door of his hiding-place. at one time, in the eagerness of his search, the fellow even struck his elbow against the boarding, and might probably have discovered that it was hollow underneath, had not the tingling pain of his arm engaged all his attention, passing off in a fit of dancing and stamping, mingled with various ungodly execrations. at length, however, the pursuers seemed entirely foiled; and after having passed more than two hours, some in examining the dwelling-house and some the warehouse, after having tumbled over every article of poor william hans's goods, their loud cries and insolent swaggering dwindled away to low murmurs of disappointment; and growing fainter and fainter as they proceeded to the door, the sounds at length ceased entirely, and left the place in complete silence. not long after, the workmen arrived and began their ordinary occupations for the day; and sir osborne and longpole thanked their happy stars, both for having escaped the present danger, and for their enemy's search being now probably turned in some other direction. chapter xxvii. _norfolk_.--what, are you chafed? ask god for temperance; that's the appliance only which your disease requires.--shakspere. as the day passed on, sir osborne grew more and more impatient under his confinement. he felt a sort of degradation in being thus pent up, like a wild beast in a cage; and though with invincible patience he had lain a thousand times more still in many an ambuscade, he felt an almost irresistible desire to unbolt the door, and assure himself that he was really at large, by going forth and exercising his limbs in the free air. but then came the remembrance that such a proceeding would almost infallibly transfer him to a still stricter prison, where, instead of being voluntary and but for one day, his imprisonment would be forced and long-continued. the thought, too, of constance de grey, and the hope of winning her yet, gave great powers of endurance; and he contented himself with every now and then marching up and down the little chamber, which, taken transversely, just afforded him space for three steps and a-half, and at other times with speaking in a whisper to longpole, who, having brought the armour down with him, sat in one corner, polishing off any little dim spots that the damp of the night air might have left upon it. "this is very tiresome," said the knight. "very tiresome, indeed, my lord!" replied longpole. "i've been fancying myself a blackbird in a wicker cage for the last hour. may i whistle?" "no, no," cried the knight. "give me the casque; i will polish that by way of doing something. don't you think, longpole, if underneath the volant-piece a stout sort of avantaille were carried down, about an inch broad and two inches long, of hard steel, it would prevent the visor from being borne in, as i have often seen, by the blow of a solid lance?" "yes," answered longpole; "but it would prevent your lordship from blowing your nose. oh! i do hate improvement, my lord. depend upon it, 'tis the worst thing in the world. men improve, and improve, and improve, till they leave nothing that's original on the earth. i would wager your lordship a hundred marks, that, by two or three hundred years hence, people will have so improved their armour that there will be none at all." "zounds, bill!" cried a voice in the warehouse, "don't you hear some folks talking?" "it's some one in the street," answered another voice. "yet it sounded vastly near, too." this, however, was quite sufficient warning for the knight to be silent; and taking up one of the books upon which he had been sitting, he found that it was an english version of the bible, with copies of which it appears that master william hans was in the habit of supplying the english protestants. our mother eve's bad old habit of prying into forbidden sources of knowledge affects us all more or less; and as the bible was at that time prohibited in england, except to the clergy, sir osborne very naturally opened it and began reading. what effect its perusal had upon his mind matters little: suffice it that he read on, and found sufficient matter of interest therein to occupy him fully. hour after hour fled, and day waned slowly; but having once laid his hand upon that book, the knight no longer felt the tardy current of the time, and night fell before the day which he anticipated as so tedious seemed to have half passed away. a long while elapsed, after the darkness had interrupted sir osborne in his study, before the warehouse was closed for the night; which, however, was no sooner accomplished than good master hans, accompanied by his friend skippenhausen, came to deliver them from their confinement. "he! he! he!" cried the merchant, as they came forth. "did you hear what a noise they made, my coot lord, when they came searching this morning? they did not find them, though, for they were all in beside you." "what do you mean?" demanded the knight. "who were in beside us? nobody came here." "i mean the bibles; i mean the word of god," cried the merchant; "the bread of life, that those villains came seeking this morning, which, if they had got, they would have burnt most sacrilegiously, as an offering to the harlot of their idolatry." "then i was wrong in supposing that they searched for me?" said the knight, with a smile at his own mistake. "oh, no; not for you at all!" replied the merchant. "it was the bibles that skippenhausen brought over from holland, for the poor english protestants, who are here denied to eat of the bread or drink of the water of salvation. but now, my lord, if you will condescend to be weighed, you will be ready to sail at four in the morning; for your horses and horse-armour are all weighed and aboard, and the cargo will be complete when your lordship and your gentleman are shipped." finding that master skippenhausen was bent upon ascertaining his weight, sir osborne consented to get into the merchant's large scales; and being as it were lotted with longpole, his horse-bags, and his armour, he made a very respectable entry in the captain's books. after this, master hans led him into his counting-house, and displayed his books before him; but as the items of his account might be somewhat tedious, it may be as well merely to say, that the young knight found he had expended, in the short time he had remained in henry's luxurious court, more than two thousand five hundred marks; so that of the two thousand seven hundred which he had possessed in the hands of the fleming, and the thousand which he had won at the duke of buckingham's, but one thousand two hundred and a trifle remained. sir osborne was surprised; but the accurate merchant left no point in doubt, and the young knight began to think that it was lucky he had been driven from the court before all his funds were completely expended. he found, however, to his satisfaction, that a great variety of arms and warlike implements, which he had gathered together while in flanders, and had left in the warehouses of the merchant since he had been in england, had been shipped on board skippenhausen's vessel, whose acknowledgment of having received them william hans now put into his hand; and having paid him the sum due, and received an acquittance, he led him once more upstairs into the scene of the last night's revel. we shall pass over this second evening at the merchant's house without entering into any details thereof, only remarking that it passed more pleasantly than the former one, there being at the supper-table some dishes which an englishman could eat, and which his stomach might probably digest. at an early hour sir osborne cast himself upon his bed, and slept, though every now and then the thoughts of his approaching voyage made him start up and wonder what was the hour; and then, as skippenhausen did not appear, he would lie down and sleep again, each half-hour of this disturbed slumber seeming like a whole long night. at length, however, when he just began to enjoy a more tranquil rest, he was awakened by the seaman; and dressing himself as quickly as possible, he followed to william hans's parlour, where the worthy merchant waited to drink a parting cup with his guests and wish them a prosperous voyage. as the easiest means of carrying their harness, sir osborne and longpole had both armed themselves; and as soon as they had received the fleming's benediction in a cup of sack, they donned their casques and followed the captain towards the vessel. it was a dull and drizzly morning, and many was the dark foul street, and many the narrow tortuous lane, through which they had to pass. wapping, all dismal and wretched as it appears even now-a-days to the unfortunate voyager, who, called from his warm bed in a wet london morning, is rolled along through its long, hopeless windings, and amidst its tall, spiritless houses, towards the ship destined to bear him to some other land; and which, with a perversion of intellect only to be met with in ships, stage-coaches, and other woodenheaded things, is always sure to set out at an hour when all rational creatures are sleeping in their beds; wapping, i say, as it stands at present, in its darkness and its filth, is gay and lightsome to the paths by which worshipful master skippenhausen conducted sir osborne and his follower towards his vessel. sloppy, silent, and deserted, the streets boasted no living creature besides themselves, unless, indeed, it was some poor mechanic, who, with his shoulders up to his ear's, and his hands clasped together to keep them warm, picked his way through the dirt towards his early toil. the heavens frowned upon them, and the air that surrounded them was one of those chill, wet, thick, dispiriting atmospheres which no other city than london can boast in the month of may. there is a feeling of melancholy attached to quitting anything to which we have, even for a time, habituated our hopes and wishes, or even our thoughts: however dull, however uninteresting, a place may be in itself, if therein we have familiar associations and customary feelings, we must ever feel a degree of pain in leaving it. i am convinced there is a sort of glutinous quality in the mind of man, which sticks it to everything it rests upon; or is it attraction of cohesion? however, the knight had a thousand sufficient reasons for feeling melancholy and depressed, as he quitted the capital of his native land. he left behind him hopes, and expectations, and affection, and love; almost all those feelings which, like the various colours mingled in a sunbeam, unite to form the light of human existence, and without which it is dull, dark, and heavy, like heaven without the sun. and yet, perhaps, he would have felt the parting less had the morning looked more brightly on him; had there been one gleam of light to give a fair augury for willing hope to seize. but, no; it was all black and gloomy, and the very sky seemed to reflect the feelings of his own bosom. thus, as he walked along after the captain, there was a stern, heavy determination in his footfall, unlike either the light step of expectation or the calm march of contentment. what he felt was not precisely despair: it was the bitterness of much disappointment; and he strode quickly onward, as if at once to conquer and to fly from his own sensations. at length a narrow lane brought them to the side of the river, where waited a boat to convey them to the dutchman's ship, which lay out some way from the bank. beside the stairs stood a man apparently on the watch, but he seemed quite familiar with master skippenhausen, who gave him a nod as he passed, and pointing to his companions said, "this is the gentleman and his servant." "very well," said the man; "go on!" and the whole party, taking their places in the boat without further question, were speedily pulled round to the vessel by the two stout dutchmen who awaited them. as soon as they were on board, the captain led the knight down into the cabin, which he found in a state of glorious confusion, but which skippenhausen assured him would be the safest place for him, till they had got some way down the river; for that they might have visiters on board, whom he could not prevent from seeing all that were upon the deck, though he would take care that they should not come below. "ay, master skippenhausen," cried longpole; "for god's sake fetter all spies and informers with a silver ring, and let us up on deck again as soon as possible, for i am tired of being hid about in holes and corners, like a crooked silver groat in the box of a careful maid; and as for my lord, he looks more weary of it than even i am." the master promised faithfully, that as soon as the vessel had passed blackwall he would give them notice, and then proceeded to the deck, where, almost immediately after, all the roaring and screaming made itself heard which seems absolutely necessary to get a ship under way. in truth, it was a concert as delectable as any that ever greeted a poor voyager on his outset: the yelling of the seamen, the roaring of the master and his subordinates, the creaking and whistling of the masts and cordage, together with volleys of clumsy dutch oaths, all reached the ears of the knight, as he sat below in the close, foul cabin, and, joined to his own painful feelings, made him almost fancy himself in the dutch part of hades. still the swinging of the vessel told that, though not as an effect, yet at least as an accompaniment to all this din, the ship was already on her voyage; and after a few minutes, a more regular and easy motion began to take place, as she glided down what is now called the pool. however, much raving, and swearing, and cursing, to no purpose, still went on, whenever the vessel passed in the proximity of another; and, as there were several dropping down at the same time, manifold were the opportunities which presented themselves for the captain and the pilot to exercise their execrative faculties. but at length the disturbance began to cease, and the ship held her even course down the river, while the sun, now fully risen, dispelled the clouds that had hung over the early morning, and the day looked more favourably upon their passage. sir osborne gazed out of the little window in the stern, noticing the various villages that they passed on their way down, till the palace at greenwich, and the park sweeping up behind, met his eye, together with many a little object associated with hopes, and feelings, and happiness gone by, recalling most painfully all that expectation had promised and disappointment had done away. it was too much to look upon steadily; and turning from the sight, he folded his arms on the table, and burying his eyes on them, remained in that position till the master descending told him that they were now free from all danger. on this information, the knight gladly mounted the ladder, and paced up and down the deck, enjoying the free air, while longpole jested with master skippenhausen, teasing him the more, perhaps, because he saw that the seaman had put on that sort of surly, domineering air which the master of a vessel often assumes the moment his foot touches the deck, however gay and mild he may be on shore. nevertheless, as we are now rapidly approaching that part of this book wherein the events become more thronged and pressing, we must take the liberty of leaving out all the long conversation which vonderbrugius reports as having taken place between skippenhausen and longpole, as well as a very minute and particular account of a sail down the river thames, wherewith the learned professor embellishes his history, and which, though doubtless very interesting to the dutch burgomasters and their wives, of a century and a half ago, would not greatly edify the british public of the present day, when every cook-maid steps once a-year into the steam-packet, and is paddled down to margate, with less trouble than it took an englishman of the reign of harry the eighth to go from charing cross to lombard street. the wind was in their favour, and the tide running strongly down, so that passing, one by one, woolwich, purfleet, erith, gravesend, and sundry other places, in a few hours they approached near the ocean limits of the english land; while the river, growing mightier and mightier as it rolled on, seemed to rush towards the sea with a sort of daring equality, rather a rival than a tributary, till, meeting its giant sovereign, it gave vent to its pride in a few frothy waves; and then, yielding to his sway, poured all its treasures in his bosom. before they had reached the mouth of the river, they beheld a vessel which had preceded them suddenly take in sail and lie-to under the lee of the essex shore; the reason of which was made very evident the moment after, by the vane at the mast-head wheeling round, and the wind coming in heavy squalls right upon their beam. the dutchman's ship was not one at all calculated to sail near the wind; and paying little consideration to the necessity of sir osborne's case, he followed the example of the vessel before him, and gave orders for taking in sail and lying-to, declaring that the gale would not last. the knight remonstrated, but he might as well have talked to the wind itself. skippenhausen was quite inflexible, not even taking the pains to answer a word, and, contenting himself with muttering a few sentences in high dutch, interspersed with various objurgatory addresses to the sailors. whether the worthy hollander's conduct on this occasion was right, proper, and seaman-like, we must leave to some better qualified tribunal than our own weak noddle to determine, professing to be most profoundly ignorant on nautical affairs; but so the matter stood, that the knight was obliged to swing one whole night in an uncomfortable hammock in an uncomfortable ship, in the mouth of the river thames, with a bitter fancy resting on his mind, that this waste of time was quite unnecessary, and that with a little courage and a little skill on the part of the master, he might before the next morning have been landed at dunkirk, to which city he was to be safely carried, according to his agreement with the dutchman. by daybreak the next morning the wind was rather more favourable, and at all events by no means violent, so that the vessel was soon once more under way. still, however, they made but little progress; and even the ship that was before them, though a faster sailer and one that could keep nearer the wind, made little more way than themselves. while in this situation, trying by a long tack to mend their course, with about the distance of half-a-mile between them and the other vessel, they perceived a ship-of-war apparently run out from the essex coast some way to windward, and bear down upon them with all sail set. "who have we here, i wonder?" said the knight, addressing skippenhausen, who had been watching the approaching vessel attentively for some minutes. "'tis an english man-of-war," replied the master, "coot now, don't you see the red cross on her flag? by my life, she is making a signal to us! it must be you she is wanting, my lord; for on my life i have nothing contraband but you aboard. i will not understand her signal, though; and as the breeze is coming up, i will run for it. go you down in the cabin and hide yourself." "i will go down," replied the knight. "but hide myself i will not; i have had too much of it already." skippenhausen, who, as we before hinted, had by the long habit of smuggling in a small way acquired a taste for the concealed and mysterious, tried in vain to persuade the knight to hide himself under a pile of bedding. on this subject sir osborne was as deaf as the other had been the night before, in regard to proceeding on their voyage; and all the concession that the master could obtain was that the two englishmen would go below and wait the event, while he tried, by altering his course and running before the wind, to weary the pursuers, if they were not very hearty in the cause. "well, longpole," said sir osborne, "i suppose that we must look upon ourselves as caught at last." "would your worship like us to stand to our arms?" demanded the yeoman. "we could make this cabin good a long while in case of necessity." "by no means," replied the knight. "i will on no account resist the king's will. besides, it would be spilling good blood to little purpose; for we must yield at last." "as your lordship pleases," answered the custrel; "but knowing how fond you are of a good downright blow of estoc at a fair gentleman's head, i thought you might like to take advantage of the present occasion, which may be your last for some time." "perhaps it may be a mistake still," answered the knight, "and pass away like the search for the bibles when we were concealed in the warehouse. however, we shall soon see: at all events, till it comes i shall take no heed about it;" and casting himself into a seat, with a bitter smile, as if wearied out with fortune's caprices, and resolved to struggle no longer for her favour, he gazed forth from the little stern window upon the wide expanse of water that rolled away towards the horizon. the aperture of this window, not being more than six inches either in height or width, and cut through the thick timbers of the dutch vessel for considerably more than a foot in depth, was in fact not much better than a telescope without a glass, so that the knight's view was not a little circumscribed in respect to all the nearer objects, and he was only able to see, as the ship pitched, the glassy green waves, mingled with white foam, rushing tumultuously from under her stern as she now scudded before the wind, leaving a long, glistening, frothy track behind, to mark where she had made her path through the midst of the broad sea. as he looked farther out, however, the prospect widened; and at the extreme verge, where the sea and the sky, almost one in unity of hue, showed still a faint line of light to mark their boundary, he could perceive, rising up as it were from the bosom of the deep, the light tracery of masts and rigging belonging to far distant vessels, whose hulls were still concealed by the convexity of the waters. nearer, but yet within the range that the narrowness of the window allowed his sight, appeared the vessel that had dropped down the river just before them, and the english ship-of-war, which, crowding all sail before the wind, seemed in full chase, not of their companion, but of themselves; for the other, in obedience to the signal, had hauled her wind and lay-to. sir osborne now watched to ascertain whether the man-of-war gained upon them, but an instant's observation put an end to all doubt. she evidently came nearer and nearer, and soon approached so close as scarcely to be within range of his view, being lost and seen alternately at every motion of the ship. at length, as the vessel pitched, she disappeared for a moment, then came in sight again; a quick flash glanced along her bow, and the moment after, when she was no longer visible to his eye, the sullen report of a cannon came upon the wind. by a sudden change in the motion of the vessel, together with various cries upon the deck, the knight now concluded that the dutchman had at length obeyed this peremptory signal and lay-to, which was in fact the case; for passing over to the window on the other side, he again got a view of the english ship, which sailed majestically up, and then, when within a few hundred yards, put out and manned a boat, which rowed off towards them. sir osborne had not long an opportunity of observing the boat in her approach, as she soon passed out of the small space which he could see; but in a few minutes after, the voice of some one, raised to its very highest pitch, made itself heard from a distance, hardly near enough for the knight to distinguish the words, though he every now and then caught enough to perceive that the whole consisted of a volley of curses discharged at master skippenhausen for not having obeyed the signal. the dutchman replied, in a tone of angry surliness, that he had not seen their signal; and in a minute or two more, a harsh grating rush against the vessel told that the boat was alongside. "i will teach you, you dutch son of a dog-fish, not to lie-to when one of the king's ships makes the signal," cried a loud voice by the side. "have you any passengers on board?" "yes, five or six," answered the dutchman. "stop! i will come on board," cried the voice, and then proceeded, as if while climbing the ship's side, "have yon one sir osborne maurice with you?" "no!" answered skippenhausen, stoutly. "well, we will soon see that," cried the other; "for i have orders to attach him for high treason. come, bustle! disperse, my boys! you, wilfred, go forward; i will down here and see who is in the cabin; and if i find him, master dutchman, i will slit your ears." chapter xxviii. my conscience will serve me to run from this jew. _merchant of venice_. we will now return to lady constance de grey, whose fate must no longer be left in uncertainty; and taking up the thread of our narrative at the moment sir osborne quitted her, on the eventful evening which destroyed all his fond expectations, we will, in our homely way, record the events that followed. it may be remembered, that at the very instant the knight parted from good dr. wilbraham at the door of the young lady's apartment in the palace at richmond, a letter was put into the clergyman's hands, to be delivered to the heiress of de grey, for such was the style of the address. no time was lost by dr. wilbraham in giving the letter into his lady's hands; and on being opened, it proved to be one of those anonymous epistles which are seldom even worth the trouble of deciphering, being prompted always by some motive which dares not avow itself. however, as lady constance was very little in the habit of receiving letters from any one, and certainly none to which the writer dare not put his name, mere curiosity, if nothing else, would have prompted her to read it through; the more especially as it was written in a fine and clerkly hand, and in a style and manner to be acquired alone by high and courtly education. although the letter is still extant, we shall not copy it, having already given one specimen of the compositions of that day, and not at all wishing to depreciate the times of our hero and heroine in the estimation of our more cultivated readers. let it be considered as sufficient, then, that we merely say, the letter professed to be a warning from a friend, and informed the young lady that the most rigorous measures were about to be adopted towards her, in case of her still refusing to comply with wolsey's command in respect to her marriage with lord darby. the writer then hinted that perpetual seclusion in a convent, together with the forfeiture of all her estates, would be the consequence, if she could not contrive to fly immediately; but that, if she could, her person at least would be at liberty, and that a friend would watch over her property; and, as a conclusion, he advised her to leave richmond by water, as the means which would leave the least trace of her course. so singularly did this letter anticipate not only her own fears, but also her own plans, that it instantly acquired, in the eyes of lady constance, an authenticity which it did not otherwise possess; and placing it in the hands of dr. wilbraham, she asked his opinion upon its contents. "pshaw!" cried the clergyman when he had read it; "pshaw! lady, it is all nonsense! the very reverend lord cardinal will never try to make you marry against your will. do not frighten yourself about it, my dear lady; depend on it, 'tis all nonsense. let me see it again." but after he had read it over once more, dr. wilbraham's opinion seemed in some degree to change. he considered the letter, and reconsidered it, with very thoughtful eyes, and then declared it was strange that any one should write it unless it were true; and yet he would not believe that either. "pray, lady, have you any idea who wrote it?" demanded he. "i can imagine but one person," said lady constance, "who could possess the knowledge and would take the pains. margaret, leave us," she continued, turning to the waiting-woman. "i have heard, my dear dr. wilbraham," she proceeded, as soon as they were alone, "that you were in former times acquainted with an old knight called sir cesar. i met him yesterday when i was out in the park." lady constance paused, and a slight blush came into her cheek, as she remembered that the good clergyman knew nothing of the affection which subsisted between herself and darnley; and feeling a strong repugnance to say that he was with her at the moment, she hesitated, not knowing how to proceed. dr. wilbraham relieved her, however, by exclaiming, the instant she stopped, "oh, yes, lady; in truth i know him well. he was the dearest and the best friend of my lord fitzbernard; and though unhappily given to strange and damnable pursuits--god forgive him!--i must say he was a friend to all the human race, and a man to be trusted and esteemed. but think you this letter came from him?" "he is the only one," replied constance, "on whom my mind could for a moment fix as having written it." "it is very likely," answered the clergyman: "it is very likely; and if it comes from him, you may believe every word that it contains. his knowledge, lady, is strange, is very strange, and is more than good, but it is sure. he is one of those restless spirits that must ever be busy; and, human knowledge not being sufficient for his eager mind, he has sought more than he should seek, and found more than is for the peace of his soul." "but if he make a good use of his knowledge," said constance, "surely it cannot be very wicked, my dear sir." "it is presumptuous, lady," replied the clergyman; "it is most presumptuous to seek what god has concealed from our poor nature." "but if this letter be from him," said the lady, "and the bad tidings that it brings be true, what ought i to do? you, whom my dear father left with me, asking you never to quit me---you must be my adviser, and tell me what to do in this emergency; for sure i am that you will never advise me to marry a man whom i do not love, and who does not even love me." "no, no, heaven forbid! especially when you would rather marry osborne," said the good clergyman with the utmost simplicity, looking upon it quite as a matter of course, which required no particular delicacy of handling: "and a much better thing too, lady, in every respect," he continued, seeing that he had called up a blush in constance's cheek, and fancying that it arose from a fear of his disapproving her choice. "if you will tell the lord cardinal all the circumstances, depend upon it he will not press you to do anything you dislike. let him have the whole history, my dear lady; tell him that you do not love lord darby, and that he loves another; and then show him how dearly darnley loves you, and how you love him in return; and then----" "oh, hush, hush! my dear dr. wilbraham!" cried the lady, with the blood glowing through her fair clear skin, over neck, and face, and forehead. "impossible, indeed; quite impossible! you forget." "oh! yes, yes, i did forget," replied the chaplain. "osborne does not wish his name to be known; i did forget. very true! that is unfortunate. but cannot you just insinuate that you do love some one else, but do not like to mention his name?" lady constance now endeavoured to make the simple clergyman understand, that under any circumstances she would be obliged to limit her reply to the cardinal to a plain refusal to wed lord darby; and though he could not enter into any feelings of reluctance on her part to avow her regard for darnley, yet he fully comprehended that she was bound to hold undivulged the confidence of others. however, he did not cease to lament that this was the case, fully convinced in his own mind, that if she had been able to inform wolsey of everything, the prelate, whom he judged after his own heart, would have unhesitatingly accorded his sanction to all her wishes, whereas, at present, her refusal might be attributed to obstinacy, being unsupported by any reasons; and thus, indeed, he observed, sir cesar's prediction might be fulfilled, and she obliged to fly to screen herself from the consequences. dr. wilbraham having admitted that there might be a necessity for flight, the mind of constance was infinitely quieted, that being a point on which she had long, long wished to ascertain his opinion, yet had timidly held back, believing him to be unacquainted with the most powerful motive that actuated her. nothing now remained but to learn whether he would so far sanction her proceedings as to accompany her; and she was considering the best means of proposing it to him, when she received a message to inform her that the cardinal waited her in the little tapestried hall. the moment which was to decide her fate she plainly perceived to be now arrived; but, with all the gentle sweetness of her character, a fund of dauntless resolution had descended to her from a long line of warlike ancestors, which failed not to come to her aid in moments of danger and extremity; and though she had long dreaded the interview to which she was now called, she prepared to undergo it with courage and firmness. in obedience to the cardinal's command, then, she descended to the hall, accompanied by two of her women, who, though neither likely to suffer anything themselves, nor informed of their mistress's situation, yet felt much more alarm at the thoughts of approaching the imperious wolsey than even she herself did, burthened as her mind was with the certainty of offending a man the limit of whose power it was not easy to define. at the door of the hall stood two of the cardinal's ushers, by whom she was introduced into the chamber to which wolsey had retired after leaving the king, and where, seated in a chair of state, he waited her approach with many an ensign of his pomp and power about. as she entered, he fixed his eye upon her, scarcely rising from his seat, but still slightly bending his head in token of salutation. the high blood of de grey, however, though flowing in a woman's veins, and one of the gentlest of her sex, was not made to humble itself before the upstart prelate; and moving forward unbidden, lady constance calmly seated herself in a chair opposite to that of the cardinal, while her women placed themselves behind her; and thus, in silence, she waited for him to speak. "lady," said wolsey, when she was seated, "at the time i saw you last, i proposed to you a marriage, which in point of rank, of fortune, and of every other accessory circumstance, is one which may well be counted amongst the best of the land, and for which i expected to have your thanks. instead thereof, however, i received, at the moment of my departure for york, a letter wherein, with a mild obstinacy and an humble pride, you did reject what was worthy of your best gratitude. a month has now waned since then, and i trust that calm reflection has restored you to your sense of what is right; which being the case, all that is past shall be pardoned and forgot." "your proposal, my lord cardinal," replied lady constance, "was doubtless intended for my happiness, and therein you have my most sincere gratitude; but yet i see not how i can have merited either reproof or pardon, in a matter which, alone concerning myself, no one can judge of but myself." "you speak amiss, lady," said wolsey, haughtily; "ay, and very boldly do you speak. am not i your guardian by the english law? and are you not my ward? say, lady, say!" "i am your ward, my lord," replied lady constance, her spirit rising under his oppression, "but not your slave; you are my guardian, but not my master." "you are nice in your refinements, lady," said the cardinal; "but if i am your guardian, i am to judge what is good for you, till such time as the law permits you to judge for yourself." "that time is within one month, my lord," answered constance; "and even were it longer, i never yet did hear that a guardian could force a ward to wed against her will, though i at once acknowledge his right to forbid her marriage where he may judge against it." "nay!" exclaimed wolsey, "this is somewhat too much. this bold spirit, lady, becomes you not, and must be abated. learn, that though i in gentleness rule you but as a ward, and for your own good control your stubborn will, the king, your sovereign, may act with a stronger hand, and, heedless of your idle fancies, compel you to obey." "then to the king, my sovereign, i appeal," said constance, "sure that his justice and his clemency will yield me that protection which, god help me! i much need." "your appeal is in vain, proud girl!" cried the cardinal, rising angrily, while the fiery spirit flashed forth from his dark eye. "i stand here armed in this case with the king's power, and commissioned to speak his will; and 'tis in his name that i command you, on thursday next, at god's altar, to give your hand to your noble cousin, lord darby; ay, and gratefully to give it, without which you may fall to beggary and want; for know, that all those broad lands which now so swell your pride are claimed by sir payan wileton, in right of male descent, and may pass away like a shadow from your feeble hand, leaving you nought but your vanity for dowry." "then let them pass," said constance, firmly; "for i would sooner a thousand times be landless, friendless, hopeless, than wed a man i do not love." "and end your days in a nunnery, you should have added to the catalogue of woes you call upon your head," said the cardinal, sternly; "for, as i live, such shall be your fate. choose either to give your vows to your cousin or to heaven, lady; for no other choice shall be left you. till thursday next i give you to decide; and while you ponder, york place shall be your abode. lady, no more!" he added, seeing her about to speak; "i have not time to argue against your fine wit. to-night, if i reach westminster in time, i will send down your litter; if not, to-morrow, by eight of the clock; and be you prepared. i have done." constance would not trust her voice with any reply; for the very efforts she had made to conceal her agitation had but served to render it more overpowering, and it was now ready to burst forth in tears. repressing them, however, she rose, and bending her head to the cardinal, returned to her own apartments. here dr. wilbraham awaited her in no small anxiety, to know the event of her conference with wolsey, which, as it had been so short, he judged must be favourable. lady constance soon undeceived him, however; and shocked and indignant at the cardinal's haughty and tyrannical conduct, he at once agreed with the lady that she had no resource but flight. "it is very strange! very strange, indeed!" cried the good man. "i have often heard that the lord cardinal is haughty and cruel, and indeed men lay to his charge that he never does anything but for his own interests; but i would never believe it before. i thought that god would never have placed so much power in the hands of so bad a man; but his ways are inscrutable, and his name be praised! now, my dear lady, what is to be done? where are we to go? had not i better go and tell osborne, in order that he may know all about it?" "on no account," replied constance; "however painful it may be, my good friend--and painful indeed it is, i acknowledge"--and while she spoke, the long-repressed tears burst forth, and rolled rapidly over her face; "i must go without even bidding him adieu. i would not for the world involve him at this time in a business which might bring about his ruin. he shall be innocent even of the knowledge of my flight, so that wolsey shall have no plea against him. when his fate is fixed and the storm is blown away, i will let him know where i am; for i owe him that at least. even for you, my good dr. wilbraham, i fear," she continued. "if you fly with me, may it not bring down upon your head some ecclesiastical censure? if so, for heaven's sake, let me go with margaret alone." "why, it may, indeed," answered the chaplain thoughtfully. "i had forgot that. it may indeed. what can be done?" "then you shall stay," replied lady constance, with some degree of mournfulness of accent at the thought of the friendless loneliness with which she was going to cast herself upon the wide, inhospitable world. "then you shall stay indeed." "what! and leave you to wander about alone, i know not whither?" cried the young clergyman. "no, my child, no! did all the dangers in the world hang over my head, where you go, there will i go too. if i cannot protect you much--which, god help me! is not in my power--at least i can console you under your sorrows, and support you during your pilgrimage, by pointing continually to that being who is the protector of the widow and the orphan, the friend of the friendless and the desolate. lady, i will go with you. all the dangers in the world shall not scare me from your side." a new energy seemed to have sprung up in the bosom of the clergyman; and by his advice and assistance lady constance's plans and arrangements for her flight were very soon completed. it was agreed that herself, dr. wilbraham, and mistress margaret, the waiting-woman, should immediately take boat, and proceed by water to the little village of tothill, from whence a walk of five minutes would bring them to the house of the physician dr. butts, who, as the old chaplain observed, was, though his nephew, a man of an active and piercing mind, and would probably find some means to facilitate their escape to france. by landing some little way from his house, they hoped to prevent their route from being traced afterwards, and thus to evade pursuit, as to be overtaken and brought back would involve far more danger than even to remain where they were and dare the worst. all this being determined between lady constance and the clergyman, mistress margaret was called in, and informed of as much of the plan as was necessary to enable her to make up her mind whether she would accompany her young lady or not. without a moment's hesitation, she decided upon going, and having received her orders, proceeded to arrange for their journey such articles of apparel as were absolutely necessary, together with all her lady's money and jewels. she also was deputed to inform the other servants that lady constance thought it best to follow the lord cardinal to york place immediately, instead of waiting for the litter which he had promised to send, and that she only permitted herself and dr. wilbraham to accompany her. everything being ready, a man was sought to carry the two large bags to which their luggage was restricted; and constance prepared to put in execution the very important step on which she had determined. her heart sank, it is true, and her spirit almost failed, as dr. wilbraham took her by the hand to lead her to the boat; but remembering to what she would expose herself if she staid, she recalled her courage and proceeded on her way. in the ante-chamber, however, she had a painful scene to go through; for her women, not deceived by mistress margaret's tale, clung round their lady for what they deemed might be a last farewell. all of them, born upon her father's lands, had grown up as it were with her; and for some good quality, called from amongst the other peasantry to the honour of serving the heiress of de grey, had become attached to her by early habit, as well as by the affection which her gentle manners and sweet disposition were certain to produce in all those by whom she was surrounded. many a bitter tear was shed by the poor girls as they saw their lady about to leave them: and constance herself, unable to refrain from weeping, thereby not only encouraged their grief, but confirmed their fears. angry with herself for giving way to her feelings when she felt the absolute necessity of governing them strictly, constance gently disengaged herself from her maids, and promising to let them hear of her soon, proceeded to the water-side, where they easily procured a boat to convey them down the river. the irrevocable step was now taken, and constance and the chaplain both sat in silence, contemplating the vague future, and striving, amidst all the dim, uncertain shapes that it presented, to ascertain, even as far as probability went, what might be their fate. but the dark, impenetrable curtain, drawn ever between to-day and to-morrow, still barred their view, leaving only room for hope and fear to range within the wide circle of unceasing doubt. long before arriving at tothill, the sun had gone down; and the cold wind, blowing from the river, chilled lady constance as she sat in the open boat without any other covering than a long veil added to her ordinary apparel. notwithstanding this, she judged it best to bid their two rowers continue their course as far as westminster, fearing that the little knowledge of the localities possessed either by dr. wilbraham or herself might cause them to lose their way if they pursued their original intention of landing at tothill, and hoping that the darkness, which was now coming thick upon them, would at least conceal their path from the boat to the house of dr. butts. to ensure this, as soon as they had landed. mistress margaret took one of the bags, and the good clergyman the other, and having satisfied the boatmen for their labour, the whole party began to thread the narrow, tortuous lanes and streets constituting the good town of westminster. after various turnings and windings, however, they discovered that they were not on the right track, and were obliged to ask their way of an old locksmith, who was just shutting up his shop. the direction they received from the worthy artificer was somewhat confused, and contained so many _rights_ and _lefts_, that by the time they had taken two more turnings, each person of the three had got a different reading of the matter, and could in no way agree as to their farther proceeding. "he said we were to go on, in this street, till we came to a lantern, i am sure," said dr. wilbraham. "no, no, sir," cried mistress margaret; "it was the next street after we had turned to the left. did he not say, take the first street to the right, and then the first again to the right, and then the second to the left, and then go on till we came to a lantern?" dr. wilbraham denied the position, and the matter was only terminated by constance proposing that they should proceed to the second turning at least. "then, if we see a light in the street to the left," she continued, "we may reasonably suppose that that is the turning he meant, unless before that we find a lantern here too, and then we can but ask again. but make haste, my dear dr. wilbraham, for there is a man behind who seems as if he were watching us!" this last observation quickened all their motions, and proceeding as fast as possible, they found that mistress margaret was in the right; for immediately in the centre of the second turning to the left appeared a lantern, shedding its dim, small light down the long perspective of the street; which, be it remarked, was highly favoured in having such an appendage, few and scanty being the lights that, in that age, illuminated the streets of london after dark, and those, as in the present instance, being the boon of private individuals. pursuing their way, then, towards this brilliant luminary, with many a look behind to ascertain whether they were followed, which did not appear to be the case, they found another street, diverging to the right, which shared in the beneficent rays of the lantern, and which also conducted into a known latitude, namely, a sort of little square, that was instantly recognised by the chaplain as being in the immediate proximity of his nephew's dwelling. the house of dr. butts now soon presented itself; and entering the little court before it, the clergyman was just about to knock against a door which fronted them, when some one, entering the court from the street, laid hold of his arm, saying, "stop, stop, if you please! you must come with me to my lord cardinal." chapter xxix. come with words as medicinal as true, honest as either.--shakspere. now, there are many people who would here leave their reader in suspense, and, darting off to some other part of the tale, would not give the most remote hint of lady constance's fate, till they had drawled through two or three long chapters about a frog and a roasted apple, or any other thing, if possible still more irrelevant. but far be such disingenuous dealing from me, whose sole aim, intent, and object, is to give my reader pleasure; and by now and then detailing some little accident or adventure, to keep him just enough awake to prevent the volume falling out of his hand into the fire; to win sometimes a smile, and sometimes a sigh, without aspiring either to laughter or tears; tickling his soul, as it were, with the point of a feather, so as neither to rouse nor to lull; and to leave him in such a state, that when he lays down the book he knows not whether he has been reading or dreaming. such are the luxurious aspirations of vonderbrugius, who is recorded to have himself written more than one volume in his sleep, and to have even carried them to the printer in a state of somnambulency. after this, without more ado, he proceeds to relate, that the worthy dr. wilbraham, finding somebody take him by the arm, turned round in a state of vexation and worry, if i may use the word, which overcame the natural gentleness of his disposition, and made him demand, rather sharply, what the stranger wanted with him. "why, doctor," replied the man, "you must come instantly to my lord cardinal, who has been struck with the pestilent air in returning from richmond, and desires to consult with you on the means of preventing its bad effects." "pshaw!" cried the good chaplain, pettishly; "i'm not dr. butts! how could you frighten me so? we come to see the doctor ourselves." "stand out of the way, then, if you are not him," cried the man, changing his tone, and rudely pushing between the clergyman and lady constance. "the cardinal must be served first, before such as you, at least;" and knocking loudly against the door, he soon brought forth a page, who informed him that the physician was at the house of old sir guy willoughby, farther down in the same street. on this news, the messenger immediately set off again, leaving dr. wilbraham to discuss what matters he liked with the page, now that his own insolent haste was satisfied. the servants instantly recognised their master's uncle, and permitted him, with his fair companions, to enter and take possession of his book-room, while awaiting his return; and the rosy maid, whom sir osborne had found scrubbing crucibles, now bustled about with good-humoured activity to make the lady comfortable. long seemed the minutes, however, to the mind of poor constance till the physician's return. her path was now entirely amidst uncertainties, and at each step she knew not whether it would lead her to safety or destruction. such a proceeding as that in which she was engaged does not strike one, when calmly related, as full of half the anxiety and alarm that really accompanied it. let it be remembered, that not only her fortune, but her liberty for life, and the whole happiness of her existence, were involved; and it may be then conceived with what trembling fear she awaited each incident that might tend to forward her escape or to betray her flight. though it seemed to her an age, dr. butts was not really long in returning; but no language can depict the astonishment of his countenance when he beheld lady constance with his uncle. "'odslife!" cried he, "what is this? lady, are you ill, or well, or wise? uncle, are you mad, or drunk, or foolish?" the good clergyman informed him that he was in none of the predicaments to which he alluded, and then proceeded to relate the circumstances and motives which had induced them to resolve upon leaving the court of england and flying to france, to claim the protection of the french king, who was, in fact, the lady's sovereign as far as regarded her maternal estates. "it's a bad business!" cried dr. butts, who still stood in the middle of the floor, rubbing his chin, and not yet recovered from his surprise; "it's a bad business! i always thought it would be a bad business. nay, nay, lady, do not weep," continued the kind-hearted mediciner, seeing the tears that began to roll silently over constance's cheek; "it is not so bad as that. wolsey will doubtless claim you at the hands of the french king; but francis is not a man to give you up. however, take my advice: retire quietly to one of your chã¢teaux, and live like a nun till such time as this great friendship between the two courts is past. it will not last long," he added, with a sententious shake of the head: "it will not last long. but, nevertheless, you keep yourself in france, as secretly as may be, while it does last." "but how to get to france is the question," said dr. wilbraham: "we shall do well enough when we are there, i doubt not. it is how to get to france that we must think of." "oh! we will manage that," replied dr. butts; "we will manage that: though, indeed, these are not things that i like to meddle with; but, nevertheless, i suppose i must in this case. nay, nay, my dear lady, do not grieve. 'slife! you a soldier's daughter, and afraid! nay, cheer up, cheer up! it shall all go right, i warrant." the doctor seated himself, and observing that constance looked pale and cold, he insisted on her swallowing a venice glass of mulled sack and going to bed. as to the sack, he said, he would ensure it for the best in europe; and in regard to the beds in his house, he could only say, that he had once entertained the four most famous alchymists of the world, and they were not men to sleep on hard beds. "taste the sack, lady; taste the sack;" he continued. "believe me, it is the best medicine in the pharmacy, and certainly the only one i ever take myself. then while you go and court your pillow, i will, devise some scheme with this good uncle of mine to help you over to the frenchman's shore." the physician's rosy maid was now called, and conducted lady constance and mistress margaret to a handsome bedchamber, where we shall leave them for the present; and without prying, into dr. butts's household furniture, return to the consultation that was going on below. "well, uncle," said the physician, as soon as lady constance had left them, "you have shown your wisdom truly, in running away with an heiress for another man. on my life, you have beaten the man who was hanged for his friend, saying that he would do as much for him another time! why, do you know, you can never show your face in england again?" "my good nephew," replied dr. wilbraham quietly, "for all your fine words, if you had been in my situation you would have done just as i have done. i know you, charles." "not i, i'faith," cried dr. butts; "i would not have budged a foot." "what! when you saw her cast upon the world, friendless and helpless," cried the old man, "with nobody to advise her, with nobody to aid her, with nobody to console her? so sweet a girl, too! such an angel in heart, in mind, in disposition; all desolate and alone in this wide rough world! fie, charles, fie! you would have gone with her." "perhaps i might; perhaps i might," replied the physician: "however, let us now think of the best means of serving her. what can be done?" as usual in such cases, fifty plans were propounded, which, on examination, were found to be unfeasible. "i have it!" cried dr. butts, at last, after discarding an infinite variety. "there was a nun's litter came up yesterday to the inn hard by; it will hold three, and you shall set off to-morrow by daybreak as nuns." "but how?" cried dr. wilbraham, with horror and astonishment depicted in his face. "you don't mean me to go as a nun?" "faith, but i do!" replied the physician; "it would be fully as bad for you to be discovered as for lady constance. now, there is no dress in the world that i know of but a nun's that will cover your face and hide your beard. oh! you shall be a nun, by all means. i will get the three dresses this very night from a frippery in pool street; i will knock them up, and you shall be well shaved to-morrow morning, and will make as fine an old sister monica as the best of them." dr. wilbraham still held out stoutly, declaring that he would not so disguise himself and disgrace his cloth on any account or consideration; nor was it till the physician showed him plainly, that by this means alone lady constance's safety could be ensured, that he would at all hear of the travesty thus proposed. "where, then, do you intend us to go?" asked dr. wilbraham, almost crying with vexation at the bare idea of being so metamorphosed. "i cannot, and i will not, remain long in such a dress." "why, you must go down to sandwich," answered the physician. "there is a religious house there, under a sub-prioress, about a mile out of the town, looking out over the sea. i know the dame, and a little money will do much with her. nay, look not shocked, good uncle. i mean not to say that she is wicked, and would endanger her soul's repose for mammon; but she is one of those that look leniently on small faults, and would not choke at such an innocent sin as helping you out of the cardinal's power. the time is lucky, too, for the cold wind last night has given his haughty lord cardinalship a flow of humours to the head, and he is as frightened about himself as a hen before a dray horse; so that, perhaps, he may not think of sending to richmond so soon as he proposed. "but, charles," said dr. wilbraham, whose abhorrence of the nun's dress was not to be vanquished, and who would have been right glad to escape the infliction on any excuse, "will not your servants, who have seen us come in one dress, think it very strange when they see us go away in another? and may they not betray us?" "pshaw!" cried dr. butts; "they see a thousand odder things every day in a physician's house. do you think i let my servants babble? no, no! they know well that they must have neither eyes, ears, nor understanding for anything that passes within these doors. if i were to find that they even did so much as to recollect a person they had once seen with me, they should troop. but stay; go you to bed and rest; i will away for these dresses, and bespeak the litter for to-morrow at five. at sandwich you are sure to find a bark for boulogne." the next morning dr. wilbraham was awakened before it was light by the physician entering his room with a candle in his hand, and followed by a barber, who, taking the good priest by the nose, shaved him most expeditiously before he was out of bed, having been informed by dr. butts that the person under his hands was a poor insane patient, who would not submit to any very tedious tonsorial operation. when this was done, much to the surprise of the chaplain, who was in truth scarcely awake, the barber was sent away, and the physician produced the long black dress of a benedictine nun, into which, after much entreaty, he persuaded dr. wilbraham to get; not, however, without the rest of his clothes, for no argument would induce him to put on the woman's dress without the man's under it. first, then, he was clothed with his ordinary black vest and silk hose, above which came a full and seemly cassock; and then, as a superstructure, was placed at the top of all the long black robes of the nun, which swelled his bulk out to no inconsiderable size. this, however, was not a disadvantage; for being tall and thin, he had great need of some supposititious contour to make his height seem less enormous when conjoined with his female habiliments. upon the whole, with the rope tied round his middle, and the coif and veil, he made a very respectable nun; though there was in the whole figure a certain long-backed rigidity of carriage, and straggling wideness of step, that smacked infinitely of the masculine gender. when all was completed, the physician led his transformed uncle down to a little hall, to which lady constance and mistress margaret had already found their way, habited in similar garments to those which dr. butts had furnished for the chaplain. in point of beauty constance had never, perhaps, looked better than now, when her small, exquisite features, and clear, delicate complexion, slightly shaded by the nun's cap, had acquired an additional degree of softness, which harmonised well with the pensive, melancholy expression that circumstances had communicated to her countenance. however, she was, perhaps, even more sad and agitated than the night before, when haste had in some degree superseded thought. she had now passed a nearly sleepless night, during the long hours of which a thousand fears and anxieties had visited her pillow; and on rising, the necessity of quitting her customary dress and assuming a disguise impressed more strongly than ever upon her mind the dangers of her situation. the only person that seemed fully in her element was mistress margaret, who, though, with the exception of a little selfishness, a most excellent being, could not be expected to have fulfilled for several years the high functions of lady's-maid without having acquired some of the spirit of the office. god knows! in lady constance's service she had possessed small opportunity of exercising in any way her talents for even the little _intrigue d'ante-chambre_; and though, in the case of sir osborne, she had done her best to show her tact by retiring _ã  propos_, the present was the first occasion on which she could enjoy a real, bustling, energetic adventure; and, to do her justice, she enacted the nun to the life. with a vastly consequential air she hurried about, till the rustling of her black serge and the rattling of her wooden cross and rosary were quite edifying; and finding herself, by dress at least, on an equality with her mistress, she took the bridle off her tongue and let it run its own course, which it did not fail to do with great vigour and activity. on the entrance of dr. wilbraham, with his face clad in rueful solemnity, and his long strides at every step spreading out the petticoats with which his legs were environed, like the parachute of a balloon when it begins to descend, mistress margaret laughed outright; and even lady constance, while reproving her for her ill-placed gaiety, could hardly forbear a smile. "my dear dr. wilbraham," said constance, seeing the chagrin that sat upon his countenance, "for how much, how very much have i to thank you! and believe me, i feel deeply all the regard you must have for me, to induce you to assume a disguise that must be so disagreeable to you." "well," said dr. butts, "you are a sweet creature, and to my mind it would not be difficult to make a man do anything to serve you. however, sit you down, lady: here is something to break your fast; and as it must serve for dinner and supper too, i will have you eat, whether you are hungry or not; for there must be as little stopping on the road as possible, and no chattering, mistress margaret; mind you that." mistress margaret vowed that she was silence itself; and the meal which the good doctor's foresight had taken care to provide for them being ended, he led them forth by a different door from that which had given them entrance, not choosing to trust even the servants, of whose discretion he had boasted the night before. day had now dawned, and in the court-yard of the inn they found a large litter, or sort of long box swung between two horses, one before and the other behind, and accompanied by a driver on horseback, who, smacking his whip, seemed tired of waiting for them. "come, get in, get in!" cried he, "i have been waiting half-an-hour. there's room enough for you, sure!" he proceeded, seeing some little difficulty occur in placing the travellers; "why, i brought four just like you up from gloucester in it, three days ago. here, come over to this side, mother longshanks." this address to dr. wilbraham had again very near overset mistress margaret's gravity; but at length, all being placed, in spite of the chaplain's long legs, which were rather difficult to pack, the travellers took leave of the physician, and commenced their journey to the sea-coast. all passed on tranquilly enough during the forenoon; and at a little watering-house, where they stopped on the road, they were enabled quietly to rehearse their parts, as sister wilbraham, sister margaret, and sister grey. the good clergyman declared that his part should be to keep down his veil and hold his tongue, and mistress margaret willingly undertook to be the talker for the whole party, while constance, not yet at all assured of safety, listened for every sound with a beating heart, and trembled at every suspicious look that she beheld, or fancied that she beheld, in the people around her. as soon as the horses were sufficiently refreshed, they again began their journey, and had proceeded some way when the galloping of a horse made itself heard behind them, and through the opening of the curtains they could perceive a sergeant-at-arms, with full cognizance, and accompanied by two followers, pass by the side of their vehicle. in a moment after he stopped on overtaking their driver, who was a little in advance, and seemed to question him in a hasty tone. "three nuns!" cried he, at length. "i must see that." constance, almost fainting, drew back in the corner of the litter. dr. wilbraham shrunk himself up to the smallest space possible; and, in fact, mistress margaret was the only one who preserved her presence of mind. "if it were the lord cardinal himself," whispered she to her lady, "he would never know you, my lady, in that dress." in the mean time, the sergeant-at-arms rode up, and drew back the curtain of the litter. "your pardon, ladies," said he, giving a look round, which seemed quite satisfactory; "i ask your pardon; but as i am sent in pursuit of some runaways, i was obliged to look in." here the matter would have terminated, had not mistress margaret, desirous of showing off a total want of fear, replied, "quite welcome, fair sir, quite welcome. we are travelling the same road." the officer replied; and this brought on a long allegory on the part of mistress margaret, who told him that they were nuns of richborough, who had been to london for medical advice for poor sister mary, there, in the corner (pointing to dr. wilbraham), who was troubled with the falling sickness. the sergeant-at-arms recommended woodlice drowned in vinegar as a sovereign cure, which the pretended nun informed him they had tried; and though it must be owned that the abigail played her part admirably well, yet, nevertheless, she contrived to keep her lady and the chaplain in mortal fear for half-an-hour longer than was necessary. at length, however, the officer, taking his leave, rode away, and then descended upon the head of mistress margaret the whole weight of good dr. wilbraham's indignation. not for many years had he preached such an eloquent sermon upon the duty of adhering strictly to the truth as on the present occasion; and he pointed out clearly to the waiting-woman that she had told at least two-and-thirty lies more than the circumstances required. mistress margaret, however, was obstinate in her error, and would not see the distinction, declaring angrily that she would either tell no lies at all, and let it be known who they were, or she would tell as many as she thought proper. "margaret," said lady constance, in a calm, reproachful tone, that had more effect than a more violent reproof, "you forget yourself." the abigail was silent; but nevertheless she determined, in her own mind, to give the good doctor more truth than he might like, on the very first occasion; and such an opportunity was not long in occurring. with the usual hankering which drivers and postilions always have for bad inns, the master of the litter did not fail to stop for the night at one of the smallest, meanest, and most uncomfortable little alehouses on the road; and on getting out of the vehicle, the three nuns were all shown into one room, containing two beds, one large and one small one. it may easily be supposed such an arrangement did not very well suit the circumstances of the case; and constance looked at dr. wilbraham, and dr. wilbraham at constance, in some embarrassment. on inquiring whether they could not have another room, they were informed that there was indeed such a thing in the house, but that it was always reserved for guests of quality. the hostess was surprised at nuns giving themselves such airs: the room they had would do very well for three people; and, in short, that they should have no other. during all this time mistress margaret remained obstinately silent; but at length, seeing the distress of her mistress, she brought up her forces to the charge, and turned the tide of battle. attacking the hostess full tilt, she declared that there should be another room found directly, informing her that the young lady was not a simple nun, but noble and rich, and just named prioress of the lord knows where; that sister mary, _i.e_. dr. wilbraham, was badly troubled with a night-cough, which would keep the prioress awake all night; and in short, that sister mary must and should have a room to herself, for which, however, they would willingly pay. this latter hint overcame the hostess's objections, and the matter being thus settled, they were allowed to repose in peace for the night. fatigue, anxiety, and want of sleep, had now completely exhausted constance; and weariness, acting the part of peace, closed her eyes in happy forgetfulness till the next morning, when they again set out for sandwich. without any new adventure they arrived at that town; and after passing through it, quickly perceived the convent rising on a slight elevation to the left. as soon as this was in sight, so that he could not miss his way, dr. wilbraham got out of the litter, for the purpose of pulling off his nun's dress under some hedge, in order that, by following a little later than themselves, he might appear at the gate of the nunnery in his true character, without the change being remarked by the driver of the litter, to whom he said on descending that he would follow on foot. after this, constance and mistress margaret proceeded alone, and in a few minutes reached the convent, where, presenting dr. butts's letter to the prioress, they were received with all kindness and attention, and found themselves comparatively free from danger. dr. wilbraham was not long in arriving, restored to his proper costume; and being admitted to the parlour, entered into immediate consultation with the superior and constance, as to the best means of concluding their flight as happily as it had commenced. chapter xxx. so catchers and snatchers do toil both night and day, not needie, but greedie, still prolling for their prey. however a poor novelist may like to pursue the even tenor of his way in peace and quietness, it is quite impossible for him to do so if he take a true story for the basis of his tale. circumstance is always jumping about; and if he would follow nature, he must join in the game of leap-frog too. here is the palace of fortune, with its glitter, and its splendour, and its show; and there the cottage of want, with its care, and its foulness, and its misery. in one house, new-born life is coming into the world, all joyous; in the next, stern death leads man away to eternity; weeping sorrow and laughing joy sit mocking each other at every step; and smiles and tears are still running after each other on the high road, though little formed to bear company together. then, since the world is full of oppositions and of jumps, he that copies it must sit upon his hind legs and play the kangaroo also. i found it necessary to put forth this excuse before proceeding with vonderbrugius, who, without offering any reason for so doing, suddenly flies back to scenes that we have not long quitted, and brings the reader once more to london, where he shall be detained as short a time as possible, on the word of a scribe. all those who have read the history of that little, powerful nook of island-earth called great britain, must very well know that the imperious minister of henry the eighth was not one to receive contradiction with patient resignation: what then was his rage on hearing that lady constance de grey was not to be found at richmond! true to what he threatened, wolsey had not failed, immediately on arriving in london, to send a horse-litter down to richmond for his fair ward, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour and the cold he had himself experienced on the water; and towards eleven the same night his messengers returned, informing him that the lady was not to be found in the palace; adding, also, that a man belonging to the gate had been employed to carry some luggage for her down to a two-oared boat, which had received her at the stairs, and rowed off towards westminster. this was the sum of all the news they had obtained, but it was sufficient to guide wolsey on the search which he instantly prepared to institute for the fugitive. before going to rest, he took every precaution for preventing her leaving the kingdom; ordered messengers to set out early the next morning for every port where she was likely to embark; and commanded an officer to post to richmond that very night, and, stationing himself at the palace-stairs, to await the arrival of the men who rowed the boat which had conveyed her away, giving him at the same time an order for their arrest. in regard to the couriers to the various ports, we shall leave them to their fate, not embarrassing ourselves with a search half over the realm, but shall pursue the movements of the other messenger, from whose operations very important results were obtained. though heartily wishing the cardinal and lady constance well scourged, the one as the proximate, the other as the remote cause of his night-ride, the officer got into his saddle, and accompanied by two followers, set out for richmond, where they arrived towards two o'clock in the morning. men of a curious and philosophic mind have remarked, that there is always a pot-house near a waterman's stairs; and the same fact was observable in the present instance. nearly opposite to the landing on the left-hand side stood the hospitable mansion of a beer-retailer, who dealt out the british nectar to all those who had the means of paying for it; and in his window, even at the hour of two o'clock, was shining a lamp, whereat the officer marvelled, as the neighbourhood of the palace enjoined order and sobriety amongst the multitude. riding up, however, he dismounted; and pushing open the door, perceived that the tap-room was occupied by a single individual of the waterman species, whose sleepy head, nodding backwards and forwards, often approached so near the lamp upon the table as to threaten his red nose with a conflagration. without any regard for the rites of morpheus, the officer shook the sleeper heartily by the shoulder, whereupon he started up, crying-"well, i'm ready; how long you've been! i've been a-waiting this hour." "waiting for whom?" demanded the officer; "not for me, i'm sure, or with my will you'd waited long enough." "lord bless us, sir! i beg your worship's pardon!" said the man, rubbing his eyes; "i thought you were the two yeomen that hired my boat to take the young lady to lunnun. curious folks they were not to let me row my own boat! they promised to be back by one, and so master tapster lets me sit up here for 'em. i thought you were them two indeed." "no. i'm a single man, and never was two in my life," answered the officer. "but about these two yeomen? at one o'clock you say they were to come? pray, how came you to let them your boat?" "lord! because they asked me, sure," replied the waterman; "that's how." "but how do you know they will ever bring it back again?" demanded the officer. "because they left me ten marks as a pledge," answered the other. "no, no; i wasn't to be outwitted. i saw they wanted the boat very bad, so i let them have it for a mark by the day; but i made them leave me ten others; so, if the boat be lost or hurt, i've got double its worth in my own pocket." "and what did they say they were going to do with it?" demanded the officer. "oh! i didn't ask," said the waterman; "but walking about i saw them lie there at the stairs for near an hour, till presently comes down a young lady, and an old priest, and a waiting-woman, as i judged, and in they get, and away rows the boat toward lunnun. they were lusty rowers, i warrant you, and good at the trade. but your worship seems mighty curious about them." "ay, and so curious," answered the officer, "that they shall both come with me to london if they come hither to-night; and you, too, master waterman; so hold yourself ready. ho, thomas! come in and stay with this worthy. see that he does not budge. you, will, put up the horses, and then come down to me at the stairs." the excellent tipstaff now, after cutting short the remonstrance of the boatman, proceeded to the water-side, and crossing his arms, waited, with his eyes fixed upon the bright river, as it flowed on, rippling like waves of silver in the moonshine. in a few minutes he was joined by his follower, and before long a black spot appeared moving up the midst of the stream, while the plashing of distant oars began to make itself heard. as the boat came nearer, two men were plainly to be seen rowing it towards the landing-place, one of whom, raising his head when they were within a few yards' distance, exclaimed-"is that you, master perkins?" "ay, ay!" answered the officer, imitating, as well as he could, the gruff halloo of a waterman, and walking about with his hands in his breeches pockets, as if to keep himself warm. without more ado, the boat pulled to the shore, and one of the men jumped out, whereupon the officer instantly caught him by the collar, exclaiming-"in the king's name i charge you go with me!" "pull off! pull off!" cried the man to his companion; "by the lord, he has grabbed me! pull off, boy!" the other rower without scruple pushed from the shore before the tipstaff's man could secure the bow of the boat, and seeing his companion caught beyond the power of extrication, he snatched up the other oar, and pulled away down the river as hard as he could. "and now, what the devil do you want with me'" cried the man, sturdily, turning to the officer. "come, off with your hands! don't be fingering my collar so hard, or i'll crack your nutshell for you." and at the same time he struggled to shake off the other's grasp; but the officer, who seemed accustomed to deal with persons that did not particularly relish his ministry, very soon settled the question with his prisoner, by striking him a blow over the head with a staff he carried, in such sort as to level him with the ground. it is wonderful how soothing to the prisoner's feelings this mild treatment seemed to be; for without any further effort he suffered himself to be led away to the alehouse, from whence he was safely removed the next morning to westminster, the original owner of the boat being carried along with him as a witness. and here let me beg all constables, bow street officers, scarlet runners, street-keepers, constables of the night, and watchmen, who may read this excellent and instructive history, to take example by the prudence of this officer, who, having acquired all the information he could from other sources, wisely abstained from asking his prisoner any questions whatsoever, leaving his examination to be taken by competent persons. carrying his game directly to york house, the worthy and exemplary tipstaff, whose name i should not fail to record, had not vonderbrugius unfeelingly omitted it; this prince of tipstaves, i say, placed his charge in a place of security, and, on the cardinal's return from westminster hall, informed him of all that he had done to fulfil the mission with which he had honoured him. the cardinal praised the tipstaff's zeal, and beginning to suspect that there was some mystery in the business, more than the mere course which constance had taken, he ordered the prisoner and the evidence to be brought instantly before him; and proceeded himself to investigate the matter, and to see whether his fingers would be neat enough to pick the needle out of the bottle of hay: a delicate operation, for which there is but one method, which may be called the alexandrine: namely, burn the hay, and you are sure to get the needle. something similar was the proceeding which the cardinal proposed to adopt; for no sooner was the prisoner brought before him, rather pale with fright, and somewhat nervous with his night's entertainment, than he pronounced a most eloquent oration upon the necessity of meeting death with firmness, warning the unhappy man, at the same time, that he had nothing to hope in this world, and bidding him to prepare for the next. through the whole, however, he suffered to appear, implied, though not expressed, the possibility that a free confession of all the culprit knew concerning lady constance de grey and her evasion might take the sting out of his offence, and disencumber his windpipe of the pressing familiarity with which it was threatened by a hempen cord. in those times rights were but little defined, and the extent of the great civil and political powers hardly ascertained even to the minds of the cultivated and reflecting, much less to people in the rank of the person who now stood before the prelate, surrounded by all those impressive insignia which then, indeed, implied vast though borrowed power. without going into the metaphysics of the business, it will be sufficient for my purpose to say, that the poor fellow was desperately frightened, especially as he had upon his conscience more than one hearty crime, which he well knew might at any time prove a sufficient excuse for sending him part of the way to heaven, whether he ever made the whole journey out or not. therefore, having no great interest in concealing anything he knew, and every interest in the world in telling it, he fell down upon his knees, declaring that he would reveal all, if the cardinal would make a solemn promise that he should have the king's free pardon and the church's for every sin, crime, and misdemeanour he had committed up to that day. it cost him nothing but a bit of parchment and a little yellow wax, and so the cardinal promised; whereupon the culprit, still upon his knees, began as follows:-"my master, sir payan wileton----" "sir payan wileton is your master, then?" cried wolsey "so, so! go on." "my master, sir payan wileton, my gracious lord," continued the man, "after he had been with your grace yesterday morning, returned home full speed to his house by the water's edge, near tothill, and suddenly dispatched one of our yeomen down to richmond with a poor foolish priest, saving your grace's presence, who had been with him some days. after that, he wrote a note, and giving it to me, bade me take with me black john, and gallop down to the court like mad. whenever we got there, i was to speak with hatchel sivard, whom he had set to spy all that passed at the palace, and who would help me to hire a boat for the day. after that was done, i was to seek the lady de grey, and give her the note; and then, leaving our horses at the baiting-house, i and my fellow were to wait in the boat till the lady came, and to row her whithersoever she directed; but, above all, to seem like common watermen, and to take whatever payment she gave us. and if by chance she didn't come, we were to give up the boat and return." as may be supposed, wolsey was not a little surprised at the intrigue which this opened to his view. "so!" said he. "so! hatchel sivard, the page of the queen's ante-chamber, is a pensioned spy of sir payan wileton. good! very good! of course you carried the lady to her relation's house, ha?" "not so, may it please your lordship's grace," replied the man. "at first, she made as if she would have stopped at tothill, but then she bade us row on to westminster, where she landed." "but you saw whither she went?" cried wolsey, his brow darkening. "mind, your life depends upon your speaking truth! let me but see a shade of falsehood, and you are lost!" "as i hope for mercy, my lord, i tell you the whole truth," replied the servant. "when she was landed, i got out and followed; but, after turning through several streets, i saw that they marked me watching, so i was obliged to run down a narrow lane, hoping to catch them by going round; but they had taken some other way, and i found them not again." wolsey let his hand drop heavily upon the table, disappointed in his expectations. "you say _them_, fellow! whom do you mean?" he demanded. "who was with her?" "her waiting-woman, your grace," answered the man, "and an old priest, who sivard says is her chaplain." "ah!" said wolsey thoughtfully; "dr. wilbraham! this is very strange! a staid good man, obedient to my will, coinciding in the expediency of the marriage i proposed. there must be some deeper plot here of this sir payan wileton. the poor girl must be deceived, and perhaps not so much obstinate as misled. i see it; i see it all. the wily traitor seeks her estates, and would fain both stop her marriage and bring her within my displeasure. a politic scheme, upon my honour! but it shall not succeed. secretary, bid an usher speed to sir payan wileton, and, greeting him sweetly, request his presence for a moment here." it was the latter part of the above speech only that met the ears of those around, the rest being muttered to himself in a low and almost inaudible tone. "pray, pray your lordship's grace!" cried the man, clasping his hands in terror as soon as he heard wolsey's command; "do not let sir payan have me. i shall not be alive this time two days, if you do. indeed i shan't. your grace does not know him. there is nothing stops him in his will; and i shall be found dead in my bed, or drowned in a pond, or tumbled out of window, or something like; and then sir payan will pretend to make an investigation, and have the crowner, and it will be found all accident. if it is the same to your lordship's grace, i would rather be hanged at once, and know what i'm about, than be given up to sir payan, to die no one can tell how." "fear not, fool!" said wolsey; "but tell the whole truth, and you shall be safe; ay, and rewarded. conceal anything, and you shall be hanged. take him away, secretary, and examine him carefully. make him give an exact account of everything he has seen in the house of sir payan wileton, and after putting it in writing, swear him to it; and then, hark you"--and he whispered something to the secretary--adding, "let him be there well used." the man was now removed from the cardinal's presence; and waiting till the messenger returned from sir payan's, wolsey remained in deep thought, revolving in his keen and scrutinising mind all the parts of the shrewd plot he had just heard developed, and thinking over the best means of punishing sir payan wileton in such a manner as to make his fall most bitter. while thus engaged, one of his secretaries entered, and bowing low stood silent, as if waiting for permission to speak. "what is it?" said wolsey; "is it matter of consequence?" the secretary bowed low again, and replied, "it is the herald's opinion, my lord, upon the succession of the old lord orham of barneton, the miser, who left the two chests of gold, as well----" "i know, i know!" said wolsey. "how do they give it? i trust not to that base churl, william orham, who struck my officer one day." "oh, no! your grace," replied the secretary; "there are two nearer than he is. but they say the succession is quite clear. charles lord orham, the great-grandfather of the last, had three sons, from one of whom descends william orham; but the eldest son, succeeding, had two sons and a daughter, all of whom married, and had issue; the eldest son, thomas lord orham, him succeeded, who had only issue the last lord. the daughter had five sons, and the second son, hugh orham, had one only daughter, who married arthur bulmer, earl of wilmington, who died, leaving issue one only daughter, mistress katrine bulmer, by courtesy the lady katrine bulmer, whom your grace may remember the queen took very young, when it was found that lord wilmington's estates went in male descent. she is the undoubted heiress." "ha!" said wolsey, "that changes much. well, well! go see that it be clearly made out. now, what says sir payan wileton?" he continued, turning to the messenger, who had just returned. "the house is empty, so please your grace," replied the usher, "all but one old porter, who says that sir payan and his train set out for chilham yesterday morning, after visiting your reverend lordship. he affirms, moreover, that the knight never got off his horse, but only gave orders that the priest should be sent down to richmond with all speed, and then rode away himself for kent." "so!" said the cardinal, his lip curling into a scornful sneer, "he finds his miscreant is caught, and thinks to deceive me with a tale that would not cloud the eyesight of an old woman. but let him stay; he shall lull himself into a fool's paradise, and then find himself fallen to nothing. that will do." the usher fell back, and for a moment wolsey, as was often his wont, continued muttering to himself, "the lady katrine: she was darby's fool passion. if it lasts he shall have her: 'tis better than the other. besides, the other girl is away, and he must have gold to bear out his charges at this meeting at ardres; so shall it be. well, well! send in whoever waits without," he added, speaking in a louder voice, and then applied himself to other business. chapter xxxi. three sides are sure inbarred with craggs and hills, the rest is easy, scarce to rise espy'd; but mighty bulwarks fence the plainer part: so art helps nature, nature strengtheneth art.--fairfax. sir knight, if knight thou be, abandon this forestalled place as erst, for fear of farther harm.--fairy queen. it may well be supposed, that under the circumstances in which we last left sir osborne, his feelings could not be of the most tranquil or gratifying nature, when, after having heard all that passed upon deck, he distinguished the steps of the officer sent to arrest him coming down the ladder. longpole, for his part, looked very much as if he would have liked to display cold iron upon the occasion; but the knight made him a sign to forbear, and in a moment after, a gentleman splendidly dressed, as one high in military command, entered the cabin, followed by two or three armed attendants. "well, sir," said the knight, not very well distinguishing the stranger's features by the light in which he stood, "i suppose----" but he had not time to finish his sentence, for the officer grasped him heartily by the hand, exclaiming, "now heaven bless us! lord darnley, my dear fellow in arms! how goes it with you these two years?" "excellent well, good sir henry talbot," replied the knight, frankly shaking the hand of his old companion. "but say, does your business lie with me?" "no, no, good faith!" replied sir henry; "i came upon a very different errand. since i was with sir thomas peechy and yourself in flanders, by my good lord surrey's favour i have obtained the command of one of the king's great ships, and as i lay last night off the mouth of the river, a pursuivant came down from london, with orders to stop every vessel that i saw, and search for a traitor who is endeavouring to make his escape to the continent." the knight's cheek burned, and for a moment he hesitated whether to avow himself at once, and repel the opprobrious epithet thus attached to the name he had assumed, and under which, he felt full sure, he had never merited aught but honour. a moment's thought, however, showed him the madness of such a proceeding, and he replied, "i believe you will find no greater traitor here, sir henry, than myself." the officer smiled. "if that be the case," replied he, "i may as well row back to the ship. perhaps he may be in the other vessel that lies-to there, about a mile to windward. but come, darnley, leave this filthy dutch tub, come with me aboard, and after we have searched the other, i will land you in any port to which you are going, if it be between middlebourg and boulogne." although the knight did not feel himself bound, even by the most chivalrous principles of honour, to betray his own secret to sir henry talbot, yet he did not consider himself at liberty to take advantage of his offer, and thus make one of the king's own ships the means of conveying him away from pursuit. he therefore replied, that as he was going to dunkirk in some haste, and the dutchman was steering straight thither, he thought it would be best to proceed without changing his ship, though he felt extremely obliged by the offer. the officer received his excuses in good part, and bidding him farewell with many hearty wishes for his future prosperity, he mounted again to the deck, called his men together, abused the dutchman vigorously for a few minutes, and getting into the boat, rowed away for his own vessel. it is hardly necessary here to inform the reader, that the distinction which at present exists between the naval and military services has not been known above a hundred and fifty years; and that, consequently, the fact of sir henry talbot's having distinguished himself on land, so far from being a disqualification, was one of the highest recommendations to him in the sea service! vonderbrugius takes no notice of the circumstance, as probably the same practice existed in his time, although the latest instance that i can call to mind is that of general monk, who, after having lived on land all his life, grew amphibious at the age of fifty. however that may be, deceiving himself as we have seen, sir henry talbot left the young knight to meditate over the conduct of wolsey, who would indeed have committed an egregious piece of folly in sending to arrest him by the name of sir osborne maurice alone, if he had known him to be lord darnley, as sir osborne thought. attributing it, however, to one of those accidental omissions which often disconcert the best-arranged proceedings, the knight was congratulating himself on his good fortune, when master skippenhausen descended to offer his felicitations also, exclaiming, "my cot! where did you hide yourself? under that pile of hammocks, i'll warrant." "no, you man of salt herrings! no, you cousin-german to a tub of butter!" exclaimed longpole, whose indignation at the captain for having by his delay of the night before put them in such jeopardy now broke forth irresistibly. "no, you dyke-begotten son of a swamp and a canal! if it had not been for you we should never have run any risk, and don't flatter yourself that either you or your dirty hammocks either had any hand in saving us." "how did i make you run any risk, pray?" exclaimed the master. "you would have made me and my ship run a risk if you had been found in it; but i made you run none." "stockfish, you lie!" cried the custrel. "did you not lie in the mouth of the river all last night, when, if the blood in your veins had been anything but muddy dutch puddle, of the heaviest quality, you would have had us over to dunkirk by this time? deny it if you dare, dutchman, and i will prove it upon your body, till i leave you no more shape than one of your own cheeses." the dutchman bore the insolence of longpole with all that calm magnanimity for which his nation is famed (says vonderbrugius). however, sir osborne desired his attendant to be silent, and merely begging master skippenhausen to carry them to their destination as soon as possible, the matter ended. it was night before they arrived at dunkirk; and, without troubling the reader with all the details of their disembarkation, we shall merely beg him to look into the little hall of the flemish inn, and see the knight and longpole seated at the same table, according to the custom of the day, which we have before alluded to, while the host, standing behind the chair of sir osborne, answers the various questions which from time to time are addressed to him; and that black-eyed, smooth-faced, dingy serving-boy, who one might swear was a true sun of hans holbein, filches away the half-finished tankard of raspis from longpole's elbow, and supplies its place with an empty one. "and is sir albert of koã«nigstein gone to ratisbon too?" demanded sir osborne, pursuing the inquiries which he was engaged in making concerning his old comrades, amongst whom a sad dispersion had taken place during his absence. "indeed i cannot tell, sir knight," replied the landlord; "but very likely he is with the count of shoenvelt, at cassel." "what does shoenvelt at cassel?" asked the knight thoughtfully. "he is collecting adventurers, they say, sir, under a commission from the emperor," replied the host. "some think, to go against the moors; but most people judge, to protect the frontier against robert de la mark." "but koã«nigstein would not serve under him," said sir osborne, meditating over what he heard. "he is a better captain a thousand times, and a nobler spirit." "well, sir," answered the landlord, "i tell you only what i heard. somebody told me so, i am sure. perhaps they command together. boy, give his worship another tankard; don't you see that is out?" "odds fish!" cried longpole; "what! all gone? your measures, mine host, are not like that certain knight's purse that was no sooner empty than full again. it seems to me they are no sooner full than empty." "at cassel did you say he is?" demanded sir osborne. "not exactly at cassel, sir knight," replied the host, glad to pass away from the subject of the tankard; "but you know mount st. hubert, about a league from cassel. your worship will find him there." sir osborne made no reply; and, after a while, the host and his legion cleared the table of its encumbrances, and left the knight and his follower to pursue their own thoughts undisturbed. we can hardly wonder that, though now free from all danger of pursuit, the heart of the young knight was sad, and that his brow was clouded with many melancholy imaginings. it may be said, indeed, that he was not now worse in situation than when he was formerly in flanders, at which time he had been happy and cheerful; but he was far worse, inasmuch as he had since entertained hopes and expectations which were now broken and passed away; inasmuch as he had known scenes, and tasted joys, that he had now lost, and which might never be his again. every enjoyment of the human heart is like a tree planted deeply in the soil, which, when rooted out, leaves not the earth as it was before, but tears it up and scatters it abroad, and makes a yearning void, difficult to be filled again. however, there was one thing which he had gained: an object in life. formerly his natural disposition, the chivalrous spirit of the age, the ardour of high health, and the strong impulsive bias given by early associations, had impelled him onward on the only path of renown then open to a daring spirit. but now he had a still more inspiring motive, a more individual incitement, to press forward to the goal of fame. constance de grey was ever present to his thoughts, furnished the spring of all his actions, and directed his every endeavour. renown in arms was his already; but fortune, station, he felt he must gain at the sword's point, and he only sought a good cause wherein to draw it. the report that albert of koã«nigstein, his old friend and companion in arms, had joined the adventurers which the count of shoenvelt was collecting at cassel, led him to imagine that the cause in which they would be engaged was one that he could himself embrace with honour, although shoenvelt's name had not been hitherto very famous for the better qualities of chivalry. he doubted not, also, from the high station which he himself had filled in the armies of burgundy, he should easily obtain that rank and command which he was entitled to expect amongst the troops thus assembled. the history of the various bands of adventurers of that day offers us some of the most curious and interesting particulars of a curious and interesting age. these companies, totally distinct from the regular armies of the time (if regular armies they might be called), were generally levied by some enterprising feudal lord; and commencing, most frequently, amongst his own vassals, afterwards swelled out into very formidable bodies by a junction with other bands, and by the continual accession of brave and veteran soldiers, cast upon the world by the sovereigns they had served, when peace rendered their swords no longer necessary. of course, the numbers in these companies varied very much according to circumstances, as well as their regulations and deportment. sometimes they consisted of thousands, sometimes of simple tens. sometimes, with the strictest discipline and the most unshrinking valour, they entered into the service of kings, and decided the fate of empires; sometimes they were little better than roving bands of robbers, that lived by rapine and hardly acknowledged law. most frequently, however, in the age of which we treat, they volunteered their support to the armies of their own sovereign or his own allies, and often proved more active than the body they came to aid. however, if theseus had played at pitch-and-toss with ariadne's clue, he would never have slain the minotaur; and, therefore, we must go on with the thread of our own story, notwithstanding a strong inclination to pause and sport with the subject of the adventurers. nevertheless, thus much we will say: if our readers wish a treat, let them read the delightful old mã©moires of fleuranges--"_l'aventurier_," as he calls himself--which for simplicity, and, if i may use the term, bonhommie of style, for curious incident and romantic adventure, is far superior to any romance that ever was written. many curious particulars, also, concerning the appearance and conduct of the adventurers, may be found in the letters of clement marot to marguerite de valois. but to proceed. the next morning, by day-break, sir osborne and his companion were once more on horseback, and on their way to mount cassel, the knight having determined to learn, in the first place, the views of shoenvelt, and to examine the real state of his troops, before he offered himself as a companion in the adventure. in case he found their object such as he could not himself seek, his mind was hardly made up whether to offer his services to the emperor, or to francis king of france. his old habits, indeed, tended to make him prefer the imperial army; but, from all he had heard of the new chief of the german confederacy, there was a sort of cold-blooded, calculating policy in his every action, that little accorded with the warm and chivalrous feelings of the young knight; while, at the same time, there was in the whole conduct of francis a noble, candid generosity of heart: a wild, enthusiastic spirit of daring and adventure, that wonderfully attracted sir osborne towards him. journeying on with a quick pace, mount cassel soon rose to the traveller's sight, starting out of the vast plains in which it stands, like some high spirit towering above the flat multitude. sweeping round its base, the knight turned his horse towards a lesser hill, at about two miles' distance, the top of which was in that day crowned by the castle of shoenvelt. from the plain below, as the eye wandered up the side of the mountain, amidst the wood and broom that covered the rock in large masses, might be seen peeping forth wall, and bastion, and outwork, while higher up, in zigzag lines upon the clear background of the sky, appeared the towers and battlements of the castle, with the tall donjon rising above them all, and the banner of shoenvelt, bearing sable a saltier gules, floating in the sunshine. a broad, fair road offered itself for the travellers' horses, winding along a narrow rocky ridge, which was the only part that, slowly descending, joined the hill gradually to the plain. all the rest was steep and precipitous, and too well guarded by nature to be liable to attack; while overhanging this sole approach might be seen on every side many a frowning defence, well prepared against any hostile footstep. gradually, as the road wound upwards, it grew narrower and more narrow, confined between two high banks, commanded by the towers of the castle, while the road itself was completely raked by the guns of the barbican. sir osborne remarked it all with a soldier's eye, looking on it as a mechanist does on some fine piece of art, and observing the purpose of every different part. pressing on, however, he soon arrived at the gate, and demanded if sir albert of koã«nigstein was in the castle. though it was a time of peace, no gate was opened, and the sole response of the soldier to whom he spoke was, "who are you?" uttered through the grille of the barbican. the knight gave his name, and the man retired without making any further answer. "this looks like precaution, longpole," said the knight. "methinks they would run no great danger in letting two men pass the gate, though they may be armed at all points." "i suppose the custom of this castle is like the custom of a rat-hole," replied longpole, "to let but one in at a time. but i hope you won't stay here, my lord. i have an invincible hatred at being built up. as much of the camp and fair field as you like, but lord deliver me from stone and mortar! besides, this place smacks marvellously of a den of free companions. look at that fellow with the pike on his shoulder; neither his morion nor his corslet has known sand and the rubbing-stick since his great ancestor was drowned with pharaoh; and 'twas then his harness got so rusty, depend on it." "in a red sea, i am afraid," said sir osborne. "but here comes the janitor." as he spoke, the guardian of the gate approached with a bunch of keys, and soon gave the knight the means of entrance. sir osborne, however, still held his bridle in, and demanded once more if sir albert of koã«nigstein was in the castle. "i cannot tell you, sir," replied the soldier. "i know not the titles of all the knights here. all i can say is, that i gave your name and errand to my lord, who sits at table in the great hall, and that he greets you heartily and invites you in." at this moment a group of gentlemen appeared, coming through the gate of the inner ballium, and sir osborne, not doubting that they had been sent by the count to conduct him to the hall, saw that he could not now avoid entering, whether the officer he sought was there or not. riding through the gate, then, he dismounted, and giving his horse to longpole, met the party he had seen advancing, the principal of whom, with much reverence and courtesy, prayed the sire de darnley, on the part of count shoenvelt, to enter and quaff a cup of wine with him. sir osborne expressed his willingness to do so in the same strain, and then repeated his inquiry for his friend. "we are unhappy in not having his company," replied the gentleman; "but i believe the count expects him here in a few days." he was a young man who spoke, and there was a sort of flush came over his cheek, as he announced the probable coming of koã«nigstein, which induced sir osborne to imagine that his report was not very correct; and fixing his eye upon him, he merely said, "does he?" with a slight degree of emphasis. "yes, sir, he does," said the youth, colouring still more highly. "do you mean to say he does not?" "not in the least," said sir osborne, "as you may see by my seeking him here; and i am sure that so gallant a squire as yourself would never swerve from truth." the young man bent down his eyes, and began playing with his sword-knot, while sir osborne, now perfectly convinced that the whole tale was a falsehood, followed on in silence, prepared to act according to this opinion. in a few minutes they passed through the portal of the keep, and entered at once into the great hall, up the midst of which was placed a long table, surrounded by the chief of shoenvelt's adventurers, with various pages and varlets, serving the meats and pouring out the wine. round upon the walls hung the arms of the various guests, cumbering every hook or peg that could be found; and where these had been scanty, they were cast upon the ground behind the owners' seats, together with saddles and bards, and other horse caparisons; while in the corner leaned several scores of lances, mingled amongst which were one or two knightly pennons, and many a sheaf of arrows, jostled by the upstart weapons destined in the end to banish them from the stage, such as hackbuts, hand-guns, and other newly-invented fire-arms. at the farther end of the table, digging deeply with his dagger in a chine of wild-boar pork, which had been just placed before him, sat the count of shoenvelt himself, tall, strong-limbed, and grisly, with a long, drooping, hooked nose, depressed at the point, as if some one had set his thumb on it, at the same time squeezing it down, and rather twisting it on one side. this feature was flanked, if one may use the term, by a pair of small, keen, hawk's eyes, which expressed more active cunning than vigorous thought; while a couple of immense ears, sticking out on each side of his head, and worn into various irregular callosities by the pressure of his helmet, gave a singular and brute-like appearance to his whole visage, not easy to be described. he was dressed in a hacqueton, or close jacket of buff leather, laced with gold, on which might be seen, especially towards the arms, sundry daubs and stains, to the number of which he had just added another, by dashing all the gravy over his sleeve, in his furious hacking of the large and stubborn piece of meat before him. this accident had called into his face not the most angelic expression, and as he sat he would have made a good picture of an inferior sort of devil; the whole effect being heightened by a strong ray of light passing through a purple pane of the stained glass window, and falling with a ghastly lustre upon his dark, ferocious countenance. the moment, however, that he perceived sir osborne, his brow was smoothed, and rising from his seat, he advanced towards him with great expression of joy. "my dear lord of darnley!" cried he, taking him in his arms and pressing him to his bosom with a hug that the knight would willingly have dispensed with; "welcome! a thousand times welcome to st. hubert's castle! whether you come to stay with us as a companion, or whether you are but a passing guest, your visit is an honour and a delight to all within these walls. knights and gentlemen," continued he, "pledge me all a cup to the health of the sire de darnley." to the party by whom he was surrounded, such a proposal was what nobody felt at all inclined to reject, and consequently there was instantly a loud rattling of cups and tankards, and no one complained that his bowl was too full. all pledged lord darnley, and he could not refuse to do them justice in a cup of wine. after which, taking the seat that shoenvelt assigned him by his side, the knight gazed over the various grim and war-worn faces which were gathered round the table, some of which he knew merely by sight, and some who, having exchanged a word or two with him in the various reciprocations of military service, now looked as if they claimed some mark of recognition. sir osborne was not the man to reject such appeal, and he gave the expected bow to each, though amongst them all he saw no one who had greatly distinguished himself for those high feelings and generous virtues that ever marked the true knight. many were the questions that were asked him; many the conjectures that were propounded to him for confirmation, respecting the designs of france and england, and of germany; and it was some time before he could cut them short, by informing his interrogators that he had been for the last three months in his own country, so deeply occupied by his private affairs that he had given no attention to the passing politics of the day. the whole party seemed greatly disappointed, entertaining apparently a much more violent thirst for news than even that which is commonly to be met with in all small communities, cut off from general information, and unoccupied by greater or better subjects of contemplation. as soon as the meal, which was drawing towards its end when sir osborne entered, was completely concluded, shoenvelt rose, and begged to entertain him for a few minutes in private; which being agreed to, he led him forth into a small space enclosed with walls, wherein the provident chatelain had contrived to lay up, against the hour of need, a very sufficient store of cabbages, turnips, carrots, and other _canaille_ of the vegetable kingdom, which might be very serviceable in case of siege. here, walking up and down a long path that bordered the beds, with sir osborne on his right, and a knight named wilsten (whom he had invited to the conference) on his left, shoenvelt addressed lord darnley somewhat to the following effect; generally, while he did so, fixing his eyes upon vacancy, as a man does who recites awkwardly a set speech, but still from time to time giving a quick sharp glance towards the knight's countenance, to see the impression he produced:-"valiant and worthy knight--ahem! ahem!" said shoenvelt. "every one, whether in germany or france, england or spain, or even here in our poor duchy of burgundy--ahem! ahem! every one, i say, has heard of your valorous feats and courageous deeds of arms; wherefore it cannot be matter of astonishment to you, that wherever there is a captain who, having gathered together a few hardy troops--ahem! ahem! is desirous of signalizing himself in the service of his country--ahem!--wherever there is such a one, i say, you cannot be surprised that he wishes to gain you to his aid." here shoenvelt gave a glance at wilsten, to see if he approved his proem; after which he again proceeded:--"now you must know, worthy knight, that i have here in my poor castle, which is a strong one, as you may perceive--ahem!--no less than five hundred as good spearmen as ever crossed a horse, which i have gathered together for no mean purpose. a purpose," he continued, mysteriously, "which, if effected, will not only enrich all persons who contribute their aid thereto, but will gain them the eternal thanks of our good and noble emperor--ahem! ahem! i could say more--ahem!" "tonder, man! tell him all," cried wilsten, who had served with sir osborne, and had the reputation of being a brave and gallant knight, though somewhat addicted to plunder; "or let me tell him, for your bedevilled 'hems' take more time than it would to storm a fort. this is the case, sir knight. a great meeting is to take place between the king of france and the king of england at the border, and all the nobility of france are in motion through picardy and the frontier provinces, covered with more gold than they ever had in their lives before. even francis himself, like a mad fool, is running from castle to castle, along the frontier, sometimes with not more than half-a-dozen followers. now, then, fancy what a rich picking may be had amidst these gay french gallants; and if francis himself were to fall into our hands, we might command half a kingdom for his ransom." "but i thought that the two countries were at peace," said the knight, with a coldness of manner sufficiently marked, as he thought, to prevent any further communication of the kind. wilsten, however, was not to be stopped, and replied, "ay, a sort of peace; a peace that is no peace on the frontiers. don't let that frighten you: we can prove that they were the first aggressors. why, did not they, less than ten days ago, attack the garrison of st. omers, and kill three men in trying to force the gate? have they not ravaged half hainault? but, however, as i said, be not startled at that. shoenvelt saw the emperor about two months ago, who gave him to understand that we could not do him a better service than either to take francis alive or give him a stroke with a lance. and fear not that our plans are well laid: we have already two hundred men scattered over the frontier; every forest, every village, has its ten or twelve, ready to join at a moment's notice, when we sound to the standard: two hundred more follow to-night, and shoenvelt and i to-morrow, in small parties, so as not to be suspected. already we have taken a rich burgher of beauvais, with velvets and cloths of gold worth a hundred thousand florins. but that is nothing: the king is our great object, and him we shall have, unless some cursed accident prevents it; for we do not hunt him by report only: we have our gaze-hound upon him, who never loses sight. what think you of that, sir knight? count william of firstenberg, shoenvelt's cousin, who is constantly with francis, ay, and well-beloved of him, is our sworn companion, and gives us notice of all his doings. what think you of that, sir knight--ha?" "i think him a most infernal villain!" cried sir osborne, his indignation breaking forth in spite of his better judgment. "by heaven! before i would colleague with such a traitor, i'd have my hand struck off." "ha!" cried shoenvelt, who had marked the knight's coldness all along, and now burst into fury. "a traitor! sir knight, you lie! ho! shut the gates there! by heaven! he will betray us, wilsten! call marquard's guard; down with him to a dungeon!" and laying his hand upon his sword, he prepared to stop the knight, who now strode rapidly towards the gate. "nay, nay," cried wilsten, holding his companion's arm. "remember, shoenvelt, 'tis your own hold. he must not be hurt here; nay, by my faith he shall not. we will find a more fitting place: hold, i say!" while shoenvelt, still furious, strove to free himself from wilsten, sir osborne passed the gate of the garden, and entered the space of the outer ballium, where longpole had pertinaciously remained with the two horses, as close to the barbican, the gate of which had been left open when they entered, as possible, seeming to have had a sort of presentiment that it might be necessary to secure possession of the bridge. the moment the knight appeared without any conductors, the shrewd custrel conceived at once that something had gone wrong, sprang upon his own horse, gave a glance round the court to see that his retreat could not be cut off, and perceiving that almost all the soldiers were near the inner wall, he led forward his lord's charger to meet him. sir osborne had his foot in the stirrup when shoenvelt, now broken away from wilsten, rushed forth from the garden, vociferating to his men to shut the gate and to raise the drawbridge; but in a moment the knight was in the saddle; and spurring on, with one buffet of his hand in passing, he felled a soldier who had started forward to drop the portcullis, and darted over the bridge. "on to the other gate, longpole!" cried he. "quick! make sure of it;" and turning his own horse, he faced shoenvelt, who now seeing him gone beyond his power, stood foaming under the arch. "count of shoenvelt!" cried he, drawing off his glove, "thou art a liar, a traitor, and a villain, which, when you will, i will prove upon your body. there lies my gage!" and casting down his gauntlet, he galloped after longpole, who stood with his sword drawn in a small outer gate, which had been thrown forward even beyond the barbican. "up! archers, up!" cried shoenvelt, storming with passion; "up, lazy villains! a hundred crowns to him who sends me an arrow through his heart. draw! draw, slaves! draw, i say!" in a moment an arrow stuck in sir osborne's surcoat, and another lighted on his casquet; but, luckily, as we have seen, the more easily to carry his harness or armour, he rode completely armed, and the missiles from the castle fell in vain. however, lest his horse should suffer, which, not being sufficiently covered by its bard to insure it from a chance arrow, might have been disabled at the very moment he needed it most, the knight spurred on as fast as possible, and having joined longpole, descended the narrow way by which they had mounted. still for some way the arrows continued to fall about them, though with less assured aim and exhausted force; so that the only danger that remained might be apprehended either from the guns of the castle being fired upon them, or from shoenvelt sending out a body of spearmen in their pursuit. neither of these, however, took place, the inhabitants of the country round, and the commander of cassel, being too jealous and suspicious of shoenvelt already for him to do anything which might more particularly attract their attention; and to this cause, and this cause only, was sir osborne indebted for his unpursued escape. chapter xxxii. how blest am i by such a man led, under whose wise and careful guardship i now despise fatigue and hardship! as soon as they were out of reach of immediate annoyance, the knight reined in his horse, and turned to see if shoenvelt showed any symptoms of an inclination to follow. but all was now quiet: the gates were shut, the drawbridge was raised, and not even an archer to be seen upon the walls. sir osborne's eye, however, ran over tower, and bartizan, and wall, and battlement, with so keen and searching a glance, that if any watched him in his progress, it must have been from the darkest loophole in the castle, to escape the notice of his eye. satisfied at length with his scrutiny, he again pursued his journey down the steep descent into the vast plain of flanders, and turned his horse towards mount cassel, giving longpole an account, as he went, of the honourable plans and purposes of the good count of shoenvelt. "'odslife! my lord," said longpole, "let us go into that part of the world too. if we could but get a good stout fellow or two to our back, we might disconcert them." "i fear they are too many for us," replied the knight, "though it seems that shoenvelt, avaricious of all he can get, and afraid that aught should slip through his hands, has divided his men into tens and twelves, so that a few spears well led might do a great deal of harm amongst them. at all events, longpole, we will buy a couple of lances at cassel; for we may yet chance to meet with some of shoenvelt's followers on our road." conversing of their future proceedings, they now mounted the steep ascent of mount cassel, and approached the gate of the town, the iron grate of which, to their surprise, was slowly pushed back in their faces as they rode up. "ho! soldier, why do you shut the gate?" cried sir osborne; "don't you see we are coming in?" "no, you are not," replied the other, who was a stiff old hainaulter, looking as rigid and intractable as the iron jack that covered his shoulders; "none of shoenvelt's plunderers come in here." "but we are neither friends nor plunderers of shoenvelt's," said the knight: "we are his enemies, and have just made our escape from st. hubert's." "ah! a fine tale! a fine tale!" replied the soldier, through the barred gate, which he continued slowly and imperturbably to fasten against them. "we saw you come down the hill, but you don't step in here to-night; so you had better ride away, before the captain sends down to make you. we all know that you can lie as well as rob." "by my life! if i were in, i'd split your morion for you," said the knight, enraged at the cool _nonchalance_ of the hainaulter. "doubtless," replied he, in the same sort of indifferent snuffling tone; "doubtless: you look like it, and that's one reason why i shall keep you out." sir osborne wasted no more words on the immoveable old pikeman, but, angrily turning his horse, began to descend the hill. a little way down the steep, there was even then, as now, a small hamlet serving as a sort of suburb to the town above; and towards this the knight took his way, pausing to gaze, every now and then, on the vast, interminable plain that lay stretched at his feet, spread over which he could see a thousand cities and villages, all filled with their own little interests and feelings, wherein he had no part nor sympathy, and a thousand roads leading away to them, in every direction, without any one to guide his choice, or to tell him on which he might expect prosperity or disaster. "to aire," said he, after he had thought for some time. "we will go to aire. i hear that the count de ligny, whom i fought at isson, is there, and the chevalier bayard, and many other gallant knights and gentlemen, who, perhaps, may welcome me amongst them. is not that the smoke of a forge, longpole? perhaps we may find an armourer. let us see." as the knight had imagined, so it proved, and on their demanding two strong lances, the armourer soon brought them forward a bundle of stiff ash staves, bidding them choose. after some examination to ascertain the soundness of the wood, their choice was made; and the fleming proceeded to adjust to the smaller end of each two handsbreadths of pointed iron, which being fastened and clenched, the knight and his follower paid the charge, and taking possession of their new weapons rode away, directing their course towards hazebrouck, in their way to aire. their progress now became necessarily slow; for though both horses were powerful in limb and joint, and trained to carry great burdens and endure much fatigue, yet the weight of a heavy iron bard, together with that of a tall strong man armed at all points, was such that in a long journey it of course made itself felt. evidently perceiving by the languor of his motions that the charger which bore him was becoming greatly wearied, sir osborne ceased to urge him, and proposed to stop for the evening at the very first village that could boast of an inn. nevertheless, it was some time before they met with such a one, most of the hamlets on the road being too poor and insignificant to require or possess anything of the kind. at length, however, a small, neat house, with a verdant holly-bush over the door, invited their steps, and entering, sir osborne was saluted heartily by the civil host, who, with brandished knife and snowy bib, was busily engaged in cooking various savoury messes for any guest that providence might send him. some specimens of his handiwork were placed before the knight and longpole, as soon as their horses had been taken care of; and an excellent bottle of old wine, together with some fatigue, induced them to linger a little at the table. the lattice, which was open, looked out across the road to the little village green, where was to be seen many a schoolboy playing in the fine may evening, and mocking, in his childish sports, the sadder doings of the grown-up children of the day. here, horsed upon their fellows' backs, were two that acted the part of knights, tilting at each other with broomsticks; and there, marshalled in fair order by a youthful captain, marched a body of young lansquenets, advancing and retreating, wheeling and charging, with no small precision. sir osborne watched them for a while, in somewhat of a moralizing mood, till his musing was disturbed by the trotting of a horse past the window, and in a moment after he heard the good-humoured voice of the host addressing the person who arrived. "ah! master frederick," he said, "what! back again so soon! i told you you would soon be tired of soldiering." "nay, nay, regnault," answered a voice that sir osborne thought he had heard before, "i am not tired of soldiering, and never shall be; but i am tired of consorting with a horde of plunderers, for such are shoenvelt and all his followers. but while i lead my horse to the stable, get me something to eat, good regnault; for i do not want to go back to the hall till i have dented my sword at least." "what! are you going to it again?" cried the host; "stay at home, master frederick! stay at home! take care of the house your father has left you. if you are not so rich as the baron, you have enough, and that is better than riches, if one knew it." "my father was a soldier," answered the young man, "and distinguished himself; and so will i, before i sit down in peace." here the conversation ceased; and the host, entering the room in which sat the knight and his follower, began to lay out one of the small tables with which it was furnished. "that is as good a youth," said he, addressing sir osborne, while he proceeded with his preparations; "that is as good a youth as ever breathed, if he had not taken this fit of soldiering. his father was a younger brother of old count altaman, and after many years' service came to our village, and bought a piece of ground, where he built a house: your worship may see it from here, over the side of the hill, with the wood behind it. he has been dead now a year, and his wife near three; and so master frederick there must needs go soldiering. they say it is all love for the baron's daughter. but here he comes." as he spoke, the young man entered the room, presenting to sir osborne, as he had expected, the face of the youth who had been sent by shoenvelt to welcome him on his arrival at the castle. an ingenuous blush overspread the young hainaulter's countenance when he saw sir osborne, and taking his seat at the table prepared for him, he turned away his head and began his meal in silence. "had you not better take off your corslet, master frederick?" demanded the host. "no, no, regnault," replied the youth; "i do not know that i shall stay here all night. never mind! give me some wine, and leave me." thus repulsed, the innkeeper withdrew, and sir osborne continued to watch the young soldier, who, whether it was a feeling of shame at meeting the knight, and degradation at having been made, even in a degree, a party to shoenvelt's attempt to deceive him, or whether it was bitterness of spirit at returning to his native place unsuccessful, seemed to have his heart quite full; and it appeared to be with pain that he ate the food which was placed before him. sir osborne could feel for disappointed hopes, and after regarding him for a moment or two in silence, he crossed the room and laid his hand upon his shoulder. the young man turned round with a flushed cheek, hardly knowing whether from anger at the familiarity to vent the feelings of his heart, or to take it in good part, and strive to win the esteem of a man whom he had been taught to admire. but there was a frankness in the knight's manner, and a noble kindness of intent in his look, that soon removed all doubt. "so, young gentleman," said he, "you have left count shoenvelt's company. i thought you were not made to stay long amongst them; but say, was it with his will?" "i staid not to ask, my lord," replied the young man. "i was bound to shoenvelt in no way, and the moment the gates were opened after you were gone, i rode out and came away." sir osborne shook his head. "when a soldier engages with a commander," said he, "his own will and pleasure must not be the terms of his service. but of all things, he ought not to quit his leader's banner without giving notice that he intends to do so." "but, thank god," cried the young hainaulter, "i had not yet taken service with shoenvelt. he wanted to swear me to it, as he does the rest; but i would not do so till i saw more of him and of his plans; and so i told him." "that makes the matter very different," replied the knight with a smile. "i am heartily glad to hear it, for i dare pronounce him a traitorous ruffian, and no true knight. but one more question, young sir, if i urge not your patience. how came you to seek shoenvelt at first, who never bore a high renown but as a marauder?" the youth hesitated. "it matters not, sir knight," replied he, after a moment's pause, "to you or to any one, what reasons i might have to seek renown as speedily as possible, and why the long, tedious road to knighthood and to fame, first as page, and then as squire, and then as man-at-arms, was such as i could not bear; but so it was: and as shoenvelt gave out that he had high commissions from the emperor, and was to do great deeds, i hoped that with him i might find speedy means of signalizing myself. after being two days in the castle, i discovered that his whole design was plunder, which was not the way to fame; and this morning he made me deliver you a message, which i knew to be a falsehood, which was not the road to honour: so i determined to leave him; and as the spearmen are always dropping out of the castle by five or six at a time, to go down to the frontier, i soon found the means of getting away." "yours is an error, my good youth," said sir osborne, "which i am afraid we are all wont to entertain in the first heat of our early days; but we soon find that the road to fame is hard and difficult of access, and that it requires time, and perseverance, and labour, and strength, even to make a small progress therein. those who, with a gay imagination, fancy they have made themselves wings to fly up to the top, soon, like the cretan of old, sear their pinions in the sun, and drop into the sea of oblivion. however, are you willing to follow a poor knight, who, though he cannot promise either fame or riches, will lead you, at least, in the path of honour?" the enthusiastic youth caught the knight's hand, and kissed it with inexpressible delight. "what! follow you?" cried he; "follow the lord darnley, the knight of burgundy, whose single arm maintained the bridge at bovines against the bravest of the duke of alenã§on's horse! ay, that i will, follow him through the world. do you hear that, regnault?" he cried to the innkeeper, who now entered; "do you hear that? instead of the base shoenvelt, i am going to follow the noble lord of darnley, who was armed a knight by the emperor himself." the honest innkeeper congratulated master frederick heartily upon the exchange; for the knight was now in that part of the country where his name, if not his person, was well known; and in that age, the fame of gallant actions and of noble bearing spread rapidly through all ranks, and gained the meed of applause from men whom we might suppose little capable of appreciating it. all preliminaries were speedily arranged, and the next morning sir osborne set out by dawn for the small town of hazebrouck, which lay at about two leagues' distance, where he took care to furnish his new follower with a lance, and several pieces of defensive armour that were wanting to his equipment; and then, to ascertain what reliance might be placed on his support in case of emergency, he excited him to practise various military exercises with himself, as they rode along towards aire. to his no small surprise and pleasure, he found that the young hainaulter, though somewhat rash and hasty, was far more skilful in the use of his weapons and the management of his horse than he could have conceived; and with such an addition to his party, he no longer scrupled to cast himself in the way of some of shoenvelt's bodies of marauders, to keep his hand in, as longpole quaintly expressed it, when he heard his lord's determination. "come, frederick," said the knight, "i will not go on to aire, as i had determined; but, in order to gratify your wish for renown, we will lie about on the frontier, like true errant knights of old, at any village or other place where we may find shelter; and if we meet with shoenvelt, or any of his, mind you do honour to your arms. we shall always have the odds of eight or nine against us." "no, no, sir knight!" cried the young soldier; "do not believe that. it is one of his falsehoods; there are not above ten in any of the bands, and most of them are five or six. i know where most of them lie." "hush, hush!" cried sir osborne, raising his finger; "you must tell me nothing; so that, if you should chance to break a lance with him, your hand may not tremble at thinking you have betrayed his counsel. nay, do not blush, frederick. a man who aspires to chivalry must guide himself by stricter rules than other men. it was for this i spoke. here is the fair river lys, if i remember right." "it is so, sir knight," replied the other; "there is a bridge about a mile lower down." "what! for a brook like this?" cried sir osborne, spurring his horse in. "oh, no; we will swim it. follow!" the young hainaulter's horse did not like the plunge, and shied away from the brink. "spur him in, spur him in!" cried longpole. "if our lord reaches the other bank first, he will never forgive us. he swims like an otter himself, and fancies that his squires ought to be water-rats by birthright." "down with the left rein!" cried the knight, turning as his horse swam, and seeing the situation of his young follower. "give him the spur, bring him to a demivolte, and he must in." as the knight said, at the second movement of the demivolte, the horse's feet were brought to the very brink of the river, and a slight touch of the mullet made him plunge over; so that, though somewhat embarrassed with his lance in the water, frederick soon reached the other bank in safety. one of the beautiful flemish meadows, which still in many parts skirt the banks of the lys, presented itself on the other side; and beyond that, a forest that has long since known the rude touch of the heavy axe, which, like some fell enchanter's wand, has made so many of the loveliest woods in europe disappear, without leaving a trace behind. the one we speak of was then in its full glory, sweeping along with a rich undulating outline by the side of the soft green plain that bordered the river, sometimes advancing close to the very brink, as if the giant trees of which it was composed sought to contemplate their grandeur in the watery mirror, sometimes falling far away, and leaving a wide open space between itself and the stream, covered with thick short grass, and strewed with the thousand flowers wherewith nature's liberal hand has fondly decorated her favourite spring. every here and there, too, the wood itself would break away, discovering a long glade penetrating into the deepest recesses of its bosom, filled with the rich, mellow forest light, that, streaming between every aperture, chequered the green, mossy path below, and showed a long perspective of vivid light and shade as far as the eye could reach. it was up one of these that sir osborne took his way, willing to try the mettle of his new follower, and to initiate him into the trade of war, by a few of its first hardships and dangers, doubting not that shoenvelt had taken advantage of that forest, situated as it was between lillers and aire, to post at least one party of his men therein. from what the youth had let drop, as well as from what he had himself observed, the knight was led to believe that the adventurer had greatly magnified the number of his forces; and he also concluded that, to avoid suspicion, he had divided his men into very small troops, except on such points as he expected the king of france himself to pass; and even there, sir osborne did not doubt that thirty men would be the extent of any one body, francis's habit of riding almost unattended, with the fearless confidence natural to his character, being but too well known on the frontier. to meet with shoenvelt himself, and if possible to disappoint his schemes of plunder, was now the knight's castle in the air; and though the numbers of his own party were so scanty, he felt the sort of confident assurance in his own courage, his own strength, and his own skill, which is ever worth a host in moments of danger. longpole, he was also sure, would be no inefficient aid; and though the young hainaulter might not be their equal in experience or skill, sir osborne did not fear that, in time of need, his enthusiastic courage and desire to distinguish himself would make him more than a match for one of shoenvelt's company. under these circumstances, the knight would never have hesitated to attack a body of double, or perhaps treble, his own number; and yet he resolved to proceed cautiously, endeavouring in the first place to inform himself of the situation of shoenvelt's various bands, and to ascertain which that marauder was likely to join himself. wilsten having let drop that he and the count, as the two leaders of their whole force, were to set out the next morning, sir osborne saw that no time was to be lost in reconnoitring the ground, in order to ascertain the real strength of the adventurers. he resolved, therefore, to take every means to learn their numbers; and if he found the amount more formidable than he imagined, to risk nothing with so few, but to provide for the king's safety, by giving notice to the garrison of aire that the monarch was menaced by danger; and then to aid with his own hand in ridding the frontier of such dangerous visitors, though he felt a great degree of reluctance to share with any one an enterprise full of honourable danger. it was likewise necessary to ascertain where francis i. was; for shoenvelt might have been deceived, or the king might have already quitted the frontier, or he might be accompanied by a sufficient escort to place his person in security; or, in short, a thousand circumstances might have happened, which would render the enterprise of the adventurers abortive, and his own interference unnecessary, if not impertinent. revolving all these considerations in his mind, sometimes proceeding in silence, sometimes calling upon his companions for their opinion, sir osborne took his way up one of the deep glades of the forest, still keeping a watchful ear to every sound that stirred in the wood, so that not a note of the thrush or the blackbird, nor the screaming of a jay, nor the rustle of a rabbit, escaped him; and yet nothing met his ear which might denote that there were other beings hid beneath those green boughs besides themselves and the savage tenants of the place: the stag, the wild boar, and the wolf. the deep ruts, formed by heavy wood-carts in the soft, mossy carpet of the glade, told that the route they were pursuing was one which most probably communicated with some village, or some other road of greater thoroughfare; and after following it for about a mile, they perceived that, now joined to another exactly similar to itself, it wound away to the left, leaving nothing but a small bridle-way before them, which sir osborne judged must lead to some spot where the wood had been cleared. as their horses were now rather fatigued, and the full sun shining upon the forest rendered its airless paths very oppressive, the knight chose the little path before him, hoping it would lead to a more open space where they might repose for a while, and at the same time keep a watch upon the roads they had just quitted. his expectations were not deceitful; for after having proceeded about two hundred yards, they came to a little grassy mound in the wood, which in former times might have monumented the field of some gallic or roman victory, piled up above the bones of the mighty dead. even now, though the forest had grown round and girt it in on every side, the trees themselves seemed to hold it in reverence, leaving it, and even some space round it, free from their grasping roots; except, indeed, where a group of idle hawthorns had gathered impudently on its very summit, flaunting their light blossoms to the sun, and spreading their perfume on the wind. it was the very spot suited to sir osborne's purpose; and, dismounting, the three travellers leaned their lances against the trees, and letting their horses pick a meal from the forest grass, prepared to repose themselves under the shadow of the thorns. previous to casting himself down upon the bank, however, the knight took care to examine the wood around them; and seeing a sort of yellow light shining between the trees beyond, he pursued his way along what seemed a continuation of the little path which had brought them thither. proceeding in a slanting direction, apparently to avoid the bolls of some enormous beeches, it did not lead on for above ten or twelve yards, and then opened out upon a high road cut through the very wildest part of the forest, at a spot where an old stone cross and fountain of clear water commemorated the philanthropy of some one long dead, and offered the best of nature's gifts to the lip of the weary traveller. sir osborne profited by the occasion, and communicated his discovery to his companions, who took advantage of it to satisfy their thirst also. they then lay down in the shade of the hawthorns on the mound; and, after some brief conversation, the heat of the day so overpowered the young hainaulter that he fell asleep. such an example was never lost upon longpole, who soon resigned himself to the drowsy god; and sir osborne was left the only watcher of the party. whether from his greater bodily powers, on which fatigue made but slight impression, or from deeper feelings and thoughts that would not rest, sleep came not near his eyelids; and, lying at his ease in the fragrant air, a thousand busy memories came thronging through his brain, recalling love, and hope, and joy, and teaching to believe that all might yet be his. while thus indulging waking visions, he thought he heard a distant horn, and listening, the same sound was again borne upon the wind from some part of the forest. it was, however, no warlike note, but evidently proceeded from the horn of some huntsman, who, as sir osborne concluded from the time of the year, was chasing the wolf, to whom no season gives repose. falling back into the position from which he had risen to listen, sir osborne had again given himself up to thought, when he was once more roused by the sound of voices and the trampling of horses' feet on the road hard by. rising silently, without disturbing his companions, he glided part of the way down the path leading to the fountain, and paused amidst some oaks and shrubs, through the leaves of which he could observe what passed on the highway, without being seen himself. nearly opposite to the cross already mentioned appeared two horsemen, one of whom allowed his beast to drink where the water, gurgling over the basin of the fountain, formed a little streamlet across the road, while the other held in his rein about a pace behind, as if waiting with some degree of respect for his companion. as soon as the horse raised its head, the first cavalier turned round, and presented to sir osborne's view a fine and princely countenance, whose every feature, whose every glance, bespoke a generous and noble spirit. in complexion the stranger was of a deep tanned brown, with his eyes, his hair, and his mustachio nearly black; his brow was broad and clear; his eyes were large and full, though shaded by the dark eyelashes that overhung them; his nose was straight, and perhaps somewhat too long; while his mouth was small, and would have been almost too delicate, had it not been for a certain marked curl of the upper lip, which gave it an expression, not of haughtiness nor of sternness, but of grave, condescending dignity. his dress was a rich hunting suit, which might well become a nobleman of the day, consisting of a green pourpoint laced with gold and slashed on the breast, long white hose half covered by his boots, and a short green cloak not descending to his horse's back. his hat was of velvet, with the broad brim slightly turned up round it, and cut in various places so as somewhat to resemble a moral crown, while from the front, thrown over to the back, fell a splendid plume of ostrich feathers which almost reached his shoulder. his only arms appeared to be a dagger in his girdle, and a long heavy sword, which hung from his shoulder in a baldrick of cloth of gold. the other stranger was habited nearly like the first, very little difference existing either in the fashion or the richness of their apparel. both also were tall and vigorous men, and both were in the prime of their days; but the countenance of the second was very different from that of his companion. in complexion he was fair, with small blue eyes and rather sandy hair; nor would he have been otherwise than handsome, had it not been for a certain narrowness of brow and wideness of mouth, which gave a gaunt and eager expression to his face, totally opposed to the grand and open countenance of the other. as we have said, when his horse had done drinking, the first traveller turned towards the spot where sir osborne stood, and seemed to listen for a moment. at length he said, "hear you the hunt now, count william?" "no, your highness," replied the other; "it has swept away towards aire." "then, sir," rejoined the first, "we are alone!" and drawing his sword from the scabbard, he laid it level before his companion's eyes, continuing abruptly, "what think you of that blade? is it not a good one?" at the same time he fixed his eye upon him with a firm, remarking glance, as if he would have read into his very soul. the other turned as pale as death, and faltered something about its being a most excellent weapon. "then," continued the first, "i will ask you, sir count, should it not be a bold man, who, knowing the goodness of this sword, and the strength of this arm, and the stoutness of this heart, would yet attempt anything against my life? however, count william of firstenberg, let me tell you, that should there be such a man in this kingdom, and should he find himself alone with me in a wild forest like this, and fail to make the attempt he meditated, i should look upon him as coward as well as traitor, and fool as well as villain." and his dark eye flashed as if it would have struck him to the ground. count william[16] faltered, trembled, and attempted to reply, but his speech failed him; and, striking his hand against his forehead, he shook his bridle-rein, dug his spurs into his horse's sides, and darted down the road like lightning. "slave!" cried the other, as he marked him go; "cowardly slave!" and, turning his horse, without further comment he rode slowly on the other way. chapter xxxiii. the battle fares like to the morning's war, when dying clouds contend with growing light.--shakspere. thine is th' adventure, thine the victory; well has thy fortune turned the die for thee.--dryden. sir osborne immediately turned into the forest, and, rousing his companions, called them to horse; but, however, though confessedly the hero of our story, we must leave him for a little time and follow the traveller we have just left upon the road. for a considerable way he rode on musing, and if one might judge from his countenance, his meditations were somewhat bitter; such as might become the bosom of a king on finding the treachery of the world, the hollowness of friendship, the impossibility of securing affection, or any other of the cold lessons which the world will sometimes teach the children of prosperity. at length he paused, and, looking to the declining sun, saw the necessity of hastening his progress; whereupon, setting spurs to his horse, he galloped along the road without much heeding in what direction it led him, till, coming to one of those openings called _carrefours_ by the french, where a great many roads met, he stopped to consider his farther route. in the midst, it is true, stood a tall post, which doubtless in days of yore pointed out to the inquisitive eye the exact destination to which each of the several paths tended; but old time, who will be fingering everything that is nice and good, from the loveliest feature of living beauty to the grandest monument of ancient art, had not spared even so contemptible a thing as the finger-post, but, like a great mischievous baby, had scratched out the letters with his pocketknife, leaving no trace of their purport visible. the traveller rode round it in vain, then paused and listened, as if to catch the sound of the distant hunt; but all was now silent. as a last resource, he raised his hunting-horn to his lips, and blew a long and repeated call; but all was hushed and still: even babbling echo, in pure despite, answered not a word. he blew again, and had the same success. there was an ominous sort of quietness in the air, which, joined with the sultriness of the evening, the expecting taciturnity of the birds, and some dark heavy clouds that were beginning to roll in lurid masses over the trees, gave notice of an approaching storm. some road he must choose, and, calculating as nearly as he could by the position of the sun, he made his election, and spurred along it with all speed. a dropping sound amongst the green leaves, however, soon showed that the storm was begun, and once having commenced, it was not slow in following up its first attack: the rain came down in torrents, so as to render the whole scene misty, and the lightning, followed by its instant peal of thunder, flickered on every side with flash after flash, dazzling the traveller's sight, and scaring his horse by gleaming across his path, while the inky clouds overhead almost deprived them of other light. in vain he every now and then sought some place of shelter, where the trees seemed thickest; the verdant canopy of the leaves, though impervious to the summer sun, and a good defence against a passing shower, were incapable of resisting a storm like that, and wherever he turned the rain poured through in torrents, and wet him to the skin. galloping on, then, in despair of finding any sufficient covering, he proceeded for nearly half-an-hour along the forest road, before it opened into the country; and where it did so, instead of finding any nice village to give him rest, and shelter, and food, and fire, the horseman could distinguish nothing but a wide, bare expanse of country, looking dismal and desolate in the midst of the gray deluge that was falling from the sky. about seven or eight miles farther on, he could, indeed, see faintly through the rain the spire of some little church, giving the only sign of human habitation; except where, to the left, in the midst of the heath that there bordered the forest, he perceived the miserable little hut of a charcoal-burner, with a multitude of black hillocks before the door, and a large shed for piling up what was already prepared. to this, then, as the nearest place of shelter, the stranger took his way, very different in appearance from what he had been in the morning; his rich dress soaked and soiled, his velvet hat out of all shape or form, his high plume draggled and thin, with all the feather adhering closely to the pen; and, in short, though still bearing the inalienable look of gentleman, yet in as complete disarray of apparel as the very worst wetting can produce. without ceremony he rode up to the door, sprang off his horse, and entered the cabin, wherein appeared a good woman of about forty, busily piling up with fresh fuel a fire of dry boughs, over which hung a large pot of soup for the evening meal. the traveller's tale was soon told, and the dame readily promised him shelter and food, in the name of her husband, who was absent, carrying charcoal to the distant village; and seeing that the storm was likely to last all night, he tied his horse under the shed, placed himself by the side of the fire, aided the good woman to raise it into a blaze, and frankly prepared to make himself as comfortable as circumstances would permit. well pleased with his easy good-humour, the good dame soon grew familiar, gave him a spoon to skim the pot, while she fetched more wood, and bade him make himself at home. in a short time the husband himself returned, as dripping as the traveller had been, and willingly confirmed all that his wife had promised. only casting himself, without ceremony, into the chair where the stranger had been sitting--and which, by-the-way, was the only chair in the place, all the rest of the seats being joint-stools--he addressed him familiarly, saying, "i take this place by the fire, my good gentleman, because it is the place where i always sit, and this chair, because it is mine; and you know the old proverb- "by right and by reason, whatever betide, a man should be master by his own fireside."[17] "faith, you are in the right," cried the traveller, laughing; "so i will content myself with this settle. but let us have something for supper; for, on the word of a--knight, my ride has taught me hunger." "give us the soup, dame," cried the charcoal-burner. "well i wot, sir traveller, that you might be treated like a prince, here on the edge of the wood, did not those vile forest laws prevent a poor man from spearing a boar as well as a rich one. in truth, the king is to blame to let such laws last." "faith, and that is true," cried the traveller; "and heartily to blame, too, if his laws stand between me and a good supper. now would i give a link of this gold chain for a good steak of wild boar pork upon those clear ashes." the cottager looked at his wife, and the cottager's wife looked at her husband, very like two people undecided what to do. "fie, now!" cried the stranger; "fie, good dame! i will wager a gold piece against a cup of cold water, that if i look in that coffer, i shall find wherewithal to mend our supper." "hal ha! ha!" roared the charcoal-burner; "thou hast hit it. faith, thou hast hit it! there it is, my buck, sure enough! bring it forth, dame, and give us some steaks. but, mind," he continued, laying his finger on his lip, with a significant wink; "mind, mum's the word! never fare well and cry roast beef." "oh! i'm as close as a mouse," replied the stranger in the same strain; "never fear me: many a stout stag have i overthrown in the king's forests, without asking with your leave or by your leave of any man." "ha! ha! ha!" cried the cottager; "thou'rt a brave one! come, let us be merry while the thunder rolls without. it will strike the king's palace sooner than my cottage, though we are eating wild boar therein." in such sort of wit passed the evening till nightfall; and the storm still continuing in its full glory, the traveller was fain to content himself with such lodging as the cottage afforded for the night. though his dress bespoke a rank far higher than their own, neither the cottager nor his wife seemed at all awe-struck or abashed, but quietly examined the gold lacing of his clothes, declared it was very fine, and seemed to look upon him more as a child does upon a gilded toy than in any other light. when night was come, the good dame strewed out one corner of the hut with a little straw, piled it high with dry leaves, and the stranger, rolling up his cloak for a pillow, laid it under his head, stretched himself on the rude bed thus prepared, and soon fell into a profound sleep. taking advantage of his nap, we will now return to sir osborne, who with all speed roused his companions from their slumbers, and bade them mount and follow. with military alacrity, longpole was on his horse in a moment, and ready to set out; but for his part, the young hainaulter yawned and stretched, and, somewhat bewildered, looked as if he would fain have asked whither the knight was going to lead him. a word, however, from longpole hurried his motions, and both were soon upon the track of sir osborne, who was already some way on the little bridle-path by which they had arrived at the grassy mound where they had been sleeping. when he reached the road they had formerly left, he paused, and waited their coming up. "now, longpole," cried he, "give me your judgment: does this road lead to any crossing or not? quick! for we must not waste a moment." "most certainly it does, my lord," replied the shield-bearer: "most probably to the spot where they all meet in the heart of the wood." "perhaps he may tell us with more certainty," said the knight; and changing his language to french, for the ear of the young hainaulter, he asked the same question. "oh, yes, certainly," replied frederick: "it leads to the great carrefour; i have hunted here a hundred times." "then, are we on french ground or flemish?" demanded the knight. "the french claim it," replied the youth; "but we used to hunt here in their despite." "quick, then! let us on!" cried sir osborne; "and keep all your eyes on the road before, to see if any one crosses it." "he has something in his head, i'll warrant," said longpole to their new companion, as they galloped after sir osborne. "oh! our lord knows the trade of war, and will snuff you out an enemy, without ever seeing him, better than a beagle dog with bandy legs and a yellow spot over his eyes." "halt!" cried the knight, suddenly reining in his horse as they came within sight of the carrefour we have already mentioned. "longpole, keep close under that tree! frederick, here by my side; back him into the wood, my good youth; that will do. let every one keep his eyes upon the crossing, and when you see a horseman pass, mark which road he takes. how dark the sky is growing! hark! is not that a horse's feet?" they had not remained many minutes when the cavalier we have spoken of appeared at the carrefour, examined in vain the finger-post, sounded his horn once or twice, as we have described, and then again took his way to the left. "whither does that road lead?" demanded the knight, addressing the young hainaulter. "it opens out on the great heath between the forest and lillers, my lord," answered frederick. "is there any village, or castle, or house near?" asked sir osborne quickly. "none, none!" replied frederick; "it is as bare as my hand: perhaps a charbonier's cottage or so," he added, correcting himself. "let us on, then," replied the knight. "we are going to have a storm, but we must not mind that;" and putting his horse into a quick pace, he led his followers upon the track of the traveller, taking care never to lose sight of him entirely, and yet contriving to conceal himself, whenever any turn of the road might have exposed him to the view of the person he pursued. the rain poured upon his head, the lightning flashed upon his path; but still the knight followed on without a moment's pause, till he had seen the traveller take refuge in the cottage of the charcoal-burner. then, and not until then, he paused, spurred his horse through some thick bushes on the edge of the wood, and obtained as much shelter as the high beeches of the forest could afford; nor did he pause at the first or the thickest trees he came to, but took particular pains to select a spot where, though concealed by a high screen of underwood, they could yet distinguish clearly the door of the hut through the various breaks in the branches. here, having dismounted with his followers, he stationed frederick at a small opening, to watch the cottage, while he and longpole carefully provided for the security and refreshment of their horses, as far as circumstances would admit, although the long forest-grass was the only food that could be procured for them, and the storm still continued pouring through the very thickest parts of the wood. to obviate this, the knight and his shield-bearer plied the underwood behind them with their swords, and soon obtained a sufficient supply of leafy branches to interweave with the lower boughs of the trees overhead, and thus to secure themselves against the rain. while thus employed, frederick gave notice, as he had been commanded, that some one approached the cottage, which proved to be the charbonier himself, returning with his mule; and after his arrival, their watch remained undisturbed by the coming of any visitor till nightfall. as soon as it was dark, sir osborne allotted to his followers and to himself the portion of the night that each was to watch, taking for his own period the first four hours; after which longpole's turn succeeded; and lastly, towards morning, came the young hainaulter's. with his eye fixed upon the light in the cottage, and his ear eager for every sound, sir osborne passed the time till the flame gradually died away, and, flashing more and more faintly, at last sank entirely. however, the dark outline of the hut was still to be seen, and the ear had now more power; for the storm had gradually passed away, and the only sounds that it had left were the thunder rolling faintly round the far limits of the horizon, and the dropping of the water from the leaves and branches of the forest. towards midnight, sir osborne roused longpole, and recommending him to watch carefully, he threw himself down by the young hainaulter and was soon asleep. somewhat tired with the fatigues of the day, the knight slept soundly, and did not wake till frederick, who had replaced longpole on the watch, shook him by the arm; and starting up, he found that it was day. "hist, hist! my lord," cried the youth; "here are shoenvelt and his party." sir osborne looked through the branches in the direction the young man pointed, and clearly distinguished a party of seven spearmen, slowly moving along the side of the forest, at about five hundred yards' distance from the spot where they lay. "it is shoenvelt's height and form," said the knight, measuring the leader with his eye, "and that looks like wilsten by his side; but how are you sure?" "because i know the arms of both," replied frederick, "see! they are going to hide in the wood, close by the high road from lillers to aire." as he spoke, the body of horsemen stopped, and one after another disappeared in the wood, convincing sir osborne that the young hainaulter was right. "then, nerve your arm and grasp your lance, frederick," said the knight with a smile; "for if you do well, even this very day you may win your golden spurs. wake longpole there; we must be all prepared." the youth's eyes gleamed with delight, and snatching up his casque, he shook longpole roughly, and ran to tighten his horse's girths, while sir osborne explained to the yeoman that they were upon the eve of an encounter. '"odslife!" cried longpole, "i'm glad to hear it, my lord. i find it vastly cold sleeping in a steel jacket, and shall be glad of a few back-strokes to warm me. you say there are seven of them. it's an awkward number to divide; but you will take three, my lord; i will do my best for two and a-half, and then there will be one and a-half for master frederick here. we could not leave the poor youth less, in honesty; for i dare say he is as ready for such a breakfast as we are." the bustle of preparation now succeeded for a moment or two; and when all was ready, and the whole party once more on horseback, the knight led the way to a gap, from whence he could issue out upon the plain without running the risk of entangling his horse in the underwood. here stationing himself behind the bushes to the left, he gave orders to longpole and frederick not to stir an inch, whatever they saw, till he set the example; and then grasping his lance, he sat like marble, with his eyes fixed upon the cottage. in about a quarter of an hour the door of the hut opened, and the cottager, running to the shed, brought up the traveller's horse. by this time, he seemed to have discovered that his guest was of higher rank than he imagined; for when the stranger came forth, he cast himself upon his knees, holding the bridle, and remained in that situation till the other had sprung into the saddle. dropping some pieces of gold into his host's hand, the traveller now shook his rein; and, putting his horse into an easy pace, took his way over the plain, at about three hundred yards' distance from the forest, proceeding quietly along, totally unconscious of danger. a moment, however, put an end to his security; for he had not passed above a hundred yards beyond the spot where the knight was concealed, when a galloping of horse was heard, and shoenvelt's party, with levelled lances and horses in charge, rushed forth from the wood upon him. in an instant sir osborne's vizor was down, his spear was in the rest, and his horse in full gallop. "darnley! darnley!" shouted he, with a voice that made the welkin ring. "darnley to the rescue! traitor of shoenvelt, turn to your death!" "darnley! darnley!" shouted longpole, following his lord. "st. george for darnley! down with the traitors!" the shout was not lost upon either shoenvelt or the traveller. the one instantly turned, with several of his men, to attack the knight; the other, seeing unexpected aid at hand, fell back towards darnley, and with admirable skill and courage defended himself, with nothing but his sword, against the lances of the marauders, who--their object being more to take him living than to kill him--lost the advantage which they would have otherwise had by his want of armour. like a wild beast, raging with hate and fury, shoenvelt charged towards the knight, his lance quivering in his hand with the angry force of his grasp. on, on bore sir osborne at full speed towards him, his bridle in his left hand, his shield upon his breast, his lance firmly fixed in the rest, and levelled in such a manner as to avoid its breaking. in a moment they met. shoenvelt's spear struck sir osborne's shield, and, aimed firmly and well, partially traversed the iron; but the knight, throwing back his left arm with vast force, snapped the head of the lance in twain. in the mean while, his own spear, charged at the marauder's throat with unerring exactness, passed clean through the gorget-piece and the upper rim of the corslet, and came bloody out at the back. you might have heard the iron plates and bones cranch as the lance rent its way through. down went shoenvelt, horse and man, borne over by the force of the knight's course. "darnley! darnley!" shouted sir osborne, casting from him the spear, which he could not disengage from the marauder's neck, and drawing his sword. "darnley! darnley to the rescue! now, wilsten! now!" and turning, galloped up to where the traveller, with longpole and frederick by his side, firmly maintained his ground against the adventurers. wilsten's lance had been shivered by longpole; and now, with his sword drawn, on the other side of the _mãªlã©e_, he was aiming a desperate blow at the unarmed head of the traveller, who defended himself from a spearman in front; but at that moment the knight charged the adventurer through the midst, overturning all that came in his way, and shouting loud his battle-cry, to call his adversary's attention, and divert him from the fatal blow which he was about to strike. the plan succeeded. wilsten heard the sound; and seeing shoenvelt dead upon the plain, turned furiously on darnley. urging their horses between all the others, they met in the midst, and thus seemed to separate the rest of the combatants, who, for a moment or two, looked on inactive; while the swords of the two champions played about each other's heads, and sought out the weaker parts of their harness. both were strong, and active, and skilful; and though sir osborne was decidedly superior, it was long before the combat appeared to turn in his favour. at length, by a quick movement of his horse, the knight brought himself close to the adventurer's side, and gaining a fair blow, plunged the point of his sword through his corslet into his bosom. at that moment, the combat having been renewed by the rest, one of the marauders struck the knight from behind so violently on the head, that it shook him in the saddle, and breaking the fastenings of his helmet, the casque came off and rolled upon the plain. but the blow was too late to save wilsten, who now lay dead under his horse's feet; and sir osborne well repaid it by a single back-stroke at this new opponent's thigh. by this time only two of the marauders remained on horseback, so well had longpole, the traveller, and frederick, done their devoir; and these two were not long in putting spurs to their steeds and flying with all speed, leaving the knight and his companions masters of the field. looking round, however, sir osborne missed the gallant young hainaulter, while he saw his horse flying masterless over the plain. "where is frederick?" cried the knight, springing to the ground. "by my knighthood! if he be dead, we have bought our victory dear!" "not dead, monseigneur, but hurt," said a faint voice near; and turning, he beheld the poor youth fallen to the earth, and leaning on one arm, while with the other he was striving to take off his casque, from the bars of which the blood dripped out fast upon the greensward. darnley hastened to his aid; and having disencumbered him of his helmet, discovered a bad wound in his throat, which, however, did not appear to him to be mortal; and longpole, with the stranger, having dismounted and come to his aid, they contrived to stanch the bleeding, which was draining away his life. when this was done, the noble traveller turned towards darnley. "sir knight," said he, with the calm, dignified tone of one seldom used to address an equal, "how you came here, or why, i cannot tell; but it seems as if heaven had sent you on purpose to save my life. however that may be, i will say of you, that never did a more famous knight wield sword; and, therefore, as the best soldiers in europe may be proud of such a companion, let me beg you to take this collar, till i can thank you better;" and he cast over the knight's neck the golden chain of the order of st. michael, with which he was decorated. "as for you, good squire," he continued, addressing longpole, "you are worthy of your lord; therefore kneel down." "faith, your worship," answered the yeoman, "i never knelt to any man in my life, and never will to any but a king, while i'm in this world!" "fie, fie! heartley!" cried sir osborne; "bend your knee. it is the king, man! do you not understand? it is king francis!" "oh! that changes the case," cried longpole; "i crave your highness's pardon. i did not know your grace;" and he bent his knee to the king. francis drew his sword, and laid it on the yeoman's shoulder; then striking him three light blows, he said, "in the name of god, our lady, and st. denis, i dub thee knight. _avance, bon chevalier!_ noble or not noble, from this moment i make you such." longpole rose, and the king turned to the young hainaulter, who, sitting near, and supporting himself by his sword, had looked on with longing eyes. "no one of my gallant defenders must be forgotten," said francis. "knighthood, my good youth, will hardly pay your wound." "oh, yes, yes!" cried frederick, eagerly; "indeed it will, your highness, more than repay it." "then be it so," replied the king, knighting him. "however, remember, fair knights, that francis of france stints not here his gratitude, or you may think him niggard of his thanks. we will have you all go with us, and we will find better means to repay your timely aid. i know not, sir," he continued, turning to sir osborne, and resuming the more familiar first person singular, "whether i heard your battle-cry aright, and whether i now see the famous lord darnley, the knight of burgundy, who, in wars now happily ended, often turned the tide of battle in favour of the emperor." sir osborne bowed his head. "then, sir," continued francis, "i will say, that never did monarch receive so much injury or so much benefit from the hand of one noble adversary." chapter xxxiv. we talk, in ladies' chambers, love and news.--cowley. all was bustle and preparation at the court of england; for the two most magnificent monarchs of the world were about to contend with each other, not with the strife of arms, nor by a competition of great deeds, but in pomp, in pageant, and in show; in empty glitter and unfruitful display. however that may be, the palace and all its precincts became the elysium of tailors, embroiderers, and sempstresses. there might be seen many a shadowy form gliding about from apartment to apartment, with smiling looks and extended shears, or armed with ell-wands more potent than mercury's road, driving many a poor soul to perdition, and transforming his goodly acres into velvet suits with tags of cloth of gold. the courts of the king's palace of bridewell rang from morning till night with the neighing of steeds, the clanking of harness, and the sound of the trumpet; and the shops and warehouses of london were nearly emptied of gold, jewels, and brocade. men and women were all wild to outdo their french equals in splendour and display; and, in short, the mad dog of extravagance seemed to have bitten all the world. in a small room in the palace, not far from the immediate apartments of the queen, sat a very lovely girl, whom the reader has not spoken to for a long time: no other than lady katrine bulmer, who, with a more pensive air than was usual with her, sat deep in the mysteries of bibs and tuckers, chaperons and fraisies, mantuas and hanging sleeves, which last had, for the moment, regained their ascendancy in the public taste, and were now ornamented with more extraordinary trimmings than ever. by her side sat her two women, geraldine and bridget, whose fingers were going with the rapidity of lightning, quickened into excessive haste by the approaching removal of the court to calais, which was to take place in the short space of one week, while their mistress's dresses were not half-finished, and their own not begun. what it was that occupied lady katrine's thoughts, and made her gay face look grave, is nothing to any one. perhaps it might be, that she had not as many dresses as lady winifred stanton; perhaps she had seen a jewel that she could not afford to buy; perhaps higglemeasure, the merchant, had brought her a brocade that the queen would not let her wear; perhaps she was vexed at not having seen lord darby for eight days, the last time having been on the same morning that sir osborne maurice had been driven from the court. perhaps she was angry with herself for having parted from him with an affectation of indifference which she did not feel. well aware that, now wolsey had returned, the pleasure of seeing her lover almost daily must cease; and that stiff and formal interviews, in presence of the whole court, or a few brief sentences at a mask or pageant, were all they could hope to attain; lady katrine did indeed repent that she had suffered her own caprices to mingle any bitter in the few happy hours that fate had sent her. though she had some vanity, too, she had not enough to prevent her seeing and regretting that she had been in fault; and she made those resolutions of amendment which a light spirit often forms every hour, and breaks before the next: and thus sewing and thinking, and thinking and sewing, and stitching in excellent determinations with every seam as she went along, she revolved in her own mind all the various events that had lately happened at the court. it may well be supposed, that the sudden disappearance of sir osborne maurice, at the same time as that of lady constance de grey, had given rise to many strange rumours, none of which, of course, did lady katrine believe; and, to do her justice, although perhaps she was not at all sorry that constance had judged it right to put an end to any further proceedings regarding her marriage with lord darby, by removing herself from the court, yet lady katrine suffered no one to hint a doubt in her presence regarding her friend's conduct. but that which was much more in constance's favour was the good word of the queen herself, who at once silenced scandal by saying, that she would take upon herself to assert, that lady constance de grey had never dreamed of flying from the court with sir osborne maurice. it was very natural, she observed, that a young heiress of rank, and wealth, and proud family, should take refuge anywhere, rather than contract a marriage to which she had always expressed her repugnance; and without meaning offence to the lord cardinal, she could not think but that constance was right. notwithstanding this, many were the tales that were circulated by the liemongers of the court; and it hurt the really generous heart of lady katrine to hear them. meditating, then, over all these circumstances, nearly in the same desultory way in which they are here written down, she took little notice when one of the servants of the palace called her maid geraldine out of the room. after a short while, geraldine came back and called out bridget, and still lady katrine continued to work on. after a moment or two she ceased, and leaning her head on her hand, gave herself up to still deeper thought, when suddenly the door opened and lord darby presented himself. too much taken by surprise to give herself any airs, lady katrine looked up with a smile of unaffected delight, and darby, reading his welcome in her eyes, advanced, and casting his arm round her, imprinted a warm kiss on the full arching lips that smiled too temptingly for human philosophy to resist. luckily did it happen that he did so within the first minute; for, had he waited later, lady katrine might not so easily have pardoned his boldness. however, her only remark was, "well, darby, you seem to think it so much a matter of course, that i suppose i too must let it pass as such. but don't look so happy, man, lest i should take it into my head to make you look otherwise before you go." "nay, nay, katrine," said lord darby; "not so, when i come solely for the purpose of asking you to make me happy." the earl spoke seriously, tenderly, and there was so much hope, and affection, and feeling in his glance, that lady katrine felt there must be some meaning in his words. "if you love me, darby," cried she, "tell me what you mean; and make haste, for my maids will be back, and you know you must not stay here." "yes, i may, katrine," replied he; "no one but you can now send me away. in a word, dear girl, to put an end to suspense, i have the king's and the cardinal's consent to ask your hand, and the queen's to seek you here. will you refuse me?" lady katrine looked at him for a moment, to be sure, quite sure, that what she heard was true; then dropping her head upon his shoulder, she burst into a violent flood of tears. so sudden, so delightful was the change in all her feelings, that she was surprised out of all her reserve, all her coquetry, and could only murmur, "refuse you? no!" but starting up, at length she cried, "i have a great mind that i will, too. don't think that i love you. no, i hate you most bitterly for making me cry: you did it on purpose, beyond doubt, and i won't forgive you easily. so, to begin your punishment, go away and leave me directly." "nay, katrine, i must disobey," replied the earl, "for i have other news to tell you: your relation, lord orham, is dead." "my relation?" cried lady katrine, whose tears were ever dried as soon as shed. "oh, yes! i remember: he was my great-grandfather's seventieth cousin by the mother's side. one was descended from shem, and the other from japheth, in the time of the flood, or before, for aught i know. well, what of my antediluvian relative? oh! he is dead, you say? may he rest with noah!" "but you must take mourning for him," said lord darby, laughing; "indeed you must." "certainly," replied lady katrine: "a coif and a widow's hood. but i won't be teased, darby: i will tease everybody, and nobody shall tease me. as to going into mourning for the old miser just now, when all my finery is ready made, to show myself at guisnes and captivate all hearts, and make you fight fifty single combats--i won't do it. there, go and ask my singing-bird to moult in the month of may, or anything else of the same kind; but don't ask me to leave one single row of lace off my sleeve for the miser. i disown him." "hush! hush! hush!" cried the earl; "take care he does not come back and disown you, for otherwise you are his heiress." "i!" exclaimed lady katrine; "am i his heiress? now, mistress fortune, i am your very humble servant! bless us! how much more important a person katrine bulmer will be, with all the heavy coffers of her late dear cousin, than when she was poor katrine bulmer, the queen's woman! darby, i give you notice: i shall not marry you. i could wed a duke now, doubtless: who shall it be? all the dukes have wives, i do believe. however, there is many a peer richer than you are, and though you do not count cousinship with kings, gold is my passion now; so i will sell myself to him who has the most." though she spoke in jest, still lord darby was mortified; for what he could have borne and laughed at in the poor and fortuneless girl who had captivated his heart, his spirit was too proud to endure where a mercenary motive could be for a moment attributed to him. "nay, katrine," said he, "if the fortune that is now yours give you any wish for change, your promises are to me null: i render them back to you from this moment." "why, they _were made_ under very different circumstances, you must allow, lord darby," replied she, assuming a most malicious air of gravity, and delighted at having found, for the first time in her life, the means of putting her lover out of humour. "they were, lady katrine," answered the earl, much more deeply hurt than she imagined, "and therefore they are at an end. i have nothing further to do then but to take my leave." "good-bye, my lord; good-bye!" cried she. "heaven bless and prosper you!" and with the utmost tranquillity she watched him approach the door. "now, shall i let him go or not?" said she. "oh woman! woman! you are a great fool! darby! darby!" she added in a soft voice, "come back to your katrine." lord darby turned back and caught her in his arms. "dear teasing girl!" cried he; "why, why will you strive to wring a heart that loves you?" "nay, darby, if things were rightly stated, it is i who have cause to be offended rather than you," answered the lady. "what right had you, sir, to think that the heart of katrine bulmer was so base, so mean, as to be changed by the possession of a few paltry counters? own that you have done me wrong this instant, or i will never forgive you. down upon your knee! a kneeling confession, or you are condemned beyond hope of grace." lord darby was fain to obey his gay lady's behest, and bending his knee, he freely confessed himself guilty of all the crimes she thought proper to charge him withal; in the midst of which, however, he was interrupted by the entrance of an attendant sent by the queen to call lady katrine to her presence. the lady laughed and blushed at being found with lord darby at her feet; and the earl, not particularly well pleased at the interruption, turned to the usher, saying, with the sort of _nonchalant_ air which he often assumed, "well, sir, before you go, tell the lady when it was you last found me on my knees to any of the fair dames of the court." "never, my lord, so please you, that i know of," answered the man, somewhat surprised. "well, then," rejoined darby, "next time knock at the door, for fear you should. in which case, you might chance to be thrown down stairs by the collar." "hush, hush, darby!" cried lady katrine; "i must go to her highness. doubtless we shall not meet again for a long while; so fare you well!" and tripping away after the usher, without other adieu, she left her lover to console himself in her absence as best he might. on entering the queen's apartment, she found her royal mistress alone with the king, and, according to the etiquette of that day, was drawing back instantly, when katherine called her forward. "come hither, my wild namesake," said the queen; "his grace the king wishes to speak with you. come near, and answer him all his questions." lady katrine advanced, and kneeling on a velvet cushion at henry's feet, prepared to reply to whatever he might ask, with as much propriety as she could command; although the glad news of the morning had raised her spirits to a pitch of uncontrollable joyousness, which even the presence of the imperious monarch himself could hardly keep within bounds. "well, my merry mistress," said the king, seeing in her laughing eyes the ebullition of her heart's gladness; "it seems that you do not pine yourself to death for the loss of sir osborne maurice?" "i deeply regret, your grace," said lady katrine, turning grave for a moment, "most deeply, that sir osborne maurice should have incurred your royal displeasure; for he seemed to me as perfect a knight and as noble a gentleman as i ever saw. but in no other respect do i regret his absence." "well, we have tried to supply his place with one you may like better," said henry. "have you seen the earl of darby--ha? what think you of the exchange, pretty one?" "i thank your grace's bounty," said the gay girl. "i have seen his lordship, and looked at him well; and though he be neither so handsome as narcissus nor so wise as solon, he may do well enough for such a giddy thing as i am. saving your grace's presence, one does not look for perfection in a husband: one might as well hope to find a pippin without a spot." "thou art a malapert chit, kate," said the queen, laughing; "sure i am, if your royal lord was not right gentle in his nature, he would be angry with your wild chattering." "nay, let her run on," said the king; "a tongue like hers has no guile. if you are contented, sweetheart," he added, addressing lady katrine, "that is enough." "oh, yes! quite contented, your grace," answered she. "i have not had a new plaything for so long, that a husband is quite a treat. i suppose he must be sent to the _manã¨ge_ first, like the jennet your highness gave me, to learn his paces." "if he were as untamed as you are, mistress," answered the king, "he might need it. but to another subject, fair one. you were with sir osborne maurice and his party when he encountered the rioters near rochester. some sad treasons are but too surely proved against that luckless young man; yet i would fain believe that his misconduct went not to the extent which was at first reported, especially as the accusation was made by that most ruffianly traitor, sir payan wileton, whom the keen eye of my zealous wolsey has discovered to be stained with many crimes too black for words to paint. now, amongst other things, it was urged that this sir osborne was in league with those rochester mutineers, the greatest proof of which was their letting him quietly pass with so small a party, when they boldly attacked the company of lord thomas howard, with ten times the force." lady katrine could hardly wait till the king had ceased. "this shows," cried she at length, "how the keenest wisdom and the noblest heart may be abused by a crafty tale. sir osborne knew nothing of the rioters, my lord: he took every way to avoid them, because i, unluckily, having neither father nor brother to protect me, encumbered him by my presence; otherwise, without doubt, he would have delivered the poor priest they had with them by his lance, and not by fair words. never believe a word of it, your grace. his shield-bearer, indeed, while the knight drew up his men to defend us to the best of his power, recognised the leader of the tumultuaries as an old fellow-soldier, and craved leave of his lord to go and demand a free passage for us, by which means we escaped. oh! my lord, as you are famous for your clemency and justice, examine well the whole tale of that sir payan wileton, and it will be found false and villanous, as are all the rest of his actions." "you are eloquent, lady fair," said the king with a smile; "we will tell darby to look to it. but as to sir payan wileton, his baseness is now known to us; and as we progress down to dover, we will send a sergeant-at-arms to bring him with us to calais, where we will, with our council, hear and judge the whole. then, if he be the man we think him, not only shall he restore to the old lord fitzbernard the lordship of chilham and the stewardship of dover, but shall stoop his head to the axe without grace or pardon, as i live. but say, know you aught of lady constance de grey, in whose secrets you are supposed to have had a share? laugh not, pretty one; for by my life it shall go hard with you if you tell not the truth." "oh, please your grace, don't have my head cut off!" cried lady katrine, seeing, notwithstanding the king's threat, that he was in one of his happier moods. "i never told a lie in my life, except one day when i said i did not love your highness, and that was when you put off the pageant of the _castle dolorous_ till after pentecost, and i wanted it directly. but on my word, as i hope to be married in a year, and a widow in god's good time, i know no more of where constance de grey is, or whither she went, or when, or how, than the child unborn." "did she never speak to you thereof, my saucy mistress?" demanded henry. "you consorted with her much: 'twere strange if she did not let something fall concerning her purposes, and she a woman, too." "i wish i had a secret," said lady katrine, half-apart, half-aloud, "just to show how a woman can keep counsel, if it were but in spite. good, your grace," she continued, "you do not think that constance would trust her private thoughts to such a light-headed thing as i am. but, to set your highness's mind at ease, i vow and protest, by the love and duty i bear to you and my royal mistress; by my conscience, which is tender; and by my honour, which is strong; that i know nothing of lady constance de grey, and that even in my very best imaginings i cannot divine whither she is gone." "your highness may believe her," said the queen; "wild as she is, she would not stain her lips with the touch of falsehood, i am sure. get ye gone, kate, and hasten your sempstresses, for we shall set out a day before it was intended; and mind you plume up your brightest feathers, for we must outdo the frenchwomen." "oh, good, your grace! i shall never be ready in time," replied the young lady. "besides, they tell me i must put on mourning for my fiftieth cousin by the side of adam, old lord orham the miser. if i do, it shall be gold crape trimmed with cobwebs, i declare; and so i humbly take my leave of both your graces." thus saying, she rose from the cushion, dropped a low curtsey to the king and queen, and tripped away to her own apartments. common bustle and ordinary preparation may be easily imagined. all can, without difficulty, figure to themselves the turmoil preparatory to a ball where there are six daughters to marry, with much blood and very little money: the lady-mother scolding the housekeeper in her room, and the housekeeper scolding all the servants in hers; a reasonable number of upholsterers, decorators, floor-chalkers, confectioners, milliners; much talking to very little purpose; scheming, drilling, and dressing; agitation on the part of the young ladies, and calculation on the part of their mamma. and at the end of a few weeks the matter is done and over. but no mind, however vast may be its powers of conceiving a bustle, can imagine anything like the court of westminster for the three days prior to the king's departure for canterbury. so continual were the demands upon every kind of artisan, that the impossibility of executing them threw several into despair. one tailor, who is reported to have undertaken to furnish fifty embroidered suits in three days, on beholding the mountain of gold and velvet that cumbered his shop-board, saw, like brutus, the impossibility of victory, and, with roman fortitude, fell on his own shears. three armourers are said to have been completely melted with the heat of their furnaces; and an unfortunate goldsmith swallowed molten silver to escape the persecutions of the day. the road from london to canterbury was covered during one whole week with carts and waggons, mules, horses, and soldiers; and so great was the confusion, that marshals were at length stationed to keep the whole in order, which of course increased the said confusion a hundred fold. so many were the ships passing between dover and calais, that the historians affirm they jostled each other on the sea, like a herd of great black porkers; and it is known as a fact, that the number of persons collected in the good town of calais was more than it could lodge; so that not only the city itself, but all the villages round about, were full to the overflowing. at length the king set out, accompanied by an immense train, and left london comparatively a desert; while, as he went from station to station, he seemed like a shepherd driving all the better classes of the country before him, and leaving not a single straggler behind. his farther progress, however, was stayed for a time at canterbury, by the news that the emperor charles, his wife's nephew, was on the sea before dover, furnished with the excuse of relationship for visiting the english king, though in reality conducted thither solely by the wish to break the good understanding of the english and french monarchs; or rather to ensure that no treaty contrary to his interest should be negotiated at the approaching meeting. with that we have nothing to do; and it is a maxim which a historian should always follow, never to mind anybody's business but his own. we shall therefore only say, that the king and wolsey, occupied with the reception of the emperor, and his entertainment during the short time he stayed, forgot entirely sir payan wileton till they reached dover, when some one happening to call it a _chilly morning_, put chilham castle in wolsey's head (for on such little pivots turn all the wheels of the world); and immediately a sergeant-at-arms, with a body of horse-archers, was sent to arrest the worthy knight and bring him to calais, for which port the king and the whole court embarked immediately; and, with a fair wind and fine sky, arrived in safety towards the evening. chapter xxxv. with clouds and storms around thee thrown, tempest on tempest roll'd.--thomson. passing over all the consultations that took place between the prioress of richborough, dr. wilbraham, and lady constance de grey, regarding the means of crossing the sea to france with greater security, although manifold were the important considerations therein discussed, we shall merely arrive at the conclusion to which they came at length, and which was ultimately determined by the voice of the prioress. this was, that for several days lady constance and mistress margaret should remain at the convent as nuns, paying a very respectable sum for their board and lodging, while dr. wilbraham was to take up his abode at a cottage hard by. by this means, the superior said, they would avoid any search which the cardinal might have instituted to discover them in the vessels of passage between france and england, and at the end of a week they would easily find some foreign ship which would carry them over to boulogne. such a one she undertook to procure, by means of a fisherman who supplied the convent, and who, as she boasted, knew every ship that sailed through the channel, from the biggest man-of-war to the meanest carvel. we shall now leave in silence also the time which lady constance passed in the convent. vonderbrugius, who, as the sagacious reader has doubtless observed, had a most extraordinary partiality for detailing little particulars, and incidents that are of no manner of consequence, here occupies sixteen pages with a correct and minute account of every individual day, telling how many masses the nuns sang, how often they fasted in the week, and how often they ate meat; and, not content with relating all that concerned lady constance, he indulges in some very illiberal insinuations in regard to the prioress, more than hinting that she loved her bottle and had a pet confessor. maintaining, however, our grave silence upon this subject, as not only irrelevant but ungentlemanlike, we shall merely say, that the days passed tranquilly enough with lady constance, although, like the timid creatures of the forest, whom the continual tyranny of the strong over the inoffensive has taught to start even at a sound, she would tremble at every little circumstance which for a moment interrupted the dull calm of the convent's solitude. a week passed in this manner, and yet the prioress declared her old fisherman had heard of no vessel that could forward constance on her journey, though the young lady became uneasy at the delay, and pressed her much to make all necessary inquiries. at length, happening one morning to express her uneasiness to mistress margaret, the shrewd waiting-woman, who, with an instinctive sagacity inherent in chambermaids, knew a thousand times more of the world than either her mistress or dr. wilbraham, at once solved the mystery by saying-"lord love you, lady! there will never be a single ship in the channel that you will hear of, so long as you pay a gold mark a-day to the prioress while we stay." "i would rather give her a hundred marks to let me go," replied constance, "than a single mark to keep me. but what is to be done, margaret?" "oh, if you will let me but promise fifty marks, lady," replied the maid, "i will warrant that we are in france in three days." lady constance willingly gave her all manner of leave and license; and accordingly, that very night mistress margaret told the chamberer, under the most solemn vows of secresy, that her lady intended to give the prioress, as a gift to the convent, fifty golden marks on the day that she took ship. "but," said the abigail, "it costs the poor lady so much, what with paying the chaplain's keep at the cottage, and my wage-money, which you know i must have, that her purse is running low, and i fear me she will not be able to do as much for the house as she intends. but mind, you promised to tell no one." "as i hope for salvation, it shall never pass my lips!" replied the chamberer; and away she ran to the refectory, where she bound the refectory-woman by a most tremendous vow not to reveal the tidings she was about to communicate. the refectory-woman vowed with a great deal of facility; and the moment the chamberer was gone she carried in a jelly to the prioress, where, with a low curtsey and an important whisper, she communicated to the superior the important news. thereupon the prioress was instantly smitten with a violent degree of anxiety about lady constance's escape, and sending down to the fisherman, she commanded him instantly to find a ship going to france. to which the fisherman replied, that he knew of no ship going exactly to france, but that there was one lying off the sands, which would doubtless take the lady over for a few broad pieces. thus were the preliminaries for constance's escape brought about in a very short space of time; and, the fisherman having arranged with the captain that he was to take the lady, the chaplain, and waiting-maid to boulogne for ten george nobles, early the next morning lady constance took leave of the prioress, made her the stipulated present, and, accompanied by the good dr. wilbraham and her woman, followed the fisherman to the sands, where his boat waited to convey them to a vessel that lay about a mile from the shore. the sea was calm and tranquil, but to constance, who had little of a heroine in her nature, it seemed very rough; and every time the boat rose over a wave, she fancied that it must inevitably pitch under the one that followed. however, their passage to the ship was soon over; and as she looked at the high, black sides of the vessel, the lady found a greater degree of security in its aspect, imagining it better calculated to battle with the wild waves than the flimsy little bark that had borne her thither. the ship, the fisherman had informed her, was a foreign merchantman; and as she came alongside, a thousand strange tongues, gabbling all manner of languages, met her ear. it was a floating tower of babel. in the midst of the confusion and bustle which occurred in getting herself and her companions upon the deck, she saw that one of the sailors attempted to spring from the ship into the boat, but was restrained by those about him, who unceremoniously beat him back with marline-spikes and ropes' ends; and for the time she beheld no more of him, though she thought she heard some one uttering invectives and complaints in the english language. for the first few moments after she was on deck, what with the giddiness occasioned by her passage in the boat, and the agitation of getting on board, she could remark nothing that was passing around her; but the moment she had sufficiently recovered to regard the objects by which she was surrounded, a new cause of apprehension presented itself; for close by her side, evidently as commander of the vessel, stood no less distinguished a person than the portingal captain, of whom honourable mention is made in the first portion of this sage history, and whose proboscis was not easily to be forgot. it was too late now, however, to recede; and her only resource was to draw down her nun's veil, hoping thus to escape being recognised. for some time she had reason to believe that the disguise she had assumed would be effectual with the portingal, who, as we may remember, had seen her but once; for, occupied in giving orders for weighing anchor and making sail, he took no notice whatever of his fair passenger, and seemed totally to have forgotten her person. but this was not the case: his attention had been first awakened to lady constance herself by the sight of dr. wilbraham, whose face he instantly remembered; and a slight glance convinced him that the young nun was the bright lady he had seen in sir payan's halls. though there were few of the pleasant little passions which make a man a devil that the worthy portingal did not possess to repletion, it sometimes happened that one battled against the other and foiled it in its efforts; but being withal somewhat of a philosopher, after a certain fashion, it was a part of his internal policy, on which he prided himself, to find means of gratifying each of the contending propensities when it was possible, and, when it was not possible, to satisfy the strongest with as little offence to the others as might be. in the present instance he had several important points to consider. though he felt strongly inclined to carry lady constance with him on a voyage which he was about to make to the east indies, yet there might be danger in the business, if the young lady had really taken the veil: not only danger in case of his vessel being searched by any cruiser he might encounter, but even danger from his own lawless crew, who, though tolerably free from prejudices, still retained a certain superstitious respect for the church of rome, and for the things it had rendered sacred, which the worthy captain had never been able to do away with. this consideration would have deterred him from any evil attempt upon the fair girl, whom he otherwise seemed to hold completely in his power, had it not been for the additional incentive of the two large leathern bags which had been committed into his charge at the same time with the young lady, and which, by the relation of their size to their weight, he conceived must contain a prize of some value. determined by this, he gave orders for making all sail down the channel, and the ship being fairly under way, he could no longer resist the temptation which the opportunity presented of courting the good graces of his fair passenger. approaching, then, with an air of what he conceived mingled dignity and sweetness, his head swinging backwards and forwards on the end of his long neck, and his infinite nose protruded like a pointer's when he falls upon the game--"ah, ah! my very pretty gal," cried he, "you see you be obliged to have recourse to me at last." "my good friend," said dr. wilbraham, struggling with the demon of sea-sickness, which had grasped him by the stomach and was almost squeezing his soul out, "you had better let the lady alone, for she is so sick that she cannot attend to you, though, doubtless, you mean to be civil in your way." "you go to the debil, master chaplain," replied the captain, "and preach to him's imps! i say, my very pretty mistress, suppose you were to pull up this dirty black veil, and show your charming face;" and he drew aside the young lady's veil in spite of her efforts to hold it down. at the helm, not far from where the young lady sat, stood a sturdy seaman, who, by his clear blue eye, fresh, weather-beaten countenance, and bluff, unshrinking look, one might easily have marked out as an english sailor. leaning on the tiller by which he was steering the vessel on her course, he had marked his worthy captain's conduct with a sort of contemplative frown; but when, stooping down, the portingallo tore away lady constance's veil, and amused himself by staring in her face, the honest sailor stretched out his foot, and touched him on a protuberant part of his person which presented itself behind. the captain, turning sharply round, eyed him like a demon, but the englishman stood his glance with a look of steady, _nonchalant_ resolution, that it was not easy to put down. "i say, portingallo," said he, "do you want me to heave you overboard?" "you heave me overboard, you mutinous thief!" cried the captain; "i'll have you strung up to the yard-arm, you vaggleboned! i will." "you'll drown a little first, by the nose of the tinker of ashford!" replied the other; "but hark you, portingallo: let the young lady nun alone; or, as i said before, by the nose of the tinker of ashford, i'll heave you overboard; and then i'll make the crew a 'ration, and tell them what a good service i've done 'em; and i'll lay down the matter in three heads: first, as you were a rascal; second, as you were a villain; and third, as you were a blackguard: then i will show how, first, you did wrong to a passenger; second, how you did wrong to a lady; and third, how you did wrong to a nun: for the first you deserve to be flogged; for the second you deserve to be kicked; and for the third you are devilish likely to be hanged, with time and god's blessing." for a moment or two the portingallo was somewhat confounded by the eloquence of the englishman, who was in fact no other than timothy bradford, the chief of the rochester rioters. recovering himself speedily, however, he retaliated pretty warmly, yet did not dare to come to extremities with his rebellious steersman, as bradford, having taken refuge in his vessel, with four or five of his principal associates, commanded too strong a party on board to permit very strict discipline. it was a general rule of the amiable captain never to receive two men that, to his knowledge, had ever seen one another before; but several severe losses in his crew had, in the present instance, driven him into an error, which he now felt bitterly, not being half so much master of his own wickedness as he used to be before. nevertheless, he did not fail to express his opinion of the helmsman's high qualities in no very measured terms, threatening a great deal more than he dared perform, of which both parties were well aware. "come, come, portingallo!" cried the helmsman; "you know very well what is right as well as another, and i say you sha'n't molest the lady. another thing, master: you treat that poor lubberly jekin like a brute, and i'll not see it done, so look to it. but i'll tell you what, captain: let us mind what we are about. these dark clouds that are gathering there to leeward, and coming up against the wind, mean something. better take in sail." the effect of this conversation was to free constance from the persecution of the captain; and turning her eyes in the direction to which the sailor pointed, she saw, rolling up in the very face of the wind, some heavy, leaden clouds, tipped with a lurid reddish hue wherever they were touched by the sun. above their heads, and to windward, the sky was clear and bright, obscured by nothing but an occasional light cloud that flitted quickly over the heaven, drawing after it a soft shadow, that passed like an arrow over the gay waves, which all around were dancing joyously in the sunshine. by this time the english coast was becoming fainter and more faint; the long line of cliffs and headlands massing together, covered with an airy and indistinct light, while the shores of france seemed growing out of the waters, with heavy piles of clouds towering above them, and seeming to advance, with menacing mien, towards the rocks of england. still, though the eye might mark them rolling one over another, in vast, dense volumes, looking fit receptacles for the thunder and the storm, the clouds seemed to make but little progress, contending with the opposing wind; while mass after mass, accumulating from beyond, appeared to bring up new force to the dark front of the tempest. still the ship sped on, and, the wind being full in her favour, made great way through the water, so that it was likely they would reach boulogne before the storm began; and the captain, now obliged to abandon any evil purpose he might have conceived towards lady constance, steered towards the shore of france to get rid of her as soon as possible. from time to time every eye on board was turned towards the lowering brow of heaven, and then always dropped to the french coast, to ascertain how near was the tempest and how far the haven; and constance, not sufficiently sick to be heedless of danger, ceased not to watch the approaching clouds and the growing shore with alternate hope and fear. gradually the hills towards boulogne, the cliffs, and the sands, with dark lines of tower, and wall, and citadel, and steeple, began to grow more and more distinct; and the portingal was making a tack to run into the harbour, when the vane at the mast-head began to quiver, and in a moment after turned suddenly round. cries and confusion of every sort succeeded; one of the sails was completely rent to pieces; and the ship received such a sudden shock that constance was cast from her seat upon the deck, and poor dr. wilbraham rolled over, and almost pitched out at the other side. soon, however, the yards were braced round, the vessel was put upon another tack, and from a few words that passed between the captain and the steersman, constance gathered, that as they could not get into boulogne, they were about to run for whitesand haven as the nearest port. "go down below, lady; go down below and tell your beads," cried the steersman, as he saw constance sitting and holding herself up by the binnacle. "here, jekey, help her down." "lord 'a mercy! we shall all be drowned; i am sure we shall!" cried our old friend jekin groby, coming forward, transformed into the likeness of a bastard sailor, his new profession sitting upon him with inconceivable awkwardness, and the kentish clothier shining forth in every movement of his inexpert limbs. "lord 'a mercy upon us! we shall all be drowned as sure as possible! mistress nun, let me help you down below. it's more comfortable to be drowned downstairs, they say. there's a flash of lightning, i declare! mercy upon us! we shall all go to the bottom. this is the worst storm i've seen since that portingallo vagabond kidnapped me, by the help of the devil and sir payan wileton. let me help you down below, mistress nun. lord bless you! it's no trouble; i'm going down myself." constance, however, preferred staying upon deck, where she could watch the progress of their fate, to remaining below in a state of uncertainty; and consequently resisted the honest persuasions of good jekin groby, who, finding her immoveable, slipped quietly below unobserved, and hid himself in an empty hammock, courageously making up his mind to be drowned, if he could but be drowned, asleep. in the mean time the storm began to grow more vehement, the wind coming in quick violent gusts, and the clouds spreading far and wide over the face of the sky, with a threatening blackness of hue, and heavy slowness of flight, that menaced their instant descent. as yet no second flash of lightning had succeeded the first, and no drop of rain had fallen; and though the ship laboured violently with the waves, excited into tumult by the sudden change of wind, still, running on, she seemed in a fair way of reaching whitesand in safety. presently, another bright flash blazed through the sky, and seemed to rend it from the horizon to the zenith, while instant upon the red path of its fiery messenger roared forth the voice of the thunder, as if it would annihilate the globe. another now succeeded, and another, till the ear and the eye were almost deafened by the din and blinded by the light; while slow, large drops came dripping from the heavens, like tears wrung by agony from a giant's eyes. then came a still and death-like pause; the thunder ceased, the wind hushed, and the only sounds that met the ear were the rushing of the waves by the ship's side, and the pattering of each big raindrop as it fell on the deck; while a small sea-bird kept wheeling round the vessel, and screaming, as with a sort of fiendish joy, to see it labouring with the angry billows. soon again, however, did the storm begin with redoubled fury, and the lightnings flashed more vividly than ever, covering all the sky with broad blue sheets of light, while still in the midst of the whole blaze appeared a narrow zigzag line of fire, so bright that it made the rest look pale. still constance kept upon the deck, and drawing her hood over her head, strove to fix herself, amidst the pitching of the vessel, by clinging to the binnacle, which in ships of that day was often supported by a couple of oblique bars. seeing, in a momentary cessation of the storm, the eye of the steersman fix upon her with a look of somewhat like pity, she ventured to ask if they were in much danger. "danger! bless you, no, lady," cried the man; "only a little thunder and lightning; no danger in life. but you had better go below; there's no danger." as he spoke, another bright flash caused constance to close her eyes; but a tremendous crash, which made itself audible even through the roar of the thunder, as well as a heavy roll of the vessel, gave her notice that the lightning had struck somewhere; and looking up, to her horror she beheld the mainmast shivered almost to atoms by the lightning, and rolled over the ship's side, to which it was still attached by a mass of blazing cordage. "cut! cut! cut!" vociferated the steersman, amidst the unavailing shouts and bustling inactivity of the crew; "cut, you portingallo vagabonds! you'll have the ship on fire. the idiots are staring as if they never saw such a thing before. here, captain, take the helm. d---you to h--! take the helm!" and springing forward, with an energy to which the danger of the moment seemed to lend additional impulse, he scattered the frightened portuguese and impassive dutchmen, who were uncluing ropes and disentangling knots; and, catching up a hatchet, soon cut sheer through the thicker rigging; and with a roll the blazing remnants of the mast pitched into the sea, leaving nothing on fire behind but some scattered cordage, which the englishman and his companions gradually extinguished. in the mean while the mast, still flaming in the water, swung round the ship; and the portingallo, whose presence of mind did not seem of the very first quality, brought the vessel's head as near the wind as possible, to let it drift astern, and thus, by this lubberly action, bore right upon the shore, carried on imperceptibly by a strong current. at that moment the englishman raised himself, and looking out ahead, vociferated, "a reef! a reef! breakers ahead! down with the helm! where the devil are you going? down with the helm, i say!" and rushing forward, he seized the tiller, but too late. scarcely had he touched it with his hand, when with a tremendous shock the ship struck on the reef, making her very seams open and her masts stagger. "ho! down in the hold! down in the hold! heave all the ballast aft!" cried bradford; "lay those cannon here; bring her head to wind, let it take her aback if it will. she may swing off yet." but just then an immense swelling wave heaved the ship up like a cork, and dashed her down again upon the hidden rocks without hope or resource. every one caught at what was next him for support; for the jar was so great that it was hardly possible for even the sailors to keep upon their feet. but the next minute the ship became more steady, and a harsh grating sound succeeded, as if the hard angles of the rock were tearing the bottom of the ship to pieces. every one now occupied himself in a different way. bradford sat quietly down by the tiller, which he abandoned to its own guidance, while the portingal ran whispering among his countrymen, who as speedily and silently as possible got the boat to the ship's side. in the mean while, dr. wilbraham crept over to lady constance, who, turning her meek eyes to heaven, seemed to await her fate with patient resignation. "i need not ask you, my dear child," said the good man, "if you be prepared to go. have you anything to say to me before we part? soon i hope, to meet again where no storms come." "but little," answered constance; and according to the rite of her church, she whispered all the little faults that memory could supply, accusing herself of many things as sins which few but herself would have held as even errors. when he had heard the lady's confession, the clergyman turned to look for the waiting-woman, to join her with her mistress in the consolations of religion; but mistress margaret, who greatly preferred the present to the future, was no longer there; and looking forward, they saw that the portuguese and dutch had got out the boats, and were pouring in fast; but that which most astonished them was to find that the selfish waiting-woman had by some means got the very first place in the long-boat, from which the captain was striving to exclude two of the englishmen, pushing off from the ship with the boathook. the lesser boat, however, was still near, and dr. wilbraham looked at constance with an inquiring glance; but bradford, who had never stirred from his position, interposed, saying, "don't go, lady! don't go; stick to the ship; she can't sink, for the tide is near flood, and we are now aground, and it may be a while before she goes to pieces. those boats can never live through that surf. so don't go, lady! take my advice, and i'll manage to save you yet, if i can save myself." even as he spoke, the two englishmen made a desperate jump to leap into the lesser boat, which was pulling away after the other. one man fell too short, and sank instantly; the other got hold of the gunwale, and strove to clamber in; but the boat was already too full, and a sea striking it at the moment, his weight put it out of trim; it shipped a heavy sea, settled for a moment, and sank before their eyes. it was a dreadful sight; and yet so deep, so exciting was the interest, that even after she had seen the whole ten persons sink, and some rise again, only to be overwhelmed by another wave, constance could not take her eyes off the other boat, although she expected every moment to see it share the fate of its companion. still, however, it rowed on. the thunder had ceased, the wind was calmer, and the waves seemed less agitated. there was hope that it might reach the shore. at that moment it was hidden for an instant below a wave, rose again, entered the surf, disappeared amidst the foam and spray. constance looked to see it rise again, but it never was seen more; and in a few minutes she could distinguish a dark figure scramble out from the sea upon the shore, rise, fall again, lie for a moment as if exhausted, and then, once more gaining his feet, run with all speed out of the way of the coming waves. "oh dear! oh dear!" cried a dolorous voice from below; "we shall all be drowned for a sure certainty: the water's a-coming in like mad!" and in a moment after, the head, and then the body, of honest jekin groby protruded itself from the hold, with strong signs and tokens in his large thick eyelids of having just awoke from a profound sleep. "lord 'a mercy!" continued he, seeing the nearly empty deck. "where are all the folks? oh, master bradford, master bradford! we are in a bad way! the water has just awoke me out of my sleep. what's the meaning of that thumping? lord 'a mercy! where's the portingal?" "drowned!" answered bradford, calmly, "and every one of his crew, except hinchin, the strong swimmer, who has got to land." "lord 'a mercy! only think!" cried jekin. "must i be drowned too? hadn't i better jump over? i can swim a little too. shall i jump over, master bradford? pray tell me--there's a good creature!" "no, no; stay where you are," replied bradford. "help me to lash this young lady to a spar. when the tide turns, which it will at four o'clock, that surf will go down, and the ship will keep together till then. most likely hinchin will send a boat before that to take us all off. if not, we can but trust to the water at last. however, let us all be ready." bradford now brought forth from the hold some rough planks, to one of which he lashed lady constance, who yielded herself to his guidance, only praying that he would do the same good turn to the clergyman, which he promised willingly. he then tied a small piece of wood across, to support her head, and fastened one of the heavy leathern bags to her feet, to raise her face above the water; after which, as she was totally unable to move, he placed her in as easy a position as he could, and speaking a few frank words of comfort and assurance, he left her, to perform the same office in favour of dr. wilbraham. in the mean time jekin groby had not forgotten himself; but, willing to put his faith rather in the buoyancy of deal boards than in his own powers of natation, had contrived to find a stout sort of packing-case, or wooden box, from which he knocked out both the top and bottom, and passing his feet through the rest, he raised it up till it reached his arm-pits, where he tied it securely; and thus equipped in his wooden girdle, as he called it, he did not fear to trust himself to the waves. all being now prepared, an hour or more of anxious expectation succeeded. little was said by any one, and the tempest had ceased; but the grinding sound of the ship fretting upon the rock still continued, and a sad creaking and groaning of the two masts that remained seemed to announce their speedy fall. the wind had greatly subsided, but the air was heated and close; while the clouds overhead, still agitated by the past storm, every now and then came down in thick small rain. towards four o'clock the tide turned; and, as bradford had prognosticated, the surf upon the shore gradually subsided, and the sea became more smooth, though agitated by a heavy swell, foaming into breakers along the whole line of reef on which the ship had struck. after looking out long, in the vain hope of seeing some boat coming to their assistance, bradford approached lady constance, and addressing her, as indeed he had done throughout, with far more gentleness and consideration than might have been expected from a man of his rough and turbulent character, "lady," said he, "there seems to be no chance of a boat; the sea is now nearly smooth; i can't warrant that the ship will hold together all night, and we may have the storm back again. if you like to go now, i will get you safe to land, i am sure. i can't answer for it if you stay." "i will do as you think right," said lady constance, with an involuntary shudder at the thought of trusting herself to the mercy of the waves. "i will do as you think right; but pray take care of dr. wilbraham." "no, no!" said the good chaplain; "make the lady all your care. i shall do well enough." "here, good fellow!" said constance, taking a diamond of price from her finger; "perhaps you may reach the shore without either of us: however, whether you do or not, take this jewel as some recompense for your good service." the man took the ring, muttering that, if he reached the shore, she should reach it too; and then, after giving some directions to dr. wilbraham in regard to rowing himself on towards the land with his arms, which were free, he carried lady constance to the side of the vessel, which had now heeled almost to the water's edge. returning for dr. wilbraham, with the assistance of jekin he brought him also to the side; and then it became the question who should be the first to trust himself to the waves. constance trembled violently, but said not a word, while jekin groby, holding back, exclaimed, "lord 'a mercy! i don't like it--at all like!" it was upon him, however, that bradford fixed, crying, "come, jump over, jeky; there's no use of making mouths at it. i want you to help the clerk to steer. come, jump over!" and he laid his hand upon his shoulder. "well, well; i will, master bradford," cried jekin, "don't ye touch me, and i will. oh dear! oh dear! it's mighty disagreeable. well, well, i will!" and bending his hams, he made as if he would have taken a vigorous leap; but his courage failed him, and he only made a sort of hop of a few inches on the deck, without approaching any nearer to the water. out of patience, bradford caught him by the shoulder, and pushed him at once head-foremost into the water, from which he rose in a moment, all panting, buoyed up by the wooden case under his arms. "here, jekey," cried bradford, "take the doctor's feet, as your arms are free;" and with the assistance of the worthy clothier, who bore no malice, he let down dr. wilbraham into the water, and returned to the lady. as pale as death, constance shut her eyes and held her breath, while the rough sailor took her in his arms, and let her glide slowly into the water, which in a moment after she felt dashing round her uncontrolled. opening her eyes, and panting for breath, she stretched out her arms, almost deprived of consciousness; but at that moment bradford jumped at once into the sea, and seizing the board to which she was tied, put it in its right position; so that, though many a domineering wave would rise above its fellows, and dash its salt foam over her head, her mouth was generally elevated above the water sufficiently to allow her full room to breathe. the distance of the ship from the land was about a quarter of a mile; but between it and the shore lay a variety of broken rocks, raising their rough heads above the waves that dashed furiously amongst them, making a thousand struggling whirlpools and eddies round their sharp angles, as the retiring sea withdrew its unwilling waters from the strand. constance, however, did not see all this; for, her face being turned towards the sky, nothing met her sight but the changeable face of heaven, with the clouds hurrying over it, or the green billows on either side, threatening every moment to overwhelm her. often, often did her heart sink, and hard was it for the spirit of a timid girl, even supported by her firm trust in god's mercy, to keep the spark of hope alive within her bosom, while looking on the perils that surrounded her, and fancying a thousand that she did not behold. still the stout seaman swam beside her, piloting the little raft he had made for her towards the shore, through all the difficulties of the navigation, which were not few or small; for the struggle between the retiring tide and the impetus given by the wind rendered almost every passage between the rocks a miniature scylla and charybdis. at length, however, choosing a moment when the waves flowed fully in between two large rough stones, whose heads protruded almost perpendicularly, he grasped the plank to which constance was tied with his left hand, and striking a few vigorous strokes with his right, soon placed her within the rocky screen with which the coast was fenced, and within whose boundary the water was comparatively calm. the first object that presented itself to his sight, within this haven, was the long-boat, keel upwards; while, tossed by the waves upon one of the large flat stones that the ebbing tide had left half bare, appeared the corpse of the portingal captain, his feet and body on the rock, and his head drooping back, half covered by the water. in a minute after, the sailor's feet could touch the ground; and gladly availing himself of the power to walk upon _terra firma_, he waded on, drawing after him the plank on which constance lay till, reaching the dry land, he pulled her to the shore, cut the cord that tied her, and placed her on her feet. constance's first impulse was to throw herself on her knees, and to thank god for his great mercy; her next to express her gratitude to the honest sailor, who, weary and out of breath with his exertion, sat on a rock hard by; but bewildered with all that had passed, she could scarcely find words to speak, feeling herself in a world that seemed hardly her own, so near had she been to the brink of another. after a few confused sentences, she looked suddenly round, exclaiming, "oh, where is dr. wilbraham?" the sailor started up, and getting on the rock, looked out beyond, where, about two hundred yards off, he perceived honest jekin groby making his way towards the shore in one direction, while the plank to which the amiable clergyman was attached was seen approaching the rocks in another, at a point where the waters were boiling with tenfold violence. constance's eye had already caught his long black habiliments, mingled with the white foam of the waves; and seeing that every fresh billow threatened to dash him to pieces against the stones, she clasped her hands in agony, and looked imploringly towards the sailor. "he will have his brains dashed out, sure enough," said the man, watching him. "zounds! he must be mad to try that. stay here, lady; i will see what can be done;" and rushing into the water, he waded as far as he could towards dr. wilbraham, and then once more began swimming. constance watched him with agonizing expectation; but before he reached the point, an angry wave swept round the good old man, and raising him high upon its top, dashed him violently against the rock. constance shuddered, and clasping her hands over her eyes, strove to shut out the dreadful sight. in a few minutes she heard the voice of the sailor shouting to jekin groby, who had reached the shore, "here, lend a hand!" and looking up, she saw him drawing the clergyman to land in the same manner that he had extricated herself. jekin groby waded in to help him, and constance flew to the spot which he approached; but the sight that presented itself made her blood run cold. dr. wilbraham was living indeed, but so dreadfully torn and bruised by beating against the rocks, that all hope seemed vain, and those who had best loved him might have regretted that he had not met with a speedier and more easy death. opening his exhausted eyes, he yet looked gladly upon the sweet girl that he had reared, like a young flower, from her early days to her full beauty, and who now hung tenderly over him. "thank god, my dear child," said he, "that you are safe. that is the first thing: for me, i am badly hurt, very badly hurt; but perhaps i may yet live: i could wish it to see you happy; but if not, god's will be done!" constance wept bitterly, and good jekin groby, infected with her sorrow, blubbered like a great baby. "there, leave off snivelling, you great fool!" cried bradford, wiping something like a tear from his own rough cheek, "and help me to carry the good gentleman to some cottage." thus saying, with the assistance of jekin he raised the old man, and, followed by constance, bore him on in search of an asylum. chapter xxxvi. thou seest me much distempered in my mind--dryden. sir payan wileton had gone through life with fearless daring; calculating, but never hesitating; keen-sighted of danger, but never timid. from youth he had divested himself of the three great fears which generally affect mankind: the fear of the world's opinion, the fear of his own conscience, and the fear of death; and, thus endued with much bad courage, he had attempted and succeeded in many things which would have frightened a timid man, and failed with an irresolute one. and yet, as we have seen, by one of those strange contradictions of which human nature is full, sir payan, though an unbeliever in the bright truths of religion, was credulous to many of the darkest superstitions of the age in which he lived. on such a mind, anything that smacked of supernatural presentiment was likely to take the firmest hold; and, on the morning after lady constance had, by his means and by his instigation, effected her flight from richmond, he rose early from a troubled sleep, overshadowed by a deep despondency, which had never till then hung upon him. before he was yet dressed, the news was brought him that one of his men had returned with the boat, and that the other had been arrested in the king's name. he felt his good fortune had passed away; an internal voice seemed to tell him that it was at an end; but yet he omitted no measures of security, quitting the capital without loss of time, and leaving such instructions with the porter as he deemed most likely to blind the eyes of wolsey; hoping that the servant, whose life was in his power, would not betray him, yet prepared, if he did, boldly to repel the charge, and by producing evidence to invalidate the other's testimony, to cast the accusation back upon his head. but still, from that moment sir payan was an altered being; and though many days passed by without anything occurring to disturb his repose; though the king's progress towards dover, without any notice having been taken of his participation in lady constance's escape, led him to believe that fear had kept the servant faithful; yet still sir payan remained in a state of gloom and lassitude, that raised many a marvel amongst those around him. wandering through the woods that surrounded his mansion, he passed hours and hours in deep, inactive, bitter meditation; finding no consolation in his own heart, no hope in the future, and no repose in the past; and, why he knew not, despairing where he had never despaired, trembling where he had never known fear. often he questioned himself upon the strange depression of his mind; and the more he did so, the more he became convinced that it was a supernatural warning of approaching fate. many were the resolutions that he made to shake it off, to struggle still, to seek the court, and urge his claim on the estates of constance de grey, as he would have done in former days; but in vain: a leaden power lay heavy upon his heart, and crushed all its usual energies; and the only effort he could make was to send out servants in every direction to seek sir cesar the astrologer, weakly hoping to brace up his relaxed confidence by some predictions of success. but the old man was not easily to be found. no one knew his abode, and, ever strange and erratic in his motions, he seemed now agitated by some extraordinary impulse, so that even when they had once found his track, the servants of sir payan had often to trace him to ten or twelve houses in the course of a day. sometimes it was in the manor of the peer, sometimes in the cottage of the peasant, that they heard of him; but in none did he seem to sojourn for above an hour, hurrying on wildly to the dwelling of some other amongst the many that he knew in all classes. at length they overtook him on the road near sandgate, and delivered sir payan's message; whereupon, without any reply, he turned his horse and rode towards chilham, where he arrived in the evening. springing to the ground without any appearance of fatigue, the old man sought sir payan in the park, to which the servants said he had retired; and, winding through the various long alleys, found him at length walking backwards and forwards, with his arms crossed on his bosom and his eyes fixed upon the ground. the evening sunshine was streaming brightly upon the spot, pouring a mellow misty light through the western trees, on the tall dark figure of sir payan, who, bending down his head, paced along with gloomy slowness, like some bad spirit oppressed and tormented by the smile of heaven. it was a strange sight to see his meeting with sir cesar; both were pale and haggard; for some cause, only known to himself, had worn the keen features of the astrologer till the bones and cartilages seemed starting through the skin; and sir payan's ashy cheek had lately acquired a still more deadly hue than it usually wore. both, too, looked wild and fearful; the keen black eyes of the old man showing with a terrific brightness in his thin and livid face, and the stern features of sir payan appearing full of a sort of ferocious light, which his attendants had remarked, ever since he had been overthrown in the tilt by the lance of sir osborne. meeting thus, in the full yellow sunshine, while sir cesar fixed his usual intense and scrutinising glance upon the countenance of the other, and sir payan strove to receive him with a smile that but mocked the lips it shone upon, they looked like two beings of another world, met for the first time in upper air, to commune of things long past. "well, unhappy man," said sir cesar at length, "what seekest thou with me?" "that i am unhappy," replied sir payan, knitting his brow, as he saw that little consolation was to be expected from the astrologer, "i do not deny; and it is to know why i am unhappy that i have asked you to come hither." "you are unhappy," answered sir cesar, "because you have plundered the widow and the orphan, because you have wronged the friendless and the weak, because you have betrayed the confident and the generous. you are unhappy because there is not one in the wide world that loves you, and because you even despise, and hate, and reprobate yourself." "old man! old man!" cried sir payan, half unsheathing his dagger, "beware, beware! those men only," he added, pushing back the weapon into its sheath, "ought to be unhappy that are unsuccessful; the rest is all a bugbear set up by the weak to frighten away the strong. but i have been successful, am successful. why then am i unhappy?" "because your success is at an end," replied the astrologer: "because you tremble to your fall; because your days are numbered, and late remorse is gnawing your heart in spite of your vain boasting. nay, lay not your hand on the hilt of your dagger! over me, murderer, you have no power! that dagger took the life of one that had never wronged you. remember the rout at taunton; remember the youth murdered the night after he surrendered!" sir payan trembled like an aspen leaf while the old man spoke. "yes, murderer!" continued sir cesar; "though you thought the deed hid in the bowels of the earth, i know it all. that hand slew all that was dearest to me on earth!--the child that unhappy fortune forced me to leave upon this cursed shore; and long, long ago should his fate have been avenged in your blood, had not i seen, had not i known, that heaven willed it otherwise. i have waited patiently for the hour that is now come; i have broken your bread, and i have drunk of your wine; but while i did so, i have seen you gathering curses on your head, and accumulating sins to sink you to perdition, and that has taught me to endure. i would not have saved you one hour of crime, i would not have robbed my revenge of one single sin--no, not for an empire! but i have watched you go on, gloriously, triumphantly, in evil and in wickedness, till heaven can bear no more; till you have eaten up your future; and soon, with all your crimes upon your head, hated, despised, condemned by all mankind, your black soul shall be parted from your body, and my eyes shall see you die." sir payan had listened with varied emotions as the old man spoke. surprise, remorse, and fear had been the first; but gradually the more tempestuous feelings of his nature hurried away the rest, and, rage gaining mastery of all, he drew his poniard and sprang upon sir cesar. but in the very act, as his arm was raised to strike, he was caught by two powerful men, who threw him back upon the ground and disarmed him; one of them exclaiming, "ho, ho! we have just come in time. sir payan wileton, you are attached in the king's name. lo, here is the warrant for your apprehension. you must come with us, sir, to calais." one would attempt in vain to describe the rage that convulsed the form of sir payan wileton, more especially when he beheld sir cesar smile upon him with a look of triumphant satisfaction. "seize him!" exclaimed he, with furious violence, pointing to the astrologer; "seize him, if you love your king and your country! he is a marked and obnoxious traitor. i impeach him, and you do not your duty if you let him escape; or are you his confederates, and come up to prevent my punishing him for the treasons he has just acknowledged?" "sir payan wileton," replied the sergeant-at-arms, "this passion is all in vain. i am sent here with a warrant from the king's privy council to attach you for high treason; but i have no authority to arrest any one else." "but i am a magistrate," cried the baffled knight; "let him not escape, i enjoin you, till i have had time to commit him. he is a traitor, i say, and if you seize him not, you art the king's enemies." "attached for high treason, sir, you are no longer a magistrate," replied the sergeant. "at all events, i do not hold myself justified in apprehending anybody against whom i have no warrant, more especially when i found you raising your hand illegally against the very person's life whom you now accuse. i can take no heed of the matter: you must come." "he shall be satisfied," said sir cesar. "venomless serpent! i will follow thee now till thy last hour. but think not that thou canst hurt me, for thy power has gone from thee; and though wicked as a demon, thou art weak as a child. i know that we are doomed to pass the same gate, but not to journey on the same road. lead on, sergeant; i will go on with you; and then, if this bad man have aught to urge against me, let him do it." "go if you will, sir," replied the officer; "but remember, you act according to your own pleasure; i make no arrest in your case: you are free to come with us or to stay, as you think fit." sir payan was now led back to the house, which was in possession of the king's archers; and as he passed through his own hall, with a burning heart, the hasty glance that he cast around amongst his servants showed him at once, that though there were none to pity or befriend, there were many full ready to betray. then rushed upon his mind the accusations that they might pile upon his head, now that they saw him sinking below the stream. the certainty of death; the dread of something after death; doubts of his own scepticism; the innate, all-powerful conviction of a future state--a state growing dreadfully perceptible to his eye as he approached the brink of that yawning gulf which his own acts had peopled with strange fears; all that he had scoffed at, all that he had despised, now assumed a new and fearful character: even the world's opinion, the world's contemned opinion, came across his thought: that there was not one heart on all the earth would mourn his end, that hatred and abhorrence would go with him to the grave, and that his memory would only live with infamy in the records of crime and punishment. burying his face in his hands, he sat in deep, despairing, agonising silence while his horse was being prepared, and while the officer put his seal upon the various doors which he thought it necessary to secure. a few hours brought the whole party to dover, and the next day saw their arrival at calais; but by that time the court had removed to guisnes; and the sergeant, having no orders to bring his prisoner farther, sent forward a messenger to announce his arrival and demand instructions. chapter xxxvii. once more the fleeting soul came back t' inspire the mortal frame, and in the body took a doubtful stand, hovering like expiring flame, that mounts and falls by turns.--dryden. the painful situation of lady constance de grey had not lost any portion of its sorrow, or gained any ray of hope, on the first of june, three days after we last left her, at which period we again take up her story. she was then sitting in a small, poor cottage between whitesand bay and boulogne, watching the slumber of the excellent old man whose regard for her had brought upon his head so much pain and danger. ever since he had been removed to the hut where they now were, he had lingered in great agony, except at those times when a state of stupor fell upon him, under which he would remain for many hours, and only wake from it again to acute pain. he had, however, that morning fulfilled the last duties of his religion, with the assistance of a good monk of boulogne, who now sat with lady constance, watching the sweet sleep into which he had fallen for the first time since their shipwreck. across the little window, to keep out the light, constance had drawn one of her own dresses, which had been saved by the sailor bradford having tied the leathern case that contained them to the plank which had brought herself to shore; but still through the casement, notwithstanding this sort of extemporaneous curtain, the soft breath of the early morning flowed in; and the murmuring voice of the treacherous ocean was heard softly from afar, filling up every pause in the singing of the birds and the busy hum of all the light children of the summer. the calmness of the old man's slumber gave constance hope; and with a sweet smile she sat beside him, listening to the mingled voice of creation, and joining mentally in the song of praise that all things seemed raising towards the great creator. indeed, if ever mortal being might be supposed to resemble those pure spirits who, freed from all touch of clay, adore the almighty in his works, she then looked like an angel, in form, in feature, and in expression, while, robed all in white, and watching the sick bed of her ancient friend, she looked upon his tranquil slumber with that bland smile of hope and gratitude. in the mean while the old monk sat on the other side of his bed, regarding him with more anxiety; for long experience in visiting those who hung upon the brink of another world tad taught him, that sleep like that into which the clergyman had fallen as often precedes death as recovery. it had continued thus till towards mid-day, the cottage being left in solitude and silence; for the sailor bradford had gone to seek remedies from a simpler at boulogne, and jekin groby had stolen away for a visit to calais, while the people to whom the cottage belonged were absent upon their daily occupations. at length, however, a slight sort of convulsive motion passed over the features of the old man, and, opening his eyes, he said in a faint, low voice, "constance, my dear child, where are you? my eyes are dim." "i am here, my dear sir," replied constance. "you have been sleeping very sweetly. i hope you feel better." "it is over, constance!" replied dr. wilbraham, calmly, but feebly. "i am dying, my child. let me see the sunshine." constance withdrew the curtain, and the fresh air blowing on the sick man's face seemed to give him more strength. "it is bright," cried he; "it is very bright. i feel the sweet summer air, and i hear the glad singing of the birds; but i go fast, dear daughter, where there are things brighter and sweeter; for surely, surely, god, who has clothed this world with such splendour, has reserved far greater for the world to come." the tears streamed down constance's cheeks, for there was in the old man's face a look of death not to be mistaken; that look, the inevitable precursor of dissolution to man, when it seems as if the avenging angel had come between him and the sun of being, and cast his dark shadow over him for ever. "weep not, constance," said the old man, with faint and broken efforts; "for no storms will reach me in my redeemer's bosom. in his mercy is my hope, in his salvation is my reliance. soon, soon shall i be in the place of peace, where joy reigneth eternally. could i have a fear, my dear child, it would be for you, left alone in a wide and desolate world, with none to protect you. but, no; i have no fear: god is your protector; and never, never, my child, doubt his goodness, nor think that he does not as surely watch over the universe as he that created it at first. everything is beneath his eye, from the smallest grain of sand to the great globe itself; and his will governs all, and guides all, though we see neither the beginning nor the end. constance, i am departing," he continued, more faintly: "god's blessing be upon you, my child! and, oh! if he in his wisdom ever permits the spirit of the dead to watch over those they loved when living, i will be with you and darnley when this frail body is dust." his lips began gradually to lose their power of utterance, and his head fell back upon the pillow. the monk saw that the good man's end was approaching fast, and placing the crucifix in his dying hand, he poured the words of consolation in his ear; but dr. wilbraham slightly motioned with his hand, to signify that he was quite prepared, and fixing his eyes upon the cross, murmured to himself, "i come, o lord, i come! be thou merciful unto me, o king of mercy! deliver speedily from the power of death, o lord of life!" the sounds gradually ceased, but yet his lips continued to move; his lips lost their motion, but his eyes were fixed, full of hope, upon the cross; a film came over them; it passed away, and the light beamed up again--shone brightly for a moment--waned--vanished--and all was death. the eyes were still fixed upon the cross, but that bright thing, life, was there no more. to look at them, no one could say what was gone between that minute and the one before; and yet it was evident that they were now but dust: the light was extinguished, the wine was poured out, and it was but the broken lamp, the empty urn, that remained to go down into the tomb. constance closed his eyes, and weeping bitterly, knelt down with the old monk, and joined in the prayer that he addressed to heaven. she then rose, and seated herself by all that remained of her dead friend, feeling alone in all the world, solitary, friendless, desolate; and straining her sweet eyes upon the cold, unresponsive countenance of the dead, she seemed bitterly to drink to the dregs the cup of hopelessness which that sight offered. no one spoke. the monk himself was silent, seeming to think that the prayer he had offered to the deity was the only fitting language for the presence of the dead; when a sound was heard without, and the door, gently opening, admitted the form of jekin groby. the good clothier thought the old man still slept, as when he had left the cottage, and advanced on tiptoe for fear of waking him; but the lifted hand of the monk, the streaming eyes of constance, and the cold, rigid stiffness of the face before him, warned him of what had happened; and pausing suddenly, he clasped his hands with a look of unaffected sorrow. "good god!" cried he, "he is dead! alas the day!" constance's tears streamed afresh. "lady," said the worthy man, in a kindly tone, "take comfort! he is gone to a better place than we have here, poor hapless souls! and surely, if all were as well fitted for that place as he was, we should have little cause to fear our death, and our gossips little cause to weep. take comfort, sweet lady! take comfort! our god is too good for us to murmur when he cuts our measure short." there was something in the homely consolation of the honest englishman that touched constance to the heart, and yet she could not refrain from weeping even more than before. "nay, nay, dear lady," continued jekin, affected almost to tears himself; "you must come away from here. i cannot bear to see you weep so; and though i am but a poor clothier, and little fitted to put myself in his place that is gone, i will never leave you till i see you safe. indeed i won't! come, lady, into the other cottage hard by, and we will send some one to watch here in your place. lord, lord! to think how soon a fellow-creature is gone! sure i thought to find him better when i came back. come, lady, come!" "perhaps i had better," replied constance, drying her tears. "my cares for him are useless; yet, though i murmur not at god's will, i must e'en weep, for i have lost as good a friend, and the world has lost as good a man, as ever it possessed. but i will go; for it is in vain to stay here and encourage unavailing grief." she then addressed a few sentences to the monk in french, thanking him for his charitable offices towards her dead friend, and begging him to remain there till she could send some one to watch the body; adding, that if he would come after that to the adjoining cottage, she would beg him to convey to his convent a small gift on her part. the monk bowed his head, and promised to obey; and constance, giving one last look to the inanimate form of the excellent being she had just lost, followed jekin groby to the cottage hard by, where, begging to be left alone, she once more burst into tears, and let both her sorrow and despondency have way, feeling that sort of oppression at her heart which can be relieved but by weeping. it is needless to follow farther such sad scenes; to tell the blunt grief of bradford, when he returned and found that his errand had been in vain; or to describe the funeral of good dr. wilbraham, which took place the next day (for so custom required) in the little cemetery of whitesand bay. immediately this was over, lady constance prepared to set out for boulogne, hoping to find a refuge in the heart of france till she had time to consider and execute some plan for her future conduct. we have twice said, that the sailor, in tying her to the plank on which she had floated from the shipwrecked vessel, had fastened to the end of the board nearest her feet one of her own leathern cases, for the purpose of keeping her head raised above the water; and in this, as it luckily happened, were all the jewels and the money which she had brought with her from london. it would doubtless have rendered her situation much more critical and interesting if she had been deprived of all such resources; but as the fact was so, it is necessary to state it. no difficulty, therefore, seemed likely to present itself in her journey to her own estates, except that which might arise in procuring a litter to convey her on her way, or in meeting with some female attendant willing to accompany her. the latter of these was soon done away with; for the daughter of the cottagers where she had lodged, a gay, good-humoured picarde, gladly undertook the post of waiting-woman to the sweet lady, whose gentleness had won them all; and bradford, who, from a soldier, a sailor, a shipwright, and a rochester rioter, had now become a squire of dames, was despatched to boulogne to see if he could buy or hire a litter and horses. in the midst of all these proceedings, poor jekin groby was sadly agitated by many contending feelings. in his first fit of sympathy with constance on the death of dr. wilbraham, he had, as we have seen, promised to accompany her to the end of her journey, whithersoever it might be; but the thoughts of dear little england, and his own fireside, and his bales of cloth, and his bags of angels, called him vehemently across the channel, while curiosity, with a certain touch of mercantile calculation, pulled him strongly towards the court at calais. notwithstanding, he resolved, above all things, to act handsomely, as he said, towards the lady; and accordingly he accompanied bradford to boulogne, to ascertain if he could by any way get off trudging after her the lord knew where, as he expressed it, though he vowed he was very willing to go if he could be of any service. after the sailor and his companion had been absent about six hours, constance began to be impatient, and proceeded to the door of the cottage to see if she could perceive them coming. gazing for a few minutes on the road to boulogne, she beheld, rising above the brow of the hill before her, a knight's pennon, and presently half-a-dozen spears appeared bristling up behind it. judging that it was some accidental party proceeding towards whitesand bay, constance retired into the cottage, and was not a little surprised when she heard the horses halt before the door. in a moment after, a gallant cavalier, in peaceful guise, armed only with his sword and dagger, entered the hut, and, doffing his plumed mortier to the lady, with a low inclination of the head, he advanced towards her, saying in french, "have i the honour of speaking to the noble lady de grey, countess of boissy and the val de marne?" "the same, sir knight," replied the lady. "to what, may i ask, do i owe the honour of your presence?" "his highness francis king of france, now in the city of boulogne," replied the knight, "hearing that a lady, and his vassal, though born an english subject, had been shipwrecked on this shore, has chosen me for the pleasing task of inviting, in his name, the countess de boissy to repair to his royal court, not as a sovereign commanding the homage of his vassal, but as a gracious and a noble friend, offering service and good-will. his highness's sister, also, the princess marguerite of alenã§on, has sent her own litter for your convenience, with such escort as may suit your quality." constance could only express her thanks. had she possessed the power of choice, she would of course have preferred a thousand times to have retired to the val de marne, without her coming being known to the french king or his court, till such time, at least, as the meeting between him and the king of england had taken place. however, as it was known, she could not refuse to obey, and she signified her readiness to accompany the french knight, begging him merely to wait till the return of a person she had sent to boulogne for a litter. "he will not return, lady," replied the chevalier. "it was through his search for a litter at boulogne, where none are to be had, all being bought for the court's progress to ardres, that his highness became acquainted with your arrival within his kingdom." the knight was proceeding to inform her of the circumstances which had occurred, when the quick sound of horses' feet was heard without, joined to the clanging of arms, the jingling of spurs and trappings, and various rough cries in the english tongue. "have her! but i will have her, by the lord!" cried a voice near the door; and in a moment after, a knight, armed at all points, strode into the cottage. "how now! how now!" cried he; "what is all this? ah, monsieur de bussy," he continued, changing his language to broken, abominable french, "what are you doing with this lady?" "i come, sir john hardacre," answered the frenchman, "to invite her to the court of francis of france, whose vassal the lady is." "and i come," replied the englishman, "to claim her for henry king of england, whose born subject she is, and ward of the crown; and so i will have her, and carry her to guisnes, as i am commanded." "that depends upon circumstances, sir," answered the frenchman, offended at the tone of the other. "you are governor of calais, but you do not command here. you are off the english pale, sir; and i say that unless the lady goes with you willingly and by preference, you shall not take her." "i shall not!" exclaimed the englishman. "who the devil shall stop me?" "that will i," answered the french knight; "and i tell you so to your beard." the englishman laid his hand upon his sword, and the frenchman was not slack to follow his example; but constance interposed. "hold, hold, gentlemen!" cried she; "i am not worthy of such contention. monsieur de bussy, favour me by offering every expression of my humble duty to his highness your noble king; and show him that i intended instantly to have obeyed his commands, and followed you to his court, but that i am compelled, against my will, to do otherwise. sir john hardacre, i am ready to accompany you." "if such be your will, fair lady," replied the french knight, "i have nothing but to execute your charge. however, i must repeat, that without your full consent you shall not be taken from french ground, or i am no true knight." an angry replication trembled on the lip of the english captain, but constance stopped its utterance by once more declaring her willingness to go; and the french officer, bowing low, thrust back his sword into the sheath, and left the cottage, somewhat out of humour with the event of his expedition. when he and his followers had ridden away, sir john hardacre called up a lady's horse, which one of his men-at-arms led by the bridle; and after permitting constance to make some change of her apparel, and to pay the good folks of the cottage for her entertainment, he placed her in the saddle, and holding the bridle himself, led her away at a quick pace towards guisnes. he was a rough old soldier, somewhat hardened by long military service; but the beauty and gentleness of his fair prisoner (for such indeed may we consider poor constance to have been) somewhat softened his acerbity; and after riding on for near an hour in silence, during which he revolved at least twenty ways of addressing the lady, without pleasing himself with any, he began by a somewhat bungling excuse, both for his errand and his manner of executing it. "i suppose, sir," replied constance, coldly, "that you have done your duty. whether you have done it harshly or not is for you to consider." this quite put a stop to all the knight's intentions of conversation, and did not particularly soothe his humour; so that for many miles along the road he failed not every moment to turn round his head, and vent his spleen upon his men in various high-seasoned curses, for faults which they might or might not have committed, as the case happened; the knight's powers of objurgation not only extending to the cursing itself, but also to supplying the cause. it was nearly seven o'clock when they began to approach the little town of guisnes, but at that season of the year the full light of day was still shining upon all the objects round about; and constance might perceive, as they rode up, all the bustle, and crowding, and idle activity caused by the arrival of the court. her heart sank when she saw it, and thought of all she might there have to endure. under any other circumstances, however, it would have been a gay and a pleasing sight; so full of life and activity, glitter and show, was everything that met the eye. to the southward of the town of guisnes, upon the large open green that extended on the outside of the walls, were to be seen a vast number of tents, of all kinds and colours, with a multitude of busy human beings employed in raising fresh pavilions on every open space, or in decorating those already spread with streamers, pennons, and banners, of all the bright hues under the sun. long lines of horses and mules loaded with armour or baggage, and ornamented with gay ribbons, to put them in harmony with the scene, were winding about, all over the plain, some proceeding towards the town, some seeking the tents of their several lords; while, mingled amongst them, appeared various bands of soldiers, on horseback and on foot, with the rays of the declining sun glancing upon the heads of their bills and lances, and, together with the white cassock and broad red cross, marking them out from all the other objects. here and there, too, might be seen a party of knights and gentlemen cantering over the plain, and enjoying the bustle of the scene, or standing in separate groups, issuing their orders for the erection and garnishing of their tents; while couriers, and pursuivants, and heralds, in all their gay dresses, mingled with mule-drivers, lacqueys, and peasants, armourers, pages, and tent-stretchers, made up the living part of the landscape. behind lay the town of guisnes, with the forest at its back; and a good deal nearer, the castle, with its protecting guns pointed over the plain; but the most striking object, and that which instantly caught the eye, was a building raised immediately in front of the citadel, on which all that art could devise, or riches could procure, had been lavished, to render it a palace fit for the luxurious king who was about to make it his temporary residence. from the distance at which they were when it first struck her sight, constance could only perceive that it was a vast and splendid edifice, apparently square, and seeming to offer a faã§ade of about four hundred feet on every side, while the sun, reflected from the gilding with which it was covered, and the immense quantity of glass that it contained, rendered it like some great ornament of gold enriched with brilliants. although her heart was sad, and nothing that she saw tended to dispel its gloom, she could not refrain from gazing round with a half-curious, half-anxious glance upon all the gay objects that surrounded her; almost fearing to be recognised by some one who had known her at the court, now that she was led along as a kind of prisoner; a single woman amidst a band of rude soldiers. sir john hardacre, however, spurred on towards the bridge, which was nearly impassable from the number of beasts of burden and their drivers by which it was covered; and standing on but little ceremony with his fellow-lieges, he dashed through the midst of them all, cursing one, and striking another, and overturning a third, much to constance's horror and dismay. having reached the other side, and created by his haste as much confusion and discomfort as he could in his passage, the surly captain slackened his pace, muttering something about dignity, and turned his rein towards the temporary palace of the king. proceeding slowly amidst a multitude, many of whom had seen her before, and whose notice she was very willing to escape, constance's only resource was to fix her eyes upon the palace, and to busy herself in the contemplation of its splendour. raised upon a high platform, it was not only visible from every part of the plain, but itself commanded a view of the whole gay scene below, with its tents and its multitudes, standing as a sort of nucleus to all the magnificence around. before the gate to which sir john hardacre took his way, and which was itself a massy arch, flanked by two towers raised upon the platform, there stood two objects not unworthy of remark, as exemplifying the tastes of the day: the one was a magnificent fountain, richly wrought with arches and arabesques, painted in fine gold and blue, supporting a figure of bacchus crowned with vine leaves, over whose head appeared inscribed, in letters of gold, "_faites bonne chã¨re qui voudra_." no unmeaning invitation, for the fountain below ceased not to pour forth three streams of various coloured wines, supplied by reservoirs in the interior of the palace. on the other side of the gate were seen four golden lions supporting a pillar of bronze, round the shaft of which twined up various gilt wreaths, interlaced together; while on the summit stood a statue of venus's "purblind son and heir," pointing his arrows at those who approached the gate. nevertheless, it was not on the charmed cup of the one, or the bended bow of the other chicken deity, that the battlemented arch above mentioned relied for defence; for in the several windows were placed gigantic figures of men in armour, apparently in the act of hurling down enormous rocks upon the head of whatever venturous stranger should attempt to pass the prescribed bound. at the same time appeared round about various goodly paintings of the demigods of story: the herculeses, the theseuses, the alexanders, fabulous and historical; while, showing strangely enough in such company, many a fat porter and yeoman of the lodge loitered about in rich liveries, as familiar with the gods and goddesses as if they had been born upon olympus and swaddled in tempã©. at the flight of steps which led to this gate sir john hardacre dismounted, and lifting lady constance from her horse, passed on into the inner court of the palace, which would indeed have been not only splendid, but elegant, had it not been for a few instances of the same refined taste which we have just noticed. the four inner faces of the building were perfectly regular, consisting of two stories, the lower one of which was almost entirely of glass, formed into plain and bow windows alternately, each separated from the other by a slight column of gold, and surrounded by a multitude of arabesques and garlands. exactly opposite to the gate appeared a vestibule, thrown a little forward from the building, and surmounted by four large bow windows, supported on trimmers, the corbels of which represented a thousand strange gilt faces, looking out from a screen of olive branches, cast in lead and painted green; while various tall statues in silver armour were ranged on each side, as guards to the entrance. it was towards this sort of hall that sir john hardacre led poor constance de grey, to whose heart all the gaiety and splendour of the scene seemed but to communicate a more chilling sensation of friendless loneliness; while the very gaze and whispering of the royal servants, who had all known of her flight, and now witnessed her return, made the quick blood mount into her beautiful cheek, as she was hurried along by the brutal soldier, without any regard to her feelings or compassion for her fears. "you must wait here, mistress constance," said he, having led her into the vestibule, which was full of yeomen and grooms, "while i go and tell the right reverend father the lord cardinal that i have brought you." "here!" exclaimed constance, casting her eyes around; "surely you do not mean me to wait here amongst the servants?" "why, where would you go?" demanded he, roughly: "i've no other place to put you. wait here, wait here, and mind you don't run away again." constance could support no more, and covering her face with her hands, she burst into a violent flood of tears. at that moment a voice that she knew struck her ear. "this to my cousin, sir!" exclaimed lord darby, who had heard what passed as he descended a flight of stairs which led away to the left; "this to my cousin, sir john hardacre! you would do better to jump off the donjon of rochester castle than to leave her here with lacqueys and footboys." "and why should i not?" demanded the soldier, his eyes flashing fire. "mind your own affairs, my lord darby, and let me mind mine." "you are an unfeeling old villain, sir!" answered the earl, passing him and taking constance by the hand. "yes, sir! stare your fill! i say you are an unfeeling villain, and neither knight nor gentleman." the soldier laid his hand upon his sword and drew it half out of its sheath. "knock him down! knock him down!" cried a dozen voices. "the precincts of the court! out with him! have his hand off!" sir john hardacre thrust his weapon back into the sheath, gazing, however, grimly around, as if he would fain have used it upon some one. "your brutal violence, sir," said lord darby, "will bring upon you, if you heed not, a worse punishment than i can inflict; yet you will not find me, in a proper place, unwilling to give you a lesson on what is due to a lady. come, constance, i will lead you to her highness, where you will meet, i am sure, a kind reception. you, sir, do your errand to my lord cardinal, who shall be informed by me of your noble and knightly treatment of the lady de grey." thus saying, he led constance through a long corridor to an ante-chamber, wherein stood two of the queen's pages. here lord darby paused, and sent one of the attendants to request an audience, taking the opportunity of the time they waited to soothe the mind of his fair cousin by informing her of all that had passed in her absence, and assuring her that the queen had ever been her warmest defender. all the news that he gave her, yof course, took a heavy weight from constance's mind; and drying her eyes, she congratulated him gladly on his approaching marriage, and would fain, very fain, have asked if he could give her any such consolatory information in regard to darnley; but the earl had never once mentioned his name, and she knew not how to begin the subject herself. while considering, and hesitating whether to ask boldly or not, the queen's page returned and ushered them to her presence. constance was still much agitated, and even the kind and dignified sweetness, the motherly tenderness, with which katherine received her--a tenderness which she had not known for so long--overcame her, and she wept as much as if she had been most unhappy. the queen understood it all, and sending lord darby away, she soon won constance to her usual placid mood; and then, questioning her of all the dangers and sorrows she had undergone, she gave her the best of all balms, sympathy; trembling at her account of the shipwreck, and melted even to tears by the death of the good clergyman. chapter xxxviii. men might say till this time pomp was single, but now married to one above itself.--shakspere. many were the anxious eyes turned towards the sky on the morning of the seventh of june, the day appointed for the meeting of the two kings of france and england; for some inauspicious clouds had ushered in the dawn, and several of those persons who take a delight in prognosticating evil, whenever they can find occasion; who enjoy mingling the sour with whatever is sweet in life--in short, the lemon-squeezers of society--had taken care to affirm that they had felt several drops of rain, and to prophesy that it would pour before night. to put their vaticinations out of joint, however, the jolly summer sun came like a cleanly housemaid, towards eight o'clock, and with his broom of rays swept all the dirty clouds from the floor of heaven. by this time the bustle of preparation had begun at the town of guisnes. all was in activity amongst the tents, and many a lord and gentleman was already on his horse arraying his men in order of battle under the walls of the castle, from the gates of which presently issued forth the archer-guard of the king of england, and took the front of the array. not long after, lord essex, the earl marshal, appeared on the plain, and riding along the line of foot, gave the strictest orders to the various officers for maintaining regularity and tranquillity through the day; well knowing that the excited hilarity of such occasions often creates more serious evils than do infinitely worse feelings. another cause, however, seemed likely to have interrupted the general good-humour; for, in the midst of his injunctions to maintain order and propriety of demeanour towards their french allies, an officer was seen spurring at full speed from the side of ardres, and as he rode up, it was very evident by his countenance that the good captain, richard gibson, was not the best pleased man in the world. all eyes were turned upon him, and a dead silence ensued amidst the archers, while the earl demanded, "why! how now, gibson? what is the matter?" "so please you, my lord," replied the officer, "the four pennons of white and green, which, by your command, i set up on the edge of the hill, above the valley of andern, have been vilely thrown down by the french lord chã¢telaine, who says, that as the french have none on the other hill, he wills not that we have any either." a loud murmuring made itself heard at this news amongst the footmen; and one of the young gallants, riding near the earl, put spurs to his horse, as if to ride away to the scene of the dispute. "silence!" cried the earl, over whose cheek also an angry flush had passed at the first, but who speedily recovered his temper. "brian, come back! come back, i say, sir! let not a man stir!" "what! must we stand tamely and be insulted by the french?" cried the youth, unwillingly reining in his horse. "they do not insult us, sir," replied lord essex, wisely determined not to let any trifling punctilio disturb the harmony of the meeting, yet knowing how difficult it was to rule john bull from his surly humour. "they do not insult us. the pennons were set up for their convenience, to show them the place of meeting, which is within the english pale. if they choose to be such fools as to risk missing the way, and go a mile round, why, let them; we shall but laugh at them when they come." the matter thus turned off, he whispered a few words to gibson, and sending him back to the vale of andern, proceeded, with the aid of heralds and other officers at arms, to arrange all the ceremonies of the march. however, various were the reports that spread amongst the people concerning the intentions of the french, some declaring openly that they believed they intended to surround the field with a great force, and take the king of england prisoner. others shook the wise head, and implied much more than they ventured to say; and many a poor rogue, amongst those who "talk of court news as if they were god's spies," pretended that they had been with the french power and heard all about it; so that they would tell you the very cunning of the thing, and its fashion, and when it was to be. while rumour was thus exercising her hundred tongues, and, as usual, lying with them all, the warning-gun was fired from the castle of guisnes, giving notice that the king of england was ready to set out, and all hurried to place themselves in order. in a few minutes the distant roar of another large piece of artillery was heard from ardres, answering the first; and for the five minutes before the procession was formed, like the five minutes of tuning before a concert, all was noise, clamour, and confusion. the sounding of the trumpets to horse, the shouts of the various leaders, the loud cries of the marshals and heralds, and the roaring of the artillery from the castle, as the king put his foot in the stirrup, all combined to make one general outcry, rarely equalled. gradually the tumult subsided; gradually also the confused assemblage assumed a regular form. flags, and pennons, and banderols, embroidered banners and scutcheons, silver pillars, and crosses, and crooks, ranged themselves in long line, and the bright procession, an interminable stream of living gold, began to wind across the plain. first came about five hundred of the gayest and wealthiest gentlemen of england, below the rank of baron; squires, knights, and bannerets, rivalling each other in the richness of their apparel and the beauty of their horses; while the pennons of the knights fluttered above their heads, marking the place of the english chivalry. next appeared the proud barons of the realm, each with his banner borne before him, and followed by a custrel with the shield of his arms. to these again succeeded the bishops, not in the simple robes of the protestant clergy, but in the more gorgeous habits of the church of rome; while close upon their steps rode the higher nobility, surrounding the immediate person of the king, and offering the most splendid mass of gold and jewels that the summer sun ever shone upon. slowly the procession moved forward, to allow the line of those on foot to keep an equal pace. nor did this band offer a less gay and pleasing sight than the cavalcade; for here might be seen the athletic forms of the sturdy english yeomanry, clothed in the various splendid liveries of their several lords, with the family cognizance embroidered on the bosom or the arm, and the banners and banderols of their particular houses carried in the front of each company. here also was to be seen the picked guard of the king of england, magnificently dressed for the occasion, with the royal banner carried in their centre by the deputy standard-hearer, and the banner of their company by their own ancient. in the rear of all, marshalled by officers appointed for the purpose, came the band of those whose rank did not entitle them to take place in the cavalcade, but who had sufficient interest at court to be admitted to the meeting. though of an inferior class, this company was not the least splendid in the field; for here were all the wealthy tradesmen of the court, habited in many a rich garment, furnished by the extravagance of those that rode before; and many a gold chain hung round their necks, that not long ago had lain in the purse of some prodigal customer. thus marched on the procession at a walking pace, with steeds neighing, with trumpets sounding, banners and plumes fluttering in the wind, and gold and jewels sparkling in the sunshine; while loud acclaim, and the waving of hats, and hands, and handkerchiefs, from those that stayed behind, ushered it forth from the plain of guisnes. they had ridden on some way, when a horseman spurred up to the spot where the king rode, and doffing his high plumed hat, bent to his saddle-bow, saying, "my king and my sovereign, i have just been with the french party, and i hold myself bound, as your liege, to inform you that they are at least twice as numerous as we are. your grace will act as in your wisdom you judge fit; but as a faithful and loving subject i could not let such knowledge sleep in my bosom." an instant halt took place through the whole cavalcade, and the king for a moment consulted with wolsey, who rode on his left hand; but lord shrewsbury, the lord steward, interposed, assuring the king that he had been amongst the french nobles the night before, and that amongst them the same reports prevailed concerning the english. "therefore, sir," continued he, "if i were worthy to advise, your grace would march forward without hesitation; for sure i am that the french mean no treachery." "we shall follow your advice, lord steward," replied the king; "let us march on." "on before! on before!" cried the heralds at the word. the trumpets again sounded, and the procession, moving forward, very soon reached the brow of the hill that looks into the vale of andern. a gentle slope, of not more than three hundred yards, led from the highest part of each of the opposite hills into the centre of the valley, in the midst of which was pitched the most magnificent tent that ever a luxurious imagination devised. the canopy, the walls, the hangings, were all of cloth of gold; the posts, the cones, the cords, the tassels, the furniture, were all of the same rare metal. wherever the eye turned, nothing but that shining ore met its view, so that it required no very brilliant fancy to name it at once, the _field of the cloth of gold_. on reaching the verge of the descent, the cavalcade spread out, lining the side of the hill for some way down, and facing the line of the valley. each cavalier placed himself unhesitatingly in the spot assigned him by the officers at arms, while the body of foot was drawn up in array to the left by the captains of the king's guard, so that not the least confusion or tumult took place; and the whole multitude, in perfect order, presented a long and glittering front to the opposite hill, before any of the french party appeared, except a few straggling horsemen sent to keep the ground. as soon as the whole line was formed, and when, by the approaching sound of the french trumpets, it was ascertained that the court of france was not far distant, henry himself drew out from the ranks, ready to descend to the meeting; and never did a more splendid or more princely monarch present himself before so noble a host. tall, stately, athletic, with a countenance full of imperial dignity, and mounted on a horse that seemed proudly conscious of the royalty of its rider, henry rode forward to a small hillock, about twenty yards in advance of his subjects; and halting upon the very edge of the hill, with his attendants grouped behind him, and a clear background of sunny light throwing nil figure out from all the other objects, he offered a subject on which wouvermans might well have exercised his pencil. over his wide chest and shoulders he wore a loose vest of cloth of silver, damasked and ribbed with gold. this was plaited, and bound tightly towards the waist, while it was held down from the neck by the golden collars of many a princely order, and the broad baldrick studded with jewels, to which was suspended his sword. his jewelled hat was also of the same cloth; and in the only representation of this famous meeting that i have met with, which can be relied upon, having been executed at the time, he appears with a vast plume of feathers, rising from the left side of his hat, and falling over to his saddle behind. nor was the horse less splendidly attired than the rider. its housings, its trappers, its headstall, and its reins, were all curiously wrought and embossed with bullion, while a thousand fanciful ornaments of gold filigree-work hung about it in every direction. behind the king appeared sir henry guilford, master of the horse, leading a spare charger for the monarch; not indeed with any likelihood of the king's using it, but more as a piece of state ornament than anything else, in the same manner as the sword of state was borne by the marquis of dorset. a little behind appeared nine youths of noble family, as the king's henchmen, mounted on beautiful horses trapped with golden scales, and sprinkled throughout their housings with loose bunches of spangles, which, twinkling in the sunshine, gave an inconceivable lightness and brilliancy to their whole appearance. shortly after this glittering group had taken its station in front of the english line, the first parties of the french nobility began to appear on the opposite hill, and spreading out upon its side, offered a corresponding mass of splendour to that formed by the array of england. very soon the whole of francis's court had deployed; and after a pause of a few minutes, during which the two hosts seemed to consider each other with no small admiration, and in profound silence, the trumpets from the french side sounded, and the constable duke of bourbon, bearing a naked sword upright, began to descend the hill. immediately behind him followed the french monarch superbly arrayed, and mounted on a magnificent barbary horse, covered from head to foot with gold. instantly on beholding this, the english trumpets replied, and the marquis of dorset, unsheathing the sword of state, moved slowly forward before the king. henry, having the lord cardinal on his left, and followed by his immediate suite, now descended the hill, and arrived in the valley exactly at the same moment as francis. the two sword-bearers who preceded them fell back each to the right of his own sovereign; and the monarchs, spurring forward their highly-managed horses, met in the midst and embraced each other on horseback. difficult and strange as such a man[oe]uvre may seem, it was performed with ease and grace, both the kings being counted amongst the most skilful horsemen in europe; and in truth, as the old historian expresses it, it must have been a marvellous sweet and goodly sight to see those two princes, in the flower of their age, in the height of their strength, and in the dignity of their manly beauty, commanding two great nations, that had been so long rivals and enemies, instead of leading hostile armies to desolate and destroy, meet in that peaceful valley, and embrace like brothers in the sight of the choice nobility of either land. two grooms and two pages, who had followed on foot, now ran to hold the stirrup and the rein, each of his own monarch; and springing to the ground, the kings embraced again; after which, clasped arm in arm, they passed the barrier, and entered the golden tent, wherein two thrones were raised beneath one canopy. "henry of england, my dear brother," said the king of france, as soon as they were seated, "thus far have i travelled to see you and do you pleasure; willing to hold you to my heart with brotherly love, and to show you that i am your friend: and surely i believe that you esteem me as i am. the realms that i command, and the powers that i possess, are not small; but if they may ever be of aid to my brother, of england, i shall esteem them greater than before." "the greatness of your realms, sir, and the extent of your power," replied henry, "weigh as nothing in my eyes, compared with your high and princely qualities; and it is to interchange regard with you, and renew in person our promises of love, that i have here passed the seas and come to the very verge of my dominions." with such greetings commenced the interview of the two kings, who soon called to them the cardinal, and seating him beside them, with much honour, they commanded him to read the articles which he had drawn up for the arrangement and ordering of their future interviews. wolsey complied; and all that he proposed seemed well to please both the monarchs, till he proceeded to stipulate, that when the king of england should go over to the town of ardres, to revel with the queen and ladies of france, the king of france should at the same time repair to the town of guisnes, there to be entertained by the queen of england. at this francis mused: "nay, nay, my good lord cardinal," said he, "faith, i fear not to trust myself with my brother of england at his good castle of guisnes, without holding him as a hostage in my court for my safe return; and, marry, i am sure he would put equal confidence in me, though i stayed not in his city till he was on his journey back." "this clause is not inserted, most noble sovereign," replied wolsey, "from any doubt or suspicion that one gracious king has of the other; for surely all trust and amicable confidence exist between ye: but it is for the satisfaction of the minds of your liege subjects, who, not understanding the true nature of princely friendship, might be filled with black apprehensions, were they to see their monarch confide himself, without warrant of safety, in the power of another nation." "well, well, my good lord," replied francis, "let it be; time will show us." and from that moment he seemed to pay little attention to all the precautionary measures by which the cautious wolsey proposed to secure the future meetings of the two kings from the least danger to either party. the generous mind of the french monarch revolted at the suspicious policy of the cardinal; and agreeing to anything that the other thought proper, he mentally revolved his own plans for shaming the english monarch and his minister out of their cold and injurious doubts. the arrangement of these articles was the only displeasing circumstance that cast a shadow upon the meeting: all the rest passed in gaiety and joy. a sumptuous banquet was soon placed before them, and various of the nobles of england and france were called to mingle in the royal conversation while the monarchs were at table. in the meanwhile the two courts and their retainers remained arranged on the opposing sides of the hill; the englishmen, with their characteristic rigidity, standing each man in his place as immoveable as a statue, while the livelier frenchmen, impatient of doing nothing, soon quitted their ranks, and, falling into broken masses, amused themselves as best they might; many of them crossing the valley, and with national facility beginning to make acquaintance with their new allies, nothing repulsed by the blunt reception they met with. not that the english were inhospitable; for having, as usual, taken good care that no provision should be wanting against the calls of hunger or thirst, they communicated willingly to their neighbours of the comforts they had brought with them, sending over many a flagon of wine and hypocras, much to the consolation of the french, who had taken no such wise precautions against the two great internal enemies. in about an hour, the hangings of the tent were drawn back, and the two kings re-appeared; ready to separate for the day. the grooms led up the horses; and francis and henry, embracing with many professions of amity, mounted and turned their steps each to his several dwelling. the english procession marched back in the same order as it came, and arrived without interruption at the green plain of guisnes, where henry, ordering the band of footmen to halt, rode along before them, making them a gay and familiar speech, and bidding them be merry if they loved their king. shouts and acclamations answered the monarch's speech, and the nobles, joining in his intent, showered their largesse upon their retainers as they followed along the line. the last band that henry came to was that of the privileged tradesmen of the court, most of whom he recognised, possessing, in a high degree, that truly royal quality of never forgetting any one he had once known. to each he had some frank, bluff sentence to address; while they, with heads uncapped and bending low, enjoyed with proud hearts the honour of being spoken to by the king, and thought how they could tell it to all their neighbours and gossips when they got to england. as he rode on, henry perceived in the second rank a face that he remembered, which, being attached to a very pliable neck, kept bending down with manifold reverences, not unlike the nodding of a mandarin cast in china-ware. "ha! my good clothier, jekin groby!" cried the king; "come forth, man! what! come forth, i say!" jekin groby rushed forward from behind, knocking on one side the royal honey merchant, and fairly throwing down the household fishmonger who stood before him; then, casting himself on his knees by the side of the king's horse, he clasped the palms of his hands together, and turned up his eyes piteously to the monarch's countenance, exclaiming, "justice! justice! your grace's worship, if your royal stomach be full of justice, as folks say, give me justice." "justice!" cried henry, laughing at the sad and deplorable face poor jekin thought necessary to assume for the purpose of moving his compassion. "justice on whom, man--ha? faith, if any man have done thee wrong, he shall repent it, as i am a king; though, good jekin, i sent for thee a month ago to furnish cloth for all the household, and thou wert not to be found." "lord 'a mercy!" cried jekin, "and i've missed the job! but it ought all to be put in the bill. pray, your grace's worship, put it in the bill against that vile sir payan wileton, who kidnapped me on your own royal highway, robbed me of my bagfull of angels, and sent me to sea, where i was so sick, your grace; you can't think how sick! and then they beat me with ropes' ends, and made me go up aloft, and damned me for a land-lubber, and a great deal more: all on account of that sir payan wileton!" "ha!" cried the king; "sir payan wileton again! i had forgot him. however, good jekin, i cannot hear you now; come to my chamber to-morrow before i rise--ha, man! then i will hear and do you justice, if it be on the highest man in the land. there is my signet: the page will let you in. at six o'clock, man, fail not!" "i told you so!" cried jekin, starting upon his feet, and looking round him with delight as the king rode away; "i told you he would make that black thief give me back my angels. i knew his noble heart; lord 'a mercy! 'tis a gracious prince, surely." chapter xxxix. let some o' the guard be ready. _cran_.--for me? must i go like a traitor then?--shakspere. and where was osborne darnley all this while? wait a little, dearly-beloved, and you shall hear more. it was not yet five o'clock in the morning, and a sweet morning it was; the sun had just risen, and, spreading all over the eastern sky, there was that, soft, lustrous tint of early light that surely ought to be called hope-colour, it promises so many bright moments for the coming day. it was not yet five o'clock in the morning when the western sally-port of the castle of ardres was opened by a little page not higher than my thumb, as the old story-book goes, who looked cautiously about, first to the right and then to the left, to see if any one was abroad and stirring; but the only person who had risen was the matutinal sun, so that the page could see nothing but the blue sky, and the green fields, and the grey stone walls of the castle, whose great age, like the antiquity of a beggar's coat, had plastered them all over with patches of green and yellow lichens. having looked to his heart's content, he next listened; but no sound could he hear save the light singing of the lark and the loud snoring of the sentinel on the neighbouring bastion, who, with head propped on his halberd, kept anything but silent watch, while the vigilant sun, looking over the wall, spied out all the weaknesses of the place; and now, having listened as well as looked, the boy withdrew once more within the walls. he left, however, the door open, and in a few minutes two horsemen rode forth, each wrapped up in a large spanish cloak, with a chaperon, at fleurange calls it, or, in other words, an immense hood, which covered the whole head and disguised the person completely. as soon as they were fairly out, the page who had accompanied them so far returned and closed the sally-port, and the two travellers cantered lightly over the green to a little wood that lay before the castle. when they were fully concealed by the trees, among which they wound along, following the sinuosities of a little sandy road, wherein two, but only two, might ride abreast, they both, as by common consent, threw back their hoods, and, letting their cloaks fall upon their horses' cruppers, discovered the two powerful forms of the good knight osborne lord darnley, and francis the first king of france. "well, my friend and my deliverer," said the king, as they rode on, "'twill go hard but i will restore you to your king's favour; and even should he remain inexorable, which i will not believe, you must make france your country. we will try to win your fair constance for you from that suspicious cardinal, of which fear not, for i know a certain way to gain him to anything; and then i see no cause why, in so fair a land as france, and favoured by her king, you may not be as happy as in that little seabound spot called england." before proceeding farther, however, it may be necessary to say a few words concerning the events which had occurred since the knight's courage and skill had saved the king's life from shoenvelt and his adventurers. one may well imagine what anxiety had reigned amongst the monarch's followers in the forest near lillers, when they found that francis, after having separated from their party, did not rejoin them on the track appointed for the hunt. such occurrences, however, having several times happened before, and the king having always returned in safety, they concluded that he and count william of firstenberg must have taken the other road to aire, and that they would find him there on their arrival. when they did reach that town, their inquiries immediately discovered that the king was missing. the news spread rapidly to the whole court, and soon reached the ears of his mother the duchess of angoulãªme, who became almost frantic on hearing it, giving him up for lost from that moment, as she had good reasons to believe that count william entertained designs against his life. her active spirit it was that first discovered the treachery of the burgundian, which she had instantly communicated to the king; but the generous mind of francis refused all credit to the news, and he continued his confidence towards firstenberg without the slightest alteration, till at length more certain proofs of his designs were obtained, which induced the monarch to act with that fearless magnanimity which we have seen him display towards his treacherous favourite in the forest of lillers. immediately that the king's absence was known, bands of horsemen were sent out in various directions to obtain news of him, but in vain. convinced, by the account of the hunters, that he had quitted the wood, and that if he were therein they could not find him by night, they searched in every other place than that in which they were likely to be successful; so that, the whole night that francis spent sleeping tranquilly in the charbonier's cottage, his guards were out towards pernã¨s, fruges, and st. pol, searching for him without success. when morning came, however, fresh parties were sent off to examine every part of the forest, and it was one of these that came up to the spot not long after the defeat of shoenvelt and his companions. the joy occasioned by the king's safe return was not a little heightened by the danger he had undergone; and every one to whom his life was precious contended who should do most honour to his gallant deliverer. francis himself knew not what recompense to offer sir osborne for the signal service he had rendered him; and, with the delicacy of a truly generous mind, he exacted from him a particular account of his whole life, that he might adapt the gift or honour he wished to confer exactly to the situation of the knight. darnley understood the motive of the noble-hearted monarch, and told him all without reserve; and francis, now furnished with the best means of showing his gratitude, resolved not to lose the opportunity. thus, for the few days that preceded the meeting between guisnes and ardres, the king highly distinguished the knight, made him many magnificent presents, called a chapter of the order of st. michael, and had him installed in form; but knowing the jealous nature of his own nobles, he offered him no employment in his service; and even when the constable de bourbon, who knew and appreciated darnley's military talents, proposed to the king to give him a company of men-at-arms, as a reward for the great service he had rendered to the whole nation, francis negatived it at once, saying openly that the lord darnley was but a visiter at the court of france. having premised thus much, we will now take up the travellers again at the moment of their entering into the wood near ardres, through which they passed, conversing over the various circumstances of sir osborne's situation. "it is strange!" said francis, as the knight repeated the manner of his dismissal from the english court; "i do not comprehend it. it is impossible that your going there under a feigned name, to win king henry's favour, should be construed as a crime and made matter of such strong accusation against you." after musing for a moment, he proceeded: "do not think i would imply, good knight, that you could be really guilty of any higher offence against your king; but be you sure something has been laid to your charge more than you imagine." "on my honour as a knight," replied darnley, "i have accused myself to your highness of the worst crimes upon my conscience, as if your grace were my confessor; though i will own that it appears to me also most strange and inexplicable. i have heard, indeed, that the lord cardinal never suffers any one to be too near the king's regard; and that if he sees any especial favour shown, he is sure to find some accusation against his object; but i can hardly believe that so great a man would debase himself to be a false accuser." "i know not! i know not!" answered francis, quickly: "there is no one so jealous as a favourite; and what will not jealousy do? my diadem against a spanish crown,"[18] he continued laughingly, referring to his contention with the emperor charles, "henry of england knows you under no other name than that of sir osborne maurice. however, i will be polite, and know the whole before i speak. do you put your honour in my hands? and will you abide by what i shall undertake for you?" "most willingly, your highness," replied the knight: "whatever you say for me, that will i maintain, on horseback or on foot, with sword or lance, as long as my life do hold." thus conversing they rode on, following the windings of the woody lane in which they were, till the forest, skirting on to the north-west of ardres, opened out upon the plain of guisnes. as soon as the castle and town were in sight, the french monarch put his horse into a quick pace, saying with a smile to sir osborne, "your prudent wolsey and my good brother henry will be much surprised to see me in their castle alone, after all their grave precautions. by heaven! did kingly dignity imply suspicion of all the world like theirs, i would throw away my crown and feed my mother's sheep." the night after the first meeting of the kings, henry had retired to sleep in the fortress, rather than in his palace without the walls; part of which, comprising his private apartments, had been found insecure, from the hurry in which it had been built. of this circumstance the king of france had been informed by some of his court, who had passed their evening at guisnes, and it was therefore to the castle that he turned his rein. passing amidst the tents, in most of which somnus still held undisturbed dominion, francis and sir osborne galloped up to the drawbridge, on which an early party of the guard were sunning themselves in the morning light; some looking idly over into the moat, some gazing with half-closed eyes towards the sky; some playing at an antique and classical game with mutton-bones, while their captain stood by the portcullis, rubbing his hands and enjoying the sweetness of the morning. no sooner did francis perceive them, than, drawing his sword, he galloped in amongst them, crying, "_rendez vous, messieurs! rendez vous! la place est ã  moi!_" at first, the archers scattered back confused, and some had their hands on their short swords; but several, who had seen the king the day before, almost instantly recognised him, and the cry became general of "the king of france! the king of france!" in the mean time, francis rode up to the captain, and, putting his sword's point to the officer's throat, "yield!" cried he, "rescue or no rescue, or you are a dead man!" "i yield, i yield, my lord!" cried the captain, entering into the king's humour, and bending his knee. "rescue or no rescue, i yield myself your grace's prisoner." "a castle soon taken!" cried francis, turning to sir osborne. "now," added he to the officer, "since the place is mine, lead me to the chamber of my good brother the king of england." "his grace is at present asleep," replied the captain, hesitating. "if your highness will repose yourself in the great hall, he shall be informed instantly of your presence." "no, no," cried the king; "show me his chamber. nothing will serve me but that i will sound his _rã©veillez_ myself. come, darnley!" and springing from his horse he followed the officer, who, now forced to obey, led him into the castle, and up the grand staircase towards the king's bed-chamber. all was silence as they went. henry and the whole court had revelled late the night before, so that few even of the serving-men had thought fit to quit their truckle-beds so early in the morning. a single page, however, was to be seen as they entered a long corridor, which took up one whole side of the large square tower in the centre of the castle. he was standing before a door at the farther extremity, and to him the captain pointed. "the king's ante-room, your highness, is where you see that page," said he; "and let me beg your gracious forgiveness if i leave you here, for indeed i dare conduct you no farther." "go, go!" cried the king, good-humouredly. "i will find it now myself. you, darnley, stay here. i doubt not soon to send for you with good news." with his sword still drawn in his hand, the king now advanced to the page, who, seeing a stranger come forward with so menacing an air, might have entertained some fears, had he not beheld the captain of the guard conduct him thither; not at all knowing the person of francis, however, as he had not been present at the meeting of the kings, he closed the door of the ante-room, which had before been open behind him, and placing himself in the way, prepared to oppose the entrance of any one. "which is the chamber of my brother the king of england?" demanded francis, as he came up; but the page, not understanding a word of french, only shook his head, keeping his back, at the same time, firmly against the door, thinking that it was some wild french lord, who knew not what was due to royalty. "it is the king of france," said sir osborne, advancing, as he beheld the page's embarrassment. "let him pass. it is the king of france." the page stared and hesitated; but francis, taking him by the shoulder, twisted him round as he had been a child, and, opening the door, passed in. the page immediately closed it again, putting himself before the knight, whose face he now remembered. "i must not let your worship in," said he, thinking sir osborne wished to follow the monarch. "the king of france, of course, i dared not stop, but it is as much as my life is worth to suffer any one else to pass." "i seek not to enter, good master snell," said the knight. "unless his grace sends for me, i shall not intrude myself on his royal presence." this said, with busy thoughts he began to walk up and down the gallery; and the page, presently after, retiring into the ante-chamber, left him for the time to his own contemplations. much subject had the knight for thought, though it was of that nature that profiteth not; for little signified it, as it seemed, how much soever he took counsel with himself: his fate was in the hands of others, and beyond his power to influence or determine. he could not help musing, however, over all the turns which his fortune had taken within the brief space of the last three months; and strangely mingled were his sensations, on finding himself, at the end of the review, standing there, once more within the precincts of the court of england, from which he had been driven hardly fifteen days before. a thousand collateral ideas also presented themselves to his mind, suggesting a thousand doubts and fears for those he loved best. what had become of constance de grey? he asked himself; and though never had her image for one moment left his mind in his wanderings, though it had been his companion in the journey, his solace in his waking hours, his dream by night, and his object in every thought and hope, still there was something in being amongst those objects, and near those beings, amidst whom he had been accustomed to see her, that rendered his anxiety about her more impatient; and he would have given no small sum for the presence of one of the newsmongers of the court: those empty idle beings always to be found near the presence of princes, who, like scavengers' carts, make themselves the common receptacles for all the drift of the palace, and, hurrying on from one to another, at once receive and spatter forth the rakings of all kennels as they go along. time, ever long to those who wait, seemed doubly long to sir osborne, to whom so much was in suspense; and so little bustle and activity did there seem in the castle, that he began to fancy its denizens must have had their eyes touched with hermes' wand to make them sleep so soundly. he walked up and down the corridor, he gazed out of the window into the court-yard, he listened for every opening door. but it was all in vain; no one came. could francis have forgotten him? he asked himself, at last; and then he thought how quickly from the light memories of the great pass away the sorrows or the welfare of their fellow-creatures; how hardly they can remember, and how happily they can forget. but no, he would not believe it. if ever man was renowned for that best and rarest quality of a great man, a heedful remembrance of those who served him, a thoughtful care of those he esteemed, it was francis of france; and darnley would not believe that in his case he had forgotten. still no one came. though the various noises and the bustle he began to hear in distant parts of the building announced that the world was more awake than when he arrived, yet the corridor in which he was seemed more deserted than ever. at first it was nearly vacant, a few listless soldiers being its only occupants; but soon there was opened on the other side a door which communicated with a sort of barrack, situated near the chapel in the inner ballium, and from this proceeded a troop of soldiers and officers at arms, with one or two persons mingled amongst them that sir osborne imagined to be prisoners. the height at which he was placed above them prevented his perceiving whether this was certainly the case, or seeing their faces; for all that he could discern was the foreshortened figures of the soldiers and sergeants-at-arms, distinguished from the others by their official habiliments; and passing along, surrounded by the rest, some persons in darker attire, round whom the guard appeared to keep with vigilant care. an instant brought them to the archway just beneath the spot where he stood, and they were then lost to his sight. the castle clock struck seven; but so slowly did the hammer fall upon the bell, he thought it would never have done. he now heard a sound of much speaking not far off, and thought that surely it was francis taking leave of the king of england; but suddenly it ceased, and all was again silence. taking patience to his aid, he recommenced his perambulations; and for another quarter of an hour walked up and down the corridor, hearing still, as he passed the door of the anteroom, a low and indistinct murmuring, which might be either the page speaking in a subdued tone to some person therein, or some other voices conversing much more loudly in the chamber beyond. the knight's feelings were wound up to the highest pitch of impatience, when suddenly a deep groan, and then a heavy fall, met his ear. he paused, listened, and could plainly distinguish a door within open, and various voices speaking quick and high, some in french, some in english; but among them was to be heard distinctly the tongue of henry and that of francis, though what they said was not sufficiently audible to be comprehended. his curiosity, as may be conceived, was not a little excited; but, satisfied of the safety of the two kings, and fearful of being suspected of eaves-dropping if any one came forth, he once more crossed his arms upon his breast, and began pacing backwards and forwards as before. a few minutes more elapsed in silence; but at length, when he was at the farther extremity of the corridor, he heard the door of the ante-chamber open, and, turning round, perceived a sergeant-at-arms, followed by four halberdiers, come forth from within and advance towards him. sir osborne turned and met them, when the guard drew up across the passage, and the officer stepped forward. "sir osborne darnley!" said he, "commonly called lord darnley, i arrest you for high treason, in the name of henry the eighth, king of england and france and lord of ireland, and charge you to surrender to his warrant." the astonishment of sir osborne may more easily be conceived than described. the first appearance of the halberdiers had struck him as strange, and their drawing up across his path might have been some warning, but still he was not at all prepared. trusting to the protection of the french king, who had virtually rendered himself responsible for his safety, he had never dreamed of danger; and for a moment or two he stood in silent surprise, till the sergeant demanded, "do you surrender, my lord?" "of course, of course!" replied the knight, "though i will own that this has fallen upon me unexpectedly. pr'ythee, good sergeant, if thou knowest, tell me how this has come about, for to me it is inexplicable." "in truth, my lord, i know nothing," replied the officer, "though i believe that the whole arose from something that happened this morning in his grace's bed-chamber. i was sent for by the back staircase, and received orders to attach you here. it is an unpleasant duty, my lord, but one which we are too often called to perform: i can, therefore, but beg your forgiveness, and say that you must come with me." sir osborne followed in silence, meditating more than ever over his strange fate. his hopes had again been buoyed up, again to be cast down in a more cruel manner than before. there was not now a shade of doubt left: whatever he was accused of was aimed at him under his real name; and it was evident, from the unremitted persecution which he suffered, that wolsey, or whosoever it was that thus pursued him, was resolved on accomplishing his destruction by all or any means. that wolsey was the originator of the whole he could not doubt; and the virulence of his jealousy was too well known to hope that justice or clemency would be shown where his enmity had been incurred. "however," thought the knight, "at last i can but die: i have fronted death a hundred times in the battle-field, and i will not shrink from him now." but to die as a traitor was bitter, he who had never been aught but loyal and true; yet still his conscious innocence, he thought, would rob the block and axe of their worst horror; the proud knowledge that he had acted well in every relationship of life: to his king, to his country, to those he loved. then came the thought of constance de grey, in all her summer beauty, and all her gentle loveliness, and all her sweet smiles: was he never to see them again? to be cut off from all those kind sympathies he had felt, to go down into the cold dark grave where they could reach him never more--it was too much. while these thoughts were busy in his bosom, the sergeant-at-arms led him down the great staircase, and across the hall on the ground-floor of the castle; then, opening a door to the right, he entered into a long narrow passage, but scantily lighted, that terminated in another spiral staircase, down which one of the soldiers, who had procured a lamp in the hall, proceeded first to light them. sir osborne followed in silence, though his heart somewhat burned at the idea of being committed to a dungeon. arrived at the bottom of the steps, several doors presented themselves; and, seeing the sergeant examining a large bunch of keys, with whose various marks he did not seem very well acquainted, the knight could not refrain from demanding, if it were by the king's command that he was about to give him such a lodging. "no, my lord," replied the sergeant, "the king did not direct me to place you in a dungeon; but i must secure your lordship's person till such time as the horses are ready to convey you to calais, and every other place in the castle but that where i am going to put you is full. "well, sir," replied the knight, "only beware of what treatment you do show me, lest you may be sorry for it hereafter." "indeed, my lord," answered the man, with a good-humoured smile, rarely met with on the faces of his brethren, "i should be very sorry to make your lordship any way uncomfortable; and, if you will give me your word of honour, as a knight, neither to escape nor to make any attempt to escape while you are there, i will lock you up in the chapel of the new palace, which is empty enough, god knows, and for half-an-hour you will be as well there as anywhere else better than in a dungeon certainly." the knight readily gave his promise, and the sergeant, after examining the keys again, without better success than before, began to try them, one after another, upon a small iron door in the wall, saying that they could get out that way to the chapel. one of them at length fitted the lock, and two enormous bolts and an iron bar being removed, the door was swung back, giving egress from the body of the fortress into a long lightsome passage, where the full sun shone through a long row of windows on each side; while the gilded pillars and the enamelled ornaments round the windows, the rich arras hangings between them, and the fine carpets spread over the floor, formed a strange and magical contrast with the place they had just quitted, with its rough, damp stone walls, its dark and gloomy passages, and the massy rudeness of all its features. "this is the passage made for his grace, between the palace and the castle," said the sergeant-at-arms. "let us haste on, my lord, for fear he should chance to come along it." proceeding onwards, catching every now and then a glance at the gay scene of tents without, as they passed the different windows, the officer conducted his prisoner to the end of the passage, where they found a door on either hand; and, opening that to the left, he ushered the knight into the beautiful little building that had been constructed as a temporary chapel for the court, while inhabiting the palace before guisnes. "i know, my lord," said the officer, "that i may trust to your knightly word and promise not to make any attempt to escape; for i must not even leave a guard at the door, lest his grace the king should pass, and find that i have put you here, which might move his anger. i therefore leave you for a while, reposing full confidence in your honour, and will take care to have the horses prepared, and be back again before the hour of mass." thus saying, he ascertained that the other door was fastened, and left sir osborne in the chapel, taking heed, notwithstanding his professions of reliance, to turn the key upon him as he went out. it matters little whether it be a palace or a dungeon wherein he passes the few last hours of life, to the prisoner condemned to die, unless he possesses one of those happy spirits that can, by the aid of external objects, abstract their thoughts from all that is painful in their fate. if he do, indeed, the things around may give him some relief. so, however, could not darnley; and in point of any mental ease, he might just as well have been in the lowest dungeon of the castle as in the splendid oratory where he now was. yet feeling how fruitless was the contemplation of his situation, how little but pain he could derive from thought, and how unnerving to all his energies was the memory of constance de grey, under the unhappy circumstances of the present, he strove not to think; and gazed around him to divert his mind from his wayward fortunes, by occupying it with the glittering things around. indeed, as far as splendour went, that chapel might have vied with anything that ever was devised. in length it was about fifty feet; and, though built of wood, its architecture was in that style which we are accustomed to call gothic. nothing, however, of the mere walls appeared, for from the roof to the ground it was hung with cloth of gold, over which fell various festoons of silk, breaking the straight lines of the hangings. to the right and left, sir osborne remarked two magnificent closets, appropriated, as he supposed, to the use of the king and queen, where the same costly stuff that lined the rest of the building was further enriched by a thick embroidery of precious stones; each also had its particular altar, loaded, besides the pix, the crucifix, and the candlesticks, with twelve large images of gold, and a crowd of other ornaments. sir osborne advanced, and fixed his eyes upon all the splendid things that were there called in to give pomp and majesty to the worship of the most high; but he felt more strongly than ever, at that moment, how it was all in vain; and that the small, calm tabernacle of the heart is that wherein man may offer up the fittest prayer to his maker. kneeling, however, on the step of the altar, he addressed his petitions to heaven. he would not pray to be delivered from danger, for that he thought cowardly; but he prayed that god would establish his innocence and his honour; that god would protect and bless those that he loved; and, if it were the almighty's will he should fall before his enemies, that god would be a support to his father and a shield to constance de grey. then rising from his knee, darnley found that his heart was lightened, and that he could look upon his future fate with far more calmness than before. at that moment the sound of trumpets and clarions met his ear from a distance: gradually it swelled nearer and more near, with gay and martial tones, and approached close to where he was, while shouts and acclamations, and loud and laughing voices, mingled with the music, strangely at discord with all that was passing in his heart. presently it grew fainter, and then ceased, though still he thought he could hear the roar of the distant multitude, and now and then a shout; but in a few minutes these also ceased, and, crossing his arms upon his breast, he waited till the sergeant-at-arms should come to convey him to calais, to prison, perhaps ultimately to death. in a few minutes some distant steps were heard; they came nearer, nearer still; the key was turned in the lock, and the door opened. chapter xl. with shame and sorrow filled: shame for his folly; sorrow out of time for plotting an unprofitable crime.--dryden. we must once more take our readers back, if it be but for the space of a couple of hours, and introduce them into the bedchamber of a king: a place, we believe, as yet sacred from the sacrilegious foot of any novelist. in the castle of guisnes, then, and in the sleeping-room of henry the eighth, king of england, stood, exactly opposite the window, a large square bed, covered with a rich coverlet of arras, which, hanging down on each side, swept the floor with its golden fringe. high overhead, attached to the wall, was a broad and curiously-wrought canopy, whereon the laborious needle of some british penelope had traced, with threads of gold, the rare and curious history of that famous knight, alexander the great, who was there represented with lance in rest, dressed in a suit of almaine rivet armour, overthrowing king darius; who, for his part, being in a mighty fright, was whacking on his clumsy elephant with his sceptre, while the son of philip, with more effect, appeared pricking him up under the ribs with the point of his spear. in one corner of the chamber, ranged in fair and goodly order, were to be seen several golden lavers and ewers, together with fine diapers and other implements for washing; while hard by was an open closet filled with linen and plate of various kinds, with several venice glasses, a mirror, and a bottle of scented waters. in addition to these pieces of furniture appeared four wooden settles of carved oak, which, with two large rich chairs of ivory and gold, made up, at that day, the furniture of a king's bed-chamber. the square lattice window was half-open, letting in the sweet breath of the summer morning upon henry himself, who, with his head half-covered with a black velvet nightcap, embroidered with gold, still lay in bed, supporting himself on his elbow, and listening to a long detail of grievances poured forth from the rotund mouth of honest jekin groby, who, by the king's command, encumbered with his weighty bulk one of the ivory chairs by the royal bedside. somewhat proud of having had a lord for the companion of his perils, the worthy clothier enlarged mightily upon the seizure of himself and lord darnley by sir payan wileton, seasoning his discourse pretty thickly with "_my lord did_," and "_my lord said_," but omitting altogether to mention him by the name of sir osborne, thinking it would be a degradation to his high companionship so to do; though, had he done so but once, it would have saved many of the misfortunes that afterwards befel. henry heard him calmly, till he related the threats which sir payan held out to his prisoner, in that interview of which jekin had been an unperceived witness; then starting up, "mother of god!" cried the king, "what has become of the young gallant? where is he? ha, man? now, heaven defend us! the base traitor has not murdered him! ha?" "lord 'a mercy! you've kicked all the clothes off your grace's worship," cried jekin: "let me kiver you up! you'll catch a malplexy, you will!" "god's life! answer me, man!" cried henry. "what has become of the young lord, osborne darnley?--ha?" "bless your grace! that's just what i cannot tell you," replied jekin; "for i never saw him after we got out." "send for the traitor! have him brought instantly!" exclaimed the king. "see who knocks! let no one in! who dares knock so loud at my chamber-door?" proceeding round the king's bed, jekin opened the door, against which some one had been thumping with very little ceremony; but in a moment the valiant clothier started back, exclaiming, "lord 'a mercy! it's a great man with a drawn sword!" "a drawn sword!" cried henry, starting up, and snatching his own weapon, which lay beside him. but at that moment francis ran in, and, holding his blade over the king, commanded him to surrender. "i yield! i yield!" exclaimed henry, delighted with the jest. "now, by my life, my good brother of france, thou has shown me the best turn ever prince showed another. i yield me your prisoner; and, as sign of my faith, i beg you to accept this jewel." so saying, he took from his pillow, where it had been laid the night before, a rich bracelet of emeralds, and clasped it on the french king's arm. "i receive it willingly," answered francis; "but for my love and amity, and also as my prisoner, you must wear this chain;" and, unclasping a jewelled collar from his neck, he laid it down beside the english monarch. many were the civilities and reciprocations of friendly speeches that now ensued; and henry, about to rise, would fain have called an attendant to assist him, but francis took the office on himself. "come, i will be your valet for this morning," said he; "no one but i shall give you your shirt; for i have come over alone to beg some boons of you." "they are granted from this moment," replied henry. "but do you say you came alone? do you mean unattended?" "with but one faithful friend," answered the french king; "one who not a week ago saved my life by the valour of his arm. 'tis the best knight that ever charged a lance, and the noblest heart: he is your subject, too." "mine!" cried henry, with some surprise. "how is he called? what is his name? say, france, and we will love him for his service to you." "first, hear how he did serve me," replied francis; and, while the english monarch threaded the intricate mazes of the toilet, he narrated the whole of his adventure with shoenvelt, which not a little interested henry, the knight-errantry of whose disposition took fire at the vivid recital of the french king, and almost made him fancy himself on the spot. "a gallant knight!" cried he at length, as the king of france detailed the exploits of sir osborne; "a most gallant knight, on my life! but say, my brother, what is his name? 'slife, man! let us hear it. i long to know him." "his name," replied francis, with an indifferent tone, but at the same time fixing his eyes on henry's face, to see what effect his answer would produce; "his name is sir osborne maurice." a cloud came over the countenance of the english king. "ha!" said he, thoughtfully, jealous perhaps in some degree that the splendid chivalrous qualities of the young knight should be transferred to the court of france. "it is like him. it is very like him. for courage and for feats of arms, i, who have seen many good knights, have rarely seen his equal. pity it is that he should be a traitor." "nay, nay, my good brother of england," answered francis; "i will avouch him no traitor, but of unimpeachable loyalty. all i regret is, that his love for your noble person, and for the court of england, should make him wish to quit me. but to the point. my first boon regards him. he seeks not to return to your royal favour with honour stained and faith doubtful, but he claims your gracious permission to defy his enemies, and to prove their falsehood with his arm. if they be men, let them meet him in fair field; if they be women or churchmen, lame, or in any way incompetent according to the law of arms, let them have a champion, the best in france or england. to regain your favour and to prove his innocence, he will defy them be they who they may; and here at your feet i lay down his gage of battle, so confident in his faith and worth, that i myself will be his godfather in the fight. he waits here in the corridor to know your royal pleasure." henry thought for a moment. he was not at all willing that the court of francis, already renowned for its chivalry, should possess still another knight of so much prowess and skill as he could not but admit in sir osborne. yet the accusations that had been laid against him, and which nobody who considers them--the letter of the duke of buckingham, and the evidence of wilson the bailiff--can deny were plausible, still rankled in the king's mind, notwithstanding the partial explanation which lady katrine bulmer had afforded respecting the knight's influence with the rochester rioters. remembering, however, that the whole or greater part of the information which wolsey had laid before him had been obtained, either directly or indirectly, from sir payan wileton, he at length replied, "by my faith, i know not what to say: it is not wise to take the sword from the hand of the law, and trust to private valour to maintain public justice, more than we can avoid. but you, my royal brother, shall in the present case decide. the accusations against this sir osborne maurice are many and heavy, but principally resting on the testimonies produced by a certain wealthy and powerful knight, one sir payan wileton, who, though in other respects most assuredly a base and disloyal villain, can have no enmity against sir osborne, and no interest in seeking his ruin. last night, by my order, this sir payan was brought hither from calais, on the accusations of that good fool (pointing to jekin groby). you comprehend enough of our hard english tongue to hear him examined yourself, and thus you shall judge. if you find that there is cause to suspect sir payan and his witnesses, though it be but in having given the slightest colour of falsehood to their testimony, let sir osborne's arm decide his quarrel against the other knight; but if their evidence be clear and indubitable, you shall yield him to be judged by the english law. what say you? is it not just?" the king of france at once agreed to the proposal, and henry turned to jekin, who had stood by, listening with his mouth open, wonderfully edified at hearing the two kings converse, though he understood not a word of the language in which they spoke. "fly to the page, man!" cried the king; "tell him to bid those who have sir payan wileton in custody bring him hither instantly by the back-staircase; but first send to the reverend lord cardinal, requiring his counsel in the king's chamber. haste! dally not, i say; i would have them here directly." jekin hurried to obey; and after he had delivered the order, returned to the king's chamber, where henry, while he completed the adjustment of his apparel, related to francis the nature of the accusation against sir osborne, and the proofs that had been adduced of it. the king of france, however, with a mind less susceptible of suspicion, would not believe a word of it, maintaining that the witnesses were suborned and that the letter was a forgery; and contended it would most certainly appear that sir payan had some deep interest in the ruin of the knight. the sound of many steps in the ante-chamber soon announced that some one had arrived. "quick!" cried henry to jekin groby; "get behind the arras, good jekin. after we have despatched this first business, i would ask the traitor some questions before he sees thee. ensconce thee, man! ensconce thee quick!" at the king's command, poor jekin lifted up the corner of the arras by the side of the bed, and hid himself behind; but though a considerable space existed between the hangings and the wall, the worthy clothier having, as we have hinted, several very protuberant contours in his person, his figure was somewhat discernible still, swelling out the stomach of king solomon and the hip of the queen of sheba, who were represented in the tapestry as if one was crooked and the other had the dropsy. scarcely was he concealed when the page threw open the door, and cardinal wolsey entered in haste, somewhat surprised at being called to the king's chamber at so early an hour; but the sight of the french king sufficiently explained the summons, and he advanced, bending low with a proud affectation of humility. "god bless and shield your graces both!" said he. "i feared some evil by this early call; but now that i find the occasion was one of joy, i do not regret the haste that apprehension gave me." "still we have business, my good wolsey," replied henry, "and of some moment. my brother of france here espouses much the cause of the sir osborne maurice who lately sojourned at the court, and won the good-will of all, both by his feats of arms and his high-born and noble demeanour; who, on the accusations given against him to you, lord cardinal, by sir payan wileton, was banished from the court; nay, judged worthy of attachment for treason." the king, in addressing wolsey, instead of speaking in french, which had been the language used between him and francis, had returned to his native tongue; and good jekin groby, hearing what passed concerning sir osborne maurice, was seized with an intolerable desire to have his say too. "lord 'a mercy!" cried he, popping his head from behind the tapestry, "your grace's worship don't know----" "silence!" cried henry, in a voice that made poor jekin shrink into nothing: "said i not to stay there--ha?" the worthy clothier drew back his head behind the arras, like a frightened tortoise retracting its noddle within the shelter of its shell; and henry proceeded to explain to wolsey, in french, what had passed between himself and francis. the cardinal was, at that moment, striving hard for the king of france's favour; nor was his resentment towards sir payan at all abated, though the arrangements of the first meeting between the kings had hitherto delayed its effects. thus all at first seemed favourable to sir osborne, and the minister himself began to soften the evidence against him, when sir payan, escorted by a party of archers and a sergeant-at-arms, was conducted into the king's chamber. the guard drew up across the door of the anteroom; and the knight, with a pale but determined countenance, and a firm heavy step, advanced into the centre of the room, and made his obeisance to the kings. henry, now dressed, drew forward one of the ivory chairs for francis, and the sergeant hastened to place the other by its side for the british monarch; when, both being seated, with wolsey by their side, the whole group would have formed as strange but powerful a picture as ever employed the pencil of an artist. the two magnificent monarchs in the pride of their youth and greatness, somewhat shadowed by the eastern wall of the room; the grand and dignified form of the cardinal, with his countenance full of thought and mind; the stern, determined aspect of sir payan, his whole figure possessing that sort of rigidity indicative of a violent and continued mental effort, with the full light streaming harshly through the open casement upon his pale cheek and haggard eye, and passing on to the king's bed, and the dressing-robe he had cast off upon it, showing the strange scene in which henry's impetuosity had caused such a conclave to be held: these objects formed the foreground; while the sergeant-at-arms standing behind the prisoner, and the guard drawn up across the doorway, completed the picture; till, gliding in between the arches, the strange figure of sir cesar the astrologer, with his cheeks sunken and livid, and his eye lighted up by a kind of wild maniacal fire, entered the room, and, taking a place close on the right hand of henry, added a new and curious feature to the already extraordinary scene. "sir payan wileton," said henry, "many and grievous are the crimes laid to your charge, and of which your own conscience must accuse you as loudly as the living voices of your fellow-subjects; at least, so by the evidence brought forward against you, it appears to us at this moment. most of these charges we shall leave to be investigated by the common course of law; but there are some points touching which, as they involve our own personal conduct and direction, we shall question you ourself: to which questions we charge you, on your allegiance, to answer truly and without concealment." "to your grace's questions," replied sir payan, boldly, "i will answer for your pleasure, though i recognise here no established court of law; but first, i will say that the crimes charged against me ought to be heavier than i, in my innocence believe them, to justify the rigour with which i have been treated." an ominous frown gathered on the king's brow. "ha!" cried he, forgetting the calm dignity with which he had at first addressed the knight. "no established court of law! thou sayest well: we have not the power to question thee! ha! who then is the king? who is the head of all magistrates? who holds in his hand the power of all the law? by our crown! we have a mind to assemble such a court of law as within this half-hour shall have thy head struck off upon the green!" sir payan was silent, and wolsey replied to the latter part of what he had said with somewhat more calmness than henry had done to the former. "you have been treated, sir," said he, "with not more rigour than you merited; nor with more than is justified by the usual current of the law. it is on affidavit before me, as chancellor of this kingdom, that you both instigated and aided the lady constance de grey, a ward of court, to fly from the protection and government of the law; and, therefore, attachment issued against your person, and you stand committed for contempt. you had better, sir, sue for grace and pardon than aggravate your offence by such unbecoming demeanour." "thou hast said well and wisely, my good wolsey," joined in the king, whose heat had somewhat subsided. "standing thus reproved, sir payan wileton, answer touching the charges you have brought against one sir osborne maurice; and if you speak truly, to our satisfaction, you shall have favour and lenity at our hands. say, sir, do you still hold to that accusation?" "all i have to reply to your grace," answered the knight, resolved, even if he fell himself, to work out his hatred against sir osborne, with that vindictive rancour that the injurer always feels towards the injured; "all that i have to reply is, that what i said was true; and that if i had stated all that i suspected, as well as what i knew, i should have made his treason look much blacker than it does even now." "do you understand, france?" demanded henry, turning to francis: "shall i translate his answers, to show you his true meaning?" the king of france, however, signified that he comprehended perfectly; and sir payan, after a moment's thought, proceeded. "i should suppose your grace could have no doubt left upon that traitor's guilt; for the charge against him rests, not on my testimony, but upon the witness of various indifferent persons, and upon papers in the handwriting of his friends and abettors." "villain!" muttered sir cesar, between his teeth; "hypocritical, snake-like villain!" both the king and sir payan heard him; but henry merely raised his hand, as if commanding silence, while the eyes of the traitorous knight flashed a momentary fire, as they met the glance of the old man, and he proceeded. "i had no interest, your grace, in disclosing the plot i did; though, had i done wisely, i would have held my peace, for it will make many my enemies, even many more than i dreamed of then. i have since discovered that i then only knew one half of those that are implicated. i know them all now," he continued, fixing his eye on sir cesar; "but as i find what reward follows honesty, i shall bury the whole within my own breast." "on these points, sir, we will leave our law to deal with you," replied henry: "there are punishments for those that conceal treason; and, by my halidame, no favour shall you find in us, unless you make a free and full confession! then our grace may touch you, but not else. but to the present question, my bold sir. did you ever see sir osborne maurice before the day that he was arrested by your order, on the charge of having excited the cornishmen to revolt? and, before god, we enjoin you--say, are you excited against him by feelings of interest, hatred, or revenge?" "on my life," replied sir payan, boldly, "i never saw him but on that one day; and as i hope for salvation in heaven"--and here he made a hypocritical grimace of piety--"i have no one reason, but pure honesty, to accuse him of these crimes." a low groan burst from behind the tapestry at this reply, and henry gave an angry glance towards the worthy clothier's place of concealment; but francis, calling back his attention, begged him to ask the knight in english whether he had ever known sir osborne maurice by any other name, or in any other character. sir cesar's eyes sparkled, and sir payan's cheek turned pale, as henry put the question; but he boldly replied, "never, so help me heaven! i never saw him, or heard of him, or knew him, by any other name than osborne maurice." "oh, you villanous great liar! oh, you hypocritical thief!" shouted jekin groby, darting out from behind the tapestry, unable to contain himself any longer. "i don't care, i don't care a groat for any one; but i won't hear you tell his grace's worship such a string of lies, all as fat and as well tacked together as christmas sausages. lord 'a mercy! i'll tell your graces, both of you, how it was; for you don't know, that's clear. this here sir osborne maurice, that you are asking about, is neither more nor less than that lord darnley that i was telling your grace of this morning. lord! now, didn't i hear him tell that sweet young lady, mistress constance de grey, all about it; how he could not bear to live any longer abroad in these foreign parts, and how he had come back under the name of sir osborne maurice, all for to get your grace's love as an adventurous knight? and then didn't that sir payan--yes, you great thief! you did, for i heard you--didn't he come and crow over him, and say that now he had got him in his power? and then didn't he offer to let him go if he would sign some papers? and then, when he would not, didn't he swear a great oath that he would murther him, saying, 'he would make his tenure good by the extinction of the race of darnley?' you did, you great rogue! you know you did! and, lord 'a mercy! to think of your going about to tell his grace such lies! your own king, too, who should never hear anything but the truth! god forgive you, for you're a great sinner, and the devils will never keep company with you when you go to purgatory, but will kick you out into the other place, which is worse still, folks say. and now, i humbly beg your grace's pardon, and will go back again, if you like, behind the hangings; but i couldn't abear to hear him cheat you like that." the sudden appearance of jekin groby, and the light he cast upon the subject, threw the whole party into momentary confusion. sir payan's resolution abandoned him; his knees shook, and his very lips grew pale. sir cesar gazed upon him with triumphant eyes, exclaiming, "die, die! what hast thou left but to die?" at the same time wolsey questioned jekin groby, who told the same straightforward tale; and henry explained the whole to francis, whose comprehension of the english tongue did not quite comprise the jargon of the worthy clothier. sir payan wileton, however, resolved to make one last despairing effort both to save himself and to ruin his enemies; for the diabolical spirit of revenge was as deeply implanted in his bosom as that of self-preservation. he thought then for a moment, glanced rapidly over his situation, and cast himself on his knee before the king. "great and noble monarch!" said he, in a slow, impressive voice, "i own my fault--i acknowledge my crime; but it is not such as you think it. hear me but out, and you yourself shall judge whether you will grant me mercy or show me rigour. i confess, then, that i had entered as deeply as others into the treasonable plot i have betrayed against your throne and life; nay, more--that i would never have divulged it, had i not found that the lord darnley had, under the name of sir osborne maurice, become the duke of buckingham's chief agent, and was to be rewarded by the restitution of chilham castle, for which some vague indemnity was proposed to me hereafter. on bearing it, i dissembled my resentment; and pretending to enter more heartily than ever into the scheme, i found that the ambitious duke reckoned as his chief hope, in case of war, on the skill and chivalry of this lord darnley, who promised by his hand to seat him on the throne. i learned, moreover, the names of all the conspirators, amongst whom that old man is one;" and he pointed to sir cesar, who gazed upon him with a smile of contempt and scorn, whose intensity had something of sublime. "thirsting for revenge," proceeded sir payan, "and with my heart full of rage, i commanded four of my servants to stop the private courier of the duke, when i knew he was charged with letters concerning this sir osborne maurice, and thus i obtained those papers i placed in the hands of my lord cardinal----" "but how shall we know they are not forgeries?" cried henry. "your honour, sir, is so gone, and your testimony so suspicious, that we may well suppose those letters cunning imitations of the good duke's hand. we have heard of such things--ay, marry have we." "herein, happily, your grace can satisfy yourself and prove my truth," replied sir payan; "send for the servants whose names i will give, examine them, put them to the torture if 'you will; and if you wring not from them that, on the twenty-ninth of march, they stopped, by my command, the courier of the duke of buckingham, and took from him his bag of letters, condemn me to the stake. but mark me, king of england! i kneel before you pleading for life; grant it to me, with but my own hereditary property, and buckingham, with all the many traitors that are now aiming at your life and striving for your crown, shall fall into your hand, and you shall have full evidence against them. i will instantly disclose all their names, and give you proof against their chief, that to-morrow you can reward his treason with the axe, nor fear to be called unjust. but if you refuse me your royal promise, sacredly given here before your brother king--to yield me life, and liberty, and lands, as soon as i have fulfilled my word--i will go to my death in silence, like the wolf, and never will you be able to prove anything against them; for that letter is nothing without my testimony to point it aright." "you are bold!" said henry; "you are very bold! but our subjects' good and the peace of our country may weigh with us. what think you, wolsey?" and for a moment or two he consulted in a low tone with the cardinal and the king of france. "i believe, my liege," said wolsey, whose hatred towards buckingham was of the blindest virulence; "i believe that your grace will never be able to prove his treasons on the duke without this man's help. perhaps you had better promise." francis bit his lip and was silent; but henry, turning to sir payan, replied, "the tranquillity of our realm and the happiness of our people overcome our hatred of your crimes; and therefore we promise, that if by your evidence treason worthy of death be proved upon edward duke of buckingham, you shall be free in life, in person, and in lands." "never!" cried the voice of sir cesar, mounting into a tone of thunder; "never!" and springing forward, he caught sir payan by the throat, grappled with him but for an instant, with a maniacal vigour, and drawing the small dagger he always carried, plunged it into the heart of the knight, with such force that one might have heard the blow of the hilt against his ribs. the whole was done in a moment, before any one was aware; and the red blood and the dark spirit rushing forth together, with a loud groan the traitor fell prone upon the ground; while sir cesar, without a moment's pause, turned the dagger against his own bosom, and drove it in up to the very haft. wolsey drew back in horror and affright. francis and henry started up, laying their hands upon their swords; jekin groby crept behind the arras; and the guards rushed in to seize the slayer; but sir cesar waved them back with the proud and dignified air of one who feels that earthly power has over him no further sway. "what fear ye?" said he, turning to the kings, and still holding the poniard tight against his bosom, as if to restrain the spirit from breathing forth through the wound. "there is no offence in the dead or in the dying. hear me, king of england! and hear the truth, which thou wouldst never have heard from that false caitiff. yet i have little time; the last moments of existence speed with fast wings towards another shore: give me a seat, for i am faint." they instantly placed for him one of the settles; and after gazing around for a moment with that sort of painful vacancy of eye that speaks how the brain reels, he made an effort, and went on, though less coherently. "all he has said is false. i am on the brink of another world, and i say it is false as the hell to which he is gone. osborne darnley, the good, the noble, and the true--the son of my best and oldest friend--knew of no plot, heard of no treason. he was in england but two days when he fell into that traitor's hands. he never saw buckingham but once. the osborne maurice named in the duke's letter is not he; one far less worthy." "who then is he?" cried the king impatiently. "give me to know him, if you would have me believe. never did i hear of such a name but in years long past, an abettor of perkyn warbeck. who then is this sir osborne maurice--ha? mother of god! name him!" "i--i--i--king of england!" cried the old man. "i, who, had he been guided by me, would have taught richard king of england, whom you style perkyn warbeck, to wrench the sceptre from the hand of your usurping father; i, whose child was murdered by that dead traitor, in cold blood, after the rout at taunton; i--i it was who predicted to edward bohun that his head should be highest in the realm of england: i it is who predict it still!" as he spoke the last words, the old man suddenly drew forth the blade of the dagger from his breast, upon which a full stream of blood instantly gushed forth and deluged the ground. still struggling with the departing spirit, he started on his feet--put his hand to his brow. "i come! i come!" cried he--reeled--shuddered--and fell dead beside his enemy. chapter xli. they all, as glad as birds of joyous prime, thence led her forth, about her dancing round.--spenser. the bustle, the confusion, the clamour, the questions, and the explanations that ensued, we shall leave the reader to imagine, satisfied that his vivid fancy will do far more justice to such a scene than our worn-out pen. when the bodies of sir payan wileton and his companion in death had been removed from the chamber of the king, and some sand strewed upon the ground to cover the gory memories that such deeds had left behind, order and tranquillity began to regain their dominion. "by my faith! a bloody morning's entertainment have we had," said francis. "but you are happy, my good brother of england, in having traitors that will thus despatch each other, and cheat the headsman of his due. however, from what i have gathered, osborne darnley, the knight of burgundy, can no longer seem a traitor in the eyes of any one." "no, truly, my gracious lord," replied wolsey, willing to pleasure the king of france. "he stands freed from all spot or blemish, and well deserves the kingly love of either noble monarch." "'slife! my good lord cardinal," cried henry, "speak for yourself alone! now, i say, on my soul, he is still a most deep and egregious traitor; not only, like that sir payan wileton, in having planned his treason, but in having executed it." "nay, how so?" cried francis, startled at this new charge. "in what is he a traitor now?" "in having aided francis king of france," replied henry, smiling, "to storm our castle of guisnes, and take his liege lord and sovereign prisoner." "oh! if that be the case," cried francis, "i give him up to your royal indignation; but still we have a boon to ask, which our gracious brother will not refuse." "name it! name it!" exclaimed henry. "by st. mary! it shall go to pay our ransom, whatever it be." "you have in your court," replied francis, "one lady constance de grey, who, though your born subject, is no less vassal to the crown of france; owing homage for the counties of boissy and the val de marne, assured to your late subject the lord de grey by charles the eighth when he gave him in marriage constance countess of boissy, as a reward for services rendered in italy----" "we see your object, oh most christian king!" cried henry, laughing. "we see your object! what a messenger of cupid are you! well, have your wish. we give her to your highness so to dispose of as you may think fit; but at the same time claim lord osborne darnley at your hands, to punish according to his demerits. what say you? ha!" "agreed, agreed!" replied the king of france. "he waits me, as i said, even now, in the corridor without, and doubtless thinks i sue for him in vain. those guards must have passed him in the corridor." "no, no; they came the other way," said henry. "ho! without there! sergeant-at-arms, take four stout halberdiers, and, going into the west corridor, attach me for high treason the lord osborne darnley, whom you will there find waiting. hist! hear me, man! use him with all gentleness (we do but jest with him), and make some fair excuse to shut him up in one of the chambers of the new palace, the nearer to the great hall the better. away! make speed! and above all return quick, and let me know where you have put him; but take heed, and let him not see that we mock him: haste! my good lord cardinal," he continued, turning to wolsey, "though it be an unmeet task for one of your grave dignity to bear a message to a lady, yet on this day of joy, when our good brother france comes here to greet us in brotherly love, even wise men shall forget their seriousness and be as gay as boys. hie then, good wolsey, to our lady queen. tell her to call all the fair flowers of england round about her in our great hall, to welcome francis of france, and that i will be there immediately upon your steps." the cardinal bowed low, and instantly obeyed; and henry proceeded in whispering consultation with francis till the return of the sergeant-at-arms; then turning to the worthy clothier, who, when he found all the killing and slaying was over, had come out from behind the arras to enjoy the air of royalty, "come, good jekin," cried henry, "now a task for thee. hark, man!" and he whispered something to honest groby, who instantly replied, "lord 'a mercy! yes, your grace! i know wilson goldsmith well; i'll go to him directly; no trouble in life. lord! i guess how it's going to be. well, i'm vastly glad, i do declare. lord 'a mercy! i hope your grace's worship will let me be there!" "ay, man, ay!" cried the king; "make speed and come with him. ho, snell! give me a gown of tissue; bid the guard be ready: we will cross the green to the palace. let the marshals be called to clear the way." in a very few minutes all was prepared; and as the two kings were descending the grand staircase of the castle, news was brought that a band of french nobles, anxious for the safety of their king, had come over from ardres at all speed to seek him. francis sent his commands that they should dismount in the court; and on issuing out of the castle, the monarch found a splendid party of the english and french nobility mingled together, waiting to give them the good morrow. "ha, alenã§on! what fear you, man?" cried the king of france. "we are all safe. sir richard heartley, look not for lord darnley; he is in security: follow, and you will see him presently." "gentlemen all, you are most welcome," said henry; "follow us, all that love us, to our poor palace here without, and we will make you better cheer, where ladies' words shall replace this summer air, and their sweet looks the sunshine. sound 'on before!'" the trumpets sounded, and, the ushers and marshals clearing the way for the two kings, they passed out of the castle gate, and traversed the green on foot, amidst the shouts and acclamations of the crowd that the arrival of the french nobles, together with various rumours of something extraordinary having happened, had collected in the neighbourhood of the royal lodging. arm-in-arm with francis, henry, delighting with ostentatious magnificence to show himself to the people, passed round to the front of the palace; and entering the court which we have already described, he proceeded at once to the great hall, called the hall of the cloth of silver, to which, on the announcement of his intentions by wolsey, the queen had hastily summoned all the elect of the court. on the entrance of the kings, with all the train of noblemen who had followed them, a temporary confusion ensued, while francis was presented to the queen of england, and henry whispered to her a few brief hints of what had taken place. "room, room, lords and ladies!" cried he at length; "let us have space." "there would not be space enough for him in the world, if he had his will," whispered lady katrine bulmer to constance de grey, who stood by her side, unwillingly appearing in such a meeting. "on my life, constance, his eye is fixed upon us! now, what would i give to be king, if it were but to outstare him!" "the lady constance de grey!" said henry, in a loud tone: "we would speak with the lady de grey." "nay, speak gently," said the queen. "good my lord, you will frighten her. constance, come hither to the queen, your friend!" with a pale cheek and a beating heart, constance advanced to the side of the queen, and bending her eyes upon the ground, awaited in silence, not daring to look around. "fear not, fair one!" said henry; "we are not angry, but only sorry to lose you. here is our noble brother, francis of france, claims you as his vassal at our hands." constance looked up, and saw the king of france's eye bent on her with a smile that gave her courage. "now, notwithstanding the great love we bear him," continued henry, "we might have resisted his demand, inasmuch as you are our born subject, had you not shown some slight perverseness against our repeated commands. we therefore must and will resign you into his hands, unless you instantly agree to receive such lord to be your husband as we shall judge fitting for your rank and station." "oh, no, no, my lord!" cried constance, clasping her hands, and forgetting, in her fear of fresh persecution, the crowd by which she was surrounded. "force me not, i beseech your grace, to wed against my will." "you see," said henry, turning to the king of france; "you see the lady is headstrong! take her, my good brother; i give her up to you. there, sweetheart, is your lord and sovereign; see if you can obey him better." francis took the fair girl by the hand, and bending down his head, said in a kindly tone, "lady, fear not. lift up your eyes, and tell me if there is one in all this circle you would make your choice." "no, indeed, my lord," faltered forth constance, without looking round; "all i ask is to be left in peace." "if you have ever seen any one to whom you could give your heart, tell me," said francis. constance was silent. "then i am to judge that you have not," continued the king; "so i will choose for you." constance raised her eyes with a supplicating look; but francis's face was turned towards henry, who, with a laughing glance, had taken the queen by the hand, and was leading her towards one of the doors. "come, we must follow," cried francis. "lord cardinal, we shall need your company." constance gazed round with doubt and apprehension; but francis led her forward immediately after the king and queen of england, whispering, as they went, "fear not, sweet lady! you are with a friend who knows all." the whole court followed along one of the splendid galleries of the palace, preceded by henry and katherine, who stopped, however, before a door, from before which a page held back the hangings, and "here," said the king of england, putting a key into francis's hand, "here you take precedence. this is the cage, and here is the fetter-maker," pointing to a respectable-looking merchant in a long furred robe who stood with jekin groby in a niche hard by. more and more confused, not knowing what to fear or what to believe, the very uncertainty made constance's heart sink more than actual danger would have done; but still the king of france led her forward, even before queen katherine, and, putting the key in the lock, threw open the door, and drew her gently in, when the first object that met her sight was osborne darnley, with his arms folded on his breast, standing before the high altar of a splendid chapel. her heart beat; her eyes grew dim; her brain reeled; and she would have fallen fainting to the ground, but darnley started forward and clasped her to his heart. "nay, nay, this is too much!" cried the queen, advancing; "see, the poor girl faints! my good lord, indeed this must not be to-day. it has been too much for her already. some day before the two courts part we will pray my good lord cardinal to speak a blessing on their love. bear her into the sacristy, sir osborne. katrine bulmer, giddy namesake! help your friend, while i pray their graces both to return into the hall." footnotes: [footnote 1: one of those rare but pleasant little towns which are fortunate enough to stand upon no high-road, but which, on looking into cary's itinerary, will be found to have a way of their own. it is near ashford.] [footnote 2: this sentence, i am inclined to think, deserves another inverted comma to denote that it is borrowed from some of the writers of that day. i forget from whom.] [footnote 3: a maker of arrows was so called when the good strong bow was the weapon of the english yeoman.] [footnote 4: a maker of arrows.] [footnote 5: armour and trappings of his horse.] [footnote 6: it will be found in the description of britain by holingshed, that even in his days it was held that any man possessing land producing an annual rent of forty pounds (called a knight's fee) could be called upon to undergo the honour of knighthood, or to submit to a fine. this was sometimes enforced, and the consequence was often what lady katrine insinuated, as few of the more powerful nobles of the day did not entertain more than one poor knight in their service. these, however, were looked upon in a very different light from those whose knighthood had been obtained by military service.] [footnote 7: the road from the temple bar to the city of westminster was flanked on one side by noblemen's houses and gardens, producing an effect not unlike that of kensington gore; as far, at least, as we can judge from description.] [footnote 8: every knight of that day had his soubriquet, or nickname; thus the famous bayard was generally called piquet.] [footnote 9: since writing the above, i have seen a beautiful sketch by sir walter scott, of a scene very similar. the coincidence of even the minute points is striking; but i know that sir walter, and i trust the public also, will believe me, when i pledge my word that the whole of this book was written before i ever saw "my aunt margaret's mirror," and, i believe, before it was published.] [footnote 10: alluding to the vision of fair geraldine, called up in a mirror at the request of lord surrey.] [footnote 11: i have not been able to discover at what precise period the custom of exacting a ransom from each prisoner taken in battle was dropped in europe. it certainly still existed in the reign of elizabeth, and perhaps still later, for shakspere (writing in the days of james i.) makes repeated mention of it. some centuries before the period of this tale, edward the black prince fixed the ransom of du guesclin at one hundred francs, which the constable considered degrading, and rated himself at the sum of seventy thousand florins of gold.] [footnote 12: a suit of horse armour and housings.] [footnote 13: we have every reason to believe that this adventure is by no means the invention of vonderbrugius, but a simple historical fact.] [footnote 14: hall gives an account of this event, with very little variation in the circumstances, stating that only a footman was with the king, one moody; but, of course, vonderbrugius may be relied on as the most correct.] [footnote 15: it stood nearly where westminster bridge stands at present.] [footnote 16: this circumstance is generally placed by the french anecdotarians some ten days later; but weconceive that the precision of a dutchman is to be relied on in preference.] [footnote 17: we cannot help calling attention to the scrupulous accuracy of vonderbrugius. supposing that he might, in some fit of unwonted imaginativeness have invented this circumstance, we searched through many tomes for confirmation, when we at last found the whole story alluded to in the exact montluc; which, though it leaves the dutchman no other merit than that of a compiler, justifies implicit belief in every part of this surprising history.] [footnote 18: the original words of francis were, _ma lance contre un ã©cu d'espagne_; _ã©cu_ meaning either a shield or a crown-piece.] the end. woodfall and kinder, printers, long acre, london. froude's history of england henry viii · introduction by w. llewelyn williams m.p. b.c.l. volume one first published 1909 * * * * * [illuminated frontispiece] consider history with the beginnings of it stretching dimly into the remote time; emerging darkly ovt of the mysteriovs eternity: the trve epic poem and vniversal divine scriptvre...--carlyle * * * * * [illuminated title] the reign of henry the eighth by james anthony froude volume i. london & toronto j.m. dent & sons ltd. new york e.p. dutton & co introduction james anthony froude was born at dartington rectory, the youngest son of the archdeacon of totnes, on april 23, 1818. his father was a clergyman of the old school, as much squire as parson. in the concluding chapter to his _history of england_, froude wrote that "for a hundred and forty years after the revolution of 1688, the church of england was able to fulfil with moderate success the wholesome functions of a religious establishment. theological doctrinalism passed out of fashion; and the clergy, merged as they were in the body of the nation, and no longer endeavouring to elevate themselves into a separate order, were occupied healthily in impressing on their congregations the meaning of duty and moral responsibility to god." of this sane and orthodox, but not over-spiritual, clergy, archdeacon froude was an excellent and altogether wholesome type. he was a stiff tory; his hatred of dissent was so uncompromising that he would not have a copy of the _pilgrim's progress_ in the rectory. a stern, self-contained, reticent man, he never, in word of deed, confessed his affection for his youngest son. he was a good horseman, and was passionately fond of open-air exercises and especially of hunting. his one accomplishment was drawing, and his sketches in after years earned the praise of ruskin. cast in the same mould, but fashioned by different circumstances, the archdeacon's eldest son, richard hurrell froude, was a man of greater intellectual brilliance and even more masterful character. he was one of the pioneers of the oxford movement, and it was only his early death that deposed him from his place of equality with newman and keble and pusey. anthony was a sickly child, and from his earliest years lacked the loving care of a mother. he was brought up with spartan severity by his father and his aunt. the most venial self-indulgence was regarded as criminal. from the age of three he was inured to hardship by being ducked every morning in a trough of ice-cold water. hurrell froude felt no tenderness for the ailing lad. once, in order to rouse a manly spirit in his little brother, he took him by the heels, plunged him like another achilles into a stream, and stirred with his head the mud at the bottom. froude has been accused, and not without justice, of not feeling a proper aversion to acts of cruelty. the horrible boiling act of henry viii. excites neither disgust nor hatred in him; and he makes smooth excuses for the illegal tortures of the rack and the screw which were inflicted on prisoners by elizabeth and her ministers. he had himself been reared in a hardy school; he had been trained to be indifferent to pain. it may well be that his callousness in speaking of tudor cruelties is to be traced to the influences that surrounded his loveless childhood and youth. hurrell froude was the idol of his younger brothers. he was a man of brilliant parts, and a born leader of men. his hatred of radicals and dissenters transcended even his father's dislike of them. his conception of the church differed widely from that in which the archdeacon had been reared. to him a clergyman was a priest who belonged to a sacerdotal caste, and who ought not "to merge himself in the body of the nation." to him the reformation was an infamous crime, and henry viii. was worse than the bluebeard of the nursery. his hero was thomas à becket. he wrote a sketch of his life and career, which he did not live to finish. his friends ill-advisedly published it after his death. his ideal ecclesiastical statesman of modern times was archbishop laud. charles i. was a martyr, and the revolution of 1688 an inglorious blunder. to the day of his death--in spite of the harsh discipline which he received at his hands in boyhood, in spite of wide divergence of opinion in later years in all matters secular and religious--froude never ceased to worship at his brother's shrine. out of regard for his memory, more than from any passionate personal conviction, he associated himself while at oxford with the anglican movement. his affectionate admiration for newman, neither time nor change served to impair. if carlyle was his prophet in later years, his influence happily did not affect his style. that was based on the chaste model of newman. he owed his early friendship with newman to that great man's association with hurrell froude. many years after, when freeman had venomously accused him of "dealing stabs in the dark at a brother's almost forgotten fame"--poor froude's offence was that he dared to write an essay on thomas à becket--he defended himself with rare emotion against the charge. "i look back upon my brother," he said, "as on the whole the most remarkable man i have ever met in my life. i have never seen any person--not one--in whom, as i now think him, the excellences of intellect and character were combined in fuller measure." as froude's powers developed and matured, and as his experience of the world broadened, he cast away his brother's yoke, and reverted more to his father's school of thought. as his father was to him the ideal clergyman of the church of england, so the church before 1828 remained to him the model of what an established religion should be. he was a thorough erastian, who believed in the subordination of the church to the state. he detested theological doctrinalism of all kinds; he revolted against the idea that the clergy should form a separate order. the pretensions of whitgift and laud, the high anglican school of keble and pusey, the whole conception of the church and the priesthood which underlay the oxford movement, were things obnoxious to him. in a characteristic passage in the chapter on the massacre of st. bartholomew he reveals his hatred and distrust of dogmatism. "whenever the doctrinal aspect of christianity has been prominent above the practical," he wrote, "whenever the first duty of the believer has been held to consist in holding particular opinions on the functions and nature of his master, and only the second in obeying his master's commands, then always, with a uniformity more remarkable than is obtained in any other historical phenomena, there have followed dissension, animosity, and in later ages bloodshed. christianity, as a principle of life, has been the most powerful check upon the passions of mankind. christianity as a speculative system of opinion has converted them into monsters of cruelty." holding such decided views on doctrinalism, it might have been thought that froude would have visited all the warring sects of the sixteenth century with equal judgment. no church was more doctrinal than that of geneva; no calvinist ever was more dogmatic than john knox. but the men who fought the battle of the reformation in england and scotland were, in the main, the calvinists; and to froude the reformation was the beginning of a new and better era, when the yoke of the priest had been finally cast away. "calvinism," he said in one of his addresses at st. andrews, "was the spirit which rises in revolt against untruth." john knox was too heroic a figure not to rouse the artistic sense in froude. "there lies one," said the regent morton over his coffin, "who never feared the face of mortal man." froude has made this epitaph the text of the noblest eulogy ever delivered on knox. "no grander figure can be found, in the entire history of the reformation in this island, than that of knox." he surpassed cromwell and burghley in integrity of purpose and in purity of methods. he towered above the regent murray in intellect, and he worked on a larger scale than latimer. "his was the voice that taught the peasant of the lothians that he was a free man, the equal in the sight of god with the proudest peer or prelate that had trampled on his forefathers. he was the one antagonist whom mary stuart could not soften nor maitland deceive. he it was who had raised the poor commons of his country into a stern and rugged people, who might be hard, narrow, superstitious, and fanatical, but who nevertheless were men whom neither king, noble, nor priest could force again to submit to tyranny." yet even here, froude could not refrain from quoting the sardonic comment of the english ambassador at edinburgh: knox behaved, said randolph, "as though he were of god's privy council." it is certain, at least, that other reformers, who were not greatly inferior to knox in capacity, and not at all in piety and honesty, have not met the same generous treatment at his hands. he sneers at hooper because he had scruples about wearing episcopal robes at his consecration as bishop of worcester, though he himself in a famous passage asserts the anomalous position of bishops in the church of england. hooper, as a calvinist, was in the right in objecting, and though the point upon which he took his stand was nominally one of form, there lay behind it a protest against the anglican conception of a bishop. he speaks slightingly of ridley and ferrars, though he makes ample amends to them and to hooper, when he comes to describe the manner of their death. to the reformers who fled from the marian persecution, including men like jewel and grindal, he refers with scornful contempt, though he has no word of criticism to apply to knox for retiring to england and to the continent when the flame of persecution was certainly not more fierce. latimer is one of his favourites,--a plain, practical man, not given to abstract speculation or theological subtleties, but one who was content to do his duty day by day without the fear of man before his eyes. latimer, though he was looked upon as a protestant in the earliest years of the english reformation, believed in the real presence up to a short time before his death. but of all english ecclesiastics thomas cranmer was perhaps most to froude's liking. cranmer was, like froude himself, an artist in words. the english liturgy owes its charm and beauty to his sense of style, his grace of expression, and his cultured piety. that he was a great man few will be found in these days to maintain; fewer still will believe that he deserved the scathing invective of macaulay. but no one can read the account given by froude of his last years without feeling that the first protestant archbishop of canterbury was neither saint nor martyr. if ever there was one, he was a timeserver. he pronounced the divorce of catherine of arragon, though he had sworn fealty to the pope. he never raised a protest against any of the political murders of henry viii.--with the notable exception of his courageous attempt to save his friend, thomas cromwell. even in that case, however, he lies under the suspicion of having interfered through fear that his own fate was involved in that of the _malleus monachorum_. in the days of edward vi. he aimed at the liberty, if not at the life, of bonner and gardiner, without semblance of legal right: he recanted in the reign of mary when he thought he could purchase his miserable life. it was only when all hope of pardon was past that he re-affirmed his belief in the reformed faith. indeed, he waited until the day of his execution before withdrawing his recantation, and confounded his enemies on the way to the stake. to a master of dramatic narrative the last scene of cranmer's life came as a relief and an inspiration. "so perished cranmer," wrote froude, in a memorable passage: "he was brought out, with the eyes of his soul blinded, to make sport for his enemies, and in his death he brought upon them a wider destruction than he had effected by his teaching while alive. pole was appointed the next day to the see of canterbury; but in other respects the court had over-reached themselves by their cruelty. had they been contented to accept the recantation, they would have left the archbishop to die broken-hearted, pointed at by the finger of pitying scorn; and the reformation would have been disgraced in its champion. they were tempted, by an evil spirit of revenge, into an act unsanctioned even by their own bloody laws; and they gave him an opportunity of writing his name in the roll of martyrs. the worth of a man must be measured by his life, not by his failure under a single and peculiar peril. the apostle, though forewarned, denied his master on the first alarm of danger; yet that master, who knew his nature in its strength and its infirmity, chose him for the rock on which he would build his church." with this conscious and avowed bias in favour of undogmatic christianity, froude came to write the story of the transition of england from a catholic to a protestant country. he was not without sympathy with the old order of things. we cannot but feel a thrill as we read his incomparable description of the change which was effected in men's thoughts and ideas by the translation of the mediæval into the modern world? "for, indeed, a change was coming upon the world, the meaning and direction of which even still is hidden from us, a change from era to era. the paths trodden by the footsteps of ages were broken up; old things were passing away, and the faith and the life of ten centuries were dissolving like a dream. chivalry was dying; the abbey and the castle were soon together to crumble into ruins; and all the forms, desires, beliefs, convictions, of the old world were passing away, never to return. a new continent had risen up beyond the western sea. the floor of heaven, inlaid with stars, had sunk back into an infinite abyss of immeasurable space; and the firm earth itself, unfixed from its foundations, was seen to be but a small atom in the awful vastness of the universe. in the fabric of habit which they had so laboriously built for themselves, mankind were to remain no longer. and now it is all gone--like an unsubstantial pageant faded; and between us and the old english there lies a gulf of mystery which the prose of the historian will never adequately bridge. they cannot come to us, and our imagination can but feebly penetrate to them. only among the aisles of the cathedral, only as we gaze upon their silent figures sleeping on their tombs, some faint conceptions float before us of what these men were when they were alive; and perhaps in the sound of church bells, that peculiar creation of mediæval age, which falls upon the ear like the echo of a vanished world." froude was once asked what was the greatest and most essential quality of an historian. he replied that it was imagination. it was a true and a just saying, and froude himself possessed the faculty in abundance. it was not only with the old order that froude showed his sympathy. he is seldom ungenerous in his references to individual catholics, however mistaken in his sight their opinions may have been. with wolsey and warham, fisher and more, even with gardiner and bonner he deals fairly and with some amount of real sympathy. the heroic death of campian moves him to pity just as much as the death of latimer; the strenuous labours of father parsons to overthrow elizabeth and protestantism failed to remove him beyond the pale of froude's charitable judgment. one english catholic alone was reserved for the historian's harsh and sometimes petulant criticism. for cardinal pole froude felt the angriest contempt. he was descended from the blood royal, both of england and of wales. on his father's side he was descended in direct line from the ancient princes of powis; on his mother's from the plantagenets and the nevilles. he was the most learned and illustrious englishman of his age. he had stood high in king henry's favour; he was destined for the greatest offices in the state. he was not without natural ambition. yet he forfeited all that he had--the favour of his prince, the society of his mother whom he loved, and the kindred who were proud of him, the hope of promotion and of power, his friends, his home, and his country, for conscience' sake. he remained true to the ancient faith in which he was reared. with unerring instinct he foresaw that, once england was severed from the papacy, it would be impossible for king or parliament to stem the flood of the reformation. for twenty years he remained an exile on the continent. he returned an old and broken man, to witness the overthrow of his cherished plans. he was repudiated by the pope whose authority he had sacrificed everything to maintain, and in his old age he suffered the humiliation of being accused of heresy in the court of rome. he died the same day as mary died, with the knowledge that all his life's labours and sacrifices were come to naught, and that the dominion of the roman church in england was gone for ever. froude saw none of the pathos or tragedy of pole's life. to him the cardinal was a renegade, a traitor to his country, a mercenary of the pope, a foreign potentate, a "hysterical dreamer," who vainly imagined that he was "the champion of heaven, and the destroyer of heresy." froude was, above all, an englishman. his strongest sympathies went out to the "god's englishmen" of elizabeth's reign, who broke the power of rome and spain, and who made england supreme in europe. in his first chapter he describes the qualities of englishmen with a zest and gusto that drew the comment from carlyle that "this seems to me exaggerated: what we call john bullish." he described them as "a sturdy, high-hearted race, sound in body and fierce in spirit which, under the stimulus of those great shins of beef, their common diet, were the wonder of the age." carlyle's advice when he read this passage in proof was characteristic:--"modify a little: frederick the great was brought up on beer-sops; robert burns on oatmeal porridge; and mahomet and the caliphs conquered the world on barley meal." but the passage stood unmodified, in spite of froude's regard for his master. how this fierce and turbulent people fought their way to world-wide empire was a problem which froude thought he was able to solve. it was, in the main, because they broke down the power of the priests, and insisted on the supremacy of state over church. therefore all his filial affection, his patriotism, and his ecclesiastical prejudices were arrayed on the same side. if history be an exact science, then froude can lay no claim to the title of historian. he was a brilliant advocate, a man of letters endowed with a matchless style, writing of matters which interested him deeply, and in the investigation of which he spent twenty years of his life. froude himself would have been the first to repudiate the idea that history is philosophy teaching by examples, or that an historian has necessarily a greater insight into the problems of the present than any other observant student of affairs. "gibbon," he once wrote, "believed that the era of conquerors was at an end. had he lived out the full life of man, he would have seen europe at the feet of napoleon. but a few years ago we believed the world had grown too civilised for war, and the crystal palace in hyde park was to be the inauguration of a new era. battles, bloody as napoleon's, are now the familiar tale of every day; and the arts which have made the greatest progress are the arts of destruction." it is absurd to attack froude on the ground that he was biassed. no man has ever yet written a living history without being biassed. thucydides detested the radicalism of cleon as heartily as gibbon hated the christianity of rome. it was once the fashion of the oxford school to decry froude as being unworthy of the name of historian. stubbs, indeed, did pay public tribute to froude's "great work," but he stood almost alone of his school. freeman for many years pursued and persecuted froude with a persistent malevolence which happily has no parallel in the story of english scholarship. it is not necessary in this place to do more than refer to that unpleasant episode. since the publication of the brilliant vindication of froude in mr. herbert paul's _life_, it would be superfluous to go into the details of that unhappy controversy. the only difference between froude and other historians is that froude's partisanship is always obvious. he was not more favourable to henry viii. than stubbs was to thomas à becket. but froude openly avowed his preferences and his dislikes. catholicism was to him "a dying superstition," protestantism "a living truth." freeman went further, and charged froude with having written a history which was not "_un livre de bonne joy._" it is only necessary to recall the circumstances under which the _history_ was written to dispose of that odious charge. in order to obtain material for his _history_, froude spent years of his life in the little spanish village of simancas. "i have worked in all," he said in his apologia, "through nine hundred volumes of letters, notes, and other papers, private and official, in five languages and in different handwritings. i am not rash enough to say that i have never misread a word, or overlooked a passage of importance. i profess only to have dealt with my materials honestly to the best of my ability." few, indeed, have had to encounter such difficulties as met froude in his exploration of the archives at simancas. "often at the end of a page," he wrote many years after, "i have felt as after descending a precipice, and have wondered how i got down. i had to cut my way through a jungle, for no one had opened the road for me. i have been turned into rooms piled to the window-sill with bundles of dust-coloured despatches, and told to make the best of it. often have i found the sand glistening on the ink where it had been sprinkled when a page was turned. there the letter had lain, never looked at again since it was read and put away." of these difficulties not a trace is discoverable in froude's easy and effortless narrative. when he was approaching the completion of his _history_, he vowed that his account of the armada should be as interesting as a novel. he succeeded not only with that portion of his task, but with all the stirring story that he set out to narrate. but the ease of his style only concealed the real pains which he had taken. of freeman's charge froude has long been honourably acquitted. the simancas mss. have since been published in the rolls series, and mr. martin hume, in his introduction, has paid his tribute to the care, accuracy, and good faith of their first transcriber. long before this testimony could be given, scottish historians who disagreed with froude's conclusions on many points,--men such as skelton and burton--had been profoundly impressed with the care, skill, and conscientiousness with which froude handled the mass of tangled materials relating to the history of scotland. this does not mean that froude is free from minor inaccuracies, or that he is innocent of graver faults which flowed from his abundant quality of imagination. he constantly quotes a sentence inaccurately in his text, while it is accurately transcribed in a footnote. he is careless in matters which are important to students of debrett, as for instance, he indiscriminately describes lord howard as lord william howard and lord howard. but froude was sometimes guilty of something worse than these trivial "howlers." lecky exposed, with calm ruthlessness, some of froude's exaggerations--to call them by no worse name--in his _story of the english in ireland_. when his _erasmus_ was translated into dutch, the countrymen of erasmus accused him of constant, if not deliberate, inaccuracy. lord carnarvon once sent froude to south africa as an informal special commissioner. when he returned to this country he wrote an article on the south african problem in the _quarterly review_. sir bartle frere, who knew south africa as few men did, said of it that it was an "essay in which for whole pages a truth expressed in brilliant epigrams alternates with mistakes or misstatements which would scarcely be pardoned in a special war correspondent hurriedly writing against time." so dangerous is the quality of imagination in a writer! truth to tell, froude was a literary man with a fondness for historical investigation, and an artist's passion for the dramatic in life and story. he wrote with a purpose--that purpose being to defend the english reformation against the attacks of the neo-catholic-anglicans, under whose influence he had himself been for a time in his youth. to him, therefore, henry viii. was "the majestic lord who broke the bonds of rome." this is not the occasion, nor is the present writer the man, to analyse that complex and masterful personality. froude started to defend the english reformation against the vile charge that it was the outcome of kingly lust. that charge he has finally dispelled. henry viii. was not the monster that lingard painted. he beheaded two queens, but few will be found to assert to-day that either anne boleyn or catherine howard were innocent martyrs. people must agree to differ to the crack of doom as to the justice of catherine's divorce. it is one of those questions which different men will continue to answer in different ways. but one thing is abundantly clear. if henry was actuated merely by passion for anne boleyn, he would scarcely have waited for years before putting queen catherine away. henry divorced anne of cleves, but anne, who survived the dissolution of her marriage and remained in england for twenty years, made no complaint of her treatment, and she has had no champions either among catholic or protestant writers. her divorce is only remembered as the occasion of the downfall of the greatest statesman of his age, thomas cromwell, earl of essex. but in his eagerness to proclaim the truth, froude went on to defend a paradox. once free from the charge of lust,--and compared with francis of france or charles v., henry was a continent man--henry became to froude the ideal monarch. some one has said that henry viii. was the greatest king that ever lived, because he always got his own way. if that be the test, then henry was indeed "every inch a king." he broke with rome; he deposed the pope from his supremacy over england; he dissolved the monasteries; he sent the noblest and wisest in england to the scaffold; he reduced wales to law and order and gave her a constitution; he married and unmarried as he liked; he disposed of the succession to the throne of england by his will; and his people never murmured. only once, when the pilgrimage of grace broke out, was his throne in any danger, and that insurrection he easily suppressed. he made war with france; he invaded scotland more than once, and every time with striking success. he played his vigorous part in european politics, and at his death he left his realm inviolate. it is an amazing record, which might well dazzle a writer of froude's temperament and training. but there are dark shades in the picture, which froude was content to make little of, if not to ignore. he is fond of contrasting henry's way with conspirators with that of his daughter elizabeth. he sneers at her "tenderness" towards high-born traitors, and never ceases to reproach her with her one act of repression after the yorkshire rising. but he had not a word to say against the tyrannical murders of henry viii. elizabeth truly boasted that she never punished opinion: henry sent to the scaffold better men than himself for holding academical opinions contrary to his own. cardinal fisher may have been--after the publication of chappuys's letters it is not possible to deny that he was--technically guilty of treason. but he was a saint and an old man past eighty, and "the earth on the edge of the grave was already crumbling under his feet." the king spared neither age nor worth nor innocence. he had been the familiar friend of more; he had walked through his gardens at chelsea leaning on his arm; more had been his chancellor; he was still the greatest of his subjects; while frankly admitting that he differed in opinion from the king on the question of the royal supremacy, he promised that he would not try to influence others. henry was inexorable. he not only condemned him to die a traitor's death,--he added a callous message, which still rouses the indignation of every generous soul, that he should "not use many words on the scaffold." thomas cromwell had served him as few ministers have served a king; to him was due--or, at least, he was the capable instrument of--the policy which has given distinction to henry's reign; but he was delivered over to his enemies when the king's caprice had shifted to another quarter. even froude finds it difficult to excuse the execution of more and cromwell. but, having once made up his mind to make a hero of henry, he goes on with it bravely to the end. he hides nothing, he excuses nothing, he extenuates nothing. neither the death of the aged countess of salisbury or of the gallant earl of surrey, nor the illegal imprisonment of the aged norfolk, the hero of flodden, shakes his faith in his hero-king. he even relates, with minute detail, how a few days before the king's death, four poor persons, one of whom was a tailor, were burnt at the stake for denying the real presence. but his final comment on it all was: "his personal faults were great, and he shared, besides them, in the errors of his age; but far deeper blemishes would be but scars upon the features of a sovereign who in trying times sustained nobly the honour of the english name, and carried the commonwealth securely through the hardest crisis in its history." when a young man froude had been elected fellow of exeter college, oxford. this entailed his taking holy orders, though he does not seem to have regularly performed the duties of a clergyman. in 1849 he published his first book, _the nemesis of faith_, now happily forgotten. it raised an immediate commotion. it was denounced as heretical, and the senior tutor of exeter burnt it during a lecture in the college hall. froude resigned his fellowship, and his connection with the university was severed for thirty-three years. he was one of the first to take advantage of the alteration of the law which enabled a clergyman to resign his orders. in 1892 he went back to oxford as regius professor of modern history. "the temptation of going back to oxford in a respectable way," he said, "was too much for me." he died on october 20, 1894, and on his tombstone he is simply described, by his own wish, as professor of modern history in the university of oxford. the writer is indebted for information with regard to froude's life to mr. pollard's article in the _dictionary of national biography_, and to mr. herbert paul's admirable _life of froude_ (pitman). w. llewelyn williams. _november_ 16, 1908. the following is a list of the published works of j.a. froude: life of st. neot (lives of the english saints, edited by j.h. newman), 1844; shadows of the clouds (tales), by zeta (_pseud._), 1847; a sermon (on 2 cor. vii. 10) preached at st. mary's church on the death of the rev. george may coleridge, 1847; article on spinoza (_oxford and cambridge review_), 1847; the nemesis of faith (tale), 1849; england's forgotten worthies (_westminster review_), 1852; book of job (_westminster review)_, 1853; poems of matthew arnold (_westminster review_), 1854; suggestions on the best means of teaching english history (oxford essays, etc.), 1855; history of england, 12 vols., 1856-70; the influence of the reformation on the scottish character, 1865; inaugural address delivered to the university of st. andrews, march 19, 1869, 1869; short studies on great subjects, 1867, 2 vols., series 2-4, 1871-83 (articles from _fraser's magazine, westminster review_, etc.); the cat's pilgrimage, 1870; calvinism: address at st. andrews, 1871; the english in ireland, 3 vols., 1872-74; bunyan (english men of letters), 1878; cæsar: a sketch, 1879; two lectures on south africa, 1880; thomas carlyle (a history of the first forty years of his life, etc.), 2 vols., 1882; luther: a short biography, 1883; thomas carlyle (a history of his life in london, 1834-81), 2 vols., 1884; oceana, 1886; the english in the west indies, 1888; liberty and property: an address [1888]; the two chiefs of dunboy, 1889; lord beaconsfield (a biography), 1890; the divorce of catherine of aragon, 1891; the spanish story of the armada, 1892; life and letters of erasmus, 1894; english seamen in the sixteenth century, 1895; lectures on the council of trent, 1896; my relations with carlyle, 1903. edited:--carlyle's reminiscences, 1881; mrs. carlyle's letters, 1883. contents chapter i. social condition of england in the sixteenth century ii. the last years of the administration of wolsey. iii. the parliament of 1529. iv. church and state. v. marriage of henry and anne boleyn. vi. the protestants. vii. the last efforts of diplomacy. notes. henry viii chapter i social condition of england in the sixteenth century in periods like the present, when knowledge is every day extending, and the habits and thoughts of mankind are perpetually changing under the influence of new discoveries, it is no easy matter to throw ourselves back into a time in which for centuries the european world grew upon a single type, in which the forms of the father's thoughts were the forms of the son's, and the late descendant was occupied in treading into paths the footprints of his distant ancestors. so absolutely has change become the law of our present condition, that it is identified with energy and moral health; to cease to change is to lose place in the great race; and to pass away from off the earth with the same convictions which we found when we entered it, is to have missed the best object for which we now seem to exist. it has been, however, with the race of men as it has been with the planet which they inhabit. as we look back over history, we see times of change and progress alternating with other times when life and thought have settled into permanent forms; when mankind, as if by common consent, have ceased to seek for increase of knowledge, and, contented with what they possess, have endeavoured to make use of it for purposes of moral cultivation. such was the condition of the greeks through many ages before the persian war; such was that of the romans till the world revenged itself upon its conquerors by the introduction among them of the habits of the conquered; and such again became the condition of europe when the northern nations grafted the religion and the laws of the western empire on their own hardy natures, and shaped out that wonderful spiritual and political organisation which remained unshaken for a thousand years. the aspirant after sanctity in the fifteenth century of the christian era found a model which he could imitate in detail in the saint of the fifth. the gentleman at the court of edward iv. or charles of burgundy could imagine no nobler type of heroism than he found in the stories of king arthur's knights. the forms of life had become more elaborate--the surface of it more polished--but the life itself remained essentially the same; it was the development of the same conception of human excellence; just as the last orders of gothic architecture were the development of the first, from which the idea had worked its way till the force of it was exhausted. a condition of things differing alike both outwardly and inwardly from that into which a happier fortune has introduced ourselves, is necessarily obscure to us. in the alteration of our own character, we have lost the key which would interpret the characters of our fathers, and the great men even of our own english history before the reformation seem to us almost like the fossil skeletons of another order of beings. some broad conclusions as to what they were are at least possible to us, however; and we are able to determine, with tolerable certainty, the social condition of the people of this country, such as it was before the movements of the sixteenth century, and during the process of those movements. the extent of the population can only be rudely conjectured. a rough census was taken at the time of the armada, when it was found to be something under five millions; but anterior to this i can find no authority on which i can rely with any sort of confidence. it is my impression, however, from a number of reasons--each in itself insignificant, but which taken together leave little doubt upon my mind--that it had attained that number by a growth so slow as to be scarcely perceptible, and had nearly approached to it many generations before. simon fish, in _the supplication of beggars_,[1] says that the number of households in england in 1531 was 520,000. his calculation is of the most random kind; for he rates the number of parishes at 52,000, with ten households on an average in each parish. a mistake so preposterous respecting the number of parishes shows the great ignorance of educated men upon the subject. the ten households in each parish may, probably (in some parts of the country), have been a correct computation; but this tells us little with respect to the aggregate numbers, for the households were very large--the farmers, and the gentlemen also, usually having all the persons whom they employed residing under their own roof. neither from this, therefore, nor from any other positive statement which i have seen, can i gather any conclusion that may be depended upon. but when we remember the exceeding slowness with which the population multiplied in a time in which we can accurately measure it--that is to say, from 1588 to the opening of the last century--under circumstances in every way more favourable to an increase, i think we may assume that the increase was not so great between 1500 and 1588, and that, previous to 1500, it did not more than keep pace with the waste from civil and foreign war. the causes, indeed, were wholly wanting which lead to a rapid growth of numbers. numbers now increase with the increase of employment and with the facilities which are provided by the modern system of labour for the establishment of independent households. at present, any able-bodied unskilled labourer earns, as soon as he has arrived at man's estate, as large an amount of wages as he will earn at any subsequent time; and having no connection with his employer beyond the receiving the due amount of weekly money from him, and thinking himself as well able to marry as he is likely to be, he takes a wife, and is usually the father of a family before he is thirty. before the reformation, not only were early marriages determinately discouraged, but the opportunity for them did not exist. a labourer living in a cottage by himself was a rare exception to the rule; and the work of the field was performed generally, as it now is in the large farms in america and australia, by servants who lived in the families of the squire or the farmer, and who, while in that position, commonly remained single, and married only when by prudence they had saved a sufficient sum to enable them to enter some other position. checked by circumstances of this kind, population would necessarily remain almost stationary, and a tendency to an increase was not of itself regarded by the statesmen of the day as any matter for congratulation or as any evidence of national prosperity. not an increase of population, which would facilitate production and beat down wages by competition, but the increase of the commonwealth, the sound and healthy maintenance of the population already existing, were the chief objects which the government proposed to itself; and although henry viii. carefully nursed his manufactures, there is sufficient proof in the grounds alleged for the measures to which he resorted, that there was little redundancy of occupation. in a statute, for instance, for the encouragement of the linen manufactures, it is said[2] that--"the king's highness, calling to his most blessed remembrance the great number of idle people daily increasing throughout this his realm, supposeth that one great cause thereof is by the continued bringing into the same the great number of wares and merchandise made, and brought out and from, the parts beyond the sea into this his realm, ready wrought by manual occupation; amongst the which wares one kind of merchandise in great quantity, which is linen cloth of divers sorts made in divers countries beyond the sea, is daily conveyed into this realm; which great quantity of linen cloth so brought is consumed and spent within the same; by reason whereof not only the said strange countries where the said linen cloth is made, by the policy and industry of making and vending the same are greatly enriched; and a marvellous great number of their people, men, women, and children, are set on work and occupation, and kept from idleness, to the great furtherance and advancement of their commonwealth; but also contrariwise the inhabitants and subjects of this realm, for lack of like policy and industry, are compelled to buy all or most part of the linen cloth consumed in the same, amounting to inestimable sums of money. and also the people of this realm, as well men as women, which should and might be set on work, by exercise of like policy and craft of spinning, weaving, and making of cloth, lies now in idleness and otiosity, to the high displeasure of almighty god, great diminution of the king's people, and extreme ruin, decay, and impoverishment of this realm. therefore, for reformation of these things, the king's most royal majesty intending, like a most virtuous prince, to provide remedy in the premises; nothing so much coveting as the increase of the commonwealth of this his realm, with also the virtuous exercise of his most loving subjects and people, and to avoid that most abominable sin of idleness out of the realm, hath, by the advice and consent of his lords and commons in parliament assembled, ordained and enacted that every person occupying land for tillage, shall for every sixty acres which he hath under the plough, sow one quarter of an acre in flax or hemp." this act was designed immediately to keep the wives and children of the poor in work in their own houses;[3] but it leaves no doubt that manufactures in england had not of themselves that tendency to self-development which would encourage an enlarging population. the woollen manufactures similarly appear, from the many statutes upon them, to have been vigorous at a fixed level, but to have shown no tendency to rise beyond that level. with a fixed market and a fixed demand, production continued uniform. a few years subsequent, indeed, to the passing of the act which i have quoted, a very curious complaint is entered in the statute book, from the surface of which we should gather, that so far from increasing, manufactures had alarmingly declined. the fact mentioned may bear another meaning, and a meaning far more favourable to the state of the country; although, if such a phenomenon were to occur at the present time, it could admit of but one interpretation. in the 18th and 19th of the 32nd of henry viii., all the important towns in england, from the tweed to the land's end, are stated, one by one, to have fallen into serious decay. usually when we meet with language of this kind, we suppose it to mean nothing more than an awakening to the consciousness of evils which had long existed, and which had escaped notice only because no one was alive to them. in the present instance, however, the language was too strong and too detailed to allow of this explanation; and the great body of the english towns undoubtedly were declining in wealth and in the number of their inhabitants. "divers and many beautiful houses of habitation," these statutes say, "built in tyme past within their walls and liberties, now are fallen down and decayed, and at this day remain unre-edified, and do lie as desolate and vacant grounds, many of them nigh adjoining to the high-streets, replenished with much uncleanness and filth, with pits, sellers, and vaults lying open and uncovered, to the great perill and danger of the inhabitants and other the king's subjects passing by the same; and some houses be very weak and feeble, ready to fall down, and therefore dangerous to pass by, to the great decay and hinderance of the said boroughs and towns."[4] at present, the decay of a town implies the decay of the trade of the town; and the decay of all towns simultaneously would imply a general collapse of the trade of the whole country. walled towns, however, before the reformation, existed for other purposes than as the centre points of industry: they existed for the protection of property and life: and although it is not unlikely that the agitation of the reformation itself did to some degree interrupt the occupation of the people, yet i believe that the true account of the phenomenon which then so much disturbed the parliament, is, that one of their purposes was no longer required; the towns flagged for a time because the country had become secure. the woollen manufacture in worcestershire was spreading into the open country,[5] and, doubtless, in other counties as well; and the "beautiful houses" which had fallen into decay, were those which, in the old times of insecurity, had been occupied by wealthy merchants and tradesmen, who were now enabled, by a strong and settled government, to dispense with the shelter of locked gates and fortified walls, and remove their residences to more convenient situations. it was, in fact, the first symptom of the impending social revolution. two years before the passing of this act, the magnificent hengrave hall, in suffolk, had been completed by sir thomas kitson, "mercer of london,"[6] and sir thomas kitson was but one of many of the rising merchants who were now able to root themselves on the land by the side of the norman nobility, first to rival, and then slowly to displace them. this mighty change, however, was long in silent progress before it began to tell on the institutions of the country. when city burghers bought estates, the law insisted jealously on their accepting with them all the feudal obligations. attempts to use the land as "a commodity" were, as we shall presently see, angrily repressed; while, again, in the majority of instances, such persons endeavoured, as they do at present, to cover the recent origin of their families by adopting the manners of the nobles, instead of transferring the habits of the towns to the parks and chases of the english counties. the old english organisation maintained its full activity; and the duties of property continued to be for another century more considered than its rights. turning, then, to the tenure of land--for if we would understand the condition of the people, it is to this point that our first attention must be directed--we find that through the many complicated varieties of it there was one broad principle which bore equally upon every class, that the land of england must provide for the defence of england. the feudal system, though practically modified, was still the organising principle of the nation, and the owner of land was bound to military service for his country whenever occasion required. further, the land was to be so administered, that the accustomed number of families supported by it should not be diminished, and that the state should suffer no injury from the carelessness or selfishness of the owners.[7] land never was private property in that personal sense of property in which we speak of a thing as our own, with which we may do as we please; and in the administration of estates, as indeed in the administration of all property whatsoever, duty to the state was at all times supposed to override private interest or inclination. even tradesmen, who took advantage of the fluctuations of the market, were rebuked by parliament for "their greedy and covetous minds," "as more regarding their own singular lucre and profit than the commonweal of the realm;"[8] and although in an altered world, neither industry nor enterprise will thrive except under the stimulus of self-interest, we may admire the confidence which in another age expected every man to prefer the advantage of the community to his own. all land was held upon a strictly military principle. it was the representative of authority, and the holder or the owner took rank in the army of the state according to the nature of his connection with it. it was first broadly divided among the great nobility holding immediately under the crown, who, above and beyond the ownership of their private estates, were the lords of the fee throughout their presidency, and possessed in right of it the services of knights and gentlemen who held their manors under them, and who followed their standard in war. under the lords of manors, again, small freeholds and copyholds were held of various extent, often forty shilling and twenty shilling value, tenanted by peasant occupiers, who thus, on their own land, lived as free englishmen, maintaining by their own free labour themselves and their families. there was thus a descending scale of owners, each of whom possessed his separate right, which the law guarded and none might violate; yet no one of whom, again, was independent of an authority higher than himself; and the entire body of the english free possessors of the soil was interpenetrated by a coherent organisation which converted them into a perpetually subsisting army of soldiers. the extent of land which was held by the petty freeholders was very large, and the possession of it was jealously treasured; the private estates of the nobles and gentlemen were either cultivated by their own servants, or let out, as at present, to free tenants; or (in earlier times) were occupied by villains, a class who, without being bondmen, were expected to furnish further services than those of the field, services which were limited by the law, and recognised by an outward ceremony, a solemn oath and promise from the villain to his lord. villanage, in the reign of henry viii., had practically ceased. the name of it last appears upon the statute book in the early years of the reign of richard ii., when the disputes between villains and their liege lords on their relative rights had furnished matter for cumbrous lawsuits, and by general consent the relation had merged of itself into a more liberal form. thus serfdom had merged or was rapidly merging into free servitude; but it did not so merge that labouring men, if they pleased, were allowed to live in idleness. every man was regimented somewhere; and although the peasantry, when at full age, were allowed, under restrictions, their own choice of masters, yet the restrictions both on masters and servants were so severe as to prevent either from taking advantage of the necessities of the other, or from terminating through caprice or levity, or for any insufficient reason, a connection presumed to be permanent.[9] through all these arrangements a single aim is visible, that every man in england should have his definite place and definite duty assigned to him, and that no human being should be at liberty to lead at his own pleasure an unaccountable existence. the discipline of an army was transferred to the details of social life, and it issued in a chivalrous perception of the meaning of the word duty, and in the old characteristic spirit of english loyalty. from the regulations with respect to land, a coarser advantage was also derived, of a kind which at the present time will be effectively appreciated. it is a common matter of dispute whether landed estates should be large or small; whether it is better that the land should be divided among small proprietors, cultivating their own ground, or that it should follow its present tendency, and be shared by a limited and constantly diminishing number of wealthy landlords. the advocates for a peasant proprietary tell us truly, that a landed monopoly is dangerous; that the possession of a spot of ground, though it be but a few acres, is the best security for loyalty, giving the state a pledge for its owner, and creating in the body of the nation a free, vigorous, and manly spirit. the advocates for the large estates tell us, that the masses are too ill-educated to be trusted with independence; that without authority over them, these small proprietors become wasteful, careless, improvident; that the free spirit becomes a democratic and dangerous spirit; and finally, that the resources of the land cannot properly be brought out by men without capital to cultivate it. either theory is plausible. the advocates of both can support their arguments with an appeal to experience; and the verdict of fact has not as yet been pronounced emphatically. the problem will be resolved in the future history of this country. it was also nobly and skilfully resolved in the past. the knights and nobles retained the authority and power which was attached to the lordships of the fees. they retained extensive estates in their own hands or in the occupation of their immediate tenants; but the large proportion of the lands was granted out by them to smaller owners, and the expenditure of their own incomes in the wages and maintenance of their vast retinues left but a small margin for indulgence in luxuries. the necessities of their position obliged them to regard their property rather as a revenue to be administered in trust, than as "a fortune" to be expended in indulgence. before the reformation, while the differences of social degree were enormous, the differences in habits of life were comparatively slight, and the practice of men in these things was curiously the reverse of our own. dress, which now scarcely suffices to distinguish the master from his servant, was then the symbol of rank, prescribed by statute to the various orders of society as strictly as the regimental uniform to officers and privates; diet also was prescribed, and with equal strictness; but the diet of the nobleman was ordered down to a level which was then within the reach of the poorest labourer. in 1336, the following law was enacted by the parliament of edward iii.:[10] "whereas, heretofore through the excessive and over-many sorts of costly meats which the people of this realm have used more than elsewhere, many mischiefs have happened to the people of this realm--for the great men by these excesses have been sore grieved; and the lesser people, who only endeavour to imitate the great ones in such sort of meats, are much impoverished, whereby they are not able to aid themselves, nor their liege lord, in time of need, as they ought; and many other evils have happened, as well to their souls as their bodies--our lord the king, desiring the common profit as well of the great men as the common people of his realm, and considering the evils, grievances, and mischiefs aforesaid, by the common assent of the prelates, earls, barons, and other nobles of his said realm, and of the commons of the same realm, hath ordained and established that no man, of what estate or condition soever he be, shall cause himself to be served, in his house or elsewhere, at dinner, meal, or supper, or at any other time, with more than two courses, and each mess of two sorts of victuals at the utmost, be it of flesh or fish, with the common sorts of pottage, without sauce or any other sorts of victuals. and if any man choose to have sauce for his mess, he may, provided it be not made at great cost; and if fish or flesh be to be mixed therein, it shall be of two sorts only at the utmost, either fish or flesh, and shall stand instead of a mess, except only on the principal feasts of the year, on which days every man may be served with three courses at the utmost, after the manner aforesaid." sumptuary laws are among the exploded fallacies which we have outgrown, and we smile at the unwisdom which could expect to regulate private habits and manners by statute. yet some statutes may be of moral authority when they cannot be actually enforced, and may have been regarded, even at the time at which they were issued, rather as an authoritative declaration of what wise and good men considered to be right, than as laws to which obedience could be compelled. this act, at any rate, witnesses to what was then thought to be right by "the great persons" of the english realm; and when great persons will submit themselves of their free will to regulations which restrict their private indulgence, they are in little danger of disloyalty from those whom fortune has placed below them. such is one aspect of these old arrangements; it is unnecessary to say that with these, as with all other institutions created and worked by human beings, the picture admits of being reversed. when by the accident of birth men are placed in a position of authority, no care in their training will prevent it from falling often to singularly unfit persons. the command of a permanent military force was a temptation to ambition, to avarice, or hatred, to the indulgence of private piques and jealousies, to political discontent on private and personal grounds. a combination of three or four of the leading nobles was sufficient, when an incapable prince sate on the throne, to effect a revolution; and the rival claims of the houses of york and lancaster to the crown, took the form of a war unequalled in history for its fierce and determined malignancy, the whole nation tearing itself in pieces in a quarrel in which no principle was at stake, and no national object was to be gained. a more terrible misfortune never befel either this or any other country, and it was made possible only in virtue of that loyalty with which the people followed the standard, through good and evil, of their feudal superiors. it is still a question, however, whether the good or the evil of the system predominated; and the answer to such question is the more difficult because we have no criterion by which, in these matters, degrees of good and evil admit of being measured. arising out of the character of the nation, it reflected this character in all its peculiarities; and there is something truly noble in the coherence of society upon principles of fidelity. fidelity of man to man is among the rarest excellences of humanity, and we can tolerate large evils which arise out of such a cause. under the feudal system men were held together by oaths, free acknowledgments, and reciprocal obligations, entered into by all ranks, high and low, binding servants to their masters, as well as nobles to their kings; and in the frequent forms of the language in which the oaths were sworn we cannot choose but see that we have lost something in exchanging these ties for the harsher connecting links of mutual self-interest. "when a freeman shall do fealty to his lord," the statute says, "he shall hold his right hand upon the book, and shall say thus:--hear you, my lord, that i shall be to you both faithful and true, and shall owe my faith to you for the land that i hold, and lawfully shall do such customs and services as my duty is to you, at the times assigned, so help me god and all his saints." "the villain," also, "when he shall do fealty to his lord, shall hold his right hand over the book, and shall say:--hear you, my lord, that i from this day forth unto you shall be true and faithful, and shall owe you fealty for the land which i hold of you in villanage; and that no evil or damage will i see concerning you, but i will defend and warn you to my power. so help me god and all his saints."[11] again, in the distribution of the produce of land, men dealt fairly and justly with each other; and in the material condition of the bulk of the people there is a fair evidence that the system worked efficiently and well. it worked well for the support of a sturdy high-hearted race, sound in body and fierce in spirit, and furnished with thews and sinews which, under the stimulus of those "great shins of beef,"[12] their common diet, were the wonder of the age. "what comyn folke in all this world," says a state paper in 1515[13] "may compare with the comyns of england in riches, freedom, liberty, welfare, and all prosperity? what comyn folke is so mighty, so strong in the felde, as the comyns of england?" the relative numbers of the french and english armies which fought at cressy and agincourt may have been exaggerated, but no allowance for exaggeration will effect the greatness of those exploits; and in stories of authentic actions under henry viii., where the accuracy of the account is undeniable, no disparity of force made englishmen shrink from enemies wherever they could meet them. again and again a few thousands of them carried dismay into the heart of france. four hundred adventurers, vagabond apprentices, from london,[14] who formed a volunteer corps in the calais garrison, were for years the terror of normandy. in the very frolic of conscious power they fought and plundered, without pay, without reward, except what they could win for themselves; and when they fell at last they fell only when surrounded by six times their number, and were cut to pieces in careless desperation. invariably, by friend and enemy alike, the english are described as the fiercest people in all europe (the english wild beasts, benvenuto cellini calls them); and this great physical power they owed to the profuse abundance in which they lived, and to the soldier's training in which every man of them was bred from childhood. the state of the working classes can, however, be more certainly determined by a comparison of their wages with the prices of food. both were regulated, so far as regulation was possible, by act of parliament, and we have therefore data of the clearest kind by which to judge. the majority of agricultural labourers lived, as i have said, in the houses of their employers; this, however, was not the case with all, and if we can satisfy ourselves as to the rate at which those among the poor were able to live who had cottages of their own, we may be assured that the rest did not live worse at their masters' tables. wheat, the price of which necessarily varied, averaged in the middle of the fourteenth century tenpence the bushel;[15] barley averaging at the same time three shillings the quarter. with wheat the fluctuation was excessive; a table of its possible variations describes it as ranging from eighteenpence the quarter to twenty shillings; the average, however, being six and eightpence.[16] when the price was above this sum, the merchants might import to bring it down;[17] when it was below this price the farmers were allowed to export to the foreign markets.[18] the same scale, with a scarcely appreciable tendency to rise, continued to hold until the disturbance in the value of the currency. in the twelve years from 1551 to 1562, although once before harvest wheat rose to the extraordinary price of forty-five shillings a quarter, it fell immediately after to five shillings and four.[19] six and eightpence continued to be considered in parliament as the average; [20] and on the whole it seems to have been maintained for that time with little variation.[21] beef and pork were a halfpenny a pound--mutton was three farthings. they were fixed at these prices by the 3rd of the 24th of hen. viii. but the act was unpopular both with buyers and with sellers. the old practice had been to sell in the gross, and under that arrangement the rates had been generally lower. stow says,[22] "it was this year enacted that butchers should sell their beef and mutton by weight--beef for a halfpenny the pound, and mutton for three farthings; which being devised for the great commodity of the realm (as it was thought), hath proved far otherwise: for at that time fat oxen were sold for six and twenty shillings and eightpence the piece; fat wethers for three shillings and fourpence the piece; fat calves at a like price; and fat lambs for twelvepence. the butchers of london sold penny pieces of beef for the relief of the poor--every piece two pound and a half, sometimes three pound for a penny; and thirteen and sometimes fourteen of these pieces for twelvepence; mutton eightpence the quarter, and an hundred weight of beef for four shillings and eightpence." the act was repealed in consequence of the complaints against it,[23] but the prices never fell again to what they had been, although beef sold in the gross could still be had for a halfpenny a pound in 1570.[24] other articles of food were in the same proportion. the best pig or goose in a country market could be bought for fourpence; a good capon for threepence or fourpence; a chicken for a penny; a hen for twopence.[25] strong beer, such as we now buy for eighteenpence a gallon, was then a penny a gallon;[26] and table-beer less than a halfpenny. french and german wines were eightpence the gallon. spanish and portuguese wines a shilling. this was the highest price at which the best wines might be sold; and if there was any fault in quality or quantity, the dealers forfeited four times the amount.[27] rent, another important consideration, cannot be fixed so accurately, for parliament did not interfere with it. here, however, we are not without very tolerable information. "my father," says latimer,[28] "was a yeoman, and had no lands of his own; only he had a _farm of three or four pounds by the year_ at the uttermost, and hereupon he tilled so much as kept half-a-dozen men. he had walk for a hundred sheep, and my mother milked thirty kine. he was able, and did find the king a harness with himself and his horse. i remember that i buckled on his harness when he went to blackheath field. he kept me to school, or else i had not been able to have preached before the king's majesty now. he married my sisters with five pounds, or twenty nobles, each, having brought them up in godliness and fear of god. he kept hospitality for his poor neighbours, and some alms he gave to the poor; and all this he did of the said farm." if "three or four pounds at the uttermost" was the rent of a farm yielding such results, the rent of labourers' cottages is not likely to have been considerable.[29] some uncertainty is unavoidable in all calculations of the present nature; yet, after making the utmost allowances for errors, we may conclude from such a table of prices that a penny, in terms of the labourer's necessities, must have been nearly equal in the reign of henry viii. to the present shilling. for a penny, at the time of which i write, the labourer could buy as much bread, beef, beer, and wine--he could do as much towards finding lodging for himself and his family--as the labourer of the nineteenth century can for a shilling. i do not see that this admits of question. turning, then, to the table of wages, it will be easy to ascertain his position. by the 3rd of the 6th of henry viii. it was enacted that master carpenters, masons, bricklayers, tylers, plumbers, glaziers, joiners, and other employers of such skilled workmen, should give to each of their journeymen, if no meat or drink was allowed, sixpence a day for the half year, fivepence a day for the other half; or fivepence-halfpenny for the yearly average. the common labourers were to receive fourpence a day for half the year, for the remaining half, threepence.[30] in the harvest months they were allowed to work by the piece, and might earn considerably more;[31] so that, in fact (and this was the rate at which their wages were usually estimated), the day labourer, if in full employment, received on an average fourpence a day for the whole year. allowing a deduction of one day in a fortnight for a saint's day or a holiday, he received, therefore, steadily and regularly, if well conducted, an equivalent of something near to twenty shillings a week, the wages at present paid in english colonies: and this is far from being a full account of his advantages. except in rare instances, the agricultural labourer held land in connection with his house, while in most parishes, if not in all, there were large ranges of common and unenclosed forest land, which furnished his fuel to him gratis, where pigs might range, and ducks and geese; where, if he could afford a cow, he was in no danger of being unable to feed it; and so important was this privilege considered, that when the commons began to be largely enclosed, parliament insisted that the working man should not be without some piece of ground on which he could employ his own and his family's industry.[32] by the 7th of the 31st of elizabeth, it was ordered that no cottage should be built for residence without four acres of land at lowest being attached to it for the sole use of the occupants of such cottage. it will, perhaps, be supposed that such comparative prosperity of labour was the result of the condition of the market in which it was sold, that the demand for labour was large and the supply limited, and that the state of england in the sixteenth century was analogous to that of australia or canada at the present time. and so long as we confine our view to the question of wages alone, it is undoubted that legislation was in favour of the employer. the wages act of henry viii. was unpopular with the labourers, and was held to deprive them of an opportunity of making better terms for themselves.[33] but we shall fall into extreme error if we translate into the language of modern political economy the social features of a state of things which in no way correspond to our own. there was this essential difference, that labour was not looked upon as a market commodity; the government (whether wisely or not, i do not presume to determine) attempting to portion out the rights of the various classes of society by the rule, not of economy, but of equity. statesmen did not care for the accumulation of capital; they desired to see the physical well-being of all classes of the commonwealth maintained at the highest degree which the producing power of the country admitted; and population and production remaining stationary, they were able to do it. this was their object, and they were supported in it by a powerful and efficient majority of the nation. on the one side parliament interfered to protect employers against their labourers; but it was equally determined that employers should not be allowed to abuse their opportunities; and this directly appears from the 4th of the 5th of elizabeth, by which, on the most trifling appearance of a depreciation in the currency, it was declared that the labouring man could no longer live on the wages assigned to him by the act of henry; and a sliding scale was instituted by which, for the future, wages should be adjusted to the price of food.[34] the same conclusion may be gathered also, indirectly, from other acts, interfering imperiously with the rights of property where a disposition showed itself to exercise them selfishly. the city merchants, as i have said, were becoming landowners; and some of them attempted to apply the rules of trade to the management of landed estates. while wages were ruled so high, it answered better as a speculation to convert arable land into pasture; but the law immediately stepped in to prevent a proceeding which it regarded as petty treason to the commonwealth. self-protection is the first law of life; and the country relying for its defence on an able-bodied population, evenly distributed, ready at any moment to be called into action, either against foreign invasion or civil disturbance, it could not permit the owners of land to pursue for their own benefit a course of action which threatened to weaken its garrisons. it is not often that we are able to test the wisdom of legislation by specific results so clearly as in the present instance. the first attempts of the kind which i have described were made in the isle of wight, early in the reign of henry vii. lying so directly exposed to attacks from france, the isle of wight was a place which it was peculiarly important to keep in a state of defence, and the following act was therefore the consequence:-"forasmuch as it is to the surety of the realm of england that the isle of wight, in the county of southampton, be well inhabited with english people, for the defence as well of our antient enemies of the realm of france as of other parties; the which isle is late decayed of people by reason that many towns and villages have been let down, and the fields dyked and made pasture for beasts and cattle, and also many dwelling-places, farms, and farmholds have of late time been used to be taken into one man's hold and hands, that of old time were wont to be in many several persons' holds and hands, and many several households kept in them; and thereby much people multiplied, and the same isle thereby well inhabited, which now, by the occasion aforesaid, is desolate and not inhabited, but occupied with beasts and cattle, so that if hasty remedy be not provided, that isle cannot long be kept and defended, but open and ready to the hands of the king's enemies, which god forbid. for remedy hereof, it is ordained and enacted that no manner of person, of what estate, degree, or condition soever, shall take any several farms more than one, whereof the yearly value shall not exceed the sum of ten marks; and if any several leases afore this time have been made to any person or persons of divers and sundry farmholds, whereof the yearly value shall exceed that sum, then the said person or persons shall choose one farmhold at his pleasure, and the remnant of his leases shall be utterly void."[35] an act, tyrannical in form, was singularly justified by its consequences. the farms were rebuilt, the lands reploughed, the island repeopled; and in 1546, when a french army of sixty thousand men attempted to effect a landing at st. helen's, they were defeated and driven off by the militia of the island and a few levies transported from hampshire and the adjoining counties.[36] the money-making spirit, however, lay too deep to be checked so readily. the trading classes were growing rich under the strong rule of the tudors. increasing numbers of them were buying or renting land; and the symptoms complained of broke out in the following reign in many parts of england. they could not choose but break out indeed; for they were the outward marks of a vital change, which was undermining the feudal constitution, and would by and bye revolutionise and destroy it. such symptoms it was impossible to extinguish; but the government wrestled long and powerfully to hold down the new spirit; and they fought against it successfully, till the old order of things had finished its work, and the time was come for it to depart. by the 1st of the 7th of henry viii., the laws of feudal tenure were put in force against the landed traders. wherever lands were converted from tillage to pasture, the lords of the fee had authority to seize half of all profits until the farm-buildings were reconstructed. if the immediate lord did not do his duty, the lord next above him was to do it; and the evil still increasing, the act, twenty years later, was extended further, and the king had power to seize.[37] nor was this all. sheep-farming had become an integral branch of business; and falling into the hands of men who understood each other, it had been made a monopoly, affecting seriously the prices of wool and mutton.[38] stronger measures were therefore now taken, and the class to which the offenders belonged was especially pointed out by parliament. "whereas," says the 13th of the 25th of henry viii., "divers and sundry persons of the king's subjects of this realm, to whom god of his goodness hath disposed great plenty and abundance of moveable substance, now of late, within few years, have daily studied, practised, and invented ways and means how they might accumulate and gather together into few hands, as well great multitude of farms as great plenty of cattle, and in especial, sheep, putting such lands as they can get to pasture and not to tillage; whereby they have not only pulled down churches and towns and enhanced the old rates of the rents of the possessions of this realm, or else brought it to such excessive fines that no poor man is able to meddle with it, but also have raised and enhanced the prices of all manner of corn, cattle, wool, pigs, geese, hens, chickens, eggs, and such other commodities, almost double above the prices which hath been accustomed, by reason whereof a marvellous multitude of the poor people of this realm be not able to provide meat, drink, and clothes necessary for themselves, their wives, and children, but be so discouraged with misery and poverty, that they fall daily to theft, robbery, and other inconveniences, or pitifully die for hunger and cold; and it is thought by the king's humble and loving subjects, that one of the greatest occasions that moveth those greedy and covetous people so to accumulate and keep in their hands such great portions and parts of the lands of this realm from the occupying of the poor husbandmen, and so to use it in pasture and not in tillage, is the great profit that cometh of sheep which be now come into a few persons' hands, in respect of the whole number of the king's subjects; it is hereby enacted, that no person shall have or keep on lands not their own inheritance more than 2000 sheep; that no person shall occupy more than two farms; and that the 19th of the 4th of henry vii., and those other acts obliging the lords of the fees to do their duty, shall be re-enacted and enforced."[39] by these measures the money-making spirit was for a time driven back, and the country resumed its natural course. i am not concerned to defend the economic wisdom of such proceedings; but they prove, i think, conclusively, that the labouring classes owed their advantages not to the condition of the labour market, but to the care of the state; and that when the state relaxed its supervision, or failed to enforce its regulations, the labourers being left to the market chances, sank instantly in the unequal struggle with capital. the government, however, remained strong enough to hold its ground (except during the discreditable interlude of the reign of edward vi.) for the first three quarters of the century; and until that time the working classes of this country remained in a condition more than prosperous. they enjoyed an abundance far beyond what in general falls to the lot of that order in long-settled countries; incomparably beyond what the same class were enjoying at that very time in germany or france. the laws secured them; and that the laws were put in force we have the direct evidence of successive acts of the legislature justifying the general policy by its success: and we have also the indirect evidence of the contented loyalty of the great body of the people at a time when, if they had been discontented, they held in their own hands the means of asserting what the law acknowledged to be their right. the government had no power to compel submission to injustice, as was proved by the fate of an attempt to levy a "benevolence" by force, in 1525. the people resisted with a determination against which the crown commissioners were unable to contend, and the scheme ended with an acknowledgment of fault by henry, who retired with a good grace from an impossible position. if the peasantry had been suffering under any real grievances we should not have failed to have heard of them when the religious rebellions furnished so fair an opportunity to press those grievances forward. complaint was loud enough when complaint was just, under the somerset protectorate. [40] the incomes of the great nobles cannot be determined, for they varied probably as much as they vary now. under henry iv. the average income of an earl was estimated at £2000 a year.[41] under henry viii. the great duke of buckingham, the wealthiest english peer, had £6000.[42] and the income of the archbishop of canterbury was rated at the same amount.[43] but the establishments of such men were enormous; their ordinary retinues in time of peace consisting of many hundred persons; and in war, when the duties of a nobleman called him to the field, although in theory his followers were paid by the crown, yet the grants of parliament were on so small a scale that the theory was seldom converted into fact, and a large share of the expenses was paid often out of private purses. the duke of norfolk, in the scotch war of 1523, declared (not complaining of it, but merely as a reason why he should receive support) that he had spent all his private means upon the army; and in the sequel of this history we shall find repeated instances of knights and gentlemen voluntarily ruining themselves in the service of their country. the people, not universally, but generally, were animated by a true spirit of sacrifice; by a true conviction that they were bound to think first of england, and only next of themselves; and unless we can bring ourselves to understand this, we shall never understand what england was under the reigns of the plantagenets and tudors. the expenses of the court under henry vii. were a little over £14,000 a year, out of which were defrayed the whole cost of the king's establishment, the expenses of entertaining foreign ambassadors, the wages and maintenance of the yeomen of the guard, the retinues of servants, and all necessary outlay not incurred for public business. under henry viii., of whose extravagance we have heard so much, and whose court was the most magnificent in the world, these expenses were £19,894 16s. 8d.,[44] a small sum when compared with the present cost of the royal establishment, even if we adopt the relative estimate of twelve to one, and suppose it equal to £240,000 a year of our money. but indeed it was not equal to £240,000; for, although the proportion held in articles of common consumption, articles of luxury were very dear indeed.[45] passing down from the king and his nobles, to the body of the people, we find that the income qualifying a country gentleman to be justice of the peace was £20 a year, [46] and if he did his duty, his office was no sinecure. we remember justice shallow and his clerk davy, with his novel theory of magisterial law; and shallow's broad features have so english a cast about them, that we may believe there were many such, and that the duty was not always very excellently done. but the justice shallows were not allowed to repose upon their dignity. the justice of the peace was required not only to take cognisance of open offences, but to keep surveillance over all persons within his district, and over himself in his own turn there was a surveillance no less sharp, and penalties for neglect prompt and peremptory.[47] four times a year he was to make proclamation of his duty, and exhort all persons to complain against him who had occasion. twenty pounds a year, and heavy duties to do for it, represented the condition of the squire of the parish.[48] by the 2nd of the 2nd of henry v., "the wages" of a parish priest were limited to £5 6s. 8d., except in cases where there was special licence from the bishop, when they might be raised as high as £6. priests were probably something better off under henry viii., but the statute remained in force, and marks an approach at least to their ordinary salary.[49] the priest had enough, being unmarried, to supply him in comfort with the necessaries of life. the squire had enough to provide moderate abundance for himself and his family. neither priest nor squire was able to establish any steep difference in outward advantages between himself and the commons among whom he lived. the habits of all classes were open, free, and liberal. there are two expressions corresponding one to the other, which we frequently meet with in old writings, and which are used as a kind of index, marking whether the condition of things was or was not what it ought to be. we read of "merry england;"--when england was not merry, things were not going well with it. we hear of "the glory of hospitality," england's pre-eminent boast,-by the rules of which all tables, from the table of the twenty-shilling freeholder to the table in the baron's hall and abbey refectory, were open at the dinner hour to all comers, without stint or reserve, or question asked:[50] to every man, according to his degree, who chose to ask for it there was free fee and free lodging; bread, beef, and beer for his dinner; for his lodging, perhaps, only a mat of rushes in a spare corner of the hall, with a billet of wood for a pillow,[51] but freely offered and freely taken, the guest probably faring much as his host fared, neither worse nor better. there was little fear of an abuse of such licence, for suspicious characters had no leave to wander at pleasure; and for any man found at large and unable to give a sufficient account of himself, there were the ever-ready parish stocks or town gaol. the "glory of hospitality" lasted far down into elizabeth's time; and then, as camden says, "came in great bravery of building, to the marvellous beautifying of the realm, but to the decay" of what he valued more. in such frank style the people lived, hating three things with all their hearts: idleness, want, and cowardice; and for the rest carrying their hearts high, and having their hands full. the[52] hour of rising, winter and summer, was four o'clock, with breakfast at five, after which the labourers went to work and the gentlemen to business, of which they had no little. in the country every unknown face was challenged and examined--if the account given was insufficient, he was brought before the justice; if the village shopkeeper sold bad wares, if the village cobbler made "unhonest" shoes, if servants and masters quarrelled, all was to be looked to by the justice; there was no fear lest time should hang heavy with him. at twelve he dined; after dinner he went hunting, or to his farm or to what he pleased.[53] it was a life unrefined, perhaps, but coloured with a broad, rosy, english health. of the education of noblemen and gentlemen we have contradictory accounts, as might be expected. the universities were well filled, by the sons of yeomen chiefly. the cost of supporting them at the colleges was little, and wealthy men took a pride in helping forward any boys of promise.[54] it seems clear also, as the reformation drew nearer, while the clergy were sinking lower and lower, a marked change for the better became perceptible in a portion at least of the laity. the more old-fashioned of the higher ranks were slow in moving; for as late as the reign of edward vi.[55] there were peers of parliament unable to read; but on the whole, the invention of printing, and the general ferment which was commencing all over the world, had produced marked effects in all classes. henry viii. himself spoke four languages, and was well read in theology and history; and the high accomplishments of more and sir t. elliott, of wyatt and cromwell, were but the extreme expression of a temper which was rapidly spreading, and which gave occasion, among other things to the following reflection in erasmus. "oh, strange vicissitudes of human things," exclaims he. "heretofore the heart of learning was among such as professed religion. now, while they for the most part give themselves up, _ventri luxui pecuniæque_, the love of learning is gone from them to secular princes, the court and the nobility. may we not justly be ashamed of ourselves? the feasts of priests and divines are drowned in wine, are filled with scurrilous jests, sound with intemperate noise and tumult, flow with spiteful slanders and defamation of others; while at princes' tables modest disputations are held concerning things which make for learning and piety." a letter to thomas cromwell from his son's tutor will not be without interest on this subject; cromwell was likely to have been unusually careful in his children's training, and we need not suppose that all boys were brought up as prudently. sir peter carew, for instance, being a boy at about the same time, and giving trouble at the high school at exeter, was led home to his father's house at ottery, coupled between two foxhounds.[56] yet the education of gregory cromwell is probably not far above what many young men of the middle and higher ranks were beginning to receive. henry dowes was the tutor's name, beyond which fact i know nothing of him. his letter is as follows:-"after that it pleased your mastership to give me in charge, not only to give diligent attendance upon master gregory, but also to instruct him with good letters, honest manners, pastyme of instruments, and such other qualities as should be for him meet and convenient, pleaseth it you to understand that for the accomplishment thereof i have endeavoured myself by all ways possible to excogitate how i might most profit him. in which behalf, through his diligence, the success is such as i trust shall be to your good contentation and pleasure, and to his no small profit. but for cause the summer was spent in the service of the wild gods, [and] it is so much to be regarded after what fashion youth is brought up, in which time that that is learned for the most part will not be wholly forgotten in the older years, i think it my duty to acertain your mastership how he spendeth his time. and first after he hath heard mass he taketh a lecture of a dialogue of erasmus' _colloquies_, called _pietas puerilis_, wherein is described a very picture of one that should be virtuously brought up; and for cause it is so necessary for him, i do not only cause him to read it over, but also to practise the precepts of the same. after this he exerciseth his hand in writing one or two hours, and readeth upon fabyan's _chronicle_ as long. the residue of the day he doth spend upon the lute and virginals. when he rideth, as he doth very oft, i tell him by the way some history of the romans or the greeks, which i cause him to rehearse again in a tale. for his recreation he useth to hawk and hunt and shoot in his long bow, which frameth and succeedeth so well with him that he seemeth to be thereunto given by nature."[57] i have spoken of the organisation of the country population, i have now to speak of that of the towns, of the trading classes and manufacturing classes, the regulations respecting which are no less remarkable and no less illustrative of the national character. if the tendency of trade to assume at last a form of mere self-interest be irresistible, if political economy represent the laws to which in the end it is forced to submit itself, the nation spared no efforts, either of art or policy, to defer to the last moment the unwelcome conclusion. the names and shadows linger about london of certain ancient societies, the members of which may still occasionally be seen in quaint gilt barges pursuing their own difficult way among the swarming steamers; when on certain days, the traditions concerning which are fast dying out of memory, the fishmongers' company, the goldsmiths' company, the mercers' company, make procession down the river for civic feastings at greenwich or blackwall. the stately tokens of ancient honour still belong to them, and the remnants of ancient wealth and patronage and power. their charters may be read by curious antiquaries, and the bills of fare of their ancient entertainments. but for what purpose they were called into being, what there was in these associations of common trades to surround with gilded insignia, and how they came to be possessed of broad lands and church preferments, few people now care to think or to inquire. trade and traders have no dignity any more in the eyes of any one, except what money lends to them; and these outward symbols scarcely rouse even a passing feeling of curiosity. and yet these companies were once something more than names. they are all which now remain of a vast organisation which once penetrated the entire trading life of england--an organisation set on foot to realise that most necessary, if most difficult, condition of commercial excellence under which man should deal faithfully with his brother, and all wares offered for sale, of whatever kind, should honestly be what they pretend to be.[58] i spoke of the military principle which directed the distribution and the arrangements of land. the analogy will best explain a state of things in which every occupation was treated as the division of an army; regiments being quartered in every town, each with its own self-elected officers, whose duty was to exercise authority over all persons professing the business to which they belonged; who were to see that no person undertook to supply articles which he had not been educated to manufacture; who were to determine the prices at which such articles ought justly to be sold; above all, who were to take care that the common people really bought at shops and stalls what they supposed themselves to be buying; that cloth put up for sale was true cloth, of true texture and full weight: that leather was sound and well tanned; wine pure, measures honest; flour unmixed with devil's dust;--who were generally to look to it that in all contracts between man and man for the supply of man's necessities, what we call honesty of dealing should be truly and faithfully observed.[59] an organisation for this purpose did once really exist in england,[60] really trying to do the work which it was intended to do, as half the pages of our early statutes witness. in london, as the metropolis, a central council sate for every branch of trade, and this council was in communication with the chancellor and the crown. it was composed of the highest and most respectable members of the profession, and its office was to determine prices, fix wages, arrange the rules of apprenticeship, and discuss all details connected with the business on which legislation might be required. further, this council received the reports of the searchers--high officers taken from their own body, whose business was to inspect, in company with the lord mayor or some other city dignitary, the shops of the respective traders; to receive complaints, and to examine into them. in each provincial town local councils sate in connection with the municipal authorities, who fulfilled in these places the same duties; and their reports being forwarded to the central body, and considered by them, representations on all necessary matters were then made to the privy council; and by the privy council, if requisite, were submitted to parliament. if these representations were judged to require legislative interference, the statutes which were passed in consequence were returned through the chancellor to the mayors of the various towns and cities, by whom they were proclaimed as law. no person was allowed to open a trade or to commence a manufacture, either in london or the provinces, unless he had first served his apprenticeship; unless he could prove to the satisfaction of the authorities that he was competent in his craft; and unless he submitted as a matter of course to their supervision. the legislature had undertaken not to let that indispensable task go wholly unattempted, of distributing the various functions of society by the rule of capacity; of compelling every man to do his duty in an honest following of his proper calling, securing to him that he in his turn should not be injured by his neighbour's misdoings. the state further promising for itself that all able-bodied men should be found in work,[61] and not allowing any man to work at a business for which he was unfit, insisted as its natural right that children should not be allowed to grow up in idleness, to be returned at mature age upon its hands. every child, so far as possible, was to be trained up in some business or calling,[62] idleness "being the mother of all sin," and the essential duty of every man being to provide honestly for himself and his family. the educative theory, for such it was, was simple but effective: it was based on the single principle that, next to the knowledge of a man's duty to god, and as a means towards doing that duty, the first condition of a worthy life was the ability to maintain it in independence. varieties of inapplicable knowledge might be good, but they were not essential; such knowledge might be left to the leisure of after years, or it might be dispensed with without vital injury. ability to labour could not be dispensed with, and this, therefore, the state felt it to be its own duty to see provided; so reaching, i cannot but think, the heart of the whole matter. the children of those who could afford the small entrance fees were apprenticed to trades, the rest were apprenticed to agriculture; and if children were found growing up idle, and their fathers or their friends failed to prove that they were able to secure them an ultimate maintenance, the mayors in towns and the magistrates in the country had authority to take possession of such children, and apprentice them as they saw fit, that when they grew up "they might not be driven" by want or incapacity "to dishonest courses."[63] such is an outline of the organisation of english society under the plantagenets and tudors. a detail of the working of the trade laws would be beyond my present purpose. it is obvious that such laws could be enforced only under circumstances when production and population remained (as i said before) nearly stationary; and it would be madness to attempt to apply them to the changed condition of the present. it would be well if some competent person would make these laws the subject of a special treatise. i will run the risk, however, of wearying the reader with two or three illustrative statutes, which i have chosen, not as being more significant than many others, but as specimens merely of the discipline under which, for centuries, the trade and manufactures of england contrived to move; showing on one side the good which the system effected, on the other the inevitable evils under which it finally sank. the first which i shall quote concerns simply the sale of specific goods and the means by which tradesmen were prevented from enhancing prices. the act is the 6th of the 24th of henry viii., and concerns the sale of wines, the statute prices of which i have already mentioned. "because," says this act, "that divers merchants inhabiting within the city of london have of late not only presumed to bargain and sell in gross to divers of the king's subjects great quantities of wines of gascony, guienne, and french wines, some for five pounds per tonne, some for more and some for less, and so after the rate of excessive prices contrary to the effect of a good and laudable statute lately made in this present parliament; that is to say, contrary to and above the prices thereof set by the right honourable lord chancellor, lord treasurer, lord president of the king's most honourable council, lord privy seal, and the two chief justices of either bench, whereby they be fallen into the penalties limited by the said statute; as by due proof made by examination taken is well known--but also having in their hands great abundance of wine, by them acquired and bought to be sold, obstinately and maliciously, since their said attemptate and defaults proved, have refused to bargain and sell to many of the king's subjects any of their said wines remaining and being in their hands; purposing and intending thereby their own singular and unreasonable lucres and profits, to have larger and higher prices of their said wines, to be set according to their insatiable appetites and minds; it is therefore ordained and enacted, by authority of this present parliament, that every merchant now having, or which shall hereafter have, wines to be sold, and refusing to sell or deliver, or not selling and delivering any of the said wines for ready money therefore to be paid, according to the price or prices thereof being set, shall forfeit and lose the value of the wine so required to be bought.... for due execution of which provision, and for the relief of the king's subjects, it shall be lawful to all and singular justices of the peace, mayors, bailiffs, and other head officers in shires, cities, boroughs, towns, etc., at the request of any person to whom the said merchant or merchants have refused to sell, to enter into the cellars and other places where such wines shall lie or be, and to sell and deliver the same wine or wines desired to be bought to the person or persons requiring to buy the same; taking of the buyer of the wine so sold to the use and satisfaction of the proprietor aforesaid, according to the prices determined by the law." the next which i select is the eleventh of the second and third of philip and mary; and falling in the midst of the smoke of the smithfield fires, and the cruelties of that melancholy time, it shines like a fair gleam of humanity, which will not lose anything of its lustre because the evils against which it contends have in our times, also, furnished matter for sorrow and calamity--calamity which we unhappily have been unable even to attempt to remedy. it is termed "an act touching weavers," and runs: "forasmuch as the weavers of this realm have, as well at this present parliament as at divers other times, complained that the rich and wealthy clothiers do in many ways oppress them--some by setting up and keeping in their houses divers looms, and keeping and maintaining them by journeymen and persons unskilful, to the decay of a great number of artificers which were brought up in the said science of weaving, with their families and their households--some by engrossing of looms into their hands and possession, and letting them out at such unreasonable rents, as the poor artificers are not able to maintain themselves, much less maintain their wives, families, and children--some also by giving much less wages and hire for weaving and workmanship than in times past they did, whereby they are enforced utterly to forsake their art and occupation wherein they have been brought up; it is, therefore, for remedy of the premises, and for the avoiding of a great number of inconveniences which may grow if in time it be not foreseen, ordained and enacted by authority of this present parliament, that no person using the feat or mystery of cloth-making, and dwelling out of a city, borough, market-town, or corporate town, shall keep, or retain, or have in his or their houses or possession, any more than one woollen loom at a time; nor shall by any means, directly or indirectly, receive or take any manner of profit, gain, or commodity, by letting or setting any loom, or any house wherein any loom is or shall be used or occupied, which shall be together by him set or let, upon pain of forfeiture for every week that any person shall do the contrary to the tenor and true meaning hereof, twenty shillings." a provision then follows, limiting weavers living in towns to two looms--the plain intention being to prevent the cloth manufacture from falling into the power of large capitalists employing "hands;" and to enable as many persons as possible to earn all in their own homes their own separate independent living. i suppose that the parliament was aware that by pursuing this policy the cost of production was something increased; that cloth was thus made dearer than it would have been if trade had been left to follow its own course. it considered, however, that the loss was compensated to the nation by retaining its people in the condition not of "hands," but of men; by rendering them independent of masters, who only sought to make their own advantage at the expense of labour; and enabling them to continue to maintain themselves in manly freedom. the weak point of all such provisions did not lie, i think, in the economic aspect of them, but in a far deeper difficulty. the details of trade legislation, it is obvious, could only be determined by persons professionally conversant with those details; and the indispensable condition of success with such legislation is, that it be conducted under the highest sense of the obligations of honesty. no laws are of any service which are above the working level of public morality; and the deeper they are carried down into life, the larger become the opportunities of evasion. that the system succeeded for centuries is evident from the organisation of the companies remaining so long in its vitality; but the efficiency of this organisation for the maintenance of fair dealing could exist only so long as the companies themselves--their wardens and their other officials, who alone, _quisque in suâ arte_, were competent to judge what was right and what was wrong--could be trusted, at the same time being interested parties, to give a disinterested judgment. the largeness of the power inevitably committed to the councils was at once a temptation and an opportunity to abuse those powers; and slowly through the statute book we find the traces of the poison as it crept in and in. already in the 24th of henry viii., we meet with complaints in the leather trade of the fraudulent conduct of the searchers, whose duty was to affix their seal upon leather ascertained to be sound, before it was exposed for sale, "which mark or print, for corruption and lucre, is commonly set and put by such as take upon them the search and sealing, as well upon leather insufficiently tanned, as upon leather well tanned, to the great deceit of the buyers thereof." about the same time, the "craft wardens" of the various fellowships, "out of sinister mind and purpose," were levying excessive fees on the admission of apprentices; and when parliament interfered to bring them to order, they "compassed and practised by cautill and subtle means to delude the good and wholesome statutes passed for remedy."[64] the old proverb, _quis custodiat custodes_, had begun to verify itself, and the symptom was a fatal one. these evils, for the first half of the century, remained within compass; but as we pass on we find them increasing steadily. in the 7th and the 8th of elizabeth, there are indications of the truck system; and towards her later years, the multiplying statutes and growing complaints and difficulties show plainly that the companies had lost their healthy vitality, and, with other relics of feudalism, were fast taking themselves away. there were no longer tradesmen to be found in sufficient numbers who were possessed of the necessary probity; and it is impossible not to connect such a phenomenon with the deep melancholy which in those years settled down on elizabeth herself. for, indeed, a change was coming upon the world, the meaning and direction of which even still is hidden from us, a change from era to era. the paths trodden by the footsteps of ages were broken up; old things were passing away, and the faith and the life of ten centuries were dissolving like a dream. chivalry was dying; the abbey and the castle were soon together to crumble into ruins; and all the forms, desires, beliefs, convictions of the old world were passing away, never to return. a new continent had risen up beyond the western sea. the floor of heaven, inlaid with stars, had sunk back into an infinite abyss of immeasurable space; and the firm earth itself, unfixed from its foundations, was seen to be but a small atom in the awful vastness of the universe. in the fabric of habit in which they had so laboriously built for themselves, mankind were to remain no longer. and now it is all gone--like an unsubstantial pageant faded; and between us and the old english there lies a gulf of mystery which the prose of the historian will never adequately bridge. they cannot come to us, and our imagination can but feebly penetrate to them. only among the aisles of the cathedral, only as we gaze upon their silent figures sleeping on their tombs, some faint conceptions float before us of what these men were when they were alive; and perhaps in the sound of church bells, that peculiar creation of mediæval age, which falls upon the ear like the echo of a vanished world. the transition out of this old state is what in this book i have undertaken to relate. as yet there were uneasy workings below the surface; but the crust was unbroken, and the nation remained outwardly unchanged as it had been for centuries. i have still some few features to add to my description. nothing, i think, proves more surely the mutual confidence which held together the government and the people, than the fact that all classes were armed. every man, as i have already said, was a soldier; and every man was ready equipped at all times with the arms which corresponded to his rank. by the great statute of winchester,[65] which was repeated and expanded on many occasions in the after reigns, it was enacted, "that every man have harness in his house to keep the peace after the antient assise--that is to say, every man between fifteen years of age and sixty years shall be assessed and sworn to armour according to the quantity of his lands and goods--that is, to wit, for fifteen pounds lands and forty marks goods, a hauberke, a helmet of iron, a sword, a dagger, and a horse. for ten pounds of lands and twenty marks goods, a hauberke, a helmet, a sword, and a dagger. for five pounds lands, a doublet, a helmet of iron, a sword, and a dagger. for forty shillings lands, a sword, a bow and arrows, and a dagger. and all others that may shall have bows and arrows. review of armour shall be made every year two times, by two constables for every hundred and franchise thereunto appointed; and the constables shall present, to justices assigned for that purpose, such defaults as they do find." as the archery was more developed, and the bow became the peculiar weapon of the english, regular practice was ordered, and shooting became at once the drill and the amusement of the people. every hamlet had its pair of butts; and on sundays and holidays[66] all able-bodied men were required to appear in the field, to employ their leisure hours "as valyant englishmen ought to do," "utterly leaving the play at the bowls, quoits, dice, kails, and other unthrifty games;" magistrates, mayors, and bailiffs being responsible for their obedience, under penalty, if these officers neglected their duty, of a fine of twenty shillings for each offence. on the same days, the tilt-yard at the hall or castle was thrown open, and the young men of rank amused themselves with similar exercises. fighting, or mock fighting--and the imitation was not unlike the reality--was at once the highest enjoyment and the noblest accomplishment of all ranks in the state; and over that most terrible of human occupations they had flung the enchanted halo of chivalry, decorating it with all the fairest graces, and consecrating it with the most heroic aspirations. the chivalry, with much else, was often perhaps something ideal. in the wars of the roses it had turned into mere savage ferocity; and in forty years of carnage the fighting propensities had glutted themselves. a reaction followed, and in the early years of henry viii. the statutes were growing obsolete, and the "unlawful games" rising again into favour. the younger nobles, or some among them, were shrinking from the tilt-yard, and were backward on occasions even when required for war. lord surrey, when waiting on the border, expecting the duke of albany to invade the northern counties, in 1523, complained of the growing "slowness" of the young lords "to be at such journeys,"[67] and of their "inclination to dancing, carding, and dicing." the people had followed the example, and were falling out of archery practice, exchanging it for similar amusements. henry viii., in his earlier days an englishman after the old type, set himself resolutely to oppose these downward tendencies, and to brace again the slackened sinews of the nation. in his own person he was the best rider, the best lance, and the best archer in england; and while a boy he was dreaming of fresh agincourts, and even of fresh crusades. in 1511, when he had been king only three years, parliament re-enacted the winchester statute, with new and remarkable provisions; and twice subsequently in the course of his reign he returned back upon the subject, insisting upon it with increasing stringency. the language of the act of 1511 is not a little striking. "the king's highness," so the words run, "calling to his gracious remembrance that by the feats and exercise of the subjects of his realm in shooting in long bows, there had continually grown and been within the same great numbers and multitudes of good archers, which hath not only defended the realm and the subjects thereof against the cruel malice and dangers of their enemies in times heretofore past, but also, with little numbers and puissance in regard of their opposites, have done many notable acts and discomfitures of war against the infidels and others; and furthermore reduced divers regions and countries to their due obeysance, to the great honour, fame, and surety of this realm and subjects, and to the terrible dread and fear of all strange nations, anything to attempt or do to the hurt or damage of them: yet nevertheless that archery and shooting in long bows is but little used, but daily does minish and decay, and abate more and more; for that much part of the commonalty and poor people of this realm, whereby of old time the great number and substance of archers had grown and multiplied, be not of power nor ability to buy them long bows of yew to exercise shooting in the same, and to sustain the continual charge thereof; and also because, by means and occasions of customable usage of tennis play, bowles, claish and other unlawful games, prohibited by many good and beneficent statutes, much impoverishment hath ensued: wherefore, the king's highness, of his great wisdom and providence, and also for zeal to the public weal, surety, and defence of this his realm, and the antient fame in this behalf to be revived, by the assent of his lords spiritual and temporal, and his commons in this present parliament assembled, hath enacted and established that the statute of winchester for archers be put in due execution; and over that, that every man being the king's subject, not lame, decrepit, or maimed, being within the age of sixty years, except spiritual men, justices of the one bench and of the other, justices of the assize, and barons of the exchequer, do use and exercise shooting in long bows, and also do have a bow and arrows ready continually in his house, to use himself in shooting. and that every man having a man child or men children in his house, shall provide for all such, being of the age of seven years and above, and till they shall come to the age of seventeen years, a bow and two shafts, to learn them and bring them up in shooting; and after such young men shall come to the age of seventeen years, every of them shall provide and have a bow and four arrows continually for himself, at his proper costs and charges, or else of the gift and provision of his friends, and shall use the same as afore is rehearsed." other provisions are added, designed to suppress the games complained of, and to place the bows more within the reach of the poor, by cheapening the prices of them. the same statute[68] (and if this be a proof that it had imperfectly succeeded, it is a proof also of henry's confidence in the general attachment of his subjects) was re-enacted thirty years later, at the crisis of the reformation, when the northern counties were fermenting in a half-suppressed rebellion, and the catholics at home and abroad were intriguing to bring about a revolution. in this subsequent edition of it[69] some particulars are added which demand notice. in the directions to the villages for the maintaining each "a pair of buttes," it is ordered that no person above the age of twenty-four shall shoot with the light flight arrow at a distance under two hundred and twenty yards. up to two hundred and twenty yards, therefore, the heavy war arrow was used, and this is to be taken as the effective range for fighting purposes of the old archery.[70] no measures could have been invented more effective than this vigorous arming to repress the self-seeking tendencies in the mercantile classes which i have mentioned as beginning to show themselves. capital supported by force may make its own terms with labour; but capital lying between a king on one side resolved to prevent oppression, and a people on the other side in full condition to resist, felt even prudence dictate moderation, and reserved itself for a more convenient season. looking, therefore, at the state of england as a whole, i cannot doubt that under henry the body of the people were prosperous, well-fed, loyal, and contented. in all points of material comfort they were as well off as they had ever been before; better off than they have ever been in later times. their amusements, as prescribed by statute, consisted in training themselves as soldiers. in the prohibitions of the statutes we see also what their amusements were inclined to be. but besides "the bowles and the claish," field sports, fishing, shooting, hunting, were the delight of every one, and although the forest laws were terrible, they served only to enhance the excitement by danger. then, as now, no english peasant could be convinced that there was any moral crime in appropriating the wild game. it was an offence against statute law, but no offence against natural law; and it was rather a trial of skill between the noble who sought to monopolise a right which seemed to be common to all, and those who would succeed, if they could, in securing their own share of it. the robin hood ballads reflect the popular feeling and breathe the warm genial spirit of the old greenwood adventurers. if deer-stealing was a sin, it was more than compensated by the risk of the penalty to which those who failed submitted, when no other choice was left. they did not always submit, as the old northern poem shows of _adam bell, clym of the clough, and william of cloudislee_, with its most immoral moral; yet i suppose there was never pedant who could resist the spell of those ringing lines, or refuse with all his heart to wish the rogues success, and confusion to the honest men. but the english peasantry had pleasures of less ambiguous propriety, and less likely to mislead our sympathies. the chroniclers have given us many accounts of the masques and plays which were acted in the court, or in the castles of the noblemen. such pageants were but the most splendid expression of a taste which was national and universal. as in ancient greece, generations before the rise of the great dramas of athens, itinerant companies wandered from village to village, carrying their stage furniture in their little carts, and acted in their booths and tents the grand stories of the mythology; so in england the mystery players haunted the wakes and fairs, and in barns or taverns, taprooms, or in the farmhouse kitchen, played at saints and angels, and transacted on their petty stage the drama of the christian faith. to us, who can measure the effect of such scenes only by the impression which they would now produce upon ourselves, these exhibitions can seem but unspeakably profane; they were not profane when tendered in simplicity, and received as they were given. they were no more profane than those quaint monastic illuminations which formed the germ of italian art; and as out of the illuminations arose those paintings which remain unapproached and unapproachable in their excellence, so out of the mystery plays arose the english drama, represented in its final completeness by the creations of a poet who, it now begins to be supposed, stands alone among mankind. we allow ourselves to think of shakspeare or of raphael or of phidias, as having accomplished their work by the power of their own individual genius; but greatness like theirs is never more than the highest degree of an excellence which prevails widely round it, and forms the environment in which it grows. no single mind in single contact with the facts of nature could have created out of itself a pallas, a madonna, or a lear; such vast conceptions are the growth of ages, the creations of a nation's spirit; and artist and poet, filled full with the power of that spirit, have but given them form, and nothing more than form. nor would the form itself have been attainable by any isolated talent. no genius can dispense with experience; the aberrations of power, unguided or ill-guided, are ever in proportion to its intensity, and life is not long enough to recover from inevitable mistakes. noble conceptions already existing, and a noble school of execution which will launch mind and hand at once upon their true courses, are indispensable to transcendent excellence; and shakspeare's plays were as much the offspring of the long generations who had pioneered his road for him, as the discoveries of newton were the offspring of those of copernicus. no great general ever arose out of a nation of cowards; no great statesman or philosopher out of a nation of fools; no great artist out of a nation of materialists; no great dramatist except when the drama was the passion of the people. acting was the especial amusement of the english, from the palace to the village green. it was the result and expression of their power over themselves, and power over circumstances. they were troubled with no subjective speculations; no social problems vexed them with which they were unable to deal; and in the exuberance of vigour and spirits they were able, in the strict and literal sense of the word, to play with the materials of life. the mystery plays came first; next the popular legends; and then the great figures of english history came out upon the stage, or stories from greek and roman writers; or sometimes it was an extemporised allegory. shakspeare himself has left us many pictures of the village drama. doubtless he had seen many a bottom in the old warwickshire hamlets; many a sir nathaniel playing "alissander," and finding himself "a little o'erparted." he had been with snug the joiner, quince the carpenter, and flute the bellows-mender, when a boy we will not question, and acted with them, and written their parts for them; had gone up with them in the winter's evenings to the lucy's hall before the sad trouble with the deer-stealing; and afterwards, when he came to london and found his way into great society, he had not failed to see polonius burlesquing cæsar on the stage, as in his proper person polonius burlesqued sir william cecil. the strolling players in _hamlet_ might be met at every country wake or festival; it was the direction in which the especial genius of the people delighted to revel. as i desire in this chapter not only to relate what were the habits of the people, but to illustrate them also, within such compass as i can allow myself, i shall transcribe out of hall[71] a description of a play which was acted by the boys of st. paul's school, in 1527, at greenwich, adding some particulars, not mentioned by hall, from another source.[72] it is a good instance of the fantastic splendour with which exhibitions of this kind were got up, and it possesses also a melancholy interest of another kind, as showing how little the wisest among us can foresee our own actions, or assure ourselves that the convictions of to-day will alike be the convictions of to-morrow. the occasion was the despatch of a french embassy to england, when europe was outraged by the duke of bourbon's capture of rome, when the children of francis i. were prisoners in spain, and henry, with the full energy of his fiery nature, was flinging himself into a quarrel with charles v. as the champion of the holy see. at the conclusion of a magnificent supper "the king led the ambassadors into the great chamber of disguisings; and in the end of the same chamber was a fountain, and on one side was a hawthorne tree, all of silk, with white flowers, and on the other side was a mulberry tree full of fair berries, all of silk. on the top of the hawthorne were the arms of england, compassed with the collar of the order[73] of st. michael, and in the top of the mulberry tree stood the arms of france within a garter. the fountain was all of white marble, graven and chased; the bases of the same were balls of gold, supported by ramping beasts wound in leaves of gold. in the first work were gargoylles of gold, fiercely faced with spouts running. the second receit of this fountain was environed with winged serpents, all of gold, which griped it; and on the summit of the same was a fair lady, out of whose breasts ran abundantly water of marvellous delicious savour. about this fountain were benches of rosemary, fretted in braydes laid on gold, all the sides set with roses, on branches as they were growing about this fountain. on the benches sate eight fair ladies in strange attire, and so richly apparelled in cloth of gold, embroidered and cut over silver, that i cannot express the cunning workmanship thereof. then when the king and queen were set, there was played before them, by children, in the latin tongue, a manner of tragedy, the effect whereof was that the pope was in captivity and the church brought under foot. whereupon st. peter appeared and put the cardinal (wolsey) in authority to bring the pope to his liberty, and to set up the church again. and so the cardinal made intercession with the kings of england and france that they took part together, and by their means the pope was delivered. then in came the french king's children, and complained to the cardinal how the emperour kept them as hostages, and would not come to reasonable point with their father, whereupon they desired the cardinal to help for their deliverance; which wrought so with the king his master and the french king that he brought the emperour to a peace, and caused the two young princes to be delivered." so far hall relates the scene, but there was more in the play than he remembered or cared to notice, and i am able to complete this curious picture of a pageant once really and truly a living spectacle in the old palace at greenwich, by an inventory of the dresses worn by the boys and a list of the _dramatis personæ_. the school-boys of st. paul's were taken down the river with the master in six boats, at the cost of a shilling a boat--the cost of the dresses and the other expenses amounting in all to sixty-one shillings. the characters were-an orator in apparel of cloth of gold. religio, ecclesia, veritas, like three widows, in garments of silk, and suits of lawn and cyprus. heresy and false interpretation, like sisters of bohemia, apparelled in silk of divers colours. the heretic luther, like a party friar, in russet damask and black taffety. luther's wife, like a frow of spiers in almayn, in red silk. peter, paul, and james, in habits of white sarsnet, and three red mantles, and lace of silver and damask, and pelisses of scarlet. a cardinal in his apparel. two sergeants in rich apparel. the dolphin and his brother in coats of velvet embroidered with gold, and capes of satin bound with velvet. a messenger in tinsel satin. six men in gowns of grey sarsnet. six women in gowns of crimson velvet. war, in rich cloth of gold and feathers, armed. three almeyns, in apparel all cut and holed in silk. lady peace in lady's apparel white and rich. lady quietness and dame tranquillity richly beseen in lady's apparel. it is a strange world. this was in november, 1527. in november, 1530, but three brief years after, wolsey lay dying in misery, a disgraced man, at leicester abbey; "the pope's holiness" was fast becoming in english eyes plain bishop of rome, held guilty towards this realm of unnumbered enormities, and all england was sweeping with immeasurable velocity towards the heretic luther. so history repeats the lesson to us, not to boast ourselves of the morrow, for we know not what a day may bring forth. before i conclude this survey, it remains for me to say something of the position of the poor, and of the measures which were taken for the solution of that most difficult of all problems, the distinguishing the truly deserving from the worthless and the vagabond. the subject is one to which in the progress of this work i shall have more than one occasion to return; but inasmuch as a sentimental opinion prevails that an increase of poverty and the consequent enactment of poor-laws was the result of the suppression of the religious houses, and that adequate relief had been previously furnished by these establishments, it is necessary to say a few words for the removal of an impression which is as near as possible the reverse of the truth. i do not doubt that for many centuries these houses fulfilled honestly the intentions with which they were established; but as early as the reign of richard ii. it was found necessary to provide some other means for the support of the aged and impotent; the monasteries not only having then begun to neglect their duty; but by the appropriation of benefices having actually deprived the parishes of their local and independent means of charity.[74] licences to beg were at that time granted to deserving persons; and it is noticeable that this measure was in a few years followed by the petition to henry iv. for the secularisation of ecclesiastical property.[75] thus early in our history had the regular clergy forgotten the nature of their mission, and the object for which the administration of the nation's charities had been committed to them. thus early, while their houses were the nurseries of dishonest mendicancy,[76] they had surrendered to lay compassion, those who ought to have been their especial care. i shall unhappily have occasion hereafter to illustrate these matters in detail. i mention them in this place only in order to dissipate at once a foolish dream. at the opening of the sixteenth century, before the suppression of the monasteries had suggested itself in a practical form, pauperism was a state question of great difficulty, and as such i have at present to consider it. for the able-bodied vagrant, it is well known that the old english laws had no mercy. when wages are low, and population has outgrown the work which can be provided for it, idleness may be involuntary and innocent; at a time when all industrious men could maintain themselves in comfort and prosperity, "when a fair day's wages for a fair day's work" was really and truly the law of the land, it was presumed that if strong capable men preferred to wander about the country, and live upon the labour of others, mendicancy was not the only crime of which they were likely to be guilty; while idleness itself was justly looked upon as a high offence, and misdemeanour. the penalty of god's laws against idleness, as expressed in the system of nature, was starvation; and it was held intolerable that any man should be allowed to escape a divine judgment by begging under false pretences, and robbing others of their honest earnings. in a country also the boast of which was its open-handed hospitality, it was necessary to take care that hospitality was not brought to discredit by abuse; and when every door was freely opened to a request for a meal or a night's lodging, there was an imperative duty to keep a strict eye on whatever persons were on the move. we shall therefore be prepared to find "sturdy and valiant beggars" treated with summary justice as criminals of a high order; the right of a government so to treat them being proportioned to the facilities with which the honestly disposed can maintain themselves. it might have been expected, on the other hand, that when wages were so high, and work so constant, labourers would have been left to themselves to make provision against sickness and old age. to modern ways of thinking on these subjects, there would have seemed no hardship in so leaving them; and their sufferings, if they had suffered, would have appeared but as a deserved retribution. this, however, was not the temper of earlier times. charity has ever been the especial virtue of catholic states, and the aged and the impotent were always held to be the legitimate objects of it. men who had worked hard while they were able to work were treated like decayed soldiers, as the discharged pensionaries of society; they were held entitled to wear out their age (under restrictions) at the expense of others; and so readily did society acquiesce in this aspect of its obligations, that on the failure of the monasteries to do their duty, it was still sufficient to leave such persons to voluntary liberality, and legislation had to interfere only to direct such liberality into its legitimate channels. in the 23rd of edw. iii. cap. 7, a prohibition was issued against giving alms to "valiant beggars," and this proving inadequate, and charity being still given indiscriminately, in the twelfth year of richard ii. the system of licences was introduced, and a pair of stocks was erected by order in every town or village, to "justify" persons begging unpermitted. the monasteries growing more and more careless, the number of paupers continued to multiply, and this method received successive expansions, till at length, when the reformation was concluded, it terminated, after many changes of form, in the famous act of elizabeth. we can thus trace our poor law in the whole course of its growth, and into two stages through which it passed i must enter with some minuteness. the 12th of the 22nd of henry viii., and the 25th of the 27th, are so remarkable in their tone, and so rich in their detail, as to furnish a complete exposition of english thought at that time upon the subject; while the second of these two acts, and probably the first also, has a further interest for us, as being the composition of henry himself, and the most finished which he has left to us.[77] "whereas," says the former of these two acts, "in all places throughout this realm of england, vagabonds and beggars have of long time increased, and daily do increase in great and excessive numbers, by the occasion of idleness, mother and root of all vices; whereby hath insurged and sprung, and daily insurgeth and springeth, continual thefts, murders, and other heinous offences and great enormities, to the high displeasure of god, the inquietation and damage of the king's people, and to the marvellous disturbance of the common weal of this realm; and whereas, strait statutes and ordinances have been before this time devised and made, as well by the king our sovereign lord, as also by divers his most noble progenitors, kings of england, for the most necessary and due reformation of the premises; yet that notwithstanding, the said number of vagabonds and beggars be not seen in any part to be diminished, but rather daily augmented and increased into great routs or companies, as evidently and manifestly it doth and may appear: be it therefore enacted by the king our sovereign lord, and by the lords spiritual and temporal, and the commons, in this present parliament assembled, that the justices of the peace of all and singular the shires of england within the limits of their commission, and all other justices of the peace, mayors, sheriffs, bailiffs, and other officers of every city, borough, or franchise, shall from time to time, as often as need shall require, make diligent search and inquiry of all aged, poor, and impotent persons, which live, or of necessity be compelled to live by alms of the charity of the people; and such search made, the said officers, every of them within the limits of their authorities, shall have power, at their discretions, to enable to beg within such limits as they shall appoint, such of the said impotent persons as they shall think convenient; and to give in commandment to every such impotent beggar (by them enabled) that none of them shall beg without the limits so appointed to them. and further, they shall deliver to every such person so enabled a letter containing the name of that person, witnessing that he is authorised to beg, and the limits within which he is appointed to beg, the same letter to be sealed with the seal of the hundred, rape, wapentake, city, or borough, and subscribed with the name of one of the said justices or officers aforesaid. and if any such impotent person do beg in any other place than within such limits, then the justices of the peace, and all other the king's officers and ministers, shall by their discretions punish all such persons by imprisonment in the stocks, by the space of two days and two nights, giving them only bread and water." further, "if any such impotent person be found begging without a licence, at the discretion of the justices of the peace, he shall be stripped naked from the middle upwards, and whipped within the town in which he be found, or within some other town, as it shall seem good. or if it be not convenient so to punish him, he shall be set in the stocks by the space of three days and three nights." such were the restrictions under which impotency was allowed support. though not in itself treated as an offence, and though its right to maintenance by society was not denied, it was not indulged, as we may see, with unnecessary encouragement. the act then proceeds to deal with the genuine vagrant. "and be it further enacted, that if any person or persons, being whole and mighty in body and able to labour, be taken in begging in any part of this realm; and if any man or woman, being whole and mighty in body, having no land, nor master, nor using any lawful merchandry, craft, or mystery whereby he might get his living, be vagrant, and can give none account how he doth lawfully get his living, then it shall, be lawful to the constables and all other king's officers, ministers, and subjects of every town, parish, and hamlet, to arrest the said vagabonds and idle persons, and bring them to any justice of the peace of the same shire or liberty, or else to the high constable of the hundred; and the justice of the peace, high constable, or other officer, shall cause such idle person so to him brought, to be had to the next market town or other place, and there to be tied to the end of a cart, naked, and be beaten with whips throughout the same town till his body be bloody by reason of such whipping; and after such punishment of whipping had, the person so punished shall be enjoined upon his oath to return forthwith without delay, in the next and straight way, to the place where he was born, or where he last dwelled before the same punishment, by the space of three years; and then put himself to labour like a true man ought to do; and after that done, every such person so punished and ordered shall have a letter, sealed with the seal of the hundred, rape, or wapentake, witnessing that he hath been punished according to this estatute, and containing the day and place of his punishment, and the place where unto he is limited to go, and by what time he is limited to come thither: for that within that time, showing the said letter, he may lawfully beg by the way, and otherwise not; and if he do not accomplish the order to him appointed by the said letter, then to be eftsoons taken and whipped; and so often as there be fault found in him, to be whipped till he has his body put to labour for his living, or otherwise truly get his living, so long as he is able to do so." then follow the penalties against the justices of the peace, constables, and all officers who neglect to arrest such persons; and a singularly curious catalogue is added of certain forms of "sturdy mendicancy," which, if unspecified, might have been passed over as exempt, but to which henry had no intention of conceding further licence. it seems as if, in framing the act, he had simon fish's petition before him, and was commencing at last the rough remedy of the cart's-tail, which fish had dared to recommend for a very obdurate evil.[78] the friars of the mendicant orders were tolerated for a few years longer; but many other spiritual persons may have suffered seriously under the provisions of the present statute. "be it further enacted," the act continues, "that scholars of the universities of oxford and cambridge, that go about begging, not being authorised under the seal of the said universities, by the commissary, chancellor, or vice-chancellor of the same; and that all and singular shipmen pretending losses of their ships and goods, going about the country begging without sufficient authority, shall be punished and ordered in manner and form as is above rehearsed of strong beggars; and that all proctors and pardoners, and all other idle persons going about in counties or abiding in any town, city, or borough, some of them using divers subtle, crafty, and unlawful games and plays, and some of them feigning themselves to have knowledge in physick, physnamye, and palmistry, or other crafty science, whereby they bear the people in hand that they can tell their destinies, dreams, and fortunes, and such other like fantastical imaginations, to the great deceit of the king's subjects, shall, upon examination had before two justices of the peace, if by provable witness they be found guilty of such deceits, be punished by whipping at two days together, after the manner before rehearsed. and if they eftsoons offend in the same or any like offence, to be scourged two days, and the third day to be put upon the pillory, from nine o'clock till eleven the forenoon of the same day, and to have the right ear cut off; and if they offend the third time, to have like punishment with whipping and the pillory, and to have the other ear cut off." it would scarcely have been expected that this act would have failed for want of severity in its penalties; yet five years later, for this and for some other reasons, it was thought desirable to expand the provisions of it, enhancing the penalties at the same time to a degree which has given a bloody name in the history of english law to the statutes of henry viii. of this expanded statute[79] we have positive evidence, as i said, that henry was himself the author. the merit of it, or the guilt of it--if guilt there be--originated with him alone. the early clauses contain practical amendments of an undoubtedly salutary kind. the act of 1531 had been defective in that no specified means had been assigned for finding vagrants in labour, which, with men of broken character, was not immediately easy. the smaller monasteries having been suppressed in the interval, and sufficient funds being thus placed at the disposal of the government, public works[80] were set on foot throughout the kingdom, and this difficulty was obviated. another important alteration was a restriction upon private charity. private persons were forbidden, under heavy penalties, to give money to beggars, whether deserving or undeserving. the poor of each parish might call at houses within the boundaries for broken meats; but this was the limit of personal almsgiving; and the money which men might be disposed to offer was to be collected by the churchwardens on sundays and holidays in the churches. the parish priest was to keep an account of receipts and of expenditure, and relief was administered with some approach to modern formalities. a further excellent but severe enactment empowered the parish officers to take up all idle children above the age of five years, "and appoint them to masters of husbandry or other craft or labour to be taught;" and if any child should refuse the service to which he was appointed, or run away "without cause reasonable being shown for it," he might be publicly whipped with rods, at the discretion of the justice of the peace before whom he was brought. so far, no complaint can be urged against these provisions: they display only that severe but true humanity, which, in offering fair and liberal maintenance for all who will consent to be honest, insists, not unjustly, that its offer shall be accepted, and that the resources of charity shall not be trifled away. on the clause, however, which gave to the act its especial and distinguishing character, there will be large difference of opinion. "the sturdy vagabond," who by the earlier statute was condemned on his second offence to lose the whole or a part of his right ear, was condemned by the amended act, if found a third time offending, with the mark upon him of his mutilation, "to suffer pains and execution of death, as a felon and as an enemy of the commonwealth." so the letter stands. for an able-bodied man to be caught a third time begging was held a crime deserving death, and the sentence was intended, on fit occasions, to be executed. the poor man's advantages, which i have estimated at so high a rate, were not purchased without drawbacks. he might not change his master at his will, or wander from place to place. he might not keep his children at his home unless he could answer for their time. if out of employment, preferring to be idle, he might be demanded for work by any master of the "craft" to which he belonged, and compelled to work whether he would or no. if caught begging once, being neither aged nor infirm, he was whipped at the cart's tail. if caught a second time, his ear was slit, or bored through with a hot iron. if caught a third time, being thereby proved to be of no use upon this earth, but to live upon it only to his own hurt and to that of others, he suffered death as a felon. so the law of england remained for sixty years. first drawn by henry, it continued unrepealed through the reigns of edward and of mary, subsisting, therefore, with the deliberate approval of both the great parties between whom the country was divided. reconsidered under elizabeth, the same law was again formally passed; and it was, therefore, the expressed conviction of the english nation, that it was better for a man not to live at all than to live a profitless and worthless life. the vagabond was a sore spot upon the commonwealth, to be healed by wholesome discipline if the gangrene was not incurable; to be cut away with the knife if the milder treatment of the cart-whip failed to be of profit.[81] a measure so extreme in its severity was partly dictated by policy. the state of the country was critical; and the danger from questionable persons traversing it unexamined and uncontrolled was greater than at ordinary times. but in point of justice, as well as of prudence, it harmonised with the iron temper of the age, and it answered well for the government of a fierce and powerful people, in whose hearts lay an intense hatred of rascality, and among whom no one need have lapsed into evil courses except by deliberate preference for them. the moral substance of the english must have been strong indeed when it admitted of such hardy treatment; but on the whole, the people were ruled as they preferred to be ruled; and if wisdom may be tested by success, the manner in which they passed the great crisis of the reformation is the best justification of their princes. the era was great throughout europe. the italians of the age of michael angelo; the spaniards who were the contemporaries of cortez; the germans who shook off the pope at the call of luther; and the splendid chivalry of francis i. of france, were no common men. but they were all brought face to face with the same trials, and none met them as the english met them. the english alone never lost their self-possession; and if they owed something to fortune in their escape from anarchy, they owed more to the strong hand and steady purpose of their rulers. to conclude this chapter then. in the brief review of the system under which england was governed, we have seen a state of things in which the principles of political economy were, consciously or unconsciously, contradicted; where an attempt, more or less successful, was made to bring the production and distribution of wealth under the moral rule of right and wrong; and where those laws of supply and demand, which we are now taught to regard as immutable ordinances of nature, were absorbed or superseded by a higher code. it is necessary for me to repeat that i am not holding up the sixteenth century as a model which the nineteenth might safely follow. the population has become too large, employment has become too complicated and fluctuating, to admit of external control; while, in default of control, the relapse upon self-interest as the one motive principle is certain to ensue, and when it ensues is absolute in its operations. but as, even with us, these so-called ordinances of nature in time of war consent to be suspended, and duty to his country becomes with every good citizen a higher motive of action than the advantages which he may gain in an enemy's market; so it is not uncheering to look back upon a time when the nation was in a normal condition of militancy against social injustice; when the government was enabled by happy circumstances to pursue into detail a single and serious aim at the well-being--well-being in its widest sense--of all members of the commonwealth. the world, indeed, was not made particularly pleasant. of liberty, in the modern sense of the word, of the supposed right of every man "to do what he will with his own" or with himself, there was no idea. to the question, if ever it was asked, may i not do what i will with my own? there was the brief answer, no man may do what is wrong, either with that which is his own or with that which is another's. workmen were not allowed to take advantage of the scantiness of the labour market to exact extravagant wages. capitalists were not allowed to drive the labourers from their holdings, and destroy their healthy independence. the antagonism of interests was absorbed into a relation of which equity was something more than the theoretic principle, and employers and employed were alike amenable to a law which both were compelled to obey. the working man of modern times has bought the extension of his liberty at the price of his material comfort. the higher classes have gained in luxury what they have lost in power. it is not for the historian to balance advantages. his duty is with the facts. chapter ii the last years of the administration of wolsey times were changed in england since the second henry walked barefoot through the streets of canterbury, and knelt while the monks flogged him on the pavement in the chapter-house, doing penance for becket's murder. the clergy had won the battle in the twelfth century because they deserved to win it. they were not free from fault and weakness, but they felt the meaning of their profession. their hearts were in their vows, their authority was exercised more justly, more nobly, than the authority of the crown; and therefore, with inevitable justice, the crown was compelled to stoop before them. the victory was great; but, like many victories, it was fatal to the conquerors. it filled them full with the vanity of power; they forgot their duties in their privileges; and when, a century later, the conflict recommenced, the altering issue proved the altering nature of the conditions under which it was fought. the laity were sustained in vigour by the practical obligations of life; the clergy sunk under the influence of a waning religion, the administration of the forms of which had become their sole occupation; and as character forsook them, the mortmain act,[82] the acts of premunire, and the repeatedly recurring statutes of provisors mark the successive defeats that drove them back from the high post of command which character alone had earned for them. if the black prince had lived, or if richard ii. had inherited the temper of the plantagenets, the ecclesiastical system would have been spared the misfortune of a longer reprieve. its worst abuses would have then terminated, and the reformation of _doctrine_ in the sixteenth century would have been left to fight its independent way unsupported by the moral corruption of the church from which it received its most powerful impetus. the nation was ready for sweeping remedies. the people felt little loyalty to the pope, as the language of the statutes of provisors[83] conclusively proves, and they were prepared to risk the sacrilege of confiscating the estates of the religious houses--a complete measure of secularisation being then, as i have already said,[84] the expressed desire of the house of commons.[85] with an edward iii. on the throne such a measure would very likely have been executed, and the course of english history would have been changed. it was ordered otherwise, and doubtless wisely. the church was allowed a hundred and fifty more years to fill full the measure of her offences, that she might fall only when time had laid bare the root of her degeneracy, and that faith and manners might be changed together. the history of the time is too imperfect to justify a positive conclusion. it is possible, however, that the success of the revolution effected by henry iv. was due in part to a reaction in the church's favour; and it is certain that this prince, if he did not owe his crown to the support of the church, determined to conciliate it. he confirmed the statutes of provisors,[86] but he allowed them to sink into disuse. he forbade the further mooting of the confiscation project; and to him is due the first permission of the bishops to send heretics to the stake.[87] if english tradition is to be trusted, the clergy still felt insecure; and the french wars of henry v. are said to have been undertaken, as we all know from shakspeare, at the persuasion of archbishop chichele, who desired to distract his attention from reverting to dangerous subjects. whether this be true or not, no prince of the house of lancaster betrayed a wish to renew the quarrel with the church. the battle of agincourt, the conquest and re-conquest of france, called off the attention of the people; while the rise of the lollards, and the intrusion of speculative questions, the agitation of which has ever been the chief aversion of english statesmen, contributed to change the current; and the reforming spirit must have lulled before the outbreak of the wars of the roses, or one of the two parties in so desperate a struggle would have scarcely failed to have availed themselves of it. edward iv. is said to have been lenient towards heresy; but his toleration, if it was more than imaginary, was tacit only; he never ventured to avow it. it is more likely that in the inveterate frenzy of those years men had no leisure to remember that heresy existed. the clergy were thus left undisturbed to go their own course to its natural end. the storm had passed over them without breaking; and they did not dream that it would again gather. the immunity which they enjoyed from the general sufferings of the civil war contributed to deceive them; and without anxiety for the consequences, and forgetting the significant warning which they had received, they sank steadily into that condition which is inevitable from the constitution of human nature, among men without faith, wealthy, powerful, and luxuriously fed, yet condemned to celibacy, and cut off from the common duties and common pleasures of ordinary life. on the return of a settled government, they were startled for a moment in their security; the conduct of some among them had become so unbearable, that even henry vii., who inherited the lancastrian sympathies, was compelled to notice it; and the following brief act was passed by his first parliament, proving by the very terms in which it is couched the existing nature of church discipline. "for the more sure and likely reformation," it runs, "of priests, clerks, and religious men, culpable, or by their demerits openly noised of incontinent living in their bodies, contrary to their order, be it enacted, ordained, and established, that it be lawful to all archbishops and bishops, and other ordinaries having episcopal jurisdiction, to punish and chastise such religious men, being within the bounds of their jurisdiction, as shall be convict before them, by lawful proof, of adultery, fornication, incest, or other fleshly incontinency, by committing them to ward and prison, there to remain for such time as shall be thought convenient for the quality of their trespasses."[88] previous to the passing of this act, therefore, the bishops, who had power to arrest laymen on suspicion of heresy, and detain them in prison untried,[89] had no power to imprison priests, even though convicted of adultery or incest. the legislature were supported by the archbishop of canterbury. cardinal morton procured authority from the pope to visit the religious houses, the abominations of which had become notorious;[90] and in a provincial synod held on the 24th of february, 1486, he laid the condition of the secular clergy before the assembled prelates. many priests, it was stated, spent their time in hawking or hunting, in lounging at taverns, in the dissolute enjoyment of the world. they wore their hair long like laymen; they were to be seen lounging in the streets with cloak and doublet, sword and dagger. by the scandal of their lives they imperilled the stability of their order.[91] a number of the worst offenders, in london especially, were summoned before the synod and admonished;[92] certain of the more zealous among the learned (_complures docti_) who had preached against clerical abuses were advised to be more cautious, for the avoiding of scandal;[93] but the archbishop, taking the duty upon himself, sent round a circular among the clergy of his province, exhorting them to general amendment.[94] yet this little cloud again disappeared. henry vii. sat too insecurely on his throne to venture on a resolute reform, even if his feelings had inclined him towards it, which they did not. morton durst not resolutely grapple with the evil. he rebuked and remonstrated; but punishment would have caused a public scandal. he would not invite the inspection of the laity into a disease which, without their assistance, he had not the strength to encounter; and his incipient reformation died away ineffectually in words. the church, to outward appearance, stood more securely than ever. the obnoxious statutes of the plantagenets were in abeyance, their very existence, as it seemed, was forgotten; and thomas à becket never desired more absolute independence for the ecclesiastical order than archbishop warham found established when he succeeded to the primacy. he, too, ventured to repeat the experiment of his predecessor. in 1511 he attempted a second visitation of the monasteries, and again exhorted a reform; but his efforts were even slighter than morton's, and in their results equally without fruit. the maintenance of his order in its political supremacy was of greater moment to him than its moral purity: a decent veil was cast over the clerical infirmities, and their vices were forgotten as soon as they ceased to be proclaimed.[95] henry viii., a mere boy on his accession, was borne away with the prevailing stream; and trained from his childhood by theologians, he entered upon his reign saturated with theological prepossessions. the intensity of his nature recognising no half measures, he was prepared to make them the law of his life; and so zealous was he, that it seemed as if the church had found in him a new alfred or a charlemagne. unfortunately for the church, institutions may be restored in theory; but theory, be it never so perfect, will not give them back their life; and henry discovered, at length, that the church of the sixteenth century as little resembled the church of the eleventh, as leo x. resembled hildebrand, or warham resembled st. anselm. if, however, there were no longer saints among the clergy, there could still arise among them a remarkable man; and in cardinal wolsey the king found an adviser who was able to retain him longer than would otherwise have been possible in the course which he had entered upon; who, holding a middle place between an english statesman and a catholic of the old order, was essentially a transition minister; and who was qualified, above all men then living, by a combination of talent, honesty, and arrogance, to open questions which could not again be closed when they had escaped the grasp of their originator. under wolsey's influence henry made war with louis of france, in the pope's quarrel, entered the polemic lists with luther, and persecuted the english protestants. but wolsey could not blind himself to the true condition of the church. he was too wise to be deceived with outward prosperity; he knew well that there lay before it, in europe and at home, the alternative of ruin or amendment; and therefore he familiarised henry with the sense that a reformation was inevitable, and dreaming that it could be effected from within, by the church itself inspired with a wiser spirit, he himself fell first victim of a convulsion which he had assisted to create, and which he attempted too late to stay. his intended measures were approaching maturity, when all europe was startled by the news that rome had been stormed by the imperial army, that the pope was imprisoned, the churches pillaged, the cardinals insulted, and all holiest things polluted and profaned. a spectator, judging only by outward symptoms, would have seen at that strange crisis in charles v. the worst patron of heresy, and the most dangerous enemy of the holy see; while the indignation with which the news of these outrages was received at the english court, would have taught him to look on henry as the one sovereign in europe on whom that see might calculate most surely for support in its hour of danger. if he could have pierced below the surface, he would have found that the pope's best friend was the prince who held him prisoner; that henry was but doubtfully acquiescing in the policy of an unpopular minister; and that the english nation would have looked on with stoical resignation if pope and papacy had been wrecked together. they were not inclined to heresy; but the ecclesiastical system was not the catholic faith; and this system, ruined by prosperity, was fast pressing its excesses to the extreme limit, beyond which it could not be endured. wolsey talked of reformation, but delayed its coming; and in the mean time, the persons to be reformed showed no fear that it would come at all. the monasteries grew worse and worse. the people were taught only what they could teach themselves. the consistory courts became more oppressive. pluralities multiplied, and non-residence and profligacy. favoured parish clergy held as many as eight benefices.[96] bishops accumulated sees, and, unable to attend to all, attended to none. wolsey himself, the church reformer (so little did he really know what a reformation meant), was at once archbishop of york, bishop of winchester, of bath, and of durham, and abbot of st. alban's. in latimer's opinion, even twenty years later, and after no little reform in such matters, there was but one bishop in all england who was ever at his work and ever in his diocese. "i would ask a strange question," he said, in an audacious sermon at paul's cross, "who is the most diligent bishop and prelate in all england, that passeth all the rest in doing of his office?[97] i can tell, for i know him who it is; i know him well. but now i think i see you listening and hearkening that i should name him. there is one that passeth all the others, and is the most diligent prelate and preacher in all england. and will ye know who it is? i will tell you. it is the devil. among all the pack of them that have cure, the devil shall go for my money, for he applieth his business. therefore, ye unpreaching prelates, learn of the devil to be diligent in your office. if ye will not learn of god, for shame learn of the devil."[98] under such circumstances, we need not be surprised to find the clergy sunk low in the respect of the english people. sternly intolerant of each other's faults, the laity were not likely to be indulgent to the vices of men who ought to have set an example of purity; and from time to time, during the first quarter of the century, there were explosions of temper which might have served as a warning if any sense or judgment had been left to profit by it. in 1514 a london merchant was committed to the lollards' tower for refusing to submit to an unjust exaction of mortuary;[99] and a few days after was found dead in his cell. an inquest was held upon the body, when a verdict of wilful murder was returned against the chancellor of the bishop of london; and so intense was the feeling of the city, that the bishop applied to wolsey for a special jury to be chosen on the trial. "for assured i am," he said, "that if my chancellor be tried by any twelve men in london, they be so maliciously set _in favorem hæreticæ pravitatis_, that they will cast and condemn any clerk, though he were as innocent as abel."[100] fish's famous pamphlet also shows the spirit which was seething; and though we may make some allowance for angry rhetoric, his words have the clear ring of honesty in them; and he spoke of what he had seen and knew. the monks, he tells the king, "be they that have made a hundred thousand idle dissolute women in your realm, who would have gotten their living honestly in the sweat of their faces had not their superfluous riches allured them to lust and idleness. these be they that when they have drawn men's wives to such incontinency, spend away their husbands' goods, make the women to run away from their husbands, bringing both man, wife, and children to idleness, theft, and beggary. yea, who is able to number the great broad bottomless ocean sea full of evils that this mischievous generation may bring upon us if unpunished?"[101] copies of this book were strewed about the london streets; wolsey issued a prohibition against it, with the effect which such prohibitions usually have. means were found to bring it under the eyes of henry himself; and the manner in which it was received by him is full of significance, and betrays that the facts of the age were already telling on his understanding. he was always easy of access and easy of manner; and the story, although it rests on foxe's authority, has internal marks of authenticity. "one master edmund moddis, being with the king in talk of religion, and of the new books that were come from beyond the seas, said that if it might please his highness to pardon him, and such as he would bring to his grace, he should see such a book as it was a marvel to hear of. the king demanded who they were? he said 'two of your merchants--george elliot and george robinson.' the king appointed a time to speak with them. when they came before his presence in a privy closet, he demanded what they had to say or to shew him. one of them said that there was a book come to their hands which they had there to shew his grace. when he saw it he demanded if any of them could read it. 'yea,' said george elliot, 'if it please your grace to hear it.' 'i thought so,' said the king; 'if need were, thou couldst say it without book.' "the whole book being read out, the king made a long pause, and then said, 'if a man should pull down an old stone wall, and should begin at the lower part, the upper part thereof might chance to fall upon his head.' then he took the book, and put it in his desk, and commanded them, on their allegiance, that they should not tell any man that he had seen it."[102] symptoms such as these boded ill for a self-reform of the church, and it was further imperilled by the difficulty which it is not easy to believe that wolsey had forgotten. no measures would be of efficacy which spared the religious houses, and they would be equally useless unless the bishops, as well as the inferior clergy, were comprehended in the scheme of amendment. but neither with monks nor bishops could wolsey interfere except by a commission from the pope, and the laws were unrepealed which forbade english subjects, under the severest penalties, to accept or exercise within the realm an authority which they had received from the holy see. morton had gone beyond the limits of the statute of provisors in receiving powers from pope innocent to visit the monasteries. but morton had stopped short with inquiry and admonition. wolsey, who was in earnest with the work, had desired and obtained a full commission as legate, but he could only make use of it at his peril. the statute slumbered, but it still existed.[103] he was exposing not himself only, but all persons, lay and clerical, who might recognise his legacy to a premunire; and he knew well that henry's connivance, or even expressed permission, could not avail him if his conduct was challenged. he could not venture to appeal to parliament. parliament was the last authority whose jurisdiction a churchman would acknowledge in the concerns of the clergy; and his project must sooner or later have sunk, like those of his two predecessors, under its own internal difficulties, even if the accident had not arisen which brought the dispute to a special issue in its most vital point, and which, fostered by wolsey for his own purposes, precipitated his ruin. it is never more difficult to judge equitably the actions of public men than when private as well as general motives have been allowed to influence them, or when their actions may admit of being represented as resulting from personal inclination, as well as from national policy. in life, as we actually experience it, motives slide one into the other, and the most careful analysis will fail adequately to sift them. in history, from the effort to make our conceptions distinct, we pronounce upon these intricate matters with unhesitating certainty, and we lose sight of truth in the desire to make it truer than itself. the difficulty is further complicated by the different points of view which are chosen by contemporaries and by posterity. where motives are mixed, men all naturally dwell most on those which approach nearest to themselves: contemporaries whose interests are at stake overlook what is personal in consideration of what is to them of broader moment; posterity, unable to realise political embarrassments which have ceased to concern them, concentrate their attention on such features of the story as touch their own sympathies, and attend exclusively to the private and personal passions of the men and women whose character they are considering. these natural, and to some extent inevitable tendencies, explain the difference with which the divorce between henry viii. and catherine of arragon has been regarded by the english nation in the sixteenth and in the nineteenth centuries. in the former, not only did the parliament profess to desire it, urge it, and further it, but we are told by a contemporary[104] that "all indifferent and discreet persons" judged that it was right and necessary. in the latter, perhaps, there is not one of ourselves who has not been taught to look upon it as an act of enormous wickedness. in the sixteenth century, queen catherine was an obstacle to the establishment of the kingdom, an incentive to treasonable hopes. in the nineteenth, she is an outraged and injured wife, the victim of a false husband's fickle appetite. the story is a long and painful one, and on its personal side need not concern us here further than as it illustrates the private character of henry. into the public bearing of it i must enter at some length, in order to explain the interest with which the nation threw itself into the question, and to remove the scandal with which, had nothing been at stake beyond the inclinations of a profligate monarch, weary of his queen, the complaisance on such a subject of the lords and commons of england would have coloured the entire complexion of the reformation. the succession to the throne, although determined in theory by the ordinary law of primogeniture, was nevertheless, subject to repeated arbitrary changes. the uncertainty of the rule was acknowledged and deplored by the parliament,[105] and there was no order of which the nation, with any unity of sentiment, compelled the observance. an opinion prevailed--not, i believe, traceable to statute, but admitted by custom, and having the force of statute in the prejudices of the nation--that no stranger born out of the realm could inherit.[106] although the descent in the female line was not formally denied, no female sovereign had ever, in fact, sat upon the throne.[107] even henry vii. refused to strengthen his title by advancing the claims of his wife: and the uncertainty of the laws of marriage, and the innumerable refinements of the romish canon law, which affected the legitimacy of children,[108] furnished, in connection with the further ambiguities of clerical dispensations, perpetual pretexts, whenever pretexts were needed, for a breach of allegiance. so long, indeed, as the character of the nation remained essentially military, it could as little tolerate an incapable king as an army in a dangerous campaign can bear with an inefficient commander; and whatever might be the theory of the title, when the sceptre was held by the infirm hand of an edward ii., a richard ii., or a henry vi., the difficulty resolved itself by force, and it was wrenched by a stronger arm from a grasp too feeble to retain it. the consent of the nation was avowed, even in the authoritative language of a statute,[109] as essential to the legitimacy of a sovereign's title; and sir thomas more, on examination by the solicitor-general, declared as his opinion that parliament had power to depose kings if it so pleased.[110] so many uncertainties on a point so vital had occasioned fearful episodes in english history; the most fearful of them, which had traced its character in blood in the private records of every english family, having been the long struggle of the preceding century, from which the nation was still suffering, and had but recovered sufficiently to be conscious of what it had endured. it had decimated itself for a question which involved no principle and led to no result, and perhaps the history of the world may be searched in vain for any parallel to a quarrel at once so desperate and so unmeaning. this very unmeaning character of the dispute increased the difficulty of ending it. in wars of conquest or of principle, when something definite is at stake, the victory is either won, or it is lost; the conduct of individual men, at all events, is overruled by considerations external to themselves which admit of being weighed and calculated. in a war of succession, where the great families were divided in their allegiance, and supported the rival claimants in evenly balanced numbers, the inveteracy of the conflict increased with its duration, and propagated itself from generation to generation. every family was in blood feud with its neighbour; and children, as they grew to manhood, inherited the duty of revenging their fathers' deaths. no effort of imagination can reproduce to us the state of this country in the fatal years which intervened between the first rising of the duke of york and the battle of bosworth; and experience too truly convinced henry vii. that the war had ceased only from general exhaustion, and not because there was no will to continue it. the first tudor breathed an atmosphere of suspended insurrection, and only when we remember the probable effect upon his mind of the constant dread of an explosion, can we excuse or understand, in a prince not generally cruel, the execution of the earl of warwick. the danger of a bloody revolution may present an act of arbitrary or cowardly tyranny in the light of a public duty. fifty years of settled government, however, had not been without their effects. the country had collected itself; the feuds of the families had been chastened, if they had not been subdued; while the increase of wealth and material prosperity had brought out into obvious prominence those advantages of peace which a hot-spirited people, antecedent to experience, had not anticipated, and had not been able to appreciate. they were better fed, better cared for, more justly governed than they had ever been before; and though abundance of unruly tempers remained, yet the wiser portion of the nation, looking back from their new vantage-ground, were able to recognise the past in its true hatefulness. thenceforward a war of succession was the predominating terror with english statesmen, and the safe establishment of the reigning family bore a degree of importance which it is possible that their fears exaggerated, yet which in fact was the determining principle of their action. it was therefore with no little anxiety that the council of henry viii. perceived his male children, on whom their hopes were centred, either born dead, or dying one after another within a few days of their birth, as if his family were under a blight. when the queen had advanced to an age which precluded hope of further offspring, and the heir presumptive was an infirm girl, the unpromising prospect became yet more alarming. the life of the princess mary was precarious, for her health was weak from her childhood. if she lived, her accession would be a temptation to insurrection; if she did not live, and the king had no other children, a civil war was inevitable. at present such a difficulty would be disposed of by an immediate and simple reference to the collateral branches of the royal family; the crown would descend with even more facility than the property of an intestate to the next of kin. at that time, if the rule had been recognised, it would only have increased the difficulty, for the next heir in blood was james of scotland; and, gravely as statesmen desired the union of the two countries, in the existing mood of the people, the very stones in london streets, it was said,[111] would rise up against a king of scotland who claimed to enter england as sovereign. even the parliament itself declared in formal language that they would resist any attempt on the part of the scottish king "to the uttermost of their power."[112] as little, however, as the english would have admitted james's claims, would james himself have acknowledged their right to reject them. he would have pleaded the sacred right of inheritance, refusing utterly the imaginary law which disentitled him: he would have pressed his title with all scotland to back him, and probably with the open support of france. centuries of humiliation remained unrevenged, which both france and scotland had endured at english hands. it was not likely that they would waste an opportunity thrust upon them by providence. the country might, it is true, have encountered this danger, serious as it would have been, if there had been hope that it would itself have agreed to any other choice. england had many times fought successfully against the same odds, and would have cared little for a renewal of the struggle, if united in itself: but the prospect on this side, also, was fatally discouraging. the elements of the old factions were dormant, but still smouldering. throughout henry's reign a white rose agitation had been secretly fermenting; without open success, and without chance of success so long as henry lived, but formidable in a high degree if opportunity to strike should offer itself. richard de la pole, the representative of this party, had been killed at pavia, but his loss had rather strengthened their cause than weakened it, for by his long exile he was unknown in england; his personal character was without energy; while he made place for the leadership of a far more powerful spirit in the sister of the murdered earl of warwick, the countess of salisbury, mother of reginald pole. this lady had inherited, in no common degree, the fierce nature of the plantagenets; born to command, she had rallied round her the courtenays, the nevilles, and all the powerful kindred of richard the king maker, her grandfather. her plantagenet descent was purer than the king's; and if mary died and henry left no other issue, half england was likely to declare either for one of her sons, or for the marquis of exeter, the grandson of edward iv. in 1515, when giustiniani,[113] the venetian ambassador, was at the court, the dukes of buckingham, of suffolk, and of norfolk, were also mentioned to him as having each of them hopes of the crown. buckingham, meddling prematurely in the dangerous game, had lost his life for it; but in his death he had strengthened the chance of norfolk, who had married his daughter. suffolk was henry's brother-in-law;[114] chivalrous, popular, and the ablest soldier of his day; and lady margaret lennox, also, daughter of the queen of scotland by her second marriage, would not have wanted supporters, and early became an object of intrigue. indeed, as she had been born in england, it was held in parliament that she stood next in order to the princess mary.[115] many of these claims were likely to be advanced if henry died leaving a daughter to succeed him. they would all inevitably be advanced if he died childless; and no great political sagacity was required to foresee the probable fate of the country if such a moment was chosen for a french and scottish invasion. the very worst disasters might be too surely looked for, and the hope of escape, precarious at the best, hung upon the frail thread of a single life. we may therefore imagine the dismay with which the nation saw this last hope failing them--and failing them even in a manner more dangerous than if it had failed by death; for it did but add another doubt, when already there were too many. in order to detach france from scotland, and secure, if possible, its support for the claims of the princess, it had been proposed to marry the princess mary to a son of the french king. the negotiations were conducted through the bishop of tarbês,[116] and at the first conference the bishop raised a question in the name of his government, on the validity of the papal dispensation granted by julius the second, to legalise the marriage from which she was sprung. the abortive marriage scheme perished in its birth, but the doubt which had been raised could not perish with it. doubt on such a subject once mooted might not be left unresolved, even if the raising it thus publicly had not itself destroyed the frail chance of an undisputed succession. if the relations of henry with queen catherine had been of a cordial kind, it is possible that he would have been contented with resentment; that he would have refused to reconsider a question which touched his honour and his conscience; and, united with parliament, would have endeavoured to bear down all difficulties with a high hand. this at least he might have himself attempted. whether the parliament, with so precarious a future before them, would have consented, is less easy to say. fortunately or unfortunately, the interests of the nation pointed out another road, which henry had no unwillingness to enter. on the death of prince arthur, five months after his marriage, henry vii. and the father of the princess alike desired that the bond between their families thus broken should be re-united; and, as soon as it became clear that catherine had not been left pregnant (a point which, tacitly at least, she allowed to be considered uncertain at the time of her husband's decease), it was proposed that she should be transferred, with the inheritance of the crown, to the new heir. a dispensation was reluctantly granted by the pope,[117] and reluctantly accepted by the english ministry. the prince of wales, who was no more than twelve years old at the time, was under the age at which he could legally sue for such an object; and a portion of the english council, the archbishop of canterbury among them, were unsatisfied,[118] both with the marriage itself, and with the adequacy of the forms observed in a matter of so dubious an import. the betrothal took place at the urgency of ferdinand. in the year following henry vii. became suddenly ill; queen elizabeth died; and superstition working on the previous hesitation, misfortune was construed into an indication of the displeasure of heaven. the intention was renounced, and the prince, as soon as he had completed his fourteenth year, was invited and required to disown, by a formal act, the obligations contracted in his name.[119] again there was a change. the king lived on, the alarm yielded to the temptations of covetousness. had he restored catherine to her father he must have restored with her the portion of her dowry which had been already received; he must have relinquished the prospect of the moiety which had yet to be received. the negotiation was renewed. henry vii. lived to sign the receipts for the first instalment of the second payment;[120] and on his death, notwithstanding much general murmuring,[121] the young henry, then a boy of eighteen, proceeded to carry out his father's ultimate intentions. the princess-dowager, notwithstanding what had passed, was still on her side willing;--and the difference of age (she was six years older than henry) seeming of little moment when both were comparatively young, they were married. for many years all went well; opposition was silenced by the success which seemed to have followed, and the original scruples were forgotten. though the marriage was dictated by political convenience, henry was faithful, with but one exception, to his wife's bed--no slight honour to him, if he is measured by the average royal standard in such matters; and, if his sons had lived to grow up around his throne, there is no reason to believe that the peace of his married life would have been interrupted, or that, whatever might have been his private feelings, he would have appeared in the world's eye other than acquiescent in his condition. but his sons had not lived; years passed on, bringing with them premature births, children born dead, or dying after a few days or hours,[122] and the disappointment was intense in proportion to the interests which were at issue. the especial penalty denounced against the marriage with a brother's wife[123] had been all but literally enforced; and the king found himself growing to middle life and his queen passing beyond it with his prayers unheard, and no hope any longer that they might be heard. the disparity of age also was more perceptible as time went by, while catherine's constitution was affected by her misfortunes, and differences arose on which there is no occasion to dwell in these pages--differences which in themselves reflected no discredit either on the husband or the wife, but which were sufficient to extinguish between two infirm human beings an affection that had rested only upon mutual esteem, but had not assumed the character of love. the circumstances in which catherine was placed were of a kind which no sensitive woman could have endured without impatience and mortification; but her conduct, however natural, only widened the breach which personal repugnance and radical opposition of character had already made too wide. so far henry and she were alike that both had imperious tempers, and both were indomitably obstinate; but henry was hot and impetuous, catherine was cold and self-contained--henry saw his duty through his wishes; catherine, in her strong castilian austerity, measured her steps by the letter of the law; the more her husband withdrew from her, the more she insisted upon her relation to him as his wife; and continued with fixed purpose and immovable countenance[124] to share his table and his bed long after she was aware of his dislike for her. if the validity of so unfortunate a connection had never been questioned, or if no national interests had been dependent on the continuance or the abolition of it, these discomforts were not too great to have been endured in silence. they were not originally occasioned by any latent inclination on the part of the king for another woman. they had arisen to their worst dimensions before he had ever seen anne boleyn, and were produced by causes of a wholly independent kind; and even if it had not been so, when we remember the tenor of his early life we need not think that he would have been unequal to the restraint which ordinary persons in similar circumstances are able to impose on their caprices. the legates spoke no more than the truth when they wrote to the pope, saying that "it was mere madness to suppose that the king would act as he was doing merely out of dislike of the queen, or out of inclination, for another person; he was not a man whom harsh manners and an unpleasant disposition (_duri mores et injucunda consuetudo_) could so far provoke; nor could any sane man believe him to be so infirm of character that sensual allurements would have led him to dissolve a connexion in which he had passed the flower of youth without stain or blemish, and in which he had borne himself in his trial so reverently and honourably."[125] i consider this entirely true in a sense which no great knowledge of human nature is required to understand. the king's personal dissatisfaction was great: if this had been all, however, it would have been extinguished or endured; but the interests of the nation, imperilled as they were by the maintenance of the marriage, entitled him to regard his position under another aspect. even if the marriage in itself had never been questioned, he might justly have desired the dissolution of it; and when he recalled the circumstances under which it was contracted, the hesitation of the council, the reluctance of the pope, the alarms and vacillation of his father, we may readily perceive how scruples of conscience must have arisen in a soil well prepared to receive them--how the loss of his children must have appeared as a judicial sentence on a violation of the divine law. the divorce presented itself to him as a moral obligation, when national advantage combined with superstition to encourage what he secretly desired; and if he persuaded himself that those public reasons, without which, in truth and fact, he would not have stirred, were those that alone were influencing him, the self-deceit was of a kind with which the experience of most men will probably have made them too familiar. in those rare cases where inclination coincides with right, we cannot be surprised if mankind should mislead themselves with the belief that the disinterested motives weigh more with them than the personal. a remarkable and very candid account of henry's feelings is furnished by himself in one of the many papers of instructions[126] which he forwarded to his secretary at rome. hypocrisy was not among his faults, and in detailing the arguments which were to be laid before the pope he has exhibited a more complete revelation of what was passing in himself--and indirectly of his own nature in its strength and weakness--than he perhaps imagined while he wrote. the despatch is long and perplexed; the style that of a man who saw his end clearly, and was vexed with the intricate and dishonest trifling with which his way was impeded, and which nevertheless he was struggling to tolerate. the secretary was to say, "that the king's highness having above all other things his intent and mind ever founded upon such respect unto almighty god as to a christian and catholic prince doth appertain, knowing the fragility and uncertainty of all earthly things, and how displeasant unto god, how much dangerous to the soul, how dishonourable and damageable to the world it were to prefer vain and transitory things unto those that be perfect and certain, hath in this cause, doubt, and matter of matrimony, whereupon depend so high and manifold consequences of greatest importance, always cast from his conceit the darkness and blundering confusion of falsity, and specially hath had and put before his eyes the light and shining brightness of truth; upon which foundation as a most sure base for perpetual tranquillity of his conscience his highness hath expressly resolved and determined with himself to build and establish all his acts, deeds, and cogitations touching this matter; without god did build the house, in vain they laboured that went about to build it; and all actions grounded upon that immovable fundament of truth, must needs therein be firm, sound, whole, perfect, and worthy of a christian man; which if truth were put apart, they could not for the same reason be but evil, vain, slipper, uncertain, and in nowise permanent or endurable." he then laboured to urge on the pope the duty of straightforward dealing; and dwelt in words which have a sad interest for us (when we consider the manner in which the subject of them has been dealt with) on the judgment bar, not of god only, but of human posterity, at which his conduct would be ultimately tried. "the causes of private persons dark and doubtful be sometimes," the king said, "pretermitted and passed over as things more meet at some seasons to be dissimuled than by continual strife and plea to nourish controversies. yet since all people have their eyes conject upon princes, whose acts and doings not only be observed in the mouths of them that now do live, but also remain in such perpetual memory to our posterity [so that] the evil, if any there be, cannot but appear and come to light, there is no reason for toleration, no place for dissimulation; but [there is reason] more deeply, highly, and profoundly to penetrate and search for the truth, so that the same may vanquish and overcome, and all guilt, craft, and falsehood clearly be extirpate and reject." i am anticipating the progress of the story in making these quotations; for the main burden of the despatch concerns a forged document which had been introduced by the roman lawyers to embarrass the process, and of which i shall by-and-bye have to speak directly; but i have desired to illustrate the spirit in which henry entered upon the general question--assuredly a more calm and rational one than historians have usually represented it to be. in dealing with the obstacle which had been raised, he displayed a most efficient mastery over himself, although he did not conclude without touching the pith of the matter with telling clearness. the secretary was to take some opportunity of speaking to the pope privately; and of warning him, "as of himself," that there was no hope that the king would give way: he was to "say plainly to his holiness that the king's desire and intent _convolare ad secundas nuptias non patitur negativum_; and whatsoever should be found of bull, brief, or otherwise, his highness found his conscience so inquieted, his succession in such danger, and his most royal person in such perplexity for things unknown and not to be spoken, that other remedy there was not but his grace to come by one way or other, and specially at his hands, if it might be, to the desired end; and that all concertation to the contrary should be vain and frustrate." so peremptory a conviction and so determined a purpose were of no sudden growth, and had been probably maturing in his mind for years, when the gangrene was torn open by the bishop of tarbês, and accident precipitated his resolution. the momentous consequences involved, and the reluctance to encounter a probable quarrel with the emperor, might have long kept him silent, except for some extraneous casualty; but the tree being thus rudely shaken, the ripe fruit fell. the capture of rome occurring almost at the same moment, wolsey caught the opportunity to break the spanish alliance; and the prospect of a divorce was grasped at by him as a lever by which to throw the weight of english power and influence into the papal scale, to commit henry definitely to the catholic cause. like his acceptance of legatine authority, the expedient was a desperate one, and if it failed it was ruinous. the nation at that time was sincerely attached to spain. the alliance with the house of burgundy was of old date; the commercial intercourse with flanders was enormous, flanders, in fact, absorbing all the english exports; and as many as 15,000 flemings were settled in london. charles himself was personally popular; he had been the ally of england in the late french war; and when in his supposed character of leader of the anti-papal party in europe he allowed a lutheran army to desecrate rome, he had won the sympathy of all the latent discontent which was fermenting in the population. france, on the other hand, was as cordially hated as spain was beloved. a state of war with france was the normal condition of england; and the reconquest of it the universal dream from the cottage to the castle. henry himself, early in his reign, had shared in this delusive ambition; and but three years before the sack of rome, when the duke of suffolk led an army into normandy, wolsey's purposed tardiness in sending reinforcements had alone saved paris.[127] there could be no doubt, therefore, that a breach with the emperor would in a high degree be unwelcome to the country. the king, and probably such members of the council as were aware of his feelings, shrank from offering an open affront to the spanish people., and anxious as they were for a settlement of the succession, perhaps trusted that advantage might be taken of some political contingency for a private arrangement; that catherine might be induced by charles himself to retire privately, and sacrifice herself, of her free will, to the interests of the two countries. this, however, is no more than conjecture; i think it probable, because so many english statesmen were in favour at once of the divorce and of the spanish alliance--two objects which, only on some such hypothesis, were compatible. the fact cannot be ascertained, however, because the divorce itself was not discussed at the council table until wolsey had induced the king to change his policy by the hope of immediate relief. wolsey has revealed to us fully his own objects in a letter to sir gregory cassalis, his agent at rome. he shared with half europe in an impression that the emperor's italian campaigns were designed to further the reformation; and of this central delusion he formed the keystone of his conduct. "first condoling with his holiness," he wrote, "on the unhappy position in which, with the college of the most reverend cardinals, he is placed,[128] you shall tell him how, day and night, i am revolving by what means or contrivance i may bring comfort to the church of christ, and raise the fallen state of our most holy lord. i care not whit it may cost me, whether of expense or trouble; nay, though i have to shed my blood, or give my life for it, assuredly so long as life remains to me for this i will labour. and how let me mention the great and marvellous effects which have been wrought by my instrumentality on the mind of my most excellent master the king, whom i have persuaded to unite himself with his holiness in heart and soul. i urged innumerable reasons to induce him to part him from the emperor, to whom he clung with much tenacity. the most effective of them all was the constancy with which i assured him of the good-will and affection which were felt for him by his holiness, and the certainty that his holiness would furnish proof of his friendship in conceding his said majesty's requests, in such form as the church's treasure and the authority of the vicar of christ shall permit, or so far as that authority extends or may extend. i have undertaken, moreover, for all these things in their utmost latitude, pledging my salvation, my faith, my honour and soul upon them. i have said that his demands shall be granted amply and fully, without scruple, without room or occasion being left for after-retractation; and the king's majesty, in consequence, believing on these my solemn asseverations that the pope's holiness is really and indeed well inclined towards him, accepting what is spoken by me as spoken by the legate of the apostolic see, and therefore, as in the name of his holiness, has determined to run the risk which i have pressed upon him; he will spare no labour or expense, he will disregard the wishes of his subjects, and the private interest of his realm, to attach himself cordially and constantly to the holy see."[129] these were the words of a man who loved england well, but who loved rome better; and wolsey has received but scanty justice from catholic writers, since he sacrificed himself for the catholic cause. his scheme was bold and well laid, being weak only in that it was confessedly in contradiction to the instincts and genius of the nation, by which, and by which alone, in the long run, either this or any other country has been successfully governed. and yet he might well be forgiven if he ventured on an unpopular course in the belief that the event would justify him; and that, in uniting with france to support the pope, he was not only consulting the true interest of england, but was doing what england actually desired, although blindly aiming at her object by other means. the french wars, however traditionally popular, were fertile only in glory. the rivalry of the two countries was a splendid folly, wasting the best blood of both countries for an impracticable chimera; and though there was impatience of ecclesiastical misrule, though there was jealousy of foreign interference, and general irritation with the state of the church, yet the mass of the people hated protestantism even worse than they hated the pope, the clergy, and the consistory courts. they believed--and wolsey was, perhaps, the only leading member of the privy council, except archbishop warham, who was not under the same delusion--that it was possible for a national church to separate itself from the unity of christendom, and at the same time to crush or prevent innovation of doctrine; that faith in the sacramental system could still be maintained, though the priesthood by whom those mysteries were dispensed should minister in gilded chains. this was the english historical theory handed down from william rufus, the second henry, and the edwards; yet it was and is a mere phantasm, a thing of words and paper fictions, as wolsey saw it to be. wolsey knew well that an ecclesiastical revolt implied, as a certainty, innovation of doctrine; that plain men could not and would not continue to reverence the office of the priesthood, when the priests were treated as the paid officials of an earthly authority higher than their own. he was not to be blamed if he took the people at their word; if he believed that, in their doctrinal conservatism, they knew and meant what they were saying: and the reaction which took place under queen mary, when the anglican system had been tried and failed, and the alternative was seen to be absolute between a union with rome or a forfeiture of catholic orthodoxy, prove after all that he was wiser than in the immediate event he seemed to be; that if his policy had succeeded, and if, strengthened by success, he had introduced into the church those reforms which he had promised and desired,[130] he would have satisfied the substantial wishes of the majority of the nation. like other men of genius, wolsey also combined practical sagacity with an unmeasured power of hoping. as difficulties gathered round him, he encountered them with the increasing magnificence of his schemes; and after thirty years' experience of public life, he was as sanguine as a boy. armed with this little lever of the divorce, he saw himself, in imagination, the rebuilder of the catholic faith and the deliverer of europe. the king being remarried, and the succession settled, he would purge the church of england, and convert the monasteries into intellectual garrisons of pious and learned men, occupying the land from end to end. the feuds with france should cease for ever, and, united in a holy cause, the two countries should restore the papacy, put down the german heresies, depose the emperor, and establish in his place some faithful servant of the church. then europe once more at peace, the hordes of the crescent, which were threatening to settle the quarrels of christians in the west as they had settled them in the east--by the extinction of christianity itself,--were to be hurled back into their proper barbarism.[131] these magnificent visions fell from him in conversations with the bishop of bayonne, and may be gathered from hints and fragments of his correspondence. extravagant as they seem, the prospect of realising them was, humanly speaking, neither chimerical nor even improbable. he had but made the common mistake of men of the world who are the representatives of an old order of things at the time when that order is doomed and dying. he could not read the signs of the times; and confounded the barrenness of death with the barrenness of a winter which might be followed by a new spring and summer; he believed that the old life-tree of catholicism, which in fact was but cumbering the ground, might bloom again in its old beauty. the thing which he called heresy was the fire of almighty god, which no politic congregation of princes, no state machinery, though it were never so active, could trample out; and as in the early years of christianity the meanest slave who was thrown to the wild beasts for his presence at the forbidden mysteries of the gospel, saw deeper, in the divine power of his faith, into the future even of this earthly world than the sagest of his imperial persecutors, so a truer political prophet than wolsey would have been found in the most ignorant of those poor men, for whom his myrmidons were searching in the purlieus of london, who were risking death and torture in disseminating the pernicious volumes of the english testament. if we look at the matter, however, from a more earthly point of view, the causes which immediately defeated wolsey's policy were not such as human foresight could have anticipated. we ourselves, surveying the various parties in europe with the light of our knowledge of the actual sequel, are perhaps able to understand their real relations; but if in 1527 a political astrologer had foretold that within two years of that time the pope and the emperor who had imprisoned him would be cordial allies, that the positions of england and spain toward the papacy would be diametrically reversed, and that the two countries were on the point of taking their posts, which they would ever afterwards maintain, as the champions respectively of the opposite principles to those which at that time they seemed to represent, the prophecy would have been held scarcely less insane than a prophecy six or even three years before the event, that in the year 1854 england would be united with an emperor napoleon for the preservation of european order. henry, then, in the spring of the year 1527, definitively breaking the spanish alliance, formed a league with francis i., the avowed object of which was the expulsion of the imperialists from italy; with a further intention--if it could be carried into effect--of avenging the outrage offered to europe in the pope's imprisonment, by declaring vacant the imperial throne. simultaneously with the congress at amiens where the terms of the alliance were arranged, confidential persons were despatched into italy to obtain an interview--if possible--with the pope, and formally laying before him the circumstances of the king's position, to request him to make use of his powers to provide a remedy. it is noticeable that at the outset of the negotiation the king did not fully trust wolsey. the latter had suggested, as the simplest method of proceeding, that the pope should extend his authority as legate, granting him plenary power to act as english vicegerent so long as rome was occupied by the emperor's troops. henry, not wholly satisfied that he was acquainted with his minister's full intentions in desiring so large a capacity, sent his own secretary, unknown to wolsey, with his own private propositions--requesting simply a dispensation to take a second wife, his former marriage being allowed to stand with no definite sentence passed upon it; or, if that were impossible, leaving the pope to choose his own method, and settle the question in the manner least difficult and least offensive.[132] wolsey, however, soon satisfied the king that he had no sinister intentions. by the middle of the winter we find the private messenger associated openly with sir gregory cassalis, the agent of the minister's communications;[133] and a series of formal demands were presented jointly by these two persons in the names of henry and the legate; which, though taking many forms, resolved themselves substantially into one. the pope was required to make use of his dispensing power to enable the king of england to marry a wife who could bear him children, and thus provide some better security than already existed for the succession to the throne. this demand could not be considered as in itself unreasonable; and if personal feeling was combined with other motives to induce henry to press it, personal feeling did not affect the general bearing of the question. the king's desire was publicly urged on public grounds, and thus, and thus only, the pope was at liberty to consider it. the marriages of princes have ever been affected by other considerations than those which influence such relations between private persons. princes may not, as "unvalued persons" may, "carve for themselves;" they pay the penalty of their high place, in submitting their affections to the welfare of the state; and the same causes which regulate the formation of these ties must be allowed to influence the continuance of them. the case which was submitted to the pope was one of those for which his very power of dispensing had been vested in him; and being, as he called himself, the father of christendom, the nation thought themselves entitled to call upon him to make use of that power. a resource of the kind must exist somewhere--the relation between princes and subjects indispensably requiring it. it had been vested in the bishop of rome, because it had been presumed that the sanctity of his office would secure an impartial exercise of his authority. and unless he could have shown (which he never attempted to show) that the circumstances of the succession were not so precarious as to call for his interference, it would seem that the express contingency had arisen which was contemplated in the constitution of the canon law;[134] and that where a provision had been made by the church of which he was the earthly head, for difficulties of this precise description, the pope was under an obligation either to make the required concessions in virtue of his faculty, or, if he found himself unable to make those concessions, to offer some distinct explanation of his refusal. i speak of the question as nakedly political. i am not considering the private injuries of which catherine had so deep a right to complain, nor the complications subsequently raised on the original validity of the first marriage. a political difficulty, on which alone he was bound to give sentence, was laid before the pope in his judicial capacity, in the name of the nation; and the painful features which the process afterwards assumed are due wholly to his original weakness and vacillation. deeply, however, as we must all deplore the scandal and suffering which were occasioned by the dispute, it was in a high degree fortunate, that at the crisis of public dissatisfaction in england with the condition of the church, especially in the conduct of its courts of justice, a cause should have arisen which tested the whole question of church authority in its highest form; where the dispute between the laity and the ecclesiastics was represented in a process in which the pope sat as judge; in which the king was the appellant, and the most vital interests of the nation were at stake upon the issue. it was no accident which connected a suit for divorce with the reformation of religion. the ecclesiastical jurisdiction was upon its trial, and the future relations of church and state depended upon the pope's conduct in a matter which no technical skill was required to decide, but only the moral virtues of probity and courage. the time had been when the clergy feared only to be unjust, and when the functions of judges might safely be entrusted to them. the small iniquities of the consistory courts had shaken the popular faith in the continued operation of such a fear; and the experience of an alexander vi., a julius ii., and a leo x. had induced a suspicion that even in the highest quarters justice had ceased to be much considered. it remained for clement vii. to disabuse men of their alarms, or by confirming them to forfeit for ever the supremacy of his order in england. nor can it be said for him that the case was one in which it was unusually difficult to be virtuous. justice, wounded dignity, and the interests of the see pointed alike to the same course. queen catherine's relationship to the emperor could not have recommended her to the tenderness of the pope, and the policy of assenting to an act which would infallibly alienate henry from charles, and therefore attach him to the roman interests, did not require the eloquence of wolsey to make it intelligible. if, because he was in the emperor's power, he therefore feared the personal consequences to himself, his cowardice of itself disqualified him to sit as a judge. it does not fall within my present purpose to detail the first stages of the proceedings which followed. in substance they are well known to all readers of english history, and may be understood without difficulty as soon as we possess the clue to the conduct of wolsey. i shall, however, in a few pages briefly epitomise what passed. at the outset of the negotiation, the pope, although he would take no positive steps, was all, in words, which he was expected to be. neither he nor the cardinals refused to acknowledge the dangers which threatened the country. he discussed freely the position of the different parties, the probabilities of a disputed succession, and the various claimants who would present themselves, if the king died without an heir of undisputed legitimacy.[135] gardiner writes to wolsey,[136] "we did even more inculcate what speed and celerity the thing required, and what danger it was to the realm to have this matter hang in suspense. his holiness confessed the same, and thereupon began to reckon what divers titles might be pretended by the king of scots and others, and granted that, without an heir male, with provision to be made by consent of the state for his succession, and unless that what shall be done herein be established in such fashion as nothing may hereafter be objected thereto, the realm was like to come to dissolution." in stronger language the cardinal-governor of bologna declared that "he knew the gyze of england as well as few men did, and if the king should die without heirs male, he was sure it would cost two hundred thousand men's lives. wherefore he thought, supposing his grace should have no more children by the queen, and that by taking of another wife he might have heirs male, the bringing to pass that matter, and by that to avoid the mischiefs afore written, he thought would deserve heaven."[137] whatever doubt their might be, therefore, whether the original marriage with catherine was legal, it was universally admitted that there was none about the national desirableness of the dissolution of it; and if the pope had been free to judge only by the merits of the case, it is impossible to doubt that he would have cut the knot, either by granting a dispensation to henry to marry a second wife--his first being formally, though not judicially, separated from him--or in some other way.[138] but the emperor was "a lion in his path;" the question of strength between the french and the spaniards remained undecided, and clement would come to no decision until he was assured of the power of the allies to protect him from the consequences. accordingly he said and unsaid, sighed, sobbed, beat his breast, shuffled, implored, threatened;[139] in all ways he endeavoured to escape from his dilemma, to say yes and to say no, to do nothing, to offend no one, and above all to gain time, with the weak man's hope that "something might happen" to extricate him. embassy followed embassy from england, each using language more threatening than its predecessor. the thing, it was said, must be done, and should be done. if it was not done by the pope it would be done at home in some other way, and the pope must take the consequences.[140] wolsey warned him passionately of the rising storm,[141] a storm which would be so terrible when it burst "that it would be better to die than to live." the pope was strangely unable to believe that the danger could be real, being misled perhaps by other information from the friends of queen catherine, and by an over-confidence in the attachment of the people to the emperor. he acted throughout in a manner natural to a timid amiable man, who found himself in circumstances to which he was unequal; and as long as we look at him merely as a man we can pity his embarrassment. he forgot, however, that only because he was supposed to be more than a man had kings and emperors consented to plead at his judgment seat--a fact of which stephen gardiner, then wolsey's secretary, thought it well to remind him in the following striking language:-"unless," said the future bishop of winchester in the council, at the close of a weary day of unprofitable debating, "unless some other resolution be taken than i perceive you intend to make, hereupon shall be gathered a marvellous opinion of your holiness, of the college of cardinals, and of the authority of this see. the king's highness, and the nobles of the realm who shall be made privy to this, shall needs think that your holiness and these most reverend and learned councillors either will not answer in this cause, or cannot answer. if you will not, if you do not choose to point out the way to an erring man, the care of whom is by god committed to you, they will say, 'oh race of men most ungrateful, and of your proper office most oblivious! you who should be simple as doves are full of all deceit, and craft, and dissembling. if the king's cause be good, we require that you pronounce it good. if it be bad, why will you not say that it is bad, so to hinder a prince to whom you are so much bounden from longer continuing with it? we ask nothing of you but justice, which the king so loves and values, that whatever sinister things others may say or think of him, he will follow that with all his heart; that, and nothing else, whether it be for the marriage or against the marriage.' "but if the king's majesty," continued gardiner, hitting the very point of the difficulty, "if the king's majesty and the nobility of england, being persuaded of your good will to answer if you can do so, shall be brought to doubt of your ability, they will be forced to a harder conclusion respecting this see--namely, that god has taken from it the key of knowledge; and they will begin to give better ear to that opinion of some persons to which they have as yet refused to listen, that those papal laws which neither the pope himself nor his council can interpret, deserve only to be committed to the flames." "i desired his holiness," he adds, "to ponder well this matter."[142] clement was no hero, but in his worst embarrassments his wit never failed him. he answered that he was not learned, and "to speak truth, albeit there was a saying in the canon law, that _pontifex habet omnia jura in scrinio pectoris_ (the pope has all laws locked within his breast), yet god had never given him the key to open that lock." he was but "seeking pretexts" for delay, as gardiner saw, till the issue of the italian campaign of the french in the summer of 1528 was decided. he had been liberated, or had been allowed to escape from rome, in the fear that if detained longer he might nominate a vicegerent; and was residing at an old ruined castle at orvieto, waiting upon events, leaving the holy city still occupied by the prince of orange. in the preceding autumn, immediately after the congress at amiens, m. de lautrec, accompanied by several english noblemen, had led an army across the alps. he had defeated the imperialists in the north of italy in several minor engagements; and in january his success appeared so probable, that the pope took better heart, and told sir gregory cassalis, that if the french would only approach near enough to enable him to plead compulsion, he would grant a commission to wolsey, with plenary power to conclude the cause.[143] de lautrec, however, foiled in his desire to bring the imperialists to a decisive engagement, wasted his time and strength in ineffectual petty sieges; and finally, in the summer, on the unhealthy plains of naples, a disaster more fatal in its consequences than the battle of pavia, closed the prospects of the french to the south of the alps; and with them all wolsey's hopes of realising his dream. struck down, not by a visible enemy, but by the silent hand of fever, the french general himself, his english friends, and all his army melted away from off the earth. the pope had been wise in time. he had committed himself in words and intentions; but he had done nothing which he could not recall. he obtained his pardon from the emperor by promising to offend no more; and from that moment never again entertained any real thought of concession. acting under explicit directions, he made it his object thenceforward to delay and to procrastinate. charles had no desire to press matters to extremities. war had not yet been declared[144] against him by henry; nor was he anxious himself to precipitate a quarrel from which, if possible, he would gladly escape. he had a powerful party in england, which it was unwise to alienate by hasty, injudicious measures; and he could gain all which he himself desired by a simple policy of obstruction. his object was merely to protract the negotiation and prevent a decision, in the hope either that henry would be wearied into acquiescence, or that catherine herself would retire of her own accord, or, finally, that some happy accident might occur to terminate the difficulty. it is, indeed, much to the honour of charles v. that he resolved to support the queen. she had thrown herself on his protection; but princes in such matters consider prudence more than feeling, and he could gain nothing by defending her: while, both for himself and for the church he risked the loss of much. he over-rated the strength of his english connection, and mistook the english character; but he was not blind to the hazard which he was incurring, and would have welcomed an escape from the dilemma perhaps as warmly as henry would have welcomed it himself. the pope, who well knew his feelings, told gardiner, "it would be for the wealth of christendom if the queen were in her grave; and he thought the emperor would be thereof most glad of all;" saying, also, "that he thought like as the emperor had destroyed the temporalities of the church, so should she be the destruction of the spiritualities."[145] in the summer of 1528, before the disaster at naples, cardinal campeggio had left rome on his way to england, where he was to hear the cause in conjunction with wolsey. an initial measure of this obvious kind it had been impossible to refuse; and the pretexts under which it was for many months delayed, were exhausted before the pope's ultimate course had been made clear to him. but campeggio was instructed to protract his journey to its utmost length, giving time for the campaign to decide itself. he loitered into the autumn, under the excuse of gout and other convenient accidents, until the news reached him of de lautrec's death, which took place on the 21st of august; and then at length proceeding, he betrayed to francis i., on passing through paris, that he had no intention of allowing judgment to be passed upon the cause.[146] even wolsey was beginning to tremble at what he had attempted, and was doubtful of success.[147] the seeming relief came in time, for henry's patience was fast running out. he had been over-persuaded into a course which he had never cordially approved. the majority of the council, especially the duke of norfolk and the duke of suffolk, were traditionally imperial, and he himself might well doubt whether he might not have found a nearer road out of his difficulties by adhering to charles. charles, after all, was not ruining the papacy, and had no intention of ruining it; and his lightest word weighed more at the court of rome than the dubious threats and prayers of france. the bishop of bayonne, resident french ambassador in london, whose remarkable letters transport us back into the very midst of that unquiet and stormy scene, tells us plainly that the french alliance was hated by the country, that the nobility were all for the emperor, and that among the commons the loudest discontent was openly expressed against wolsey from the danger of the interruption of the trade with flanders. flemish ships had been detained in london, and english ships in retaliation had been arrested in the zealand ports; corn was unusually dear, and the expected supplies from spain and germany were cut off;[148] while the derangement of the woollen trade, from the reluctance of the merchants to venture purchases, was causing distress all over the country, and wolsey had been driven to the most arbitrary measures to prevent open disturbance.[149] he had set his hopes upon the chance of a single cast which he would not believe could fail him, but on each fresh delay he was compelled to feel his declining credit, and the bishop of bayonne wrote, on the 20th of august, 1528, that the cardinal was in bad spirits, and had told him in confidence, that "if he could only see the divorce arranged, the king remarried, the succession settled, and the laws and the manners and customs of the country reformed, he would retire from the world and would serve god the remainder of his days."[150] to these few trifles he would be contented to confine himself--only to these; he was past sixty, he was weary of the world, and his health was breaking, and he would limit his hopes to the execution of a work for which centuries imperfectly sufficed. it seemed as if he measured his stature by the lengthening shadow, as his sun made haste to its setting. symptoms of misgiving may be observed in the many anxious letters which he wrote while campeggio was so long upon his road; and the bishop of bayonne, whose less interested eyes could see more deeply into the game, warned him throughout that the pope was playing him false.[151] only in a revulsion from violent despondency could such a man as wolsey have allowed himself, on the mere arrival of the legate, and after a few soft words from him, to write in the following strain to sir gregory cassalis:-"you cannot believe the exultation with which at length i find myself successful in the object for which these many years, with all my industry, i have laboured. at length i have found means to bind my most excellent sovereign and this glorious realm to the holy roman see in faith and obedience for ever. henceforth will this people become the most sure pillar of support to bear up the sacred fabric of the church. henceforth, in recompense for that enduring felicity which he has secured to it, our most holy lord has all england at his devotion. in brief time will this noble land make its grateful acknowledgments to his clemency at once for the preservation of the most just, most wise, most excellent of princes, and for the secure establishment of the realm and the protection of the royal succession."[152] this letter was dated on the fourth of october, and was written in the hope that the pope had collected his courage, and that the legate had brought powers to proceed to judgment. in a few days the prospect was again clouded, and wolsey was once more in despair.[153] campeggio had brought with him instructions if possible to arrange a compromise,--if a compromise was impossible, to make the best use of his ingenuity, and do nothing and allow nothing to be done. in one of two ways, however, it was hoped that he might effect a peaceful solution. he urged the king to give way and to proceed no further; and this failing, as he was prepared to find, he urged the same thing upon the queen.[154] he invited catherine, or he was directed to invite her, in the pope's name,[155] for the sake of the general interests of christendom, to take the vows and enter what was called _religio laxa_, a state in which she might live unincumbered by obligations except the easy one of chastity, and free from all other restrictions either of habit, diet, or order. the proposal was wolsey's, and was formed when he found the limited nature of campeggio's instructions;[156] but it was adopted by the latter; and i cannot but think (though i have no proof of it) that it was not adopted without the knowledge of the emperor. whatever were his own interests, charles v. gave catherine his unwavering support: he made it his duty to maintain her in the ignominious position in which she was placed, and submitted his own conduct to be guided by her wishes. it cannot be doubted, however, from the pope's words, and also from the circumstances of the case, that if she could have prevailed upon herself to yield, it would have relieved him from a painful embarrassment. as a prince, he must have felt the substantial justice of henry's demand, and in refusing to allow the pope to pass a judicial sentence of divorce, he could not but have known that he was compromising the position of the holy see: while catherine herself, on the other hand, if she had yielded, would have retired without a stain; no opinion would have been pronounced upon her marriage; the legitimacy of the princess mary would have been left without impeachment; and her right to the succession, in the event of no male heir following from any new connection which the king might form, would have been readily secured to her by act of parliament. it may be asked why she did not yield, and it is difficult to answer the question. she was not a person who would have been disturbed by the loss of a few court vanities. her situation as henry's wife could not have had many charms for her, nor can it be thought that she retained a personal affection for him. if she had loved him, she would have suffered too deeply in the struggle to have continued to resist, and the cloister would have seemed a paradise. or if the cloister had appeared too sad a shelter for her, she might have gone back to the gardens of the alhambra, where she had played as a child, carrying with her the affectionate remembrance of every english heart, and welcomed by her own people as an injured saint. nor again can we suppose that the possible injury of her daughter's prospects from the birth of a prince by another marriage could have seemed of so vast moment to her. those prospects were already more than endangered, and would have been rather improved than brought into further peril. it is not for us to dictate the conduct which a woman smarting under injuries so cruel ought to have pursued. she had a right to choose the course which seemed the best to herself, and england especially could not claim of a stranger that readiness to sacrifice herself which it might have demanded and exacted of one of its own children. we may regret, however, what we are unable to censure; and the most refined ingenuity could scarcely have invented a more unfortunate answer than that which the queen returned to the legate's request. she seems to have said that she was ready to take vows of chastity if the king would do the same. it does not appear whether the request was _formally_ made, or whether it was merely suggested to her in private conversation. that she told the legates, however, what her answer would be, appears certain from the following passage, sadly indicating the "devices of policy" to which in this unhappy business honourable men allowed themselves to be driven:-"forasmuch as it is like that the queen shall make marvellous difficulty, and in nowise be conformable to enter religion[157] or take vows of chastity, but that to induce her thereunto, there must be ways and means of high policy used, and all things possible devised to encourage her to the same; wherein percase she shall resolve that she in no wise will condescend so to do, unless that the king's highness also do the semblable for his part; the king's said orators shall therefore in like wise ripe and instruct themselves by their secret learned council in the court of rome, if, for so great a benefit to ensue unto the king's succession, realm, and subjects, with the quiet of his conscience, his grace should promise so to enter religion on vows of chastity for his part, only thereby to conduce the queen thereunto, whether in that case the pope's holiness may dispense with the king's highness for the same promise, oath, or vow, discharging his grace clearly of the same."[158] the explanation of the queen's conduct lies probably in regions into which it is neither easy nor well to penetrate; in regions of outraged delicacy and wounded pride, in a vast drama of passion which had been enacted behind the scenes. from the significant hints which are let fall of the original cause of the estrangement, it was of a kind more difficult to endure than the ordinary trial of married women, the transfer of a husband's affection to some fairer face; and a wife whom so painful a misfortune had failed to crush would be likely to have been moved by it to a deeper and more bitter indignation even, because while she could not blame herself, she knew not whom she might rightly allow herself to blame. and if this were so, the king is not likely to have allayed the storm when at length, putting faith in wolsey's promises, he allowed himself openly to regard another person as his future wife, establishing her in the palace at greenwich under the same roof with the queen, with reception rooms, and royal state, and a position openly acknowledged,[159] the gay court and courtiers forsaking the gloomy dignity of the actual wife for the gaudy splendour of her brilliant rival. tamer blood than that which flowed in the veins of a princess of castile would have boiled under these indignities; and we have little reason to be surprised if policy and prudence were alike forgotten by catherine in the bitterness of the draught which was forced upon her, and if her own personal wrongs outweighed the interests of the world. henry had proceeded to the last unjustifiable extremity as soon as the character of campeggio's mission had been made clear to him, as if to demonstrate to all the world that he was determined to persevere at all costs and hazards.[160] taking the management of the negotiation into his own keeping, he sent sir francis bryan, the cousin of anne boleyn, to the pope, to announce that what he required must be done, and to declare peremptorily, no more with covert hints, but with open menace, that in default of help from rome, he would lay the matter before parliament, to be settled at home by the laws of his own country. meanwhile, the emperor, who had hitherto conducted himself with the greatest address, had fallen into his first error. he had retreated skilfully out of the embarrassment in which the pope's imprisonment involved him, and mingling authority and dictation with kindness and deference, he had won over the holy see to his devotion, and neutralised the danger to which the alliance of france and england threatened to expose him. his correspondence with the latter country assured him of the unpopularity of the course which had been pursued by the cardinal; he was aware of the obstruction of trade which it had caused, and of the general displeasure felt by the people at the breach of an old friendship; while the league with france in behalf of the roman church had been barren of results, and was made ridiculous by the obvious preference of the pope for the enemy from whom it was formed to deliver him. if charles had understood the english temper, therefore, and had known how to avail himself of the opportunity, events might have run in a very different channel. but he was not aware of the earnestness with which the people were bent upon securing the succession, nor of their loyal attachment to henry. he supposed that disapproval of the course followed by wolsey to obtain the divorce implied an aversion to it altogether; and trusting to his interest in the privy council, and to his commercial connection with the city, he had attempted to meet menace with menace; he had replied to the language addressed by henry to the pope with an attempt to feel the pulse of english disaffection, and he opened a correspondence with the earl of desmond for an irish revolt.[161] the opportunity for a movement of this kind had not yet arrived. there was, in england at least, as yet no wide disaffection; but there was a chance of serious outbreaks; and henry instantly threw himself upon the nation. he summoned the peers by circular to london, and calling a general meeting, composed of the nobility, the privy council, the lord mayor, and the great merchants of the city, he laid before them a specific detail of his objects in desiring the divorce;[162] and informed them of the nature of the measures which had been taken.[163] this, the french ambassador informs us, gave wide satisfaction and served much to allay the disquiet; but so great was the indignation against wolsey, that disturbances in london were every day anticipated; and at one time the danger appeared so threatening, that an order of council was issued, commanding all strangers to leave the city, and a general search was instituted for arms.[164] the strangers aimed at were the flemings, whose numbers made them formidable, and who were, perhaps, supposed to be ready to act under instruction from abroad. the cloud, however, cleared away; the order was not enforced; and the propitious moment for treason had not yet arrived. the emperor had felt so confident that, in the autumn of 1528, he had boasted that, "before the winter was over, he would fling henry from his throne by the hands of his own subjects." the words had been repeated to wolsey, who mentioned them openly at his table before more than a hundred gentlemen. a person present exclaimed, "that speech has lost the emperor more than a hundred thousand hearts among us;"[165] an expression which reveals at once the strength and the weakness of the imperial party. england might have its own opinions of the policy of the government, but it was in no humour to tolerate treason, and the first hint of revolt was followed by an instant recoil. the discovery of more successful intrigues in scotland and ireland completed the destruction of charles's influence;[166] and the result of these ill-judged and premature efforts was merely to unite the nation in their determination to prosecute the divorce. thus were the various parties in the vast struggle which was about to commence gravitating into their places; and mistake combined with policy to place them in their true positions. wolsey, in submitting "the king's matter" to the pope, had brought to issue the question whether the papal authority should be any longer recognised in england; and he had secured the ruin of that authority by the steps through which he hoped to establish it; while charles, by his unwise endeavours to foment a rebellion, severed with his own hand the links of a friendship which would have been seriously embarrassing if it had continued. by him, also, was dealt the concluding stroke in this first act of the drama; and though we may grant him credit for the ingenuity of his contrivance, he can claim it only at the expense of his probity. the pope, when the commission was appointed for the trial of the cause in england, had given a promise in writing that the commission should not be revoked. it seemed, therefore, that the legates would be compelled, in spite of themselves, to pronounce sentence; and that the settlement of the question, in one form or other, could not long be delayed. at the pressure of the crisis in the winter of 1528-9, a document was produced alleged to have been found in spain, which furnished a pretext for a recall of the engagement, and opening now questions, indefinite and inexhaustible, rendered the passing of a sentence in england impossible. unhappily, the weight of the king's claim (however it had been rested on its true merits in conversation and in letters) had, by the perverse ingenuity of the lawyers, been laid on certain informalities and defects in the original bull of dispensation, which had been granted by julius ii. for the marriage of henry and catherine. at the moment when the legates' court was about to be opened, a copy of a brief was brought forward, bearing the same date as the bull, exactly meeting the objection. the authenticity of this brief was open, on its own merits, to grave doubt; and suspicion becomes certainty when we find it was dropped out of the controversy so soon as the immediate object was gained for which it was produced. but the legates' hands were instantly tied by it. the "previous question" of authenticity had necessarily to be tried before they could take another step; and the "original" of the brief being in the hands of the emperor, who refused to send it into england, but offered to send it to rome, the cause was virtually transferred to rome, where henry, as he knew, was unlikely to consent to plead, or where he could himself rule the decision. he had made a stroke of political finesse, which answered not only the purpose that he immediately intended, but answered, also, the purpose that he did not intend--of dealing the hardest blow which it had yet received to the supremacy of the holy see. the spring of 1529 was wasted in fruitless efforts to obtain the brief. at length, in may, the proceedings were commenced; but they were commenced only in form, and were never more than an illusion. catherine had been instructed in the course which she was to pursue. she appealed from the judgment of the legates to that of the pope; and the pope, with the plea of the new feature which had arisen in the case, declared that he could not refuse to revoke his promise. having consented to the production of the brief, he had in fact no alternative; nor does it appear what he could have urged in excuse of himself. he may have suspected the forgery; nay, it is certain that in england he was believed to be privy to it; but he could not ignore an important feature of necessary evidence, especially when pressed upon him by the emperor; and it was in fact no more than an absurdity to admit the authority of a papal commission, and to refuse to permit an appeal from it to the pope in person. we may thank clement for dispelling a chimera by a simple act of consistency. the power of the see of rome in england was a constitutional fiction, acknowledged only on condition that it would consent to be inert. so long as a legate's court sat in london, men were able to conceal from themselves the fact of a foreign jurisdiction, and to feel that, substantially, their national independence was respected; when the fiction aspired to become a reality, but one consequence was possible. if henry himself would have stooped to plead at a foreign tribunal, the spirit of the nation would not have permitted him to inflict so great a dishonour on the free majesty of england. so fell wolsey's great scheme, and with it fell the last real chance of maintaining the pope's authority in england under any form. the people were smarting under the long humiliation of the delay, and ill-endured to see the interests of england submitted, as they virtually were, to the arbitration of a foreign prince. the emperor, not the pope, was the true judge who sat to decide the quarrel; and their angry jealousy refused to tolerate longer a national dishonour. "the great men of the realm," wrote the legates, "are storming in bitter wrath at our procrastination. lords and commons alike complain that they are made to expect at the hands of strangers things of vital moment to themselves and their fortunes. and many persons here who would desire to see the pope's authority in this country diminished or annulled, are speaking in language which we cannot repeat without horror."[167] and when, being in such a mood, they were mocked, after two weary years of negotiation, by the opening of a fresh vista of difficulties, when they were informed that the further hearing of the cause was transferred to italy, even wolsey, with certain ruin before him, rose in protest before such a dream of shame. he was no more the roman legate, but the english minister. "if the advocation be passed," he wrote to cassalis,[168] "or shall now at any time hereafter pass, with citation of the king in person, or by proctor, to the court of rome, or with any clause of interdiction or excommunication, _vel cum invocatione brachii sæcularis_, whereby the king should be precluded from taking his advantage otherwise, the dignity and prerogative royal of the king's crown, whereunto all the nobles and subjects of this realm will adhere and stick unto the death, may not tolerate nor suffer that the same be obeyed. and to say the truth, in so doing the pope should not only show himself the king's enemy, but also as much as in him is, provoke all other princes and people to be the semblable. nor shall it ever be seen that the king's cause shall be ventilated or decided in any place out of his own realm; _but that if his grace should come at any time to the court of rome, he would do the same with such a main and army royal as should be formidable to the pope and all italy_."[169] wolsey, however, failed in his protest; the advocation was passed, campeggio left england, and he was lost. a crisis had arrived, and a revolution of policy was inevitable. from the accession of henry vii., the country had been governed by a succession of ecclesiastical ministers, who being priests as well as statesmen, were essentially conservative; and whose efforts in a position of constantly increasing difficulty had been directed towards resisting the changing tendencies of the age, and either evading a reformation of the church while they admitted its necessity, or retaining the conduct of it in their own hands, while they were giving evidence of their inability to accomplish the work. it was now over; the ablest representative of this party, in a last desperate effort to retain power, had decisively failed. writs were issued for a parliament when the legate's departure was determined, and the consequences were inevitable. wolsey had known too well the unpopularity of his foreign policy, to venture on calling a parliament himself. he relied on success as an ultimate justification; and inasmuch as success had not followed, he was obliged to bear the necessary fate of a minister who, in a free country, had thwarted the popular will and whom fortune deserted in the struggle. the barriers which his single hand had upheld suddenly gave way, the torrent had free course, and he himself was the first to be swept away. in modern language, we should describe what took place as a change of ministry, the government being transferred to an opposition, who had been irritated by long depression under the hands of men whom they despised, and who were borne into power by an irresistible force in a moment of excitement and danger. the king, who had been persuaded against his better judgment to accept wolsey's schemes, admitted the rising spirit without reluctance, contented to moderate its action, but no longer obstructing or permitting it to be obstructed. like all great english statesmen, he was constitutionally conservative, but he had the tact to perceive the conditions under which, in critical times, conservatism is possible; and although he continued to endure for himself the trifling of the papacy, he would not, for the sake of the pope's interest, delay further the investigation of the complaints of the people against the church; while in the future prosecution of his own cause, he resolved to take no steps except with the consent of the legislature, and in a question of national moment, to consult only the nation's wishes. the new ministry held a middle place between the moving party in the commons and the expelled ecclesiastics, the principal members of it being the chief representatives of the old aristocracy, who had been wolsey's fiercest opponents, but who were disinclined by constitution and sympathy from sweeping measures. an attempt was made, indeed, to conciliate the more old-fashioned of the churchmen, by an offer of the seals to warham, archbishop of canterbury, probably because he originally opposed the marriage between the king and his sister-in-law, and because it was hoped that his objections remained unaltered. warham, however, as we shall see, had changed his mind: he declined, on the plea of age, and the office of chancellor was given to sir thomas more, perhaps the person least disaffected to the clergy who could have been found among the leading laymen. the substance of power was vested in the dukes of norfolk and suffolk, the great soldier-nobles of the age, and sir william fitz-william, lord admiral; to all of whom the ecclesiastical domination had been most intolerable, while they had each of them brilliantly distinguished themselves in the wars with france and scotland. according to the french ambassador, we must add one more minister, supreme, if we may trust him, above them all. "the duke of norfolk," he writes, "is made president of the council, the duke of suffolk vice-president, and above them both is mistress anne;"[170] this last addition to the council being one which boded little good to the interests of the see that had so long detained her in expectation. so confident were the destructive party of the temper of the approaching parliament, and of the irresistible pressure of the times, that the general burden of conversation of the dinner-tables in the great houses in london was an exulting expectation of a dissolution of the church establishment, and a confiscation of ecclesiastical property; the king himself being the only obstacle which was feared by them. "these noble lords imagine," continues the same writer, "that the cardinal once dead of ruined, they will incontinently plunder the church, and strip it of all its wealth," adding that there was no occasion for him to write this in cipher, for it was everywhere openly spoken of.[171] movements, nevertheless, which are pregnant with vital change, are slow in assuming their essential direction, even after the stir has commenced. circumstances do not immediately open themselves; the point of vision alters gradually; and fragments of old opinions, and prepossessions, and prejudices remain interfused with the new, even in the clearest minds, and cannot at a moment be shaken off. only the unwise change suddenly; and we can never too often remind ourselves, when we see men stepping forward with uncertainty and hesitation over a road, where to us, we know the actual future, all seems so plain, that the road looked different to the actors themselves, who were beset with imaginations of the past, and to whom the gloom of the future appeared thronged with phantoms of possible contingencies. the hasty expectations of the noble lords were checked by henry's prudence; and though parties were rapidly arranging themselves, there was still confusion. the city, though disinclined to the pope and the church, continued to retain an inclination for the emperor; and the pope had friends among wolsey's enemies, who, by his overthrow, were pressed forward into prominence, and divided the victory with the reformers. the presence of sir thomas more in the council was a guarantee that no exaggerated measures against the church would be permitted so long as he held the seals; and henry, perhaps, was anxious to leave room for conciliation, which he hoped that the pope would desire as much as himself, so soon as the meeting of parliament had convinced him that the mutinous disposition of the nation had not been overstated by his own and wolsey's letters. the impression conceived two years before of the hostile relations between the pope and charles had not yet been wholly effaced; and even as late as september, 1529, after the closing of the legates' court, in the very heat of the public irritation, there were persons who believed that when clement met his imperial captor face to face, and the interview had taken place which had been arranged for the ensuing january, his eyes would be opened, and that he would fall back upon england.[172] at the same time, the incongruities in the constitution of the council became so early apparent, that their agreement was thought impossible, and wolsey's return to power was discussed openly as a probability[173]--a result which anne boleyn, who, better than any other person, knew the king's feelings, never ceased to fear, till, a year after his disgrace, the welcome news were brought to her that he had sunk into his long rest, where the sick load of office and of obloquy would gall his back no more. there was a third party in the country, unconsidered as yet, who had a part to play in the historical drama: a party which, indeed, if any one had known it, was the most important of all; the only one which, in a true, high sense, was of importance at all; and for the sake of which, little as it then appeared to be so, the whole work was to be done--composed at that time merely of poor men, poor cobblers, weavers, carpenters, trade apprentices, and humble artisans, men of low birth and low estate, who might be seen at night stealing along the lanes and alleys of london, carrying with them some precious load of books which it was death to possess; and giving their lives gladly, if it must be so, for the brief tenure of so dear a treasure. these men, for the present, were likely to fare ill from the new ministry. they were the disturbers of order, the anarchists, the men disfigured _pravitate hereticâ_, by monstrous doctrines, and consequently by monstrous lives--who railed at authorities, and dared to read new testaments with their own eyes--who, consequently, by their excesses and extravagances, brought discredit upon liberal opinions, and whom moderate liberals (as they always have done, and always will do while human nature remains itself) held it necessary for their credit's sake to persecute, that a censorious world might learn to make no confusion between true wisdom and the folly which seemed to resemble it. the protestants had not loved wolsey, and they had no reason to love him; but it was better to bear a fagot of dry sticks in a procession when the punishment was symbolic, than, lashed fast to a stake in smithfield, amidst piles of the same fagots kindled into actual flames, to sink into a heap of blackened dust and ashes; and before a year had passed, they would gladly have accepted again the hated cardinal, to escape from the philosophic mercies of sir thomas more. the number of english protestants at this time it is difficult to conjecture. the importance of such men is not to be measured by counting heads. in 1526, they were organised into a society, calling themselves "the christian brotherhood,"[174] with a central committee sitting in london; with subscribed funds, regularly audited, for the purchase of testaments and tracts; and with paid agents, who travelled up and down the country to distribute them. some of the poorer clergy belonged to the society;[175] and among the city merchants there were many well inclined to it, and who, perhaps, attended its meetings "by night, secretly, for fear of the jews." but, as a rule, "property and influence" continued to hold aloof in the usual haughty style, and the pioneers of the new opinions had yet to win their way along a scorched and blackened path of suffering, before the state would consent to acknowledge them. we think bitterly of these things, and yet we are but quarrelling with what is inevitable from the constitution of the world. new doctrines ever gain readiest hearing among the common people; not only because the interests of the higher classes are usually in some degree connected with the maintenance of existing institutions; but because ignorance is itself a protection against the many considerations which embarrass the judgment of the educated. the value of a doctrine cannot be determined on its own apparent merits by men whose habits of mind are settled in other forms; while men of experience know well that out of the thousands of theories which rise in the fertile soil below them, it is but one here and one there which grows to maturity; and the precarious chances of possible vitality, where the opposite probabilities are so enormous, oblige them to discourage and repress opinions which threaten to disturb established order, or which, by the rules of existing beliefs, imperil the souls of those who entertain them. persecution has ceased among ourselves, because we do not any more believe that want of theoretic orthodoxy in matters of faith is necessarily fraught with the tremendous consequences which once were supposed to be attached to it. if, however, a school of thugs were to rise among us, making murder a religious service; if they gained proselytes, and the proselytes put their teaching in execution, we should speedily begin again to persecute opinion. what teachers of thuggism would appear to ourselves, the teachers of heresy actually appeared to sir thomas more, only being as much more hateful as the eternal death of the soul is more terrible than the single and momentary separation of it from the body. there is, i think, no just ground on which to condemn conscientious catholics on the score of persecution, except only this: that as we are now convinced of the injustice of the persecuting laws, so among those who believed them to be just, there were some who were led by an instinctive protest of human feeling to be lenient in the execution of those laws; while others of harder nature and more narrow sympathies enforced them without reluctance, and even with exultation. the heart, when it is rightly constituted, corrects the folly of the head; and wise good men, even though they entertain no conscious misgiving as to the soundness of their theories, may be delivered from the worst consequences of those theories, by trusting their more genial instincts. and thus, and thus only, are we justified in censuring those whose names figure largely in the persecuting lists. their defence is impregnable to logic. we blame them for the absence of that humanity which is deeper than logic, and which should have taught them to refuse the conclusions of their speculative creed. such, then, was the state of parties in the autumn of 1529. the old conservatives, the political ecclesiastics, had ceased to exist, and the clergy as a body were paralysed by corruption. there remained-the english party who had succeeded to power, and who were bent upon a secular revolt. the papal party, composed of theoretic theologians, like fisher, bishop of rochester, and represented on the council by sir thomas more. and both of these were united in their aversion to the third party, that of the doctrinal protestants, who were still called heretics. these three substantially divided what was sound in england; the first composed of the mass of the people, representing the principles of prudence, justice, good sense, and the working faculties of social life: the two last sharing between them the higher qualities of nobleness, enthusiasm, self-devotion; but in their faith being without discretion, and in their piety without understanding. the problem of the reformation was to reunite virtues which could be separated only to their mutual confusion; and to work out among them such inadequate reconciliation as the wilfulness of human nature would allow. before i close this chapter, which is intended as a general introduction, i have to say something of two prominent persons whose character antecedent to the actions in which we are to find them engaged it is desirable that we should understand; i mean henry viii. himself, and the lady whom he had selected to fill the place from which catherine of arragon was to be deposed. if henry viii. had died previous to the first agitation of the divorce, his loss would have been deplored as one of the heaviest misfortunes which had ever befallen the country; and he would have left a name which would have taken its place in history by the side of that of the black prince or of the conqueror of agincourt. left at the most trying age, with his character unformed, with the means at his disposal of gratifying every inclination, and married by his ministers when a boy to an unattractive woman far his senior, he had lived for thirty-six years almost without blame, and bore through england the reputation of an upright and virtuous king. nature had been prodigal to him of her rarest gifts. in person he is said to have resembled his grandfather, edward iv., who was the handsomest man in europe. his form and bearing were princely; and amidst the easy freedom of his address, his manner remained majestic. no knight in england could match him in the tournament except the duke of suffolk: he drew with ease as strong a bow as was borne by any yeoman of his guard; and these powers were sustained in unfailing vigour by a temperate habit and by constant exercise. of his intellectual ability we are not left to judge from the suspicious panegyrics of his contemporaries. his state papers and letters may be placed by the side of those of wolsey or of cromwell, and they lose nothing in the comparison. though they are broadly different, the perception is equally clear, the expression equally powerful, and they breathe throughout an irresistible vigour of purpose. in addition to this he had a fine musical taste, carefully cultivated; he spoke and wrote in four languages; and his knowledge of a multitude of other subjects, with which his versatile ability made him conversant, would have formed the reputation of any ordinary man. he was among the best physicians of his age; he was his own engineer, inventing improvements in artillery, and new constructions in ship-building; and this not with the condescending incapacity of a royal amateur, but with thorough workmanlike understanding. his reading was vast, especially in theology, which has been ridiculously ascribed by lord herbert to his father's intention of educating him for the archbishopric of canterbury; as if the scientific mastery of such a subject could have been acquired by a boy of twelve years of age, for he was no more when he became prince of wales. he must have studied theology with the full maturity of his intellect; and he had a fixed and perhaps unfortunate interest in the subject itself.[176] in all directions of human activity henry displayed natural powers of the highest order, at the highest stretch of industrious culture. he was "attentive," as it is called, "to his religious duties," being present at the services in chapel two or three times a day with unfailing regularity, and showing to outward appearance a real sense of religious obligation in the energy and purity of his life. in private he was good-humoured and good-natured. his letters to his secretaries, though never undignified, are simple, easy, and unrestrained; and the letters written by them to him are similarly plain and businesslike, as if the writers knew that the person whom they were addressing disliked compliments, and chose to be treated as a man. again, from their correspondence with one another, when they describe interviews with him, we gather the same pleasant impression. he seems to have been always kind, always considerate; inquiring into their private concerns with genuine interest, and winning, as a consequence, their warm and unaffected attachment. as a ruler he had been eminently popular. all his wars had been successful. he had the splendid tastes in which the english people most delighted, and he had substantially acted out his own theory of his duty which was expressed in the following words:-"scripture taketh princes to be, as it were, fathers and nurses to their subjects, and by scripture it appeareth that it appertaineth unto the office of princes to see that right religion and true doctrine be maintained and taught, and that their subjects may be well ruled and governed by good and just laws; and to provide and care for them that all things necessary for them may be plenteous; and that the people and commonweal may increase; and to defend them from oppression and invasion, as well within the realm as without; and to see that justice be administered unto them indifferently; and to hear benignly all their complaints; and to show towards them, although they offend, fatherly pity. and, finally, so to correct them that be evil, that they had yet rather save them than lose them if it were not for respect of justice, and maintenance of peace and good order in the commonweal."[177] these principles do really appear to have determined henry's conduct in his earlier years. his social administration we have partially seen in the previous chapter. he had more than once been tried with insurrection, which he had soothed down without bloodshed, and extinguished in forgiveness; and london long recollected the great scene which followed "evil may-day," 1517, when the apprentices were brought down to westminster hall to receive their pardons. there had been a dangerous riot in the streets, which might have provoked a mild government to severity; but the king contented himself with punishing the five ringleaders, and four hundred other prisoners, after being paraded down the streets in white shirts with halters round their necks, were dismissed with an admonition, wolsey weeping as he pronounced it.[178] it is certain that if, as i said, he had died before the divorce was mooted, henry viii., like that roman emperor said by tacitus to have been _consensu omnium dignus imperii nisi imperasset_, would have been considered by posterity as formed by providence for the conduct of the reformation, and his loss would have been deplored as a perpetual calamity. we must allow him, therefore, the benefit of his past career, and be careful to remember it, when interpreting his later actions. not many men would have borne themselves through the same trials with the same integrity; but the circumstances of those trials had not tested the true defects in his moral constitution. like all princes of the plantagenet blood, he was a person of a most intense and imperious will. his impulses, in general nobly directed, had never known contradiction; and late in life, when his character was formed, he was forced into collision with difficulties with which the experience of discipline had not fitted him to contend. education had done much for him, but his nature required more correction than his position had permitted, whilst unbroken prosperity and early independence of control had been his most serious misfortune. he had capacity, if his training had been equal to it, to be one of the greatest of men. with all his faults about him, he was still perhaps the greatest of his contemporaries; and the man best able of all living englishmen to govern england, had been set to do it by the conditions of his birth. the other person whose previous history we have to ascertain is one, the tragedy of whose fate has blotted the remembrance of her sins--if her sins were, indeed, and in reality, more than imaginary. forgetting all else in shame and sorrow, posterity has made piteous reparation for her death in the tenderness with which it has touched her reputation; and with the general instincts of justice, we have refused to qualify our indignation at the wrong which she experienced, by admitting either stain or shadow on her fame. it has been with anne boleyn as it has been with catherine of arragon--both are regarded as the victims of a tyranny which catholics and protestants unite to remember with horror; and each has taken the place of a martyred saint in the hagiology of the respective creeds. catholic writers have, indeed, ill repaid, in their treatment of anne, the admiration with which the mother of queen mary has been remembered in the church of england; but the invectives which they have heaped upon her have defeated their object by their extravagance. it has been believed that matter failed them to sustain a just accusation, when they condescended to outrageous slander. inasmuch, however, as some natural explanation can usually be given of the actions of human beings in this world without supposing them to have been possessed by extraordinary wickedness, and if we are to hold anne boleyn entirely free from fault, we place not the king only, but the privy council, the judges, the lords and commons, and the two houses of convocation, in a position fatal to their honour and degrading to ordinary humanity; we cannot without inquiry acquiesce in so painful a conclusion. the english nation also, as well as she, deserves justice at our hands; and it must not be thought uncharitable if we look with some scrutiny at the career of a person who, except for the catastrophe with which it was closed, would not so readily have obtained forgiveness for having admitted the addresses of the king, or for having received the homage of the court as its future sovereign, while the king's wife, her mistress, as yet resided under the same roof, with the title and the position of queen, and while the question was still undecided of the validity of the first marriage. if in that alone she was to blame, her fault was, indeed, revenged a thousandfold,--and yet no lady of true delicacy would have accepted such a position; and feeling for queen catherine should have restrained her, if she was careless of respect for herself. it must, therefore, be permitted me, out of such few hints and scattered notices as remain, to collect such information as may be trusted respecting her early life before her appearance upon the great stage. these hints are but slight, since i shall not even mention the scandals of sanders, any more than i shall mention the panegyrics of foxe; stories which, as far as i can learn, have no support in evidence, and rest on no stronger foundation than the credulity of passion. anne boleyn was the second daughter of sir thomas boleyn, a gentleman of noble family, though moderate fortune;[179] who, by a marriage with the daughter of the duke of norfolk, was brought into connection with the highest blood in the realm. the year of her birth has not been certainly ascertained, but she is supposed to have been seven years old[180] in 1514, when she accompanied the princess mary into france, on the marriage of that lady with louis xii. louis dying a few months subsequently, the princess married sir charles brandon, afterwards created duke of suffolk, and returned to england. anne boleyn did not return with her; she remained in paris to become accomplished with the graces and elegancies, if she was not contaminated by the vices, of that court, which, even in those days of loyal licentiousness, enjoyed an undesirable pre-eminence in profligacy. in the french capital she could not have failed to see, to hear, and to become familiar with occurrences with which no young girl can be brought in contact with impunity, and this poisonous atmosphere she continued to breathe for nine years. she came back to england in 1525, to be maid of honour to queen catherine, and to be distinguished at the court, by general consent, for her talents, her accomplishments, and her beauty. her portraits, though all professedly by holbein, or copied from pictures by him, are singularly unlike each other. the profile in the picture which is best known is pretty, innocent, and piquant, though rather insignificant: there are other pictures, however, in which we see a face more powerful, though less prepossessing. in these the features are full and languid. the eyes are large; but the expression, though remarkable, is not pleasing, and indicates cunning more than thought, passion more than feeling; while the heavy lips and massive chin wear a look of sensuality which is not to be mistaken. possibly all are like the original, but represented her under different circumstances, or at different periods of her life. previous to her engagement with the king, she was the object of fleeting attentions from the young noblemen about the court. lord percy, eldest son of lord northumberland, as we all know, was said to have been engaged to her. he was in the household of cardinal wolsey; and cavendish, who was with him there, tells a long romantic story of the affair, which, if his account be true, was ultimately interrupted by lord northumberland himself. the story is not without its difficulties, since lord percy had been contracted, several years previously, to a daughter of the earl of shrewsbury,[181] whom he afterwards married, and by the law he could not have formed a second engagement so long as the first was undissolved. and again, he himself, when subsequently examined before the privy council, denied solemnly on his oath that any contract of the kind had existed.[182] at the same time, we cannot suppose cavendish to have invented so circumstantial a narrative, and percy would not have been examined if there had been no reason for suspicion. something, therefore, probably had passed between him and the young maid of honour, though we cannot now conjecture of what nature; and we can infer only that it was not openly to her discredit, or she would not have obtained the position which cost her so dear. she herself confessed subsequently, before archbishop cranmer, to a connection of some kind into which she had entered before her acquaintance with henry. no evidence survives which will explain to what she referred, for the act of parliament which mentions the fact furnishes no details.[183] but it was of a kind which made her marriage with the king illegal, and illegitimatised the offspring of it; and it has been supposed, therefore, that, in spite of lord percy's denial, he had really engaged himself to her, and was afraid to acknowledge it.[184] this supposition, however, is not easy to reconcile with the language of the act, which speaks of the circumstance, whatever it was, as only "recently known;" nor could a contract with percy have invalidated her marriage with the king, when percy having been pre-contracted to another person, it would have been itself invalid. a light is thrown upon the subject by a letter found among cromwell's papers, addressed by some unknown person to a mr. melton, also unknown, but written obviously when "mistress anne" was a young lady about the court, and before she had been the object of any open attention from henry. "mr. melton.--this shall be to advertise you that mistress anne is changed from that she was at when we three were last together. wherefore i pray you that ye be no devil's sakke, but according to the truth ever justify, as ye shall make answer before god; and do not suffer her in my absence to be married to any other man. i must go to my master, wheresoever he be, for the lord privy seal desireth much to speak with me, whom if i should speak with in my master's absence, it would cause me to lose my head; and yet i know myself as true a man to my prince as liveth, whom (as my friend informeth me) i have offended grievously in my words. no more to you, but to have me commended unto mistress anne, and bid her remember her promise, which none can loose, but god only, to whom i shall daily during my life commend her."[185] the letter must furnish its own interpretation; for it receives little from any other quarter. being in the possession of cromwell, however, it had perhaps been forwarded to him at the time of queen anne's trial, and may have thus occasioned the investigation which led to the annulling of her marriage. from the account which was written of her by the grandson of sir thomas wyatt the poet, we still gather the impression (in spite of the admiring sympathy with which wyatt writes) of a person with whom young men took liberties,[186] however she might seem to forbid them. in her diet she was an epicure, fond of dainty and delicate eating, and not always contented if she did not obtain what she desired. when the king's attentions towards her became first marked, thomas heneage, afterwards lord chamberlain, wrote to wolsey, that he had one night been "commanded down with a dish for mistress anne for supper"; adding that she caused him "to sup with her, and she wished she had some of wolsey's good meat, as carps, shrimps, and others."[187] and this was not said in jest, since heneage related it as a hint to wolsey, that he might know what to do, if he wished to please her. in the same letter he suggested to the cardinal that she was a little displeased at not having received a token or present from him; she was afraid she was forgotten, he said, and "the lady, her mother, desired him to send unto his grace, and desire his grace to bestow a morsel of tunny upon her." wolsey made her presents also at times of a more valuable character, as we find her acknowledging in language of exaggerated gratitude;[188] and, perhaps the most painful feature in all her earlier history lies in the contrast between the servility with which she addressed the cardinal so long as he was in power, and the bitterness with which the bishop of bayonne (and, in fact, all contemporary witnesses) tells us, that she pressed upon his decline. wolsey himself spoke of her under the title of "the night-crow,"[189] as the person to whom he owed all which was most cruel in his treatment; as "the enemy that never slept, but studied and continually imagined, both sleeping and waking, his utter destruction."[190] taking these things together, and there is nothing to be placed beside them of a definitely pleasing kind, except beauty and accomplishments, we form, with the assistance of her pictures, a tolerable conception of this lady; a conception of her as a woman not indeed questionable, but as one whose antecedents might lead consistently to a future either of evil or of good; and whose character removes the surprise which we might be inclined to feel at the position with respect to queen catherine in which she consented to be placed. a harsh critic would describe her, on this evidence, as a self-indulgent coquette, indifferent to the obligations of gratitude, and something careless of the truth. from the letter referring to her, preserved by cromwell, it appears that she had broken a definite promise at a time when such promises were legally binding, and that she had really done so was confirmed by her subsequent confession. the breach of such promises by a woman who could not be expected to understand the grounds on which the law held them to be sacred, implies no more than levity, and levity of this kind has been found compatible with many high qualities. levity, however, it does undoubtedly imply, and the symptom, if a light one, must be allowed the weight which is due to it. it is a miserable duty to be compelled to search for these indications of human infirmities; above all when they are the infirmities of a lady whose faults, let them have been what they would, were so fearfully and terribly expiated; and, if there were nothing else at issue but poor questions of petty scandal, it were better far that they perished in forgetfulness, and passed away out of mind and memory for ever. the fortunes of anne boleyn were unhappily linked with those of men to whom the greatest work ever yet accomplished in this country was committed; and the characters of a king of england, and of the three estates of the realm, are compromised in the treatment which she received from them. chapter iii the parliament of 1529 no englishman can look back uninterested on the meeting of the parliament of 1529. the era at which it assembled is the most memorable in the history of this country, and the work which it accomplished before its dissolution was of larger moment politically and spiritually than the achievements of the long parliament itself. for nearly seven years it continued surrounded by intrigue, confusion, and at length conspiracy, presiding over a people from whom the forms and habits by which they had moved for centuries were falling like the shell of a chrysalis. while beset with enemies within the realm and without, it effected a revolution which severed england from the papacy, yet it preserved peace unbroken and prevented anarchy from breaking bounds; and although its hands are not pure from spot, and red stains rest on them which posterity have bitterly and long remembered; yet if we consider the changes which it carried through, and if we think of the price which was paid by other nations for victory in the same struggle, we shall acknowledge that the records of the world contain no instance of such a triumph, bought at a cost so slight and tarnished by blemishes so trifling. the letters of the french ambassador[191] describe to us the gathering of the members into london, and the hum of expectation sounding louder and louder as the day of the opening approached. in order that we may see distinctly what london felt on this occasion, that we may understand in detail the nature of those questions with which parliament was immediately to deal, we will glance at some of the proceedings which had taken place in the bishops' consistory courts during the few preceding years. the duties of the officials of these courts resembled in theory the duties of the censors under the roman republic. in the middle ages, a lofty effort had been made to overpass the common limitations of government, to introduce punishment for sins as well as crimes, and to visit with temporal penalties the breach of the moral law. the punishment best adapted for such offences was some outward expression of the disapproval with which good men regard acts of sin; some open disgrace; some spiritual censure; some suspension of communion with the church, accompanied by other consequences practically inconvenient, to be continued until the offender had made reparation, or had openly repented, or had given confirmed proof of amendment. the administration of such a discipline fell, as a matter of course, to the clergy. the clergy were the guardians of morality; their characters were a claim to confidence, their duties gave them opportunities of observation which no other men could possess; while their priestly office gave solemn weight to their sentences. thus arose throughout europe a system of spiritual surveillance over the habits and conduct of every man, extending from the cottage to the castle, taking note of all wrong dealing, of all oppression of man by man, of all licentiousness and profligacy, and representing upon earth, in the principles by which it was guided, the laws of the great tribunal of almighty god. such was the origin of the church courts, perhaps the greatest institutions ever yet devised by man. but to aim at these high ideals is as perilous as it is noble; and weapons which may be safely trusted in the hands of saints become fatal implements of mischief when saints have ceased to wield them. for a time, we need not doubt, the practice corresponded to the intention. had it not been so, the conception would have taken no root, and would have been extinguished at its birth. but a system which has once established itself in the respect of mankind will be tolerated long after it has forfeited its claim to endurance, as the name of a great man remains honoured though borne by worthless descendants; and the consistory courts had continued into the sixteenth century with unrestricted jurisdiction, although they had been for generations merely perennially flowing fountains, feeding the ecclesiastical exchequer. the moral conduct of every english man and woman remained subject to them. each private person was liable to be called in question for every action of his life; and an elaborate network of canon law perpetually growing, enveloped the whole surface of society. but between the original design and the degenerate counterfeit there was this vital difference,--that the censures were no longer spiritual. they were commuted in various gradations for pecuniary fines, and each offence against morality was rated at its specific money value in the episcopal tables. suspension and excommunication remained as ultimate penalties; but they were resorted to only to compel unwilling culprits to accept the alternative. the misdemeanours of which the courts took cognisance[192] were "offences against chastity," "heresy," or "matter sounding thereunto," "witchcraft," "drunkenness," "scandal," "defamation," "impatient words," "broken promises," "untruth," "absence from church," "speaking evil of saints," "non-payment of offerings," and other delinquencies incapable of legal definition; matters, all of them, on which it was well, if possible, to keep men from going wrong; but offering wide opportunities for injustice; while all charges, whether well founded or ill, met with ready acceptance in courts where innocence and guilt alike contributed to the revenue.[193] "mortuary claims" were another fertile matter for prosecution; and probate duties and legacy duties; and a further lucrative occupation was the punishment of persons who complained against the constitutions of the courts themselves; to complain against the justice of the courts being to complain against the church, and to complain against the church being heresy. to answer accusations on such subjects as these, men were liable to be summoned, at the will of the officials, to the metropolitan courts of the archbishops, hundreds of miles from their homes.[194] no expenses were allowed; and if the charges were without foundation, it was rare that costs could be recovered. innocent or guilty, the accused parties were equally bound to appear.[195] if they failed, they were suspended for contempt. if after receiving notice of their suspension, they did not appear, they were excommunicated; and no proof of the groundlessness of the original charge availed to relieve them from their sentence, till they had paid for their deliverance. well did the church lawyers understand how to make their work productive. excommunication seems but a light thing when there are many communions. it was no light thing when it was equivalent to outlawry; when the person excommunicated might be seized and imprisoned at the will of the ordinary; when he was cut off from all holy offices; when no one might speak to him, trade with him, or show him the most trivial courtesy; and when his friends, if they dared to assist him, were subject to the same penalties. in the _register_ of the bishop of london[196] there is more than one instance to be found of suspension and excommunication for the simple crime of offering shelter to an excommunicated neighbour; and thus offence begot offence, guilt spread like a contagion through the influence of natural humanity, and a single refusal of obedience to a frivolous citation might involve entire families in misery and ruin. the people might have endured better to submit to so enormous a tyranny, if the conduct of the clergy themselves had given them a title to respect, or if equal justice had been distributed to lay and spiritual offenders. "benefit of clergy," unhappily, as at this time interpreted, was little else than a privilege to commit sins with impunity. the grossest moral profligacy in a priest was passed over with indifference; and so far from exacting obedience in her ministers to a higher standard than she required of ordinary persons, the church extended her limits under fictitious pretexts as a sanctuary for lettered villany. every person who could read was claimed by prescriptive usage as a clerk, and shielded under her protecting mantle; nor was any clerk amenable for the worst crimes to the secular jurisdiction, until he had been first tried and degraded by the ecclesiastical judges. so far was this preposterous exemption carried, that previous to the passing of the first of the 23rd of henry the eighth,[197] those who were within the degrees might commit murder with impunity, the forms which it was necessary to observe in degrading a priest or deacon being so complicated as to amount to absolute protection.[198] among the clergy, properly so called, however, the prevailing offence was not crime, but licentiousness. a doubt has recently crept in among our historians as to the credibility of the extreme language in which the contemporary writers spoke upon this painful topic. it will scarcely be supposed that the picture has been overdrawn in the act books of the consistory courts; and as we see it there it is almost too deplorable for belief, as well in its own intrinsic hideousness as in the unconscious connivance of the authorities. brothels were kept in london for the especial use of priests;[199] the "confessional" was abused in the most open and abominable manner.[200] cases occurred of the same frightful profanity in the service of the mass, which at rome startled luther into protestantism;[201] and acts of incest between nuns and monks were too frequently exposed to allow us to regard the detected instances as exceptions.[202] it may be said that the proceedings upon these charges prove at least that efforts were made to repress them. the bishops must have the benefit of the plea, and the two following instances will show how far it will avail their cause. in the records of the london court i find a certain thomas wyseman, priest, summoned for fornication and incontinency. he was enjoined for penance, that on the succeeding sunday, while high mass was singing, he should offer at each of the altars in the church of st. bartholomew a candle of wax, value one penny, saying therewith five _paternosters_, five _ave marys_, and five _credos_. on the following friday he was to offer a candle of the same price before the crucifix, standing barefooted, and one before the image of cur lady of grace. this penance accomplished he appeared again at the court and compounded for absolution, paying six shillings and eightpence.[203] an exposure too common to attract notice, and a fine of six and eightpence was held sufficient penalty for a mortal sin. even this, however, was a severe sentence compared with the sentence passed upon another priest who confessed to incest with the prioress of kilbourn. the offender was condemned to bear a cross in a procession in his parish church, and was excused his remaining guilt for three shillings and fourpence.[204] i might multiply such instances indefinitely; but there is no occasion for me to stain my pages with them.[205] an inactive imagination may readily picture to itself the indignation likely to have been felt by a high-minded people, when they were forced to submit their lives, their habits, their most intimate conversations and opinions to a censorship conducted by clergy of such a character; when the offences of these clergy themselves were passed over with such indifferent carelessness. men began to ask themselves who and what these persons were who retained the privileges of saints,[206] and were incapable of the most ordinary duties; and for many years before the burst of the reformation the coming storm was gathering. priests were hooted, or "knocked down into the kennel,"[207] as they walked along the streets--women refused to receive the holy bread from hands which they thought polluted,[208] and the appearance of an apparitor of the courts to serve a process or a citation in a private house was a signal for instant explosion. violent words were the least which these officials had to fear, and they were fortunate if they escaped so lightly. a stranger had died in a house in st. dunstan's belonging to a certain john fleming, and an apparitor had been sent "to seal his chamber and his goods" that the church might not lose her dues. john fleming drove him out, saying loudly unto him, "thou shalt seale no door here; go thy way, thou stynkyng knave, ye are but knaves and brybours everych one of you."[209] thomas banister, of st. mary wolechurch, when a process was served upon him, "did threaten to slay the apparitor." "thou horson knave," he said to him, "without thou tell me who set thee awork to summon me to the court, by goddis woundes, and by this gold, i shall brake thy head."[210] a "waiter, at the sign of the cock," fell in trouble for saying that "the sight of a priest did make him sick," also, "that he would go sixty miles to indict a priest," saying also in the presence of many--"horsyn priests, they shall be indicted as many as come to my handling."[211] often the officers found threats convert themselves into acts. the apparitor of the bishop of london went with a citation into the shop of a mercer of st. bride's, henry clitheroe by name. "who does cite me?" asked the mercer. "marry, that do i," answered the apparitor, "if thou wilt anything with it;" whereupon, as the apparitor deposeth, the said henry clitheroe did hurl at him from off his finger that instrument of his art called the "thymmelle," and he, the apparitor, drawing his sword, "the said henry did snatch up his virga, anglice, his yard, and did pursue the apparitor into the public streets, and after multiplying of many blows did break the head of the said apparitor."[212] these are light matters, but they were straws upon the stream; and such a scene as this which follows reveals the principles on which the courts awarded their judgment. one richard hunt was summoned for certain articles implying contempt, and for vilipending his lordship's jurisdiction. being examined, he confessed to the words following: "that all false matters were bolstered and clokyd in this court of paul's cheyne; moreover he called the apparitor, william middleton, false knave in the full court, and his father's dettes, said he, by means of his mother-in-law and master commissary, were not payd; and this he would abide by, that he had now in this place said no more but truth." being called on to answer further, he said he would not, and his lordship did therefore excommunicate him.[213] from so brief an entry we cannot tell on which side the justice lay; but at least we can measure the equity of a tribunal which punished complaints against itself with excommunication, and dismissed the confessed incest of a priest with a fine of a few shillings. such then were the english consistory courts. i have selected but a few instances from the proceedings of a single one of them. if we are to understand the weight with which the system pressed upon the people, we must multiply the proceedings at st. paul's by the number of the english dioceses; the number of dioceses by the number of archdeaconries; we must remember that in proportion to the distance from london the abuse must have increased indefinitely from the absence of even partial surveillance; we must remember that appeals were permitted only from one ecclesiastical court to another; from the archdeacon's court to that of the bishop of the diocese, from that of the bishop to the court of arches; that any language of impatience or resistance furnished suspicion of heresy, and that the only security therefore was submission. we can then imagine what england must have been with an archdeacon's commissary sitting constantly in every town; exercising an undefined jurisdiction over general morality; and every court swarming with petty lawyers who lived upon the fees which they could extract. such a system for the administration of justice was perhaps never tolerated before in any country. but the time of reckoning at length was arrived; slowly the hand had crawled along the dial plate; slowly as if the event would never come: and wrong was heaped on wrong; and oppression cried, and it seemed as if no ear had heard its voice; till the measure of the circle was at length fulfilled, the finger touched the hour, and as the strokes of the great hammer rang out above the nation, in an instant the mighty fabric of iniquity was shivered into ruins. wolsey had dreamed that it might still stand, self-reformed as he hoped to see it; but in his dread lest any hands but those of friends should touch the work, he had "prolonged its sickly days," waiting for the convenient season which was not to be; he had put off the meeting of parliament, knowing that if parliament were once assembled, he would be unable to resist the pressure which would be brought to bear upon him; and in the impatient minds of the people he had identified himself with the evils which he alone for the few last years had hindered from falling. at length he had fallen himself, and his disgrace was celebrated in london with enthusiastic rejoicing as the inauguration of the new era. on the eighteenth of october, 1529, wolsey delivered up the seals. he was ordered to retire to esher; and, "at the taking of his barge," cavendish saw no less than a thousand boats full of men and women of the city of london, "waffeting up and down in thames," to see him sent, as they expected, to the tower.[214] a fortnight later the same crowd was perhaps again assembled on a wiser occasion, and with truer reason for exultation, to see the king coming up in his barge from greenwich to open parliament. "according to the summons," says hall, "the king of england began his high court of parliament the third day of november, on which day he came by water to his palace of bridewell, and there he and his nobles put on their robes of parliament, and so came to the black friars church, where a mass of the holy ghost was solemnly sung by the king's chaplain; and after the mass, the king, with all his lords and commons which were summoned to appear on that day, came into the parliament. the king sate on his throne or seat royal, and sir thomas more, his chancellor, standing on the right hand of the king, made an eloquent oration, setting forth the causes why at that time the king so had summoned them."[215] "like as a good shepherd," more said, "which not only keepeth and attendeth well his sheep, but also foreseeth and provideth for all things which either may be hurtful or noysome to his flock; so the king, which is the shepherd, ruler, and governor of his realm, vigilantly foreseeing things to come, considers how that divers laws, before this time made, are now, by long continuance of time and mutation of things, become very insufficient and imperfect; and also, by the frail condition of man, divers new enormities are sprung amongst the people, for the which no law is yet made to reform the same. for this cause the king at this time has summoned his high court of parliament; and i liken the king to a shepherd or herdsman, because if a prince be compared to his riches, he is but a rich man; if a prince be compared to his honour, he is but an honourable man; but compare him to the multitude of his people, and the number of his flock, then he is a ruler, a governor of might and puissance; so that his people maketh him a prince, as of the multitude of sheep cometh the name of a shepherd. "and as you see that amongst a great flock of sheep some be rotten and faulty, which the good shepherd sendeth from the good sheep; so the great wether which is of late fallen, as you all know, so craftily, so scabedly, yea, so untruly juggled with the king, that all men must needs guess that he thought in himself, either the king had no wit to perceive his crafty doings, or else that he would not see nor know them. "but he was deceived, for his grace's sight was so quick and penetrable that he saw him; yea, and saw through him, both within and without; and according to his desert he hath had a gentle correction, which small punishment the king will not to be an example to other offenders; but clearly declareth that whosoever hereafter shall make like attempt, or shall commit like offence, shall not escape with like punishment. "and because you of the commons house be a gross multitude, and cannot all speak at one time, the king's pleasure is, that you resort to the nether house, and then amongst yourselves, according to the old and antient custom, choose an able person to be your common mouth and speaker."[216] the invective against "the great wether" was not perhaps the portion of the speech to which the audience listened with least interest. in the minds of contemporaries, principles are identified with persons, who form, as it were, the focus on which the passions concentrate. at present we may consent to forget wolsey, and fix our attention on the more permanently essential matter--the reform of the laws. the world was changing; how swiftly, how completely, no living person knew;--but a confusion no longer tolerable was a patent fact to all men; and with a wise instinct it was resolved that the grievances of the nation, which had accumulated through centuries, should be submitted to a complete ventilation, without reserve, check, or secrecy. for this purpose it was essential that the houses should not be interfered with, that they should be allowed full liberty to express their wishes and to act upon them. accordingly, the practice then usual with ministers, of undertaking the direction of the proceedings, was clearly on this occasion foregone. in the house of commons then, as much as now, there was in theory unrestricted liberty of discussion, and free right for any member to originate whatever motion he pleased. "the discussions in the english parliament," wrote henry himself to the pope, "are free and unrestricted; the crown has no power to limit their debates or to controul the votes of the members. they determine everything for themselves, as the interests of the commonwealth require."[217] but so long as confidence existed between the crown and the people, these rights were in great measure surrendered. the ministers prepared the business which was to be transacted; and the temper of the houses was usually so well understood, that, except when there was a demand for money, it was rare that a measure was proposed the acceptance of which was doubtful, or the nature of which would provoke debate. so little jealousy, indeed, was in quiet times entertained of the power of the crown, and so little was a residence in london to the taste of the burgesses and the country gentlemen, that not only were their expenses defrayed by a considerable salary, but it was found necessary to forbid them absenting themselves from their duties by a positive enactment.[218] in the composition of the house of commons, however, which had now assembled, no symptoms appeared of such indifference. the election had taken place in the midst of great and general excitement; and the members chosen, if we may judge from their acts and their petitions, were men of that broad resolved temper, who only in times of popular effervescence are called forward into prominence. it would have probably been unsafe for the crown to attempt dictation or repression at such a time, if it had desired to do so. under the actual circumstances, its interest was to encourage the fullest expression of public feeling. the proceedings were commenced with a formal "act of accusation" against the clergy, which was submitted to the king in the name of the commons of england, and contained a summary of the wrongs of which the people complained. this remarkable document must have been drawn up before the opening of parliament, and must have been presented in the first week of the session,--probably on the first day on which the house met to transact business.[219] there is appearance of haste in the composition, little order being observed in the catalogue of grievances; but inasmuch as it contains the germ of all the acts which were framed in the following years for the reform of the church, and is in fact the most complete exhibition which we possess of the working of the church system at the time when it ceased to be any more tolerable, i have thought it well to insert it uncurtailed. although the fact of the presentation of this petition has been well known, it has not been accurately described by any of our historians, none of them appearing to have seen more than incorrect and imperfect epitomes of it.[220] "to the king our sovereign lord "in most humble wise show unto your highness and your most prudent wisdom your faithful, loving, and most obedient servants the commons in this your present parliament assembled; that of late, as well through new fantastical and erroneous opinions grown by occasion of frantic seditious books compiled, imprinted, published, and made in the english tongue, contrary and against the very true catholic and christian faith; as also by the extreme and uncharitable behaviour and dealing of divers ordinaries, their commissaries and sumners, which have heretofore had, and yet have the examination in and upon the said errours and heretical opinions; much discord, variance, and debate hath risen, and more and more daily is like to increase and ensue amongst the universal sort of your said subjects, as well spiritual as temporal, each against the other--in most uncharitable manner, to the great inquietation, vexation, and breach of your peace within this your most catholic realm: "the special particular griefs whereof, which most principally concern your commons and lay subjects, and which are, as they undoubtedly suppose, the very chief fountains, occasions, and causes that daily breedeth and nourisheth the said seditious factions, deadly hatred, and most uncharitable part taking, of either part of said subjects spiritual and temporal against the other, followingly do ensue.-"i. first the prelates and spiritual ordinaries of this your most excellent realm of england, and the clergy of the same, have in their convocations heretofore made or caused to be made, and also daily do make many and divers fashions of laws, constitutions, and ordinances; without your knowledge or most royal assent, and without the assent and consent of any of your lay subjects; unto the which laws your said lay subjects have not only heretofore been and daily be constrained to obey, in their bodies, goods, and possessions; but have also been compelled to incur daily into the censures of the same, and been continually put to importable charges and expenses, against all equity, right, and good conscience. and yet your said humble subjects ne their predecessors could ever be privy to the said laws; ne any of the said laws have been declared unto them in the english tongue, or otherwise published, by knowledge whereof they might have eschewed the penalties, dangers, or censures of the same; which laws so made your said most humble and obedient servants, under the supportation of your majesty, suppose to be not only to the diminution and derogation of your imperial jurisdiction and prerogative royal, but also to the great prejudice, inquietation, and damage of your said subjects. "ii. also now of late there hath been devised by the most reverend father in god, william, archbishop of canterbury, that in the courts which he calleth his courts of the arches and audience, shall only be ten proctors at his deputation, which be sworn to preserve and promote the only jurisdiction of his said courts; by reason whereof, if any of your lay subjects should have any lawful cause against the judges of the said courts, or any doctors or proctors of the same, or any of their friends and adherents, they can ne may in nowise have indifferent counsel: and also all the causes depending in any of the said courts may by the confederacy of the said few proctors be in such wise tracted and delayed, as your subjects suing in the same shall be put to importable charges, costs, and expense. and further, in case that any matter there being preferred should touch your crown, your regal jurisdiction, and prerogative royal, yet the same shall not be disclosed by any of the said proctors for fear of the loss of their offices. your most obedient subjects do therefore, under protection of your majesty, suppose that your highness should have the nomination of some convenient number of proctors to be always attendant upon the said courts of arches and audience, there to be sworn to the preferment of your jurisdiction and prerogative, and to the expedition of the causes of your lay subjects repairing and suing to the same. "iii. and also many of your said most humble and obedient subjects, and _specially those that be of the poorest sort_, within this your realm, be daily convented and called before the said spiritual ordinaries, their commissaries and substitutes, _ex officio_; sometimes, at the pleasure of the said ordinaries, for malice without any cause; and sometimes at the only promotion and accusement of their summoners and apparitors, being light and undiscreet persons; without any lawful cause of accusation, or credible fame proved against them, and without any presentment in the visitation: and your said poor subjects be thus inquieted, disturbed, vexed, troubled, and put to excessive and importable charges for them to bear--and many times be suspended and excommunicate for small and light causes upon the only certificate of the proctors of the adversaries, made under a feigned seal which every proctor hath in his keeping; whereas the party suspended or excommunicate many times never had any warning; and yet when he shall be absolved, if it be out of court, he shall be compelled to pay to his own proctor twenty[221] _pence_; to the proctor which is against him other twenty pence, and twenty pence to the scribe, besides a privy reward that the judge shall have, to the great impoverishing of your said poor lay subjects. "iv. also your said most humble and obedient servants find themselves grieved with the great and excessive fees taken in the said spiritual courts, and especially in the said courts of the arches and audience; where they take for every citation two shillings and sixpence; for every inhibition six shillings and eightpence; for every proxy sixteen pence; for every certificate sixteen pence; for every libel three shillings and fourpence; for every answer for every libel three shillings and fourpence; for every act, if it be but two words according to the register, fourpence; for every personal citation or decree three shillings and fourpence; for every sentence or judgment, to the judge twenty-six shillings and eightpence; for every testament upon such sentence or judgment twenty-six shillings and eightpence; for every significavit twelve shillings; for every commission to examine witnesses twelve shillings, which charges be thought importable to be borne by your said subjects, and very necessary to be reformed. "v. and also the said prelates and ordinaries daily do permit and suffer the parsons, vicars, curates, parish priests, and other spiritual persons having cure of souls within this your realm, to exact and take of your humble servants divers sums of money for the sacraments and sacramentals of holy church, sometimes denying the same without they be first paid[222] the said sums of money, which sacraments and sacramentals your said most humble and obedient subjects, under protection of your highness, do suppose and think ought to be in most reverend, charitable, and godly wise freely ministered unto them at all times requisite, without denial, or exaction of any manner sums of money to be demanded or asked for the same. "vi. and also in the spiritual courts of the said prelates and ordinaries there be limited and appointed so many judges, scribes, apparitors, summoners, appraysers, and other ministers for the approbation of testaments, which covet so much their own private lucres, and the satisfaction and appetites of the said prelates and ordinaries, that when any of your said loving subjects do repair to any of the said courts for the probate of any testaments, they do in such wise make so long delays, or excessively do take of them so large fees and rewards for the same as is importable for them to bear, directly against all justice, law, equity, and good conscience. therefore your most humble and obedient subjects do, under your gracious correction and supportation, suppose it were very necessary that the said ordinaries in their deputation of judges should be bound to appoint and assign such discreet, gracious, and honest persons, having sufficient learning, wit, discretion, and understanding; and also being endowed with such spiritual promotion, stipend, and salary; as they being judges in their said courts might and may minister to every person repairing to the same, justice--without taking any manner of fee or reward for any manner of sentence or judgment to be given before them. "vii. and also divers spiritual persons being presented as well by your highness as others within this your realm to divers benefices or other spiritual promotions, the said ordinaries and their ministers do not only take of them for their letters of institution and induction many large sums of money and rewards; but also do pact and covenant with the same, taking sure bonds for their indemnity to answer to the said ordinaries for the firstfruits of their said benefices after their institution--so as they, being once presented or promoted, as aforesaid, are by the said ordinaries very uncharitably handled, to their no little hindrance and impoverishment; which your said subjects suppose not only to be against all laws, right, and good conscience, but also to be simony, and contrary to the laws of god. "viii. and also _the said spiritual ordinaries do daily confer and give sundry benefices unto certain young folks, calling them their nephews or kinsfolk_, being in their minority and within age, not apt ne able to serve the cure of any such benefice: whereby the said ordinaries do keep and detain the fruits and profits of the same benefices in their own hands, and thereby accumulate to themselves right great and large sums of money and yearly profits, to the most pernicious example of your said lay subjects--and so the cures and promotions given unto such infants be only employed to the enriching of the said ordinaries; and the poor silly souls of your people, which should be taught in the parishes given as aforesaid, for lack of good curates [be left] to perish without doctrine or any good teaching. "ix. also, a great number of holydays now at this present time, with very small devotion, be solemnised and kept throughout this your realm, upon the which many great, abominable, and execrable vices, idle and wanton sports, be used and exercised, which holydays, if it may stand with your grace's pleasure, and specially such as fall in the harvest, might, by your majesty, with the advice of your most honourable council, prelates, and ordinaries, be made fewer in number; and those that shall be hereafter ordained to stand and continue, might and may be the more devoutly, religiously, and reverendly observed, to the laud of almighty god, and to the increase of your high honour and favour. "x. and furthermore the said spiritual ordinaries, their commissaries and substitutes, sometimes for their own pleasure, sometimes by the sinister procurement of other spiritual persons, use to make out process against divers of your said subjects, and thereby compel them to appear before themselves, to answer at a certain day and place to such articles as by them shall be, _ex officio_, then proposed; and that secretly and not in open places;[223] and forthwith upon their appearance, without any declaration made or showed, commit and send them to ward, sometimes for [half] a year, sometimes for a whole year or more, before they may in anywise know either the cause of their imprisonment or the name of their accuser;[224] and finally after their great costs and charges therein, when all is examined and nothing can be proved against them, but they clearly innocent for any fault or crime that can be laid unto them, they be again set at large without any recompence or amends in that behalf to be towards them adjudged. "xi. and also if percase upon the said process and appearance any party be upon the said matter, cause, or examination, brought forth and named, either as party or witness, and then upon the proof and trial thereof be not able to prove and verify the said accusation and testimony against the party accused, then the person so accused is for the more part without any remedy for his charges and wrongful vexation to be towards him adjudged and recovered. "xii. also upon the examination of the said accusation, if heresy be ordinarily laid unto the charge of the parties so accused, then the said ordinaries or their ministers use to put to them such subtle interrogatories concerning the high mysteries of our faith, as are able quickly to trap a simple unlearned, or yet a well-witted layman without learning, and bring them by such sinister introductions soon to their own confusion. and further, if there chance any heresy to be by such subtle policy, by any person confessed in words, and yet never committed neither in thought nor deed, then put they, without further favour, the said person either to make his purgation, and so thereby to lose his honesty and credence for ever; or else as some simple silly soul [may do], the said person may stand precisely to the testimony of his own well-known conscience, rather than confess his innocent truth in that behalf [to be other than he knows it to be], and so be utterly destroyed. and if it fortune the said party so accused to deny the said accusation, and to put his adversaries to prove the same as being untrue, forged and imagined against him, then for the most part such witnesses as are brought forth for the same, be they but two in number, never so sore diffamed, of little truth or credence, they shall be allowed and enabled, only by discretion of the said ordinaries, their commissaries or substitutes; and thereupon sufficient cause be found to proceed to judgment, to deliver the party so accused either to secular hands, after abjuration,[225] without remedy; or afore if he submit himself, as best happeneth, he shall have to make his purgation and bear a faggot, to his extreme shame and undoing. "in consideration of all these things, most gracious sovereign lord, and forasmuch as there is at this present time, and by a few years past hath been outrageous violence on the one part and much default and lack of patient sufferance, charity, and good will on the other part; and consequently a marvellous disorder [hath ensued] of the godly quiet, peace, and tranquillity in which this your realm heretofore, ever hitherto, has been through your politic wisdom, most honourable fame, and catholic faith inviolably preserved; it may therefore, most benign sovereign lord, like your excellent goodness for the tender and universally indifferent zeal, benign love and favour which your highness beareth towards both the said parties, that the said articles (if they shall be by your most clear and perfect judgment, thought any instrument of the said disorders and factions), being deeply and weightily, after your accustomed ways and manner, searched and considered; graciously to provide (all violence on both sides utterly and clearly set apart) some such necessary and behoveful remedies as may effectually reconcile and bring in perpetual unity, your said subjects, spiritual and temporal; and for the establishment thereof, to make and ordain on both sides such strait laws against transgressors and offenders as shall be too heavy, dangerous, and weighty for them, or any of them, to bear, suffer, and sustain. "whereunto your said commons most humbly and entirely beseech your grace, as the only head, sovereign lord and protector of both the said parties, in whom and by whom the only and sole redress, reformation, and remedy herein absolutely resteth [of your goodness to consent]. by occasion whereof all your commons in their conscience surely account that, beside the marvellous fervent love that your highness shall thereby engender in their hearts towards your grace, ye shall do the most princely feat, and show the most honourable and charitable precedent and mirrour that ever did sovereign lord upon his subjects; and therewithal merit and deserve of our merciful god eternal bliss--whose goodness grant your grace in goodly, princely, and honourable estate long to reign, prosper, and continue as the sovereign lord over all your said most humble and obedient servants."[226] but little comment need be added in explanation of this petition, which, though drawn with evident haste, is no less remarkable for temper and good feeling, than for the masterly clearness with which the evils complained of are laid bare. historians will be careful for the future how they swell the charges against wolsey with quoting the lamentations of archbishop warham, when his court of arches was for a while superseded by the legate's court, and causes lingering before his commissaries were summarily dispatched at a higher tribunal.[227] the archbishop professed, indeed, that he derived no personal advantage from his courts,[228] and as we have only the popular impression to the contrary to set against his word, we must believe him; yet it was of small moment to the laity who were pillaged, whether the spoils taken from them filled the coffers of the master, or those of his followers and friends. when we consider, also, the significant allusion[229] to the young folks whom the bishops called their nephews, we cease to wonder at their lenient dealing with the poor priests who had sunk under the temptations of frail humanity; and still less can we wonder at the rough handling which was soon found necessary to bring back these high dignitaries to a better mind. the house of commons, in casting their grievances into the form of a petition, showed that they had no desire to thrust forward of themselves violent measures of reform; they sought rather to explain firmly and decisively what the country required. the king, selecting out of the many points noticed those which seemed most immediately pressing, referred them back to the parliament, with a direction to draw up such enactments as in their own judgment would furnish effective relief. in the meantime he submitted the petition itself to the consideration of the bishops, requiring their immediate answer to the charges against them, and accompanied this request with a further important requisition. the legislative authority of convocation lay at the root of the evils which were most complained of. the bishops and clergy held themselves independent of either crown or parliament, passing canons by their own irresponsible and unchecked will, irrespective of the laws of the land, and sometimes in direct violation of them; and to these canons the laity were amenable without being made acquainted with their provisions, learning them only in the infliction of penalties for their unintended breach. the king required that thenceforward the convocation should consent to place itself in the position of parliament, and that his own consent should be required and received before any law passed by convocation should have the force of statute.[230] little notion, indeed, could the bishops have possessed of the position in which they were standing. it seemed as if they literally believed that the promise of perpetuity which christ had made to his church was a charm which would hold them free in the quiet course of their injustice; or else, under the blinding influence of custom, they did not really know that any injustice adhered to them. they could see in themselves only the ideal virtues of their saintly office, and not the vices of their fragile humanity; they believed that they were still holy, still spotless, still immaculate, and therefore that no danger might come near them. it cannot have been but that, before the minds of such men as warham and fisher, some visions of a future must at times have floated, which hung so plainly before the eyes of wolsey and of sir thomas more.[231] they could not have been wholly deaf to the storm in germany; and they must have heard something of the growls of smothered anger which for years had been audible at home, to all who had ears to hear.[232] yet if any such thoughts at times did cross their imagination, they were thrust aside as an uneasy dream, to be shaken off like a nightmare, or with the coward's consolation, "it will last my time." if the bishops ever felt an uneasy moment, there is no trace of uneasiness in the answer which they sent in to the king, and which now, when we read it with the light which is thrown back out of the succeeding years, seems like the composition of mere lunacy. perhaps they had confidence in the support of henry. in their courts they were in the habit of identifying an attack upon themselves with an attack upon the doctrines of the church; and reading the king's feelings in their own, they may have considered themselves safe under the protection of a sovereign who had broken a lance with luther, and had called himself the pope's champion. perhaps they thought that they had bound him to themselves by a declaration which they had all signed in the preceding summer in favour of the divorce.[233] perhaps they were but steeped in the dulness of official lethargy. the defence is long, wearying the patience to read it; wearying the imagination to invent excuses for the falsehoods which it contains. yet it is well to see all men in the light in which they see themselves; and justice requires that we allow the bishops the benefit of their own reply. it was couched in the following words:--[234] "after our most humble wise, with our most bounden duty of honour and reverence to your excellent majesty, endued from god with incomparable wisdom and goodness. please it the same to understand that we, your orators and daily bounden bedemen, have read and perused a certain supplication which the commons of your grace's honourable parliament now assembled have offered unto your highness, and by your grace's commandment delivered unto us, that we should make answer thereunto. we have, as the time hath served, made this answer following, beseeching your grace's indifferent benignity graciously to hear the same. "and first for that discord, variance, and debate which, in the preface of the said supplication they do allege to have risen among your grace's subjects, spiritual and temporal, occasioned, as they say, by the uncharitable behaviour and demeanour of divers ordinaries: to this we, the ordinaries, answer, assuring your majesty that in our hearts there is no such discord or variance ort our part against our brethren in god and ghostly children your subjects, as is induced in this preface; but our daily prayer is and shall be that all peace and concord may increase among your grace's true subjects our said children, whom god be our witness we love, have loved, and shall love ever with hearty affection; never intending any hurt ne harm towards any of them in soul or body; ne have we ever enterprised anything against them of trouble, vexation, or displeasure; but only have, with all charity, exercised the spiritual jurisdiction of the church, as we are bound of duty, upon certain evil-disposed persons infected with the pestilent poison of heresy. and to have peace with such had been against the gospel of our saviour christ, wherein he saith, _non veni mittere pacem sed gladium_. wherefore, forasmuch as we know well that there be as well-disposed and well-conscienced men of your grace's commons in no small number assembled, as ever we knew at any time in parliament; and with that consider how on our part there is given no such occasion why the whole number of the spirituality and clergy should be thus noted unto your highness; we humbling our hearts to god and remitting the judgment of this our inquietation to him, and trusting, as his scripture teacheth, that if we love him above all, omnia cooperabuntur in bonum, shall endeavour to declare to your highness the innocency of us, your poor orators. "and where, after the general preface of the same supplication, your grace's commons descend to special particular griefs, and first to those divers fashions of laws concerning temporal things, whereon, as they say, the clergy in their convocation have made and daily do make divers laws, to their great trouble and inquietation, which said laws be sometimes repugnant to the statutes of your realm, with many other complaints thereupon:[235] to this we say, that forasmuch as we repute and take our authority of making of laws to be grounded upon the scriptures of god and the determination of holy church, which must be the rule and square to try the justice and righteousness of all laws, as well spiritual as temporal, we verily trust that in such laws as have been made by us, or by our predecessors, the same being sincerely interpreted, and after the meaning of the makers, there shall be found nothing contained in them but such as may be well justified by the said rule and square. and if it shall otherwise appear, as it is our duty whereunto we shall always most diligently apply ourselves to reform our ordinances to god's commission, and to conform our statutes to the determination of scripture and holy church; _so we hope in god, and shall daily pray for the same, that your highness will, if there appear cause why, with the assent of your people, temper your grace's laws accordingly; whereby shall ensue a most sure and hearty conjunction and agreement; god being lapis angularis_. "and as concerning the requiring of your highness's royal assent to the authorising of such laws as have been made by our predecessors, or shall be made by us, in such points and articles, as we have authority to rule and order; we knowing your highness's wisdom, virtue, and learning, nothing doubt but that the same perceiveth how the granting thereunto dependeth not upon our will and liberty, _and that we may not submit the execution of our charges and duty certainly prescribed to us by god to your highness's assent_; although, indeed, the same is most worthy for your most princely and excellent virtues, not only to give your royal assent, but also to devise and command what we should for good order or manners by statutes and laws provide in the church. nevertheless, we considering we may not so nor in such sort restrain the doing of our office in the feeding and ruling of christ's people, we most humbly desire your grace (as the same hath done heretofore) to show your grace's mind and opinion unto us, which we shall most gladly hear and follow if it shall please god to inspire us so to do; and with all humility we therefore beseech your grace, following the steps of your most noble progenitors, to maintain and defend such laws and ordinances as we, according to our calling and by the authority of god, shall for his honour make to the edification of virtue and the maintaining of christ's faith, whereof your highness is defender in name, and hath been hitherto indeed a special protector. "furthermore, where there be found in the said supplication, with mention of your grace's person, other griefs that some of the said laws extend to the goods and possessions of your said lay subjects, declaring the transgressors not only to fall under the terrible censure of excommunication, but also under the detestable crime of heresy: "to this we answer that we remember no such, and yet if there be any such, it is but according to the common law of the church, and also to your grace's law, which determine and decree that every person spiritual or temporal condemned of heresy shall forfeit his moveables or immoveables to your highness, or to the lord spiritual or temporal that by law hath right to them.[236] other statutes we remember none that toucheth lands or goods. if there be, it were good that they were brought forth to be weighed and pondered accordingly. "item as touching the second principal article of the said supplication, where they say that divers and many of your grace's obedient subjects, and especially they that be of the poorest sort, be daily called before us or before our substitutes ex officio; sometimes at the pleasure of us, the ordinaries, without any probable cause, and sometimes at the only promotion of our summoner, without any credible fame first proved against them, and without presentment in the visitation or lawful accusation: "on this we desire your high wisdom and learning to consider that albeit in the ordering of christ's people, your grace's subjects, god of his spiritual goodness assisteth his church, and inspireth by the holy ghost as we verily trust such rules and laws as tend to the wealth of his elect folk; yet upon considerations to man unknown, his infinite wisdom leaveth or permitteth men to walk in their infirmity and frailty; so that we cannot ne will arrogantly presume of ourselves, as though being in name spiritual men, we were also in all our acts and doings clean and void from all temporal affections and carnality of this world, or that the laws of the church made for spiritual and ghostly purpose be not sometime applied to worldly intent. this we ought and do lament, as becometh us, very sore. nevertheless, as the evil deeds of men be the mere defaults of those particular men, and not of the whole order of the clergy, nor of the law wholesomely by them made; our request and petition shall be with all humility and reverence; that laws well made be not therefore called evil because by all men and at all times they be not well executed; and that in such defaults as shall appear such distribution may be used _ut unusquisque onus suum portet_, and remedy be found to reform the offenders; unto the which your highness shall perceive as great towardness in your said orators as can be required upon declaration of particulars. and other answer than this cannot be made in the name of your whole clergy, for though _in multis offendimus omnes_, as st. james saith, yet not 'in omnibus offendimus omnes;' and the whole number can neither justify ne condemn particular acts to them unknown but thus. he that calleth a man ex officio for correction of sin, doeth well. he that calleth men for pleasure or vexation, doeth evil. summoners should be honest men. if they offend in their office, they should be punished. to prove first [their faults] before men be called, is not necessary. he that is called according to the laws ex officio or otherwise, cannot complain. he that is otherwise ordered should have by reason convenient recompence and so forth; that is well to be allowed, and misdemeanour when it appeareth to be reproved. "item where they say in the same article that upon their appearance ex officio at the only pleasure of the ordinaries, they be committed to prison without bail or mainprize; and there they lie some half a year or more before they come to their deliverance; to this we answer,-"that we use no prison before conviction but for sure custody, and only of such as be suspected of heresy, in which crime, thanked be god, there hath fallen no such notable person in our time, or of such qualities as hath given occasion of any sinister suspicion to be conceived of malice or hatred to his person other than the heinousness of their crime deserveth. _truth it is that certain apostates, friars, monks, lewd priests, bankrupt merchants, vagabonds, and lewd idle fellows of corrupt intent, have embraced the abominable and erroneous opinions lately sprung in germany_; and by them some have been seduced in simplicity and ignorance. against these, if judgment has been exercised according to the laws of the church, and conformably to the laws of this realm, we be without blame. if we have been too remiss and slack, we shall gladly do our duty from henceforth. if any man hath been, under pretence of this [crime], particularly offended, it were pity to suffer any man to be wronged; and thus it ought to be, and otherwise we cannot answer, no man's special case being declared in the said petition. "item where they say further that they so appearing ex officio, be condemned to answer to many subtle questions by the which a simple, unlearned, or else a well-witted layman without learning sometimes is, and commonly may be trapped and induced into peril of open penance to their shame, or else [forced] to redeem their penance for money, as is commonly used; to this we answer that we should not use subtlety, for we should do all things plainly and openly; and if we do otherwise, we do amiss. we ought not to ask questions, but after the capacities of the man. christ hath defended his true doctrine and faith in his catholic church from all subtlety, and so preserved good men in the same, as they have not (blessed be god) been vexed, inquieted, or troubled in christ's church. thereupon evil men fall in danger by their own subtlety; we protest afore god we have neither known, read, nor heard of any one man damaged or prejudiced by spiritual jurisdiction in this behalf, neither in this realm nor any other, but only by his own deserts. such is the goodness of god in maintaining the cause of his catholic faith. "item where they say they be compelled to do open penance, or else redeem the same for money; as for penance, we answer it consisteth in the arbitre of a judge who ought to enjoin such penance as might profit for correction of the fault. whereupon we disallow that judge's doing who taketh money for penance for lucre or advantage, not regarding the reformation of sin as he ought to do. but when open penance may sometimes work in certain persons more hurt than good, it is commendable and allowable in that case to punish by the purse, and preserve the fame of the party; foreseeing always the money be converted _in usus pios et eleemosynam_, and thus we think of the thing, and that the offenders should be punished. "item where they complain that two witnesses be admitted, be they never so defamed, of little truth or credence, adversaries or enemies to the parties; yet in many cases they be allowed by the discretion of the ordinaries to put the party defamed, ex officio, to open penance, and then to redemption for money; so that every of your subjects, upon the only will of the ordinaries or their substitutes, without any accuser, proved fame, or presentment, is or may be infamed, vexed, and troubled, to the peril of their lives, their shames, costs, and expenses: "to this we reply, _the gospel of christ teacheth us to believe two witnesses; and as the cause is, so the judge must esteem the quality of the witness; and in heresy no exception is necessary to be considered if their tale be likely; which hath been highly provided lest heretics without jeopardy might else plant their_ _heresies in lewd and light persons, and taking exception to the witnesses, take boldness to continue their folly. this is the universal law of christendom, and hath universally done good. of any injury done to any man thereby we know not_. "item where they say it is not intended by them to take away from us our authority to correct and punish sins, and especially the detestable crime of heresy: "to this we answer, in the prosecuting heretics we regard our duty and office whereunto we be called, and if god will discharge us thereof, or cease that plague universal, as, by directing the hearts of princes, and specially the heart of your highness (laud and thanks be unto him), his goodness doth commence and begin to do, we should and shall have great cause to rejoice; as being our authority therein costly, dangerous, full of trouble and business, without any fruit, pleasure, or commodity worldly, but a continued conflict and vexation with pertinacity, wilfulness, folly, and ignorance, whereupon followeth their bodily and ghostly destruction, to our great sorrow. "item where they desire that by assent of your highness (if the laws heretofore made be not sufficient for the repression of heresy) more dreadful and terrible laws may be made; this we think is undoubtedly a more charitable request than as we trust necessary, considering that by the aid of your highness, and the pains of your grace's statutes freely executed, your realm may be in short time clean purged from the few small dregs that do remain, if any do remain. "item where they desire some reasonable declaration may be made to your people, how they may, if they will, avoid the peril of heresy. no better declaration, we say, can be made than is already by our saviour christ, the apostles, and the determination of the church, which if they keep, they shall not fail to eschew heresy. "item where they desire that some charitable fashion may be devised by your wisdom for the calling of any of your subjects before us, that it shall not stand in the only will and pleasure of the ordinaries at their own imagination, without lawful accusation by honest witness, according to your law; to this we say that a better provision cannot be devised than is already devised by the clergy in our opinion; and if any default appear in the execution, it shall be amended on declaration of the particulars, and the same proved. "item where they say that your subjects be cited out of the diocese which they dwell in, and many times be suspended and excommunicate for light causes upon the only certificate devised by the proctors, and that all your subjects find themselves grieved with the excessive fees taken in the spiritual courts: "to this article, for because it concerneth specially the spiritual courts of me the archbishop of canterbury, please it your grace to understand that about twelve months past i reformed certain things objected here; and now within these ten weeks i reformed many other things in my said courts, as i suppose is not unknown unto your grace's commons; and some of the fees of the officers of my courts i have brought down to halves, some to the third part, and some wholly taken away and extincted; and yet it is objected to me as though i had taken no manner of reformation therein. nevertheless i shall not cease yet; but in such things as i shall see your commons most offended i will set redress accordingly, so as, i trust, they will be contented in that behalf. and i, the said archbishop, beseech your grace to consider what service the doctors in civil law, which have had their practice in my courts, have done your grace concerning treaties, truces, confederations, and leagues devised and concluded with outward princes; and that without such learned men in civil law your grace could not have been so conveniently served as at all times you have been, which thing, perhaps, when such learned men shall fail, will appear more evident than it doth now. the decay whereof grieveth me to foresee, not so greatly for any cause concerning the pleasure or profit of myself, being a man spent, and at the point to depart this world, and having no penny of any advantage by my said courts, but principally for the good love which i bear to the honour of your grace and of your realm. and albeit there is, by the assent of the lords temporal and the commons of your parliament, an act passed thereupon already, the matter depending before your majesty by way of supplication offered to your highness by your said commons;[237] yet, forasmuch as we your grace's humble chaplains, the archbishops of canterbury and york, be bounden by oath to be intercessors for the rights of our churches; and forasmuch as the spiritual prelates of the clergy, being of your grace's parliament, consented to the said act for divers great causes moving their conscience, we your grace's said chaplains show unto your highness that it hath appertained to the archbishops of canterbury and york for the space of four hundred years or thereabouts to have spiritual jurisdiction over all your grace's subjects dwelling within the provinces; and to have authority to call before them, not only in spiritual causes devolved to them by way of appeal, but also by way of querimony and complaint; which right and privilege pertaineth not only to the persons of the said archbishops, but also to the pre-eminences of their churches. insomuch that when the archbishop of either of the sees dieth, the said privileges do not only remain to his successor (by which he is named legatus natus), but also in the meantime of vacation the same privilege resteth in the churches of canterbury and york; and is executed by the prior, dean and chapter of the said churches; and so the said act is directly against the liberty and privileges of the churches of canterbury and york; and what dangers be to them which study and labour to take away the liberties and privileges of the church, whoso will read the general councils of christendom and the canons of the fathers of the catholic church ordained in that behalf, shall soon perceive. and further, we think verily that our churches, to which the said privileges were granted, can give no cause why the pope himself (whose predecessors granted that privilege) or any other (the honour of your grace ever except) may justly take away the same privileges so lawfully prescribed from our churches, though we [ourselves] had greatly offended, abusing the said privileges. but when in our persons we trust we have given no cause why to lose that privilege, we beseech your grace of your goodness and absolute power to set such orders in this behalf as we may enjoy our privileges lawfully admitted so long. "item where they complain that there is exacted and demanded in divers parishes of this your realm, other manner of tythes than hath been accustomed to be paid this hundred years past; and in some parts of this your realm there is exacted double tythes, that is to say, threepence, or twopence-halfpenny, for one acre, over and beside the tythe for the increase of cattle that pastureth the same: "to this we say, that tythes being due by god's law, be so duly paid (thanked be god), by all good men, as there needeth not exaction in the most parts of this your grace's realm. as for double tythes, they cannot be maintained due for one increase; whether in any place they be unduly exacted in fact we know not. this we know in learning, that neither a hundred years, nor seven hundred of non-payment, may debar the right of god's law. the manner of payment, and person unto whom to pay, may be in time altered, but the duty cannot by any means be taken away. "item where they say that when a mortuary is due, curates sometimes, before they will demand it, will bring citation for it; and then will not receive the mortuaries till they may have such costs as they say they have laid out for the suit of the same; when, indeed, if they would first have charitably demanded it, they needed not to have sued for the same, for it should have been paid with good will: "we answer that curates thus offending, if they were known, ought to be punished, but who thus doeth we know not. "item where they say that divers spiritual persons being presented to benefices within this your realm, we and our ministers do take of them great sums of money and reward; we reply that this is a particular abuse, and he that taketh reward doeth not well; and if any penny be exacted above the accustomed rate and after convenient proportion, it is not well done. but in taking the usual fee for the sealing, writing, and registering the letters, which is very moderate, we cannot think it to be reputed as any offence; neither have we heard any priests in our days complain of any excess therein. "and where they say in the same article that such as be presented be delayed without reasonable cause, to the intent that we the ordinaries may have the profit of the benefice during the vacation, unless they will pact and convent with us by temporal bonds, whereof some bonds contain that we should have part of the profit of the said benefice, which your said subjects suppose to be not only against right and conscience, but also seemeth to be simony, and contrary to the laws of god: "to this we do say that a delay without reasonable cause, and for a lucrative intent, is detestable in spiritual men, and the doers cannot eschew punishment: but otherwise a delay is sometimes expedient to examine the clerk, and sometimes necessary when the title is in variance. all other bargains and covenants being contrary to the law ought to be punished, as the quality is of the offence more or less, as simony or inordinate covetousness. "item where they say that we give benefices to our nephews and kinsfolk, being in young age or infants, whereby the cure is not substantially looked into, nor the parishioners taught as they should be; we reply to this that the thing which is not lawful in others is in spiritual men more detestable. benefices should be disposed of not _secundum carnem et sanguinem, sed secundum merita_. and when there is a default it is not authorised by the clergy as good, but reproved; whereupon in this the clergy is not to be blamed, but the default as it may appear must be laid to particular men. "and where they say that we take the profit of such benefices for the time of the minority of our said kinsfolk, if it be done to our own use and profit it is not well; _if it be bestowed to the bringing up and use of the same parties_, or applied to the maintenance of the church and god's service, or distributed among the poor, we do not see but that it may be allowed. "item where they say that divers and many spiritual persons, not contented with the convenient livings and promotions of the church, daily intromit and exercise themselves in secular offices and rooms, as stewards, receivers, auditors, bailiffs, and other temporal occupations, withdrawing themselves from the good contemplative lives that they have professed, not only to the damage but also to the perilous example of your loving and obedient subjects; to this we your bedesmen answer that beneficed men may lawfully be stewards and receivers to their own bishops, as it evidently appeareth in the laws of the church; and we by the same laws ought to have no other. and as for priests to be auditors and bailiffs, we know none such. "and where, finally, they, in the conclusion of their supplication, do repeat and say that forasmuch as there is at this present time, and by a few years past hath been much misdemeanour and violence upon the one part, and much default and lack of patience, charity, and good will on the other part; and marvellous discord in consequence of the quiet, peace, and tranquillity in which this your realm hath been ever hitherto preserved through your politic wisdom: "to the first part as touching such discord as is reported, and also the misdemeanour which is imputed to us and our doings, we trust we have sufficiently answered the same, humbly beseeching your grace so to esteem and weigh such answer with their supplication as shall be thought good and expedient by your high wisdom. furthermore we ascertain your grace as touching the violence which they seem to lay to our charge, albeit divers of the clergy of this your realm have sundry times been _rigorously handled, and with much violence entreated by certain ill-disposed and seditious persons of the lay fee, have been injured in their bodies, thrown down in the kennel in the open_ _streets at mid-day_, even here within your city and elsewhere, to the great rebuke and disquietness of the clergy of your realm, the great danger of the souls of the said misdoers, and perilous example of your subjects. yet we think verily, and do affirm the same, that no violence hath been so used on our behalf towards your said lay subjects in any case; unless they esteem this to be violence that we do use as well for the health of their souls as for the discharge of our duties in taking, examining, and punishing heretics according to the law: wherein we doubt not but that your grace, and divers of your grace's subjects, do understand well what charitable entreaty we have used with such as have been before us for the same cause of heresy; and what means we have devised and studied for safeguard specially of their souls; and that charitably, as god be our judge, and without violence as [far as] we could possibly devise. in execution thereof, and also of the laws of the church for repression of sin, and also for reformation of mislivers, it hath been to our great comfort that your grace hath herein of your goodness, assisted and aided us in this behalf for the zeal and love which your grace beareth to god's church and to his ministers; especially in defence of his faith whereof your grace only and most worthily amongst all christian princes beareth the title and name. and for that marvellous discord and grudge among your subjects as is reported in the supplication of your commons, we beseech your majesty, all the premises considered, to repress those that be misdoers; protesting in our behalf that we ourselves have no grudge nor displeasure towards your lay subjects our ghostly children. we intreat your grace of your accustomed goodness to us your bedemen to continue our chief protector, defender, and aider in and for the execution of our office and duty; specially touching repression of heresy, reformation of sin, and due behaviour and order of all your grace's subjects, spiritual and temporal; which (no doubt thereof) shall be much to the pleasure of god, great comfort to men's souls, quietness and unity of all your realm; and, as we think, most principally to the great comfort of your grace's majesty. which we beseech lowly upon our knees, so entirely as we can, to be the author of unity, charity, and concord as above, for whose preservation we do and shall continually pray to almighty god long to reign and prosper in most honourable estate to his pleasure." this was the bishops' defence; the best which, under the circumstances, they considered themselves capable of making. the house of commons had stated their complaints in the form of special notorious facts; the bishops replied with urging the theory of their position, and supposed that they could relieve the ecclesiastical system from the faults of its ministers, by laying the sole blame on the unworthiness of individual persons. the degenerate representatives of a once noble institution could not perhaps be expected to admit their degeneracy, and confess themselves, as they really were, collectively incompetent; yet the defence which they brought forward would have been valid only so long as the blemishes were the rare exceptions in the working of an institution which was still generally beneficent. it was no defence at all when the faults had become the rule, and when there was no security in the system itself for the selection of worth and capacity to exercise its functions. the clergy, as i have already said, claimed the privileges of saints, while their conduct fell below the standard of that of ordinary men; and the position taken in this answer was tenable only on the hypothesis which it, in fact, deliberately asserted, that the judicial authority of the church had been committed to it by god himself; and that no misconduct of its ministers in detail could forfeit their claims or justify resistance to them. there is something touching in the bishops' evidently sincere unconsciousness that there could be real room for blame. warham, who had been archbishop of canterbury thirty years, took credit to himself for the reforms which, under the pressure of public opinion, he had introduced, in the last few weeks or months; and did not know that in doing so he had passed sentence on a life of neglect. in the opinion of the entire bench no infamy, however notorious, could shake the testimony of a witness in a case of heresy; no cruelty was unjust when there was suspicion of so horrible a crime; while the appointment of minors to church benefices (not to press more closely the edge of the accusation) they admitted while they affected to deny it; since they were not ashamed to defend the appropriation of the proceeds of benefices occupied by such persons, if laid out on the education and maintenance of the minors themselves. yet these things were as nothing in comparison with the powers claimed for convocation; and the prelates of the later years of henry's reign must have looked back with strange sensations at the language which their predecessors had so simply addressed to him. if the canons which convocation might think good to enact were not consistent with the laws of the realm, "his majesty" was desired to produce the wished-for uniformity by altering the laws of the realm; and although the bishops might not submit their laws to his majesty's approval, they would be happy, they told him, to consider such suggestions as he might think proper to make. the spirit of the plantagenets must have slumbered long before such words as these could have been addressed to an english sovereign, and little did the bishops dream that these light words were the spell which would burst the charm, and bid that spirit wake again in all its power and terror. the house of commons in the mean time had not been idle. to them the questions at issue were unincumbered with theoretic difficulties. enormous abuses had been long ripe for dissolution, and there was no occasion to waste time in unnecessary debates. at such a time, with a house practically unanimous, business could be rapidly transacted, the more rapidly indeed in proportion to its importance. in six weeks, for so long only the session lasted, the astonished church authorities saw bill after bill hurried up before the lords, by which successively the pleasant fountains of their incomes would be dried up to flow no longer; or would flow only in shallow rivulets along the beds of the once abundant torrents, the jurisdiction of the spiritual courts was not immediately curtailed, and the authority which was in future to be permitted to convocation lay over for further consideration, to be dealt with in another manner. but probate duties and legacy duties, hitherto assessed at discretion, were dwarfed into fixed proportions,[238] not to touch the poorer laity any more, and bearing even upon wealth with a reserved and gentle hand. mortuaries were shorn of their luxuriance; when effects were small, no mortuary should be required; when large, the clergy should content themselves with a modest share. no velvet cloaks should be stripped any more from strangers' bodies to save them from a rector's grasp;[239] no shameful battles with apparitors should disturb any more the recent rest of the dead.[240] such sums as the law would permit should be paid thenceforward in the form of decent funeral fees for householders dying in their own parishes, and there the exactions should terminate.[241] the carelessness of the bishops in the discharge of their most immediate duties obliged the legislature to trespass also in the provinces purely spiritual, and undertake the discipline of the clergy. the commons had complained in their petition that the clergy, instead of attending to their duties, were acting as auditors, bailiffs, stewards, or in other capacities, as laymen; they were engaged in trade also, in farming, in tanning, in brewing, in doing anything but the duties which they were paid for doing; while they purchased dispensations for non-residence on their benefices; and of these benefices, in favoured cases, single priests held as many as eight or nine. it was thought unnecessary to wait for the bishops' pleasure to apply a remedy here. if the clergy were unjustly accused of these offences, a law of general prohibition would not touch them. if the belief of the house of commons was well founded, there was no occasion for longer delay. it was therefore enacted[242]--"for the more quiet and virtuous increase and maintenance of divine service, the preaching and teaching the word of god with godly and good example, for the better discharge of cures, the maintenance of hospitality, the relief of poor people, the increase of devotion and good opinion of the lay fee towards spiritual persons"--that no such persons thenceforward should take any land to farm beyond what was necessary, _bonâ fide_, for the support of their own households; that they should not buy merchandise to sell again; that they should keep no tanneries or brewhouses, or otherwise directly or indirectly trade for gain. pluralities were not to be permitted with benefices above the yearly value of eight pounds, and residence was made obligatory under penalty in cases of absence without special reason, of ten pounds for each month of such absence. the law against pluralities was limited as against existing holders, each of whom, for their natural lives, might continue to hold as many as four benefices. but dispensations, either for non-residence or for the violation of any other provision of the act, were made penal in a high degree, whether obtained from the bishops or from the court of rome. these bills struck hard and struck home. yet even persons who most disapprove of the reformation will not at the present time either wonder at their enactment or complain of their severity. they will be desirous rather to disentangle their doctrine from suspicious connection, and will not be anxious to compromise their theology by the defence of unworthy professors of it. the bishops, however, could ill tolerate an interference with the privileges of the ecclesiastical order. the commons, it was exclaimed, were heretics and schismatics;[243] the cry was heard everywhere, of lack of faith, lack of faith; and the lay peers being constitutionally conservative, and perhaps instinctively apprehensive of the infectious tendencies of innovation, it seemed likely for a time that an effective opposition might be raised in the upper house. the clergy commanded an actual majority in that house from their own body, which they might employ if they dared; and although they were not likely to venture alone on so bold a measure, yet a partial support from the other members was a sufficient encouragement. the aged bishop of rochester was made the spokesman of the ecclesiastics on this occasion. "my lords," he said, "you see daily what bills come hither from the commons house, and all is to the destruction of the church. for god's sake see what a realm the kingdom of bohemia was; and when the church went down, then fell the glory of that kingdom. now with the commons is nothing but down with the church, and all this meseemeth is for lack of faith only."[244] "in result," says hall, "the acts were sore debated; the lords spiritual would in no wise consent, and committees of the two houses sate continually for discussion." the spiritualty defended themselves by prescription and usage, to which a gray's inn lawyer something insolently answered, on one occasion, "the usage hath ever been of thieves to rob on shooter's hill, _ergo_, it is lawful." "with this answer," continues hall, "the spiritual men were sore offended because their doings were called robberies, but the temporal men stood by their sayings, insomuch that the said gentlemen declared to the archbishop of canterbury, that both the exaction of probates of testaments and the taking of mortuaries were open robbery and thefts." at length, people out of doors growing impatient, and dangerous symptoms threatening to show themselves, the king summoned a meeting in the star-chamber between eight members of both houses. the lay peers, after some discussion, conclusively gave way; and the bishops, left without support, were obliged to yield. they signified their unwilling consent, and the bills, "somewhat qualified," were the next day agreed to--"to the great rejoicing of the lay people, and the great displeasure of the spiritual persons."[245] nor were the house of commons contented with the substance of victory. the reply to their petition had perhaps by that time been made known to them, and at any rate they had been accused of sympathy with heresy, and they would not submit to the hateful charge without exacting revenge. the more clamorous of the clergy out of doors were punished probably by the stocks; from among their opponents in the upper house, fisher was selected for special and signal humiliation. the words of which he had made use were truer than the commons knew; perhaps the latent truth of them was the secret cause of the pain which they inflicted; but the special anxiety of the english reformers was to disconnect themselves, with marked emphasis, from the movement in germany, and they determined to compel the offending bishop to withdraw his words. they sent the speaker, sir thomas audeley, to the king, who "very eloquently declared what dishonour it was to his majesty and the realm, that they which were elected for the wisest men in the shires, cities, and boroughs within the realm of england, should be declared in so noble a presence to lack faith." it was equivalent to saying "that they were infidels, and no christians--as ill as turks and saracens." wherefore he "most humbly besought the king's highness to call the said bishop before him, and to cause him to speak more discreetly of such a number as was in the commons house."[246] henry consented to their request, it is likely with no great difficulty, and availed himself of the opportunity to read a lesson much needed to the remainder of the bench. he sent for fisher, and with him for the archbishop of canterbury, and for six other bishops. the speaker's message was laid before them, and they were asked what they had to say. it would have been well for the weak trembling old men if they could have repeated what they believed and had maintained their right to believe it. bold conduct is ever the most safe; it is fatal only when there is courage but for the first step, and fails when a second is required to support it. but they were forsaken in their hour of calamity, not by courage only, but by prudence, by judgment, by conscience itself. the bishop of rochester stooped to an equivocation too transparent to deceive any one; he said that "he meant only the doings of the bohemians were for lack of faith, and not the doings of the commons house"--"which saying was confirmed by the bishops present." the king allowed the excuse, and the bishops were dismissed; but they were dismissed into ignominy, and thenceforward, in all henry's dealings with them, they were treated with contemptuous disrespect. for fisher himself we must feel only sorrow. after seventy-six years of a useful and honourable life, which he might have hoped to close in a quiet haven, he was launched suddenly upon stormy waters, to which he was too brave to yield, which he was too timid to contend against; and the frail vessel drifting where the waves drove it, was soon piteously to perish. thus triumphant on every side, the parliament, in the middle of december, closed its session, and lay england celebrated its exploits as a national victory. "the king removed to greenwich, and there kept his christmas with the queen with great triumph, with great plenty of viands, and disguisings, and interludes, to the great rejoicing of his people;"[247] the members of the house of commons, we may well believe, following the royal example in town and country, and being the little heroes of the day. only the bishops carried home sad hearts within them, to mourn over the perils of the church and the impending end of all things; fisher, unhappily for himself, to listen to the wailings of the nun of kent, and to totter slowly into treason. here, for the present leaving the clergy to meditate on their future, and reconsider the wisdom of their answer to the king respecting the ecclesiastical jurisdiction (a point on which they were not the less certain to be pressed, because the process upon it was temporarily suspended), we must turn to the more painful matter which, for a time longer, ran parallel with the domestic reformation, and as yet was unable to unite with it. after the departure of campeggio, the further hearing of the divorce cause had been advoked to rome, where it was impossible for henry to consent to plead; while the appearance of the supposed brief had opened avenues of new difficulty which left no hope of a decision within the limits of an ordinary lifetime. henry was still, however, extremely reluctant[248] to proceed to extremities, and appeal to the parliament. he had threatened that he would tolerate no delay, and wolsey had evidently expected that he would not. queen catherine's alarm had gone so far, that in the autumn she had procured an injunction from the pope, which had been posted in the churches of flanders, menacing the king with spiritual censures if he took any further steps.[249] even this she feared that he would disregard, and in march, 1529-30, a second inhibition was issued at her request, couched in still stronger language.[250] but these measures were needless, or at least premature. henry expected that the display of temper in the country in the late session would produce an effect both on the pope and on the emperor; and proposing to send an embassy to remonstrate jointly with them on the occasion of the emperor's coronation, which was to take place in the spring at bologna, he had recourse in the mean time to an expedient which, though blemished in the execution, was itself reasonable and prudent. among the many _technical_ questions which had been raised upon the divorce, the most serious was on the validity of the original dispensation; a question not only on the sufficiency of the form the defects of which the brief had been invented to remedy; but on the more comprehensive uncertainty whether pope julius had not exceeded his powers altogether in granting a dispensation where there was so close affinity. no one supposed that the pope could permit a brother to marry a sister; a dispensation granted in such a case would be _ipso facto_ void.--was not the dispensation similarly void which permitted the marriage of a brother's widow? the advantage which henry expected from raising this difficulty was the transfer of judgment from the partial tribunal of clement to a broader court. the pope could not, of course, adjudicate on the extent of his own powers; especially as he always declared himself to be ignorant of the law; and the decision of so general a question rested either with a general council, or must be determined by the consent of christendom, obtained in some other manner. if such general consent declared against the pope, the cause was virtually terminated. if there was some approach to a consent against him, or even if there was general uncertainty, henry had a legal pretext for declining his jurisdiction, and appealing to a council. thomas cranmer, then a doctor of divinity at cambridge,[251] is said to have been the person who suggested this ingenious expedient, and to have advised the king, as the simplest means of carrying it out, to consult in detail the universities and learned men throughout europe. his notorious activity in collecting the opinions may have easily connected him with the origination of the plan, which probably occurred to many other persons as well as to him; but whoever was the first adviser, it was immediately acted upon, and english agents were despatched into germany, italy, and france, carrying with them all means of persuasion, intellectual, moral, and material, which promised to be of most cogent potency with lawyers' convictions. this matter was in full activity when the earl of wiltshire, anne boleyn's father, with cranmer, the bishop of london, and edward lee, afterwards archbishop of york, was despatched to bologna to lay henry's remonstrances before the emperor, who was come at last in person to enjoy his miserable triumph, and receive from the pope the imperial crown. sir nicholas carew, who had been sent forward a few weeks previously, described in piteous language the state to which italy had been reduced by him. passing through pavia, the english emissary saw the children crying about the streets for bread, and dying of hunger; the grapes in midwinter rotting on the vines, because there was no one to gather them; and for fifty miles scarcely a single creature, man or woman, in the fields. "they say," added carew, "and the pope also showed us the same, that the whole people of that country, with divers other places in italia, with war, famine, and pestilence, are utterly dead and gone."[252] such had been the combined work of the vanity of francis and the cold selfishness of charles; and now the latter had arrived amidst the ruins which he had made, to receive his crown from the hands of a pope who was true to italy, if false to all the world besides, and whom, but two years before, he had imprisoned and disgraced. we think of clement as the creature of the emperor, and such substantially he allowed himself to be; but his obedience was the obedience of fear to a master whom he hated, and the bishop of tarbès, who was present at the coronation, and stood at his side through the ceremony, saw him trembling under his robes with emotion, and heard him sigh bitterly.[253] very unwillingly, we may be assured, he was compelled to act his vacillating part to england, and england, at this distance of time, may forgive him for faults to which she owes her freedom, and need not refuse him some tribute of sympathy in his sorrows. fallen on evil times, which greater wisdom and greater courage than had for many a century been found in the successors of st. peter would have failed to encounter successfully, clement vii. remained, with all his cowardice, a true italian; his errors were the errors of his age and nation, and were softened by the presence, in more than usual measure, of italian genius and grace. benvenuto cellini, who describes his character with much minuteness, has left us a picture of a hot-tempered, but genuine and kind-hearted man, whose taste was elegant, and whose wit, from the playful spirit with which it was pervaded, and from a certain tendency to innocent levity, approached to humour. he was liable to violent bursts of feeling; and his inability to control himself, his gesticulations, his exclamations, and his tears, all represent to us a person who was an indifferent master of the tricks of dissimulation to which he was reduced, and whose weakness entitles him to pity, if not to respect. the papacy had fallen to him at the crisis of its deepest degradation. it existed as a politically organised institution, which it was convenient to maintain, but from which the private hearts of all men had fallen away; and it depended for its very life upon the support which the courts of europe would condescend to extend to it. among these governments, therefore, distracted as they were by mutual hostility, the pope was compelled to make his choice; and the fatality of his position condemned him to quarrel with the only prince on whom, at the outset of these complications, he had a right to depend. in 1512, france had been on the point of declaring her religious independence; and as late as 1525, francis entertained thoughts of offering the patriarchate to wolsey.[254] charles v., postponing his religious devotion for the leisure of old age, had reserved the choice of his party, to watch events and to wait upon opportunity; while, from his singular position, he wielded in one hand the power of catholic spain, in the other that of protestant germany, ready to strike with either, as occasion or necessity recommended. if his spaniards had annexed the new world to the papacy, his german lanzknechts had stormed the holy city, murdered cardinals, and outraged the pope's person: while both charles and francis, alike caring exclusively for their private interests, had allowed the turks to overrun hungary, to conquer rhodes, and to collect an armament at constantinople so formidable as to threaten italy itself, and the very christian faith. henry alone had shown hitherto a true feeling for religion; henry had made war with louis xii. solely in the pope's quarrel; henry had broken an old alliance with the emperor to revenge the capture of rome, and had won francis back to his allegiance. to henry, if to any one, the roman bishop had a right to look with confidence. but the power of england was far off, and could not reach to rome. francis had been baffled and defeated, his armies destroyed, his political influence in the peninsula annihilated. the practical choice which remained to clement lay only, as it seemed, between the emperor and martyrdom; and having, perhaps, a desire for the nobler alternative, yet being without the power to choose it, his wishes and his conduct, his words to private persons and his open actions before the world, were in perpetual contradiction. he submitted while his heart revolted; and while at charles's dictation he was threatening henry with excommunication if he proceeded further with his divorce, he was able at that very time to say, in confidence, to the bishop of tarbès, that he would be well contented if the king of england would marry on his own responsibility, availing himself of any means which he might possess among his own people, so only that he himself was not committed to a consent or the privileges of the papacy were not trenched upon.[255] two years later, when the course which the pope would really pursue under such circumstances was of smaller importance, henry gave him an opportunity of proving the sincerity of this language; and the result was such as he expected it to be. as yet, however, he had not relinquished the hope of succeeding by a more open course. in march, 1529-30, the english ambassadors appeared at bologna. their instructions were honest, manly, and straightforward. they were directed to explain, _ab initio_, the grounds of the king's proceedings, and to appeal to the emperor's understanding of the obligations of princes. full restitution was to be offered of catherine's dowry, and the earl of wiltshire was provided with letters of credit adequate to the amount.[256] if these proposals were not accepted, they were to assume a more peremptory tone, and threaten the alienation of england; and if menaces were equally ineffectual, they were to declare that henry, having done all which lay within his power to effect his purpose with the goodwill of his friends, since he could not do as he would, must now do as he could, and discharge his conscience. if the emperor should pretend that he would "abide the law, and would defer to the pope," they were to say, "that the sacking of rome by the spaniards and germans had so discouraged the pope and cardinals, that they feared for body and goods," and had ceased to be free agents; and concluding finally that the king would fear god rather than man, and would rely on comfort from the saviour against those who abused their authority, they were then to withdraw.[257] the tone of the directions was not sanguine, and the political complications of europe, on which the emperor's reply must more or less have depended, were too involved to allow us to trace the influences which were likely to have weighed with him. there seems no primâ facie reason, however, why the attempt might not have been successful. the revolutionary intrigues in england had decisively failed, and the natural sympathy of princes, and a desire to detach henry from francis, must have combined to recommend a return of the old cordiality which had so long existed between the sovereigns of england and flanders. but whatever was the cause, the opening interview assured the earl of wiltshire that he had nothing to look for. he was received with distant courtesy; but charles at once objected even to hearing his instructions, as an interested party.[258] the earl replied that he stood there, not as the father of the queen's rival, but as the representative of his sovereign; but the objection declared the attitude which charles was resolved to maintain, and which, in fact, he maintained throughout. "the emperor," wrote lord wiltshire to henry, "is stiffly bent against your grace's matter, and is most earnest in it; while the pope is led by the emperor, and neither will nor dare displease him."[259] from that quarter, so long as parties remained in their existing attitude, there was no hope. it seems to have been hinted, indeed, that if war broke out again between charles and francis, something might be done as the price of henry's surrendering the french alliance;[260] but the suggestion, if it was made, was probably ironical; and as charles was unquestionably acting against his interest in rejecting the english overtures, it is fair to give him credit for having acted on this one occasion of his life, upon generous motives. a respectful compliment was paid to his conduct by henry himself in the reproaches which he addressed to the pope.[261] so terminated the first and the last overture on this subject which henry attempted with charles v. the ambassadors remained but a few days at bologna, and then discharged their commission and returned. the pope, however, had played his part with remarkable skill, and by finessing dexterously behind the scenes, had contrived to prevent the precipitation of a rupture with himself. his simple and single wish was to gain time, trusting to accident or providence to deliver him from his dilemma. on the one hand, he yielded to the emperor in refusing to consent to henry's demand; on the other, he availed himself of all the intricacies to parry catherine's demand for a judgment in her favour. he even seemed to part with the emperor on doubtful terms. "the latter," said the bishop of tarbès,[262] "before leaving bologna, desired his holiness to place two cardinals' hats at his disposal, to enable him to reward certain services." his holiness ventured to refuse. during his imprisonment, he said he had been compelled to nominate several persons for that office whose conduct had been a disgrace to their rank; and when the emperor denied his orders, the pope declared that he had seen them. the cardinals' hats, therefore, should be granted only when they were deserved, "when the lutherans in germany had been reduced to obedience, and hungary had been recovered from the turks." if this was acting, it was skilfully managed, and it deceived the eyes of the french ambassador. still further to gratify henry, the pope made a public declaration with respect to the dispute which had arisen on the extent of his authority, desiring, or professing to desire, that all persons whatever throughout italy should be free to express their opinions without fear of incurring his displeasure. this declaration, had it been honestly meant, would have been creditable to clement's courage: unfortunately for his reputation, his outward and his secret actions seldom corresponded, and the emperor's agents were observed to use very dissimilar language in his name. the double policy, nevertheless, was still followed to secure delay. delay was his sole aim,--either that catherine's death, or his own, or henry's, or some relenting in one or other of the two princes who held their minatory arms extended over him, might spare himself and the church the calamity of a decision. for to the church any decision was fatal. if he declared for charles, england would fall from it; if for henry, germany and flanders were lost irrecoverably, and spain itself might follow. his one hope was to procrastinate; and in this policy of hesitation for two more years he succeeded, till at length the patience of henry and of england was worn out, and all was ended. when the emperor required sentence to be passed, he pretended to be about to yield; and at the last moment, some technical difficulty ever interfered to make a decision impossible. when henry was cited to appear at rome, a point of law was raised upon the privilege of kings, threatening to open into other points of law, and so to multiply to infinity. the pope, indeed, finding his own ends so well answered by evasion, imagined that it would answer equally those of the english nation, and he declared to henry's secretary that "if the king of england would send a mandate ad totam causam, then if his highness would, there might be given so many delays by reason of matters which his highness might lay in, and the remissorials that his grace might ask, ad partes, that peradventure in ten years or longer a sentence should not be given."[263] in point of worldly prudence, his conduct was unexceptionably wise; but something beyond worldly prudence was demanded of a tribunal which claimed to be inspired by the holy ghost. the dreary details of the negotiations i have no intention of pursuing. they are of no interest to any one,--a miserable tissue of insincerity on one side, and hesitating uncertainty on the other. there is no occasion for us to weary ourselves with the ineffectual efforts to postpone an issue which was sooner or later inevitable. i may not pass over in similar silence another unpleasant episode in this business,--the execution of cranmer's project for collecting the sentiments of europe on the pope's dispensing power. the details of this transaction are not wearying only, but scandalous; and while the substantial justice of henry's cause is a reason for deploring the means to which he allowed himself to be driven in pursuing it, we may not permit ourselves either to palliate those means or to conceal them. the project seemed a simple one, and likely to be effective and useful. unhappily, the appeal was still to ecclesiastics, to a body of men who were characterised throughout europe by a universal absence of integrity, who were incapable of pronouncing an honest judgment, and who courted intimidation and bribery by the readiness with which they submitted to be influenced by them. corruption was resorted to on all sides with the most lavish unscrupulousness, and the result arrived at was general discredit to all parties, and a conclusion which added but one more circle to the labyrinth of perplexities. croke,[264] a doctors' commons lawyer, who was employed in italy, described the state of feeling in the peninsula as generally in henry's favour; and he said that he could have secured an all but universal consent, except for the secret intrigues of the spanish agents, and their open direct menaces, when intrigue was insufficient. he complained bitterly of the treachery of the italians who were in the english pay; the two cassalis, pallavicino, and ghinucci, the bishop of worcester. these men, he said, were betraying henry when they were pretending to serve him, and were playing secretly into the hands of the emperor.[265] his private despatches were intercepted, or the contents of them by some means were discovered; for the persons whom he named as inclining against the papal claims, became marked at once for persecution. one of them, a carmelite friar, was summoned before the cardinal governor of bologna, and threatened with death;[266] and a certain father omnibow, a venetian who had been in active co-operation with dr. croke, wrote himself to henry, informing him in a very graphic manner of the treatment to which, by some treachery, he had been exposed. croke and omnibow were sitting one morning in the latter's cell, "when there entered upon them the emperor's great ambassador, accompanied with many gentlemen of spain, and demanded of the father how he durst be so bold to take upon him to intermeddle in so great and weighty a matter, the which did not only lessen and enervate the pope's authority, but was noyful and odious to all realms christened."[267] omnibow being a man of some influence in venice, the ambassador warned him on peril of his life to deal no further with such things: there was not the slightest chance that the king of england could obtain a decision in his favour, because the question had been placed in the hands of six cardinals who were all devoted to the emperor: the pope, it was sternly added, had been made aware of his conduct, and was exceedingly displeased, and the general[268] of his order had at the same time issued an injunction, warning all members to desist at their peril from intercourse with the english agents. the spanish party held themselves justified in resorting to intimidation to defend themselves against english money; the english may have excused their use of money as a defence against spanish intimidation; and each probably had recourse to their several methods prior to experience of the proceedings of their adversaries, from a certain expectation of what those proceedings would be. substantially, the opposite manoeuvres neutralised each other, and in catholic countries, opinions on the real point at issue seem to have been equally balanced. the lutheran divines, from their old suspicion of henry, were more decided in their opposition to him. "the italian protestants," wrote croke to the king, "be utterly against your highness in this cause, and have letted as much as with their power and malice they could or might."[269] in germany dr. bames and cranmer found the same experience. luther himself had not forgotten his early passage at arms with the english defender of the faith, and was coldly hostile; the german theologians, although they expressed themselves with reserve and caution, saw no reason to court the anger of charles by meddling in a quarrel in which they had no interest; they revenged the studied slight which had been passed by henry on themselves, with a pardonable indifference to the english ecclesiastical revolt. if, however, in germany and italy the balance of unjust interference lay on the imperial side, it was more than adequately compensated by the answering pressure which was brought to bear in england and in france on the opposite side. under the allied sovereigns, the royal authority was openly exercised to compel such expressions of sentiment as the courts of london and paris desired; and the measures which were taken oblige us more than ever to regret the inventive efforts of cranmer's genius. for, in fact, these manoeuvres, even if honestly executed, were all unrealities. the question at issue was one of domestic english politics, and the metamorphosis of it into a question of ecclesiastical law was a mere delusion. the discussion was transferred to a false ground, and however the king may have chosen to deceive himself, was not being tried upon its real merits. a complicated difficulty vitally affecting the interests of a great nation, was laid for solution before a body of persons incompetent to understand or decide it, and the laity, with the alternative before them of civil war, and the returning miseries of the preceding century, could brook no judgment which did not answer to their wishes. the french king, contemptuously indifferent to justice, submitted to be guided by his interest; feeling it necessary for his safety to fan the quarrel between henry and the emperor, he resolved to encourage whatever measures would make the breach between them irreparable. the reconciliation of herod and pontius pilate[270] was the subject of his worst alarm; and a slight exercise of ecclesiastical tyranny was but a moderate price by which to ensure himself against so dangerous a possibility. accordingly, at the beginning of june, the university of paris was instructed by royal letters to pronounce an opinion on the extent to which the pope might grant dispensations for marriage within the forbidden degrees. the letters were presented by the grand master, and the latter in his address to the faculty, maintained at the outset an appearance of impartiality. the doctors were required to decide according to their conscience, having the fear of god before their eyes; and no open effort was ventured to dictate the judgment which was to be delivered. the majority of the doctors understood their duty and their position, and a speedy resolution was anticipated, when a certain dr. beda, an energetic ultramontane, commenced an opposition. he said that, on a question which touched the power of the pope, they were not at liberty to pronounce an opinion without the permission of his holiness himself; and that the deliberation ought not to go forward till they had applied for that permission and had received it. this view was supported by the spanish and italian party in the university. the debate grew warm, and at length the meeting broke up in confusion without coming to a resolution. beda, when remonstrated with on the course which he was pursuing, did not hesitate to say that he had the secret approbation of his prince; that, however francis might disguise from the world his real opinions, in his heart he only desired to see the pope victorious. an assertion so confident was readily believed, nor is it likely that beda ventured to make it without some foundation. but being spoken of openly it became a matter of general conversation, and reaching the ears of the english ambassador, it was met with instant and angry remonstrance. "the ambassador," wrote the grand master to francis, "has been to me in great displeasure, and has told me roundly that his master is trifled with by us. we give him words in plenty to keep his beak in the water; but it is very plain that we are playing false, and that no honesty is intended. nor are his words altogether without reason; for many persons declare openly that nothing will be done. if the alliance of england, therefore, appear of importance to your highness, it would be well for you to write to the dean of the faculty, directing him to close an impertinent discussion, and require an answer to the question asked as quickly as possible."[271] the tone of this letter proves, with sufficient clearness, the true feelings of the french government; but at the moment the alternative suggested by the grand master might not be ventured. francis could not afford to quarrel with england, or to be on less than cordial terms with it, and for a time at least his brother sovereigns must continue to be at enmity. the negotiations for the recovery of the french princes out of their spanish prison, were on the point of conclusion; and, as francis was insolvent, henry had consented to become security for the money demanded for their deliverance. beda had, moreover, injured his cause by attacking the gallican liberties; and as this was a point on which the government was naturally sensitive, some tolerable excuse was furnished for the lesson which it was thought proper to adminster to the offending doctor. on the seventeenth of june, 1530, therefore, francis wrote as follows to the president of the parliament of paris:-"we have learnt, to our great displeasure, that one beda, an imperialist, has dared to raise an agitation among the theologians, dissuading them from giving their voices on the cause of the king of england.--on receipt of this letter, therefore, you shall cause the said beda to appear before you, and you shall show him the grievous anger which he has given us cause to entertain towards him. and further you shall declare to him, laying these our present writings before his eyes that he may not doubt the truth of what you say, that if he does not instantly repair the fault which he has committed, he shall be punished in such sort as that he shall remember henceforth what it is for a person of his quality to meddle in the affairs of princes. if he venture to remonstrate; if he allege that it is matter of conscience, and that before proceeding to pronounce an opinion it is necessary to communicate with the pope; in our name you shall forbid him to hold any such communication: and he and all who abet him, and all persons whatsoever, not only who shall themselves dare to consult the pope on this matter, but who shall so much as entertain the proposal of consulting him, shall be dealt with in such a manner as shall be an example to all the world. the liberties of the gallican church are touched, and the independence of our theological council, and there is no privilege belonging to this realm on which we are more peremptorily determined to insist."[272] the haughty missive, a copy of which was sent to england,[273] produced the desired effect. the doctors became obedient and convinced, and the required declaration of opinion in henry's favour, was drawn up in the most ample manner. they made a last desperate effort to escape from the position in which they were placed when the seal of the university was to be affixed to the decision; but the resistance was hopeless, the authorities were inexorable, and they submitted. it is not a little singular that the english political agent employed on this occasion, and to whose lot it fell to communicate the result to the king, was reginald pole. he it was, who behind the scenes, and assisting to work the machinery of the intrigue, first there, perhaps, contracted his disgust with the cause on which he was embarked. there learning to hate the ill with which he was forced immediately into contact, he lost sight of the greater ill to which it was opposed; and in the recoil commenced the first steps of a career, which brought his mother to the scaffold, which overspread all england with an atmosphere of treason and suspicion, and which terminated at last after years of exile, rebellion, and falsehood, in a brief victory of blood and shame. so ever does wrong action beget its own retribution, punishing itself by itself, and wrecking the instruments by which it works. the letter which pole wrote from paris to henry will not be uninteresting. it revealed his distaste for his occupation, though prudence held him silent as to his deeper feelings. "please it your highness to be advertised, that the determination and conclusion of the divines in this university was achieved and finished according to your desired purpose, upon saturday last past. the sealing of the same has been put off unto this day, nor never could be obtained before for any soliciting on our parts which were your agents here, which never ceased to labour, all that lay in us, for the expedition of it, both with the privy president and with all such as we thought might in any part aid us therein. but what difficulties and stops hath been, to let the obtaining of the seal of the university, notwithstanding the conclusion passed and agreed unto by the more part of the faculty, by reason of such oppositions as the adversary part hath made to embezzle the determination that it should not take effect nor go forth in that same form as it was concluded, it may please your grace, to be advertised by this bearer, master fox; who, with his prudence, diligence, and great exercise in the cause, hath most holp to resist all these crafts, and to bring the matter to that point as your most desired purpose hath been to have it. he hath indeed acted according to that hope which i had of him at the beginning and first breaking of the matter amongst the faculty here, when i, somewhat fearing and foreseeing such contentions, altercations, and empeschements as by most likelihood might ensue, did give your grace advertisement, how necessary i thought it was to have master fox's presence. and whereas i was informed by master fox how it standeth with your grace's pleasure, considering my fervent desire thereon, that, your motion once achieved and brought to a final conclusion in this university, i should repair to your presence, your grace could not grant me at this time a petition more comfortable unto me. and so, making what convenient speed i may, my trust is shortly to wait upon your highness. thus jesu preserve your most noble grace to his pleasure, and your most comfort and honour. written at paris, the seventh day of july, by your grace's most humble and faithful servant, reginald pole."[274] we must speak of this transaction as it deserves, and call it wholly bad, unjust, and inexcusable. yet we need not deceive ourselves into supposing that the opposition which was crushed so roughly was based on any principal of real honesty. in italy, intrigue was used against intimidation. in france intimidation was used against intrigue; and the absence of rectitude in the parties whom it was necessary to influence, provoked and justified the contempt with which they were treated. the conduct of the english universities on the same occasion was precisely what their later characters would have led us respectively to expect from them. at oxford the heads of houses and the senior doctors and masters submitted their consciences to state dictation, without opposition, and, as it seemed, without reluctance. henry was wholly satisfied that the right was on his own side; he was so convinced of it, that an opposition to his wishes among his own subjects, he could attribute only to disloyalty or to some other unworthy feeling; and therefore, while he directed the convocation, "giving no credence to sinister persuasions, to show and declare their just and true learning in his cause," he was able to dwell upon the answer which he expected from them, as a plain matter of duty; and obviously as not admitting of any uncertainty whatever. "we will and command you," he said, "that ye, not leaning to wilful and sinister opinions of your own several minds, considering that we be your sovereign liege lord [and] totally giving your time, mind, and affections to the true overtures of divine learning in this behalf, do show and declare your true and just learning in the said cause, like as ye will abide by: wherein ye shall not only please almighty god, but also us your liege lord. and we, for your so doing, shall be to you and to our university there so good and gracious a lord for the same, as ye shall perceive it well done in your well fortune to come. and in case you do not uprightly, according to divine learning, handle yourselves herein, ye may be assured that we, not without great cause, shall so quickly and sharply look to your unnatural misdemeanour herein, that it shall not be to your quietness and ease hereafter."[275] the admonitory clauses were sufficiently clear; they were scarcely needed, however, by the older members of the university. an enlarged experience of the world which years, at oxford as well as elsewhere, had not failed to bring with them, a just apprehension of the condition of the kingdom, and a sense of the obligations of subjects in times of political difficulty, sufficed to reconcile the heads of the colleges to obedience; and threats were not required where it is unlikely that a thought of hesitation was entertained. but there was a class of residents which appears to be perennial in that university, composed out of the younger masters; a class of men who, defective alike in age, in wisdom, or in knowledge, were distinguished by a species of theoretic high church fanaticism; who, until they received their natural correction from advancing years, required from time to time to be protected against their own extravagance by some form of external pressure. these were the persons whom the king was addressing in his more severe language, and it was not without reason that he had recourse to it. in order to avoid difficulty, and to secure a swift and convenient resolution, it was proposed that both at oxford and cambridge the universities should be represented by a committee composed of the heads of houses, the proctors, and the graduates in divinity and law: that this committee should agree upon a form of a reply; and that the university seal should then be affixed without further discussion. this proposition was plausible as well as prudent, for it might be supposed reasonably that young half-educated students were incapable of forming a judgment on an intricate point of law; and to admit their votes was equivalent to allowing judgment to be given by party feeling. the masters who were to be thus excluded refused however to entertain this view of their incapacity. the question whether the committee should be appointed was referred to convocation, where, having the advantage of numbers, they coerced the entire proceedings; and some of them "expressing themselves in a very forward manner" to the royal commissioners,[276] and the heads of houses being embarrassed, and not well knowing what to do, the king found it necessary again to interpose. he was unwilling, as he said, to violate the constitution of the university by open interference, "considering it to exist under grant and charter from the crown as a body politic, in the ruling whereof in things to be done in the name of the whole, the number of private suffrages doth prevail." "he was loth, too," he added, "to show his displeasure, whereof he had so great cause ministered unto him, unto the whole in general, whereas the fault perchance consisted and remained in light and wilful heads," and he trusted that it might suffice if the masters of the colleges used their private influence and authority[277] in overcoming the opposition. for the effecting of this purpose, however, and in order to lend weight to their persuasion, he assisted the convocation towards a conclusion with the following characteristic missive:-"to our trusty and well-beloved the heads of houses, doctors, and proctors of our university of oxford: "trusty and well-beloved, we greet you well; and of late being informed, to our no little marvel and discontentation, that a great part of the youth of that our university, with contentious and factious manner daily combining together, neither regarding their duty to us their sovereign lord, nor yet conforming themselves to the opinions and orders of the virtuous, wise, sage, and profound learned men of that university, wilfully do stick upon the opinion to have a great number of regents and non-regents to be associate unto the doctors, proctors, and bachelors of divinity for the determination of our question; which we believe hath not been often seen, that such a number of right small learning in regard to the other should be joined with so famous a sort, or in a manner stay their seniors in so weighty a cause. and forasmuch as this, we think, should be no small dishonour to our university there, but most especially to you the seniors and rulers of the same; and as also, we assure you, this their unnatural and unkind demeanour is not only right much to our displeasure, but much to be marvelled of, upon what ground and occasion, they being our mere subjects, should show themselves more unkind and wilful in this matter than all other universities, both in this and all other regions do: we, trusting in the dexterity and wisdom of you and other the said discreet and substantial learned men of that university, be in perfect hope that ye will conduce and frame the said young persons unto order and conformity as it becometh you to do. whereof we be desirous to hear with incontinent diligence; and doubt you not we shall regard the demeanour of every one of the university according to their merits and deserts. and if the youth of the university will play masteries as they begin to do, we doubt not but they shall well perceive that non est bonum irritare crabrones.[278] "given under our hand and seal, at our castle of windsor, "henry r."[279] it is scarcely necessary to say, that, armed with this letter, the heads of houses subdued the recalcitrance of the overhasty "youth;" and oxford duly answered as she was required to answer. the proceedings at cambridge were not very dissimilar; but cambridge being distinguished by greater openness and largeness of mind on this as on the other momentous subjects of the day than the sister university, was able to preserve a more manly bearing, and escape direct humiliation. cranmer had written a book upon the divorce in the preceding year, which, as coming from a well-known cambridge man, had occasioned a careful ventilation of the question there; the resident masters had been divided by it into factions nearly equal in number, though unharmoniously composed. the heads of houses, as at oxford, were inclined to the king, but they were embarrassed and divided by the presence on the same side of the suspected liberals, the party of shaxton, latimer, and cranmer himself. the agitation of many months had rendered all members of the university, young and old, so well acquainted (as they supposed) with the bearings of the difficulty, that they naturally resisted, as at the other university, the demand that their power should be delegated to a committee; and the cambridge convocation, as well as that of oxford, threw out this resolution when it was first proposed to them. a king's letter having made them more amenable, a list of the intended committee was drawn out, which, containing latimer's name, occasioned a fresh storm. but the number in the senate house being nearly divided, "the labour of certain friends" turned the scale; the vote passed, and the committee was allowed, on condition that the question should be argued publicly in the presence of the whole university. finally, judgment was obtained on the king's side, though in a less absolute form than he had required, and the commissioners did not think it prudent to press for a more extreme conclusion. they had been desired to pronounce that the pope had no power to permit a man to marry his brother's widow. they consented only to say that a marriage within those degrees was contrary to the divine law; but the question of the pope's power was left unapproached.[280] it will not be uninteresting to follow this judgment a further step, to the delivery of it into the hands of the king, where it will introduce us to a sunday at windsor castle three centuries ago. we shall find present there, as a significant symptom of the time, hugh latimer, appointed freshly select preacher in the royal chapel, but already obnoxious to english orthodoxy, on account of his cambridge sermons. these sermons, it had been said, contained many things good and profitable, "on sin, and godliness, and virtue," but much also which was disrespectful to established beliefs, the preacher being clearly opposed to "candles and pilgrimages," and "calling men unto the works that god commanded in his holy scripture, all dreams and unprofitable glosses set aside and utterly despised." the preacher had, therefore, been cited before consistory courts and interdicted by bishops, "swarms of friars and doctors flocking against master latimer on every side."[281] this also was to be noted about him, that he was one of the most fearless men who ever lived. like john knox, whom he much resembled, in whatever presence he might be, whether of poor or rich, of laymen or priests, of bishops or kings, he ever spoke out boldly from his pulpit what he thought, directly if necessary to particular persons whom he saw before him respecting their own actions. even henry himself he did not spare where he saw occasion for blame; and henry, of whom it was said that he never was mistaken in a _man_--loving a _man_[282] where he could find him with all his heart--had, notwithstanding, chosen this latimer as one of his own chaplains. the unwilling bearer of the cambridge judgment was dr. buckmaster, the vice-chancellor, who, in a letter to a friend, describes his reception at the royal castle. "to the right worshipful dr. edmonds, vicar of alborne, in wiltshire, my duty remembered,-"i heartily commend me unto you, and i let you understand that yesterday week, being sunday at afternoon, i came to windsor, and also to part of mr. latimer's sermon; and after the end of the same i spake with mr. secretary [cromwell], and also with mr. provost; and so after evensong i delivered our letters in the chamber of presence, all the court beholding. the king, with mr. secretary, did there read them; and did then give me thanks and talked with me a good while. he much lauded our wisdom and good conveyance in the matter, with the great quietness in the same. he showed me also what he had in his hands for our university, according to that which mr. secretary did express unto us, and so he departed from me. but by and bye he greatly praised mr. latimer's sermon; and in so praising said on this wise: 'this displeaseth greatly mr. vice-chancellor yonder; yon same,' said he to the duke of norfolk, 'is mr. vice-chancellor of cambridge,' and so pointed unto me. then he spake secretly unto the said duke, which, after the king's departure, came unto me and welcomed me, saying, among other things, the king would speak with me on the next day. and here is the first act. on the next day i waited until it was dinner time; and so at the last dr. butts, [king's physician,] came unto me, and brought a reward, twenty nobles for me, and five marks for the junior proctor which was with me, saying that i should take that for a resolute answer, and that i might depart from the court when i would. then came mr. provost, and when i had shewed him of the answer, he said i should speak with the king after dinner for all that, and so he brought me into a privy place where after dinner he would have me wait. i came thither and he both; and by one of the clock the king entered in. it was in a gallery. there were mr. secretary, mr. provost, mr. latimer, mr. proctor, and i, and no more. the king then talked with us until six of the clock. i assure you he was scarce contented with mr. secretary and mr. provost, that this was not also determined, _an papa possit dispensare_. i made the best, and confirmed the same that they had shewed his grace before; and how it would never have been so obtained. he opened his mind, saying he would have it determined after easter, and of the same was counselled awhile. "much other communication we had, which were too long here to recite. then his highness departed, casting a little holy water of the court; and i shortly after took my leave of mr. secretary and mr. provost, with whom i did not drink, nor yet was bidden, and on the morrow departed from thence, thinking more than i did say, and being glad that i was out of the court, where many men, as i did both hear and perceive, did wonder at me. and here shall be an end for this time of this fable. "all the world almost crieth out of cambridge for this act, and specially on me; but i must bear it as well as i may. i have lost a benefice by it, which i should have had within these ten days; for there hath one fallen in mr. throgmorton's[283] gift which he hath faithfully promised unto me many a time, but now his mind is turned and alienate from me. if ye go to court after easter i pray you have me in remembrance. mr. latimer preacheth still,--quod æmuli ejus graviter ferunt. "thus fare you well. your own to his power, william buckmaster.[284] cambridge, monday after easter, 1530." it does not appear that cambridge was pressed further, and we may, therefore, allow it to have acquitted itself creditably, if we sum up the results of cranmer's measure as a whole, it may be said that opinions had been given by about half europe directly or indirectly unfavourable to the papal claims; and that, therefore, the king had furnished himself with a legal pretext for declining the jurisdiction of the court of rome, and appealing to a general council. objections to the manner in which the opinions had been gained could be answered by recriminations equally just; and in the technical aspect of the question a step had certainly been gained. it will be thought, nevertheless, on wider grounds, that the measure was a mistake; that it would have been far better if the legal labyrinth had never been entered, and if the divorce had been claimed only upon those considerations of policy for which it had been first demanded, and which formed the true justification of it. not only might a shameful chapter of scandal have been spared out of the world's history, but the point on which the battle was being fought lay beside the real issue. europe was shaken with intrigue, hundreds of books were written, and tens of thousands of tongues were busy for twelve months weaving logical subtleties, and all for nothing. the truth was left unspoken because it was not convenient to speak it, and all parties agreed to persuade themselves and accept one another's persuasions, that they meant something which they did not mean. beyond doubt the theological difficulty really affected the king. we cannot read his own book[285] upon it without a conviction that his arguments were honestly urged, that his misgivings were real, and that he meant every word which he said. yet it is clear at the same time that these misgivings would not have been satisfied, if all the wisdom of the world--pope, cardinals, councils, and all the learned faculties together--had declared against him, the true secret of the matter lying deeper, understood and appreciated by all the chief parties concerned, and by the english laity, whose interests were at stake; but in all these barren disputings ignored as if it had no existence. it was perhaps less easy than it seems to have followed the main road. the bye ways often promise best at first entrance into them, and henry's peculiar temper never allowed him to believe beforehand that a track which he had chosen could lead to any conclusion except that to which he had arranged that it should lead. with an intellect endlessly fertile in finding reasons to justify what he desired, he could see no justice on any side but his own, or understand that it was possible to disagree with him except from folly of ill-feeling. starting always with a foregone conclusion, he arrived of course where he wished to arrive. his "glasse of truth" is a very picture of his mind. "if the marshall of the host bids us do anything," he said, "shall we do it if it be against the great captain? again, if the great captain bid us do anything, and the king or the emperor commandeth us to do another, dost thou doubt that we must obey the commandment of the king or emperor, and contemn the commandment of the great captain? therefore if the king or the emperor bid one thing, and god another, we must obey god, and contemn and not regard neither king nor emperor." and, therefore, he argued, "we are not to obey the pope, when the pope commands what is unlawful."[286] these were but many words to prove what the pope would not have questioned; and either they concluded nothing or the conclusion was assumed. we cannot but think that among the many misfortunes of henry's life his theological training was the greatest; and that directly or indirectly it was the parent of all the rest. if in this unhappy business he had trusted only to his instincts as an english statesman; if he had been contented himself with the truth, and had pressed no arguments except those which in the secrets of his heart had weight with him, he would have spared his own memory a mountain of undeserved reproach, and have spared historians their weary labour through these barren deserts of unreality. chapter iv church and state the authorities of the church, after the lesson which they had received from the parliament in its first session, were now allowed a respite of two years, during which they might reconsider the complaints of the people, and consult among themselves upon the conduct which they would pursue with respect to those complaints. they availed themselves of their interval of repose in a manner little calculated to recover the esteem which they had forfeited, or to induce the legislature further to stay their hand. instead of reforming their own faults, they spent the time in making use of their yet uncurtailed powers of persecution; and they wreaked the bitterness of their resentment upon the unfortunate heretics, who paid with their blood at the stake for the diminished revenues and blighted dignities of their spiritual lords and superiors. during the later years of wolsey's administration, the protestants, though threatened and imprisoned, had escaped the most cruel consequences of their faith. wolsey had been a warm-hearted and genuine man, and although he had believed as earnestly as his brother bishops, that protestantism was a pernicious thing, destructive alike to the institutions of the country and to the souls of mankind, his memory can be reproached with nothing worse than assiduous but humane efforts for the repression of it. in the three years which followed his dismissal, a far more bloody page was written in the history of the reformers; and under the combined auspices of sir thomas more's fanaticism, and the spleen of the angry clergy, the stake re-commenced its hateful activity. this portion of my subject requires a full and detailed treatment; i reserve the account of it, therefore, for a separate chapter, and proceed for the present with the progress of the secular changes. although, as i said, no further legislative measures were immediately contemplated against the clergy, yet they were not permitted to forget the alteration in their position which had followed upon wolsey's fall; and as they had shown in the unfortunate document which they had submitted to the king, so great a difficulty in comprehending the nature of that alteration, it was necessary clearly and distinctly to enforce it upon them. until that moment they had virtually held the supreme power in the state. the nobility, crippled by the wars of the roses, had sunk into the second place; the commons were disorganised, or incapable of a definite policy; and the chief offices of the government had fallen as a matter of course to the only persons who for the moment were competent to hold them. the jealousy of ecclesiastical encroachments, which had shown itself so bitterly under the plantagenets, had been superseded from the accession of henry vii. by a policy of studied conciliation, and the position of wolsey had but symbolised the position of his order. but wolsey was now gone, and the ecclesiastics who had shared his greatness while they envied it, were compelled to participate also in his change of fortune. this great minister, after the failure of a discreditable effort to fasten upon him a charge of high treason,--a charge which, vindictively pressed through the house of lords, was wisely rejected by the commons,--had been prosecuted with greater justice for a breach of the law, in having exercised the authority of papal legate within the realm of england. his policy had broken down: he had united against him in a common exasperation all orders in the state, secular and spiritual; and the possible consequences of his adventurous transgression had fallen upon him. the parliaments of edward i., edward iii., richard ii., and henry iv. had by a series of statutes pronounced illegal all presentations by the pope to any office or dignity in the anglican church, under penalty of a premunire; the provisions of these acts extending not only to the persons themselves who accepted office under such conditions, but comprehending equally whoever acknowledged their authority, "their executors, procurators, fautors, maintainers, and receivers."[287] the importance attached to these laws was to be seen readily in the frequent re-enactment of them, with language of increasing vehemence; and although the primary object was to neutralise the supposed right of the pope to present to english benefices, and although the office of papal legate is not especially named in any one of the prohibitory clauses, yet so acute a canonist as wolsey could not have been ignorant that it was comprehended under the general denunciation. the 5th of the 16th of richard ii. was in fact explicitly universal in its language, and dwelt especially on the importance of prohibiting the exercise of any species of jurisdiction which could encroach on the royal authority. he had therefore consciously violated a law on his own responsibility, which he knew to exist, but which he perhaps trusted had fallen into desuetude, and would not again be revived. it cannot be denied that in doing so, being at the time the highest law officer of the crown, he had committed a grave offence, and was justly liable to the full penalties of the broken statute. he had received the royal permission, but it was a plea which could not have availed him, and he did not attempt to urge it.[288] the contingency of a possible violation of the law by the king himself had been expressly foreseen and provided against in the act under which he was prosecuted,[289] and being himself the king's legal adviser, it was his duty to have kept his sovereign[290] informed of the true nature of the statute. he had neglected this, his immediate obligation, in pursuit of the interests of the church, and when henry's eyes were opened, he did not consider himself called upon to interfere to shield his minister from the penalties which he had incurred, nor is it likely that in the face of the irritation of the country he could have done so if he had desired. it was felt, indeed, that the long services of wolsey, and his generally admirable administration, might fairly save him (especially under the circumstances of the case) from extremity of punishment; and if he had been allowed to remain unmolested in the affluent retirement which was at first conceded to him, his treatment would not have caused the stain which we have now to lament on the conduct of the administration which succeeded his fall. he indeed himself believed that the final attack upon him was due to no influence of rival statesmen, but to the hatred of anne boleyn; and perhaps he was not mistaken. this, however, is a matter which does not concern us here, and i need not pursue it. it is enough that he had violated the law of england, openly and knowingly, and on the revival of the national policy by which that law had been enacted, he reaped the consequences in his own person. it will be a question whether we can equally approve of the enlarged application of the statute which immediately followed. the guilt of wolsey did not rest with himself; it extended to all who had recognised him in his capacity of legate; to the archbishops and bishops, to the two houses of convocation, to the privy council, to the lords and commons, and indirectly to the nation itself. it was obvious that such a state of things was not contemplated by the act under which he was tried, and where in point of law all persons were equally guilty, in equity they were equally innocent; the circumstances of the case, therefore, rendered necessary a general pardon, which was immediately drawn out. the government, however, while granting absolution to the nation, determined to make some exceptions in their lenity; and harsh as their resolution appeared, it is not difficult to conjecture the reasons which induced them to form it. the higher clergy had been encouraged by wolsey's position to commit those excessive acts of despotism which had created so deep animosity among the people. the overthrow of the last ecclesiastical minister was an opportunity to teach them that the privileges which they had abused were at an end; and as the lesson was so difficult for them to learn, the letter of the law which they had broken was put in force to quicken their perceptions. they were to be punished indirectly for their other evil doings, and forced to surrender some portion of the unnumbered exactions which they had extorted from the helplessness of their flocks. in pursuance of this resolution, therefore, official notice was issued in december, 1530, that the clergy lay all under a premunire, and that the crown intended to prosecute. convocation was to meet in the middle of january, and this comforting fact was communicated to the bishops in order to divert their attention to subjects which might profitably occupy their deliberations. the church legislature had sate in the preceding years contemporaneously with the sitting of parliament, at the time when their privileges were being discussed, and when their conduct had been so angrily challenged: but these matters had not disturbed their placid equanimity: and while the bishops were composing their answer to the house of commons, convocation had been engaged in debating the most promising means of persecuting heretics and preventing the circulation of the bible.[291] the session had continued into the spring of 1529-30, when the king had been prevailed upon to grant an order in council prohibiting tyndale's testament, in the preface of which the clergy were spoken of disrespectfully.[292] his consent had been obtained with great difficulty, on the representation of the bishops that the translation was faulty, and on their undertaking themselves to supply the place of it with a corrected version. but in obtaining the order, they supposed themselves to have gained a victory; and their triumph was celebrated in st. paul's churchyard with an auto da fé, over which the bishop of london consented to preside; when such new testaments as the diligence of the apparitors could discover, were solemnly burned. from occupation such as this a not unwholesome distraction was furnished by the intimation of the premunire; and that it might produce its due effect, it was accompanied with the further information that the clergy of the province of canterbury would receive their pardon only upon payment of a hundred thousand pounds--a very considerable fine, amounting to more than a million of our money. eighteen thousand pounds was required simultaneously from the province of york; and the whole sum was to be paid in instalments spread over a period of five years.[293] the demand was serious, but the clergy had no alternative but to submit or to risk the chances of the law; and feeling that, with the people so unfavourably disposed towards them, they had no chance of a more equitable construction of their position, they consented with a tolerable grace, the upper house of convocation first, the lower following. their debates upon the subject have not been preserved. it was probably difficult to persuade them that they were treated with anything but the most exquisite injustice; since wolsey's legatine faculties had been the object of their general dread; and if he had remained in power, the religious orders would have been exposed to a searching visitation in virtue of these faculties, from which they could have promised themselves but little advantage. but their punishment, if tyrannical in form, was equitable in substance, and we can reconcile ourselves without difficulty to an act of judicial confiscation. the money, however, was not the only concession which the threat of the premunire gave opportunity to extort; and it is creditable to the clergy that the demand which they showed most desire to resist was not that which most touched their personal interests. in the preamble of the subsidy bill, under which they were to levy their ransom, they were required by the council to designate the king by the famous title which gave occasion for such momentous consequences, of "protector and only supreme head of the church and clergy of england."[294] it is not very easy to see what henry proposed to himself by requiring this designation, at so early a stage in the movement. the breach with the pope was still distant, and he was prepared to make many sacrifices before he would even seriously contemplate a step which he so little desired. it may have been designed as a reply to the papal censures: it may have been to give effect to his own menaces, which clement to the last believed to be no more than words;[295] or perhaps (and this is the most likely) he desired by some emphatic act, to make his clergy understand the relation in which thenceforward they were to be placed towards the temporal authority. it is certain only that this title was not intended to imply what it implied when, four years later, it was conferred by act of parliament, and when virtually england was severed by it from the roman communion. but whatever may have been the king's motive, he was serious in requiring that the title should be granted to him. only by acknowledging henry as head of the church should the clergy receive their pardon, and the longer they hesitated, the more peremptorily he insisted on their obedience. the clergy had defied the lion, and the lion held them in his grasp; and they could but struggle helplessly, supplicate and submit. archbishop warham, just drawing his life to a close, presided for the last time in the miserable scene, imagining that the clouds were gathering for the storms of the latter day, and that antichrist was coming in his power. there had been a debate of three days, whether they should or should not consent, when, on the 9th of february, a deputation of the judges appeared in convocation, to ask whether the houses were agreed, and to inform them finally that the king had determined to allow no qualifications. the clergy begged for one more day, and the following morning the bishops held a private meeting among themselves, to discuss some plan to turn aside the blow. they desired to see cromwell, to learn, perhaps, if there was a chance of melting the hard heart of henry; and after an interview with the minister which could not have been encouraging, they sent two of their number, the bishops of exeter and lincoln, to attempt the unpromising task. it was in vain; the miserable old men were obliged to return with the answer that the king would not see them--they had seen only the judges, who had assured them, in simple language, that the pardon was not to be settled until the supremacy was admitted. the answer was communicated to the house, and again "debated." submission was against the consciences of the unhappy clergy; to obey their consciences involved forfeiture of property; and naturally in such a dilemma they found resolution difficult. they attempted another appeal, suggesting that eight of their number should hold a conference with the privy council, and "discover, if they might, some possible expedient." but henry replied, as before, that he would have a clear answer, "_yes_, or _no_." they might say "yes," and their pardon was ready. they might say "no"--and accept the premunire and its penalties. and now, what should the clergy have done? no very great courage was required to answer, "this thing is wrong; it is against god's will, and therefore it must not be, whether premunire come or do not come." they might have said it, and if they could have dared this little act of courage, victory was in their hands. with the cause against them so doubtful, their very attitude would have commanded back the sympathies of half the nation, and the king's threats would have exploded as an empty sound. but henry knew the persons with whom he had to deal--forlorn shadows, decked in the trappings of dignity--who only by some such rough method could be brought to a knowledge of themselves. "shrink to the clergy"--i find in a state paper of the time--"shrink to the clergy, and they be lions; lay their faults roundly and charitably to them, and they be as sheep, and will lightly be reformed, for their consciences will not suffer them to resist."[296] they hesitated for another night. the day following, the archbishop submitted the clause containing the title to the upper house, with a saving paragraph, which, as burnet sententiously observes, the nature of things did require to be supposed.[297] "ecclesiæ et cleri anglicani," so it ran, "singularem protectorem, et unicum et supremum dominum, et quantum per legem christi licet, etiam supremum caput ipsius majestatem agnoscimus--we recognise the king's majesty to be our only sovereign lord, the singular protector of the church and clergy of england, and as far as is allowed by the law of christ, also as our supreme head." the words were read aloud by the archbishop, and were received in silence. "do you assent?" he asked. the house remained speechless. "whoever is silent seems to consent," the archbishop said. a voice answered out of the crowd, "then are we all silent." they separated for a few hours to collect themselves. in the afternoon sitting they discussed the sufficiency of the subterfuge; and at length agreeing that it saved their consciences, the clause was finally passed, the bishop of rochester, among the rest, giving his unwilling acquiescence. so for the present terminated this grave matter. the pardon was immediately submitted to parliament, where it was embodied in a statute;[298] and this act of dubious justice accomplished, the convocation was allowed to return to its usual occupations, and continue the prosecutions of the heretics. the house of commons, during their second session, had confined themselves meanwhile to secular business. they had been concerned chiefly with regulations affecting trade and labour; and the proceedings on the premunire being thought for the time to press sufficiently on the clergy, they deferred the further prosecution of their own complaints till the following year. two measures, however, highly characteristic of the age, must not be passed over, one of which concerned a matter that must have added heavily to the troubles of the bishop of rochester at a time when he was in no need of any addition to his burdens. fisher was the only one among the prelates for whom it is possible to feel respect. he was weak, superstitious, pedantical; towards the protestants he was even cruel; but he was a singlehearted man, who lived in honest fear of evil, so far as he understood what evil was; and he alone could rise above the menaces of worldly suffering, under which his brethren on the bench sank so rapidly into meekness and submission. we can therefore afford to compassionate him in the unexpected calamity by which he was overtaken, and which must have tried his failing spirit in no common manner. he lived, while his duties required his presence in london, at a house in lambeth, and being a hospitable person, he opened his doors at the dinner hour for the poor of the neighbourhood. shortly after the matter which i have just related, many of these people who were dependent on his bounty were reported to have become alarmingly ill, and several gentlemen of the household sickened also in the same sudden and startling manner. one of these gentlemen died, and a poor woman also died; and it was discovered on inquiry that the yeast which had been used in various dishes had been poisoned. the guilty person was the cook, a certain richard rouse; and inasmuch as all crimes might be presumed to have had motives, and the motive in the present instance was undiscoverable, it was conjectured by queen catherine's friends that he had been bribed by anne boleyn, or by some one of her party, to remove out of the way the most influential of the english opponents of the divorce.[299] the story was possibly without foundation, although it is not unlikely that fisher himself believed it. the shock of such an occurrence may well have unsettled his powers of reasoning, and at all times he was a person whose better judgment was easily harassed into incapacity. the origin of the crime, however, is of less importance than the effect of the discovery upon the nation, in whom horror of the action itself absorbed every other feeling. murder of this kind was new in england. ready as the people ever were with sword or lance--incurably given as they were to fighting in the best ordered times--an englishman was accustomed to face his enemy, man to man, in the open day; and the italian crime (as it was called) of poisoning had not till recent years been heard of.[300] even revenge and passion recognised their own laws of honour and fair play; and the cowardly ferocity which would work its vengeance in the dark, and practise destruction by wholesale to implicate one hated person in the catastrophe, was a new feature of criminality. occurring in a time so excited, when all minds were on the stretch, and imaginations were feverish with fancies, it appeared like a frightful portent, some prodigy of nature, or enormous new birth of wickedness, not to be received or passed by as a common incident, and not to be dealt with by the process of ordinary law. parliament undertook the investigation, making it the occasion, when the evidence was completed, of a special statute, so remarkable that i quote it in its detail and wording. the english were a stern people--a people knowing little of compassion where no lawful ground existed for it; but they were possessed of an awful and solemn horror of evil things,--a feeling which, in proportion as it exists, inevitably and necessarily issues in tempers of iron. the stern man is ever the most tender when good remains amidst evil, and is still contending with it; but we purchase compassion for utter wickedness only by doubting in our hearts whether wickedness is more than misfortune. "the king's royal majesty," says the 9th of the 22nd of henry viii., "calling to his most blessed remembrance that the making of good and wholesome laws, and due execution of the same against the offenders thereof, is the only cause that good obedience and order hath been preserved in this realm; and his highness having most tender zeal for the same, considering that man's life above all things is chiefly to be favoured, and voluntary murders most highly to be detested and abhorred; and specially all kinds of murders by poisoning, which in this realm hitherto, our lord be thanked, hath been most rare and seldom committed or practised: and now, in the time of this present parliament, that is to say, on the eighteenth day of february, in the twenty-second year of his most victorious reign, one richard rouse, late of rochester, in the county of kent, cook, otherwise called richard cook, of his most wicked and damnable disposition, did cast a certain venom or poison into a vessel replenished with yeast or barm, standing in the kitchen of the reverend father in god, john bishop of rochester, at his place in lambeth marsh; with which yeast or barm, and other things convenient, porridge or gruel was forthwith made for his family there being; whereby not only the number of seventeen persons of his said family, which did eat of that porridge, were mortally infected or poisoned, and one of them, that is to say, bennet curwan, gentleman, is thereof deceased; but also certain poor people which resorted to the said bishop's place, and were there charitably fed with the remains of the said porridge and other victuals; were in like wise infected; and one poor woman of them, that is to say, alice tryppitt, widow, is also thereof now deceased: our said sovereign lord the king, of his blessed disposition inwardly abhorring all such abominable offences, because that in manner no person can live in surety out of danger of death by that means, if practices thereof should not be eschewed, hath ordained and enacted by authority of this present parliament, that the said poisoning be adjudged and deemed as high treason; and that the said richard, for the said murder and poisoning of the said two persons, shall stand and be attainted of high treason. "and because that detestable offence, now newly practised and committed, requireth condign punishment for the same, it is ordained and enacted by authority of this present parliament that the said richard rouse shall be therefore boiled to death, without having any advantage of his clergy; and that from henceforth every wilful murder of any person or persons hereafter to be committed or done by means or way of poisoning, shall be reputed, deemed, and judged in the law to be high treason; and that all and every person or persons which shall hereafter be indicted and condemned by order of the law of such treason, shall not be admitted to the benefit of his or their clergy, but shall be immediately after such attainder or condemnation, committed to execution of death by boiling for the same." the sentence was carried into effect[301] in smithfield, "on the tenebra wednesday following, to the terrible example of all others." the spectacle of a living human being boiled to death, was really witnessed three hundred years ago by the london citizens, within the walls of that old cattle-market; an example terrible indeed, the significance of which is not easily to be exhausted. for the poisoners of the soul there was the stake,[302] for the poisoners of the body, the boiling cauldron,--the two most fearful punishments for the most fearful of crimes. the stake at which the heretic suffered was an inherited institution descending through the usage of centuries; the poisoner's cauldron was the fresh expression of the judgment of the english nation on a novel enormity; and i have called attention to it because the temper which this act exhibits is the key to all which has seemed most dark and cruel in the rough years which followed; a temper which would keep no terms with evil, or with anything which, rightly or wrongly, was believed to be evil, but dreadfully and inexorably hurried out the penalties of it. following the statute against poisoning, there stands "an act for the banishment out of the country of divers outlandish and vagabond people called egyptians;"[303] and attached to it another of analogous import, "for the repression of beggars and vagabonds," the number of whom, it was alleged, was increasing greatly throughout the country, and much crime and other inconveniences were said to have been occasioned by them. we may regard these two measures, if we please, as a result of the energetic and reforming spirit in the parliament, which was dragging into prominence all forms of existing disorders, and devising remedies for those disorders. but they indicate something more than this: they point to the growth of a disturbed and restless disposition, the interruption of industry, and other symptoms of approaching social confusion; and at the same time they show us the government conscious of the momentous nature of the struggle into which it was launched; and with timely energy bracing up the sinews of the nation for its approaching trial. the act against the gipsies especially, illustrates one of the most remarkable features of the times. the air was impregnated with superstition; in a half consciousness of the impending changes, all men were listening with wide ears to rumours and prophecies and fantastic fore-shadowings of the future; and fanaticism, half deceiving and half itself deceived, was grasping the lever of the popular excitement to work out its own ends.[304] the power which had ruled the hearts of mankind for ten centuries was shaking suddenly to its foundation. the infallible guidance of the church was failing; its light gone out, or pronounced to be but a mere deceitful ignis fatuus; and men found themselves wandering in darkness, unknowing where to turn or what to think or believe. it was easy to clamour against the spiritual courts. from men smarting under the barefaced oppression of that iniquitous jurisdiction, the immediate outcry rose without ulterior thought; but unexpectedly the frail edifice of the church itself threatened under the attack to crumble into ruins; and many gentle hearts began to tremble and recoil when they saw what was likely to follow on their light beginnings. it was true that the measures as yet taken by the parliament and the crown professed to be directed, not to the overthrow of the church, but to the re-establishment of its strength. but the exulting triumph of the protestants, the promotion of latimer to a royal chaplaincy, the quarrel with the papacy, and a dim but sure perception of the direction in which the stream was flowing, foretold to earnest catholics a widely different issue; and the simplest of them knew better than the court knew, that they were drifting from the sure moorings of the faith into the broad ocean of uncertainty. there seems, indeed, to be in religious men, whatever be their creed, and however limited their intellectual power, a prophetic faculty of insight into the true bearings of outward things,--an insight which puts to shame the sagacity of statesmen, and claims for the sons of god, and only for them, the wisdom even of the world. those only read the world's future truly who have faith in principle, as opposed to faith in human dexterity; who feel that in human things there lies really and truly a spiritual nature, a spiritual connection, a spiritual tendency, which the wisdom of the serpent cannot alter, and scarcely can affect. excitement, nevertheless, is no guarantee for the understanding; and these instincts, powerful as they are, may be found often in minds wild and chaotic, which, although they vaguely foresee the future, yet have no power of sound judgment, and know not what they foresee, or how wisely to estimate it. their wisdom, if we may so use the word, combines crudely with any form of superstition or fanaticism. thus in england, at the time of which we are speaking, catholics and protestants had alike their horoscope of the impending changes, each nearer to the truth than the methodical calculations of the statesmen; yet their foresight did not affect their convictions, or alter the temper of their hearts. they foresaw the same catastrophe, yet their faith still coloured the character of it. to the one it was the advent of antichrist, to the other the inauguration of the millennium. the truest hearted men on all sides were deserted by their understandings at the moment when their understandings were the most deeply needed: and they saw the realities which were round them transfigured into phantoms through the mists of their hopes and fears. the present was significant only as it seemed in labour with some gigantic issue, and the events of the outer world flew from lip to lip, taking as they passed every shape most wild and fantastical. until "the king's matter" was decided, there was no censorship upon speech, and all tongues ran freely on the great subjects of the day. every parish pulpit rang with the divorce, or with the perils of the catholic faith; at every village ale-house, the talk was of st. peter's keys, the sacrament, or of the pope's supremacy, or of the points in which a priest differed from a layman. ostlers quarrelled over such questions as they groomed their masters' horses; old women mourned across the village shopboards of the evil days which were come or coming; while every kind of strangest superstition, fairy stories and witch stories, stories of saints and stories of devils, were woven in and out and to and fro, like quaint, bewildering arabesques, in the tissue of the general imagination.[305] these were the forces which were working on the surface of the english mind; while underneath, availing themselves skilfully of the excitement, the agents of the disaffected among the clergy, or the friars mendicant, who to a man were devoted to the pope and to queen catherine, passed up and down the country, denouncing the divorce, foretelling ruin, disaster, and the wrath of god; and mingling with their prophecies more than dubious language on the near destruction or deposition of a prince who was opposing god and heaven. the soil was manured by treason, and the sowers made haste to use their opportunity. thus especially was there danger in those wandering encampments of "outlandish people," whose habits rendered them the ready-made missionaries of sedition; whose swarthy features might hide a spanish heart, and who in telling fortunes might readily dictate policy.[306] under the disguise of gipsies, the emissaries of the emperor or the pope might pass unsuspected from the land's end to berwick-upon-tweed, penetrating the secrets of families, tying the links of the catholic organisation: and in the later years of the struggle, as the intrigues became more determined and a closer connection was established between the continental powers and the disaffected english, it became necessary to increase the penalty against these irregular wanderers from banishment to death. as yet, however, the milder punishment was held sufficient, and even this was imperfectly enforced.[307] the tendencies to treason were still incipient--they were tendencies only, which had as yet shown themselves in no decisive acts; the future was uncertain, the action of the government doubtful. the aim was rather to calm down the excitement of the people, and to extinguish with as little violence as possible the means by which it was fed. ominous symptoms of eccentric agitation, however, began to take shape in the confusion, a preacher, calling himself the favourite of the virgin mary, had started up at edinburgh, professing miraculous powers of abstinence from food. this man was sent by james v. to rome, where, after having been examined by clement, and having sufficiently proved his mission, he was furnished with a priest's habit and a certificate under leaden seal.[308] thus equipped, he went a pilgrimage to jerusalem, and loaded himself with palm-leaves and with stones from the pillar at which christ was scourged; and from thence making his way to england, he appeared at paul's cross an evident saint and apostle, cursing the king and his divorce, denouncing his apostacy, and threatening the anger of heaven. he was arrested and thrown into prison, where he remained, as it was believed, fifty days without food, or fed in secret by the virgin, at the close of the time the government thought it prudent to send him back to scotland, without further punishment.[309] another more famous prophetess was then in the zenith of her reputation--the celebrated nun of kent--whose cell at canterbury, for some three years, was the delphic shrine of the catholic oracle, from which the orders of heaven were communicated even to the pope himself. this singular woman seems for a time to have held in her hand the balance of the fortunes of england. by the papal party she was universally believed to be inspired. wolsey believed it, warham believed it, the bishops believed it, queen catherine believed it, sir thomas more's philosophy was no protection to him against the same delusion; and finally, she herself believed the world, when she found the world believed in her. her story is a psychological curiosity; and, interwoven as it was with the underplots of the time, we cannot observe it too accurately. in the year 1525, there lived in the parish of aldington, in kent, a certain thomas cobb, bailiff or steward to the archbishop of canterbury, who possessed an estate there. among the servants of this thomas cobb was a country girl called elizabeth barton--a decent person, so far as we can learn, but of mere ordinary character, and until that year having shown nothing unusual in her temperament. she was then attacked, however, by some internal disease; and after many months of suffering, she was reduced into that abnormal and singular condition, in which she exhibited the phenomena known to modern wonder-seekers as those of somnambulism or clairvoyance. the scientific value of such phenomena is still undetermined, but that they are not purely imaginary is generally agreed. in the histories of all countries and of all times, we are familiar with accounts of young women of bad health and irritable nerves, who have exhibited at recurring periods certain unusual powers; and these exhibitions have had especial attraction for superstitious persons, whether they have believed in god, or in the devil, or in neither. a further feature also uniform in such cases, has been that a small element of truth may furnish a substructure for a considerable edifice of falsehood; human credulity being always an insatiable faculty, and its powers being unlimited when once the path of ordinary experience has been transcended. we have seen in our own time to what excesses occurrences of this kind may tempt the belief, even when defended with the armour of science. in the sixteenth century, when demoniacal possession was the explanation usually received even of ordinary insanity, we can well believe that the temptation must have been great to recognise supernatural agency in a manifestation far more uncommon; and that the difficulty of retaining the judgment in a position of equipoise must have been very great not only to the spectators but still more to the subject of the phenomenon herself. to sustain ourselves continuously under the influence of reason, even when our faculties are preserved in their natural balance, is a task too hard for most of us. we cannot easily make too great allowance for the moral derangement likely to follow, when a weak girl suddenly found herself possessed of powers which she was unable to understand. bearing this in mind, for it is only just that we should do so, we continue the story. this elizabeth barton, then, "in the trances, of which she had divers and many,[310] consequent upon her illness, told wondrously things done and said in other places whereat she was neither herself present, nor yet had heard no report thereof." to simple-minded people who believed in romanism and the legends of the saints, the natural explanation of such a marvel was, that she must be possessed either by the holy ghost or by the devil. the archbishop's bailiff, not feeling himself able to decide in a case of so much gravity, called in the advice of the parish priest, one richard masters; and together they observed carefully all that fell from her. the girl had been well disposed, as the priest probably knew. she had been brought up religiously; and her mind running upon what was most familiar to it, "she spake words of marvellous holyness in rebuke of sin and vice;"[311] or, as another account says, "she spake very godly certain things concerning the seven deadly sins and the ten commandments."[312] this seemed satisfactory as to the source of the inspiration. it was clearly not a devil that spoke words against sin, and therefore, as there was no other alternative, it was plain that god had visited her. her powers were assuredly from heaven; and it was plain, also, by a natural sequence of reasoning, that she held some divine commission, of which her clairvoyance was the miracle in attestation. an occurrence of such moment was not to be kept concealed in the parish of aldington. the priest mounted his horse, and rode to lambeth with the news to the archbishop of canterbury; and the story having lost nothing of its marvel by the way,[313] the archbishop, who was fast sinking into dotage, instead of ordering a careful inquiry, and appointing some competent person to conduct it, listened with greedy interest; he assured father richard that "the speeches which she had spoken came of god; and bidding him keep him diligent account of all her utterances, directed him to inform her in his name that she was not to refuse or hide the goodness and works of god." cobb, the bailiff, being encouraged by such high authority, would not keep any longer in his kitchen a prophetess with the archbishop's imprimatur upon her; and as soon as the girl was sufficiently recovered from her illness to leave her bed, he caused her to sit at his own mess with his mistress and the parson.[314] the story spread rapidly through the country; inquisitive foolish people came about her to try her skill with questions; and her illness, as she subsequently confessed, having then left her, and as only her reputation was remaining, she bethought herself whether it might not be possible to preserve it a little longer. "perceiving herself to be much made of, to be magnified and much set by, by reason of trifling words spoken unadvisedly by idleness of her brain, she conceived in her mind that having so good success, and furthermore from so small an occasion and nothing to be esteemed, she might adventure further to enterprise and essay what she could do, being in good advisement and remembrance."[315] her fits no longer recurred naturally, but she was able to reproduce either the reality or the appearance of them; and she continued to improvise her oracles with such ability as she could command, and with tolerable success. in this undertaking she was speedily provided with an efficient coadjutor. the catholic church had for some time been unproductive of miracles, and as heresy was raising its head and attracting converts, so opportune an occurrence was not to be allowed to sleep. the archbishop sent his comptroller to the prior of christ church at canterbury, with directions that two monks whom he especially named, doctor bocking, the cellarer, and dan william hadley, should go to aldington to observe.[316] at first, not knowing what was before them, both prior and monks were unwilling to meddle with the matter.[317] they submitted, however, "from the obedience which they owed unto their lord;" and they had soon reason to approve the correctness of the archbishop's judgment. bocking, selected no doubt from previous knowledge of his qualities, was a man devoted to his order, and not over-scrupulous as to the means by which he furthered the interests of it. with instinctive perception he discovered material in elizabeth barton too rich to be allowed to waste itself in a country village. perhaps he partially himself believed in her, but he was more anxious to ensure the belief of others, and he therefore set himself to assist her inspiration towards more effective utterance. conversing with her in her intervals of quiet, he discovered that she was wholly ignorant, and unprovided with any stock of mental or imaginative furniture; and that consequently her prophecies were without body, and too indefinite to be theologically available. this defect he remedied by instructing her in the catholic legends, and by acquainting her with the revelations of st. brigitt and st. catherine of sienna.[318] in these women she found an enlarged reflection of herself; the details of their visions enriched her imagery; and being provided with these fair examples, she was able to shape herself into fuller resemblance with the traditionary model of the saints. as she became more proficient, father bocking extended his lessons to the protestant controversy, initiating his pupil into the mysteries of justification, sacramental grace, and the power of the keys. the ready damsel redelivered his instructions to the world in her moments of possession; and the world discovered a fresh miracle in the inspired wisdom of the untaught peasant. lists of these pregnant sayings were forwarded[319] regularly to the archbishop, which still possibly lie mouldering in the lambeth library, to be discovered by curious antiquaries. it is idle to inquire how far she was yet conscious of her falsehood. conscious wilful deception lies far down the road in a course of this kind; and supported by the assurance of an archbishop, she was in all likelihood deep in lying before she actually knew it. fanaticism and deceit are strangely near relations to each other, and the deceiver is often the person first deceived, and the last who is aware of the imposture. the instructions of the father had made her acquainted with many stories of miraculous cures. the catholic saints followed the type of the apostles, and to heal diseases by supernatural means was a more orthodox form of credential than clairvoyance or second sight. being now cured of her real disorder, yet able to counterfeit the appearance of it, she could find no difficulty in arranging in her own case a miracle of the established kind, and so striking an incident would answer a further end. in the parish was a chapel of the virgin, which was a place of pilgrimage; the pilgrims added something to the income of the priest; and if, by a fresh demonstration of the virgin's presence at the favoured spot, the number of these pilgrims could be increased, they would add more. for both reasons, therefore, the miracle was desired; and the priest and the monk were agreed that any means were justifiable which would encourage the devotion of the people.[320] accordingly, the girl announced, in one of her trances, that "she would never take health of her body till such time as she had visited the image of our lady" in that chapel. the virgin had herself appeared to her, she said, and had fixed a day for her appearance there, and had promised that on her obedience she would present herself in person and take away her disorder.[321] the day came; and as (under the circumstances) there was no danger of failure, the holy fathers had collected a vast concourse of people to witness the marvel. the girl was conducted to the chapel by a procession of more than two thousand persons, headed by the monk, the clergyman, and many other religious persons, the whole multitude "singing the litany and saying divers psalms and orations by the way." "and when she was brought thither[322] and laid before the image of our lady, her face was wonderfully disfigured, her tongue hanging out, and her eyes being in a manner plucked out and laid upon her cheeks, and so greatly deformed. there was then heard a voice speaking within her belly, as it had been in a tonne, her lips not greatly moving: she all that while continuing by the space of three hours or more in a trance. the which voice, when it told of anything of the joys of heaven, spake so sweetly and so heavenly, that every man was ravished with the hearing thereof; and contrarywise, when it told anything of hell, it spake so horribly and terribly, that it put the hearers in a great fear. it spake also many things for the confirmation of pilgrimages and trentals, hearing of masses and confession, and many other such things. and after she had lyen there a long time, she came to herself again, and was perfectly whole. so this miracle was finished and solemnly sung; and a book was written of all the whole story thereof, and put into print; which ever since that time was commonly sold, and went abroad among the people." the miracle successfully accomplished, the residence at aldington was no longer adapted for an acknowledged and favoured saint. the virgin informed her that she was to leave the bailiff and devote herself to her exclusive service. she was to be sister elizabeth, and her especial favourite; and father bocking was to be her spiritual father. the priory of st. sepulchre's, canterbury, was chosen for the place of her profession; and as soon as she was established in her cell, she became a recognised priestess or prophetess, alternately communicating revelations, or indulging the curiosity of foolish persons, and for both services consenting to be paid. the church had by this time spread her reputation through england. the book of her oracles, which extended soon to a considerable volume, was shown by archbishop warham to the king, who sent it to sir thomas more, desiring him to look at it. more's good sense had not yet forsaken him; he pronounced it "a right poor production, such as any simple woman might speak of her own wit;"[323] and henry himself "esteemed the matter as light as it afterwards proved lewd." but the world were less critical censors: the saintly halo was round her head, and her most trivial words caught the reflection of the glory, and seemed divine. "divers and many, as well great men of the realm as mean men, and many learned men, but specially many religious men, had great confidence in her, and often resorted to her."[324] they "consulted her much as to the will of god touching the heresies and schisms in the realm;" and when the dispute arose between the bishops and the house of commons, they asked her what judgment there was in heaven "on the taking away the liberties of the church;" to which questions her answers, being dictated by her confessor, were all which the most eager churchman could desire. her position becoming more and more determined, the eccentric periods of her earlier visions subsided into regularity. once a fortnight she was taken up into heaven into the presence of god and the saints, with heavenly lights, heavenly voices, heavenly melodies and joys. the place of ascent was usually the priory chapel, to which it was essential, therefore, that she should have continual access: and she was allowed, in consequence, to pass the dormitory door when she pleased--a privilege of which the statute uncharitably hints that she availed herself for a less respectable purpose. but whatever was her secret conduct, her outward behaviour was in full keeping with her language and profession. she related many startling stories, not always of the most decent kind, of the attempts which the devil made to lead her astray. the devil and the angels were in fact alternate visitors to her cell, and the former, on one occasion, burnt a mark upon her hand, which she exhibited publicly, and to which the monks were in the habit of appealing, when there were any signs of scepticism in the visitors to the priory. on the occasion of these infernal visits, "great stinking smokes" were seen to issue from her chamber, "savouring grievously through all the dorture;" with which, however, it was suspected subsequently that a paper of brimstone and assafoetida, found among her property after her arrest, had been in some way connected. we smile at these stories, looking back at them with eyes enlightened by scientific scepticism; but they furnished matter for something else than smiles when the accounts of them could be exhibited by the clergy as a living proof of the credibility of the aurea legenda,--when the subject of them could be held up as a witness, accredited by miracles, to the truth of the old faith, a living evidence to shame the incredulity of the protestant sectaries. she became a figure of great and singular significance; a "wise woman," to whom persons of the highest rank were not ashamed to have recourse to inquire of her the will of god, and to ask the benefit of her intercessory prayers, for which also they did not fail to pay at a rate commensurate with their credulity.[325] this position the nun of kent, as she was now called, had achieved for herself, when the divorce question was first agitated. the monks at the canterbury priory, of course, eagerly espoused the side of the queen, and the nun's services were at once in active requisition. absurd as the stories of her revelations may seem to us, she had already given evidence that she was no vulgar impostor, and in the dangerous career on which she now entered, she conducted herself with the utmost skill and audacity. far from imitating the hesitation of the pope and the bishops, she issued boldly, "in the name and by the authority of god," a solemn prohibition against the king; threatening that, if he divorced his wife, he should not "reign a month, but should die a villain's death."[326] burdened with this message, she forced herself into the presence of henry himself;[327] and when she failed to produce an effect upon henry's obdurate scepticism, she turned to the hesitating ecclesiastics, and roused their flagging spirits. the archbishop bent under her denunciations, and at her earnest request introduced her to wolsey, then tottering on the edge of ruin.[328] he, too, in his confusion and perplexity, was frightened, and doubted. she made herself known to the papal ambassadors, and through them she took upon herself to threaten clement,[329] assuming, in virtue of her divine commission, an authority above all principalities and powers. if it were likely that she could have heard the story of the maid of orleans, it might be supposed that her imagination tempted her to play again a similar career on an english stage, and that she fancied herself the destined saviour of the church of christ, as the maid had been the saviour of france. it would indeed be a libel on the fair fame of joan of arc, if she were to be compared to a confessed impostor; but joan of arc might have been the reality which the nun attempted to counterfeit; and the history of the true heroine might have suggested easily to the imitator the outline of her part. a revolution had been effected in europe by a somnambulist peasant girl; another peasant girl, a somnambulist also, might have seen in the achievement which had been already accomplished, an earnest of what might be done by herself. while we call the nun, too, an impostor, we are bound to believe that she first imposed upon herself, and that her wildest adventures into falsehood were compatible with a belief that she was really and truly inspired. nothing short of such a conviction would have enabled her to play a part among kings and queens, and so many of the ablest statesmen of that most able age. nothing else could have tempted her, on the failure of her prophecies, into the desperate career of treason into which we are soon to see her launched. her proceedings were known partially, but partially only, to the king; and the king seems to have been the only person whose understanding was proof against her influence. to him she appeared nothing worse than an excited fanatic, and he allowed her to go her own way, as the best escapement of a frenzy. until parliament had declared it illegal to discuss the marriage question further, he interfered with no one, and therefore not with her. if her own word was to be taken, he even showed her much personal kindness, having offered to make her an abbess, which is difficult to believe, especially as she said that she had refused his offer. she stated also that at the time of lord wiltshire's mission to the emperor, the countess of wiltshire endeavoured to persuade her to accept a place at the court, as a companion to anne; which again is unsupported by other evidence, and sounds improbable.[330] but it is plain, that until she was found to be meditating treason, she experienced no treatment from the government of which she had cause to complain; and thus for the present we may leave her pursuing her machinations with the canterbury friars, and return to the parliament. the second session had been longer than the first; it had commenced on the 16th of january, and continued for ten weeks. on the 30th of march, which was to be its last day, sir thomas more came down to the house of commons, and there read aloud to the members the decision of the various universities on the papal power, and the judgment of european learning on the general question of the king's divorce. the country, he said, was much disturbed, and the king desired them each to report what they had heard in their several counties and towns, "in order that all men might perceive that he had not attempted this matter of his own will or pleasure, as some strangers reported, but only for the discharge of his conscience and surety of the succession of his realm."[331] this appears to have been the first time that the subject was mentioned before parliament, and the occasion was reasonably and sensibly chosen. the clergy having possession of the pulpits, had used their opportunity to spread a false impression where the ignorance of the people would allow them to venture the experiment; the king having resolved to fall back upon the support of his subjects, naturally desired the assistance of the country gentlemen and the nobles to counteract the efforts of disaffection, and provided them with accurate information in the simplest manner which he could have chosen. but the desire expressed by henry was no more than an unnecessary form, for as a body, the educated laity were as earnestly bent upon the divorce as the king himself could be, and might have been trusted to use all means by which to further it. the parliament was prorogued, but the lords, shortly after the separation, united with such of the commons as remained in london, to give a proof of their feeling by a voluntary address to the pope. the meaning of this movement was not to be mistaken. on one side, the nun of kent was threatening clement, speaking, perhaps, the feelings of the clergy and of all the women in england; on the other side, the parliament thought well to threaten him, speaking for the great body of english _men_, for all persons of substance and property, who desired above all things peace and order and a secured succession. the language of this remarkable document[332] was as follows:-"to the most holy lord our lord and father in christ, clement, by divine providence the seventh of that name, we desire perpetual happiness in our lord jesus christ. "most blessed father, albeit the cause concerning the marriage of the most invincible prince, our sovereign lord, the king of england and of france, defender of the faith, and lord of ireland, does for sundry great and weighty reasons require and demand the aid of your holiness, that it may be brought to that brief end and determination which we with so great and earnest desire have expected, and which we have been contented hitherto to expect, though so far vainly, at your holiness's hands; we have been unable, nevertheless, to keep longer silence herein, seeing that this kingdom and the affairs of it are brought into so high peril through the unseasonable delay of sentence. his majesty, who is our head, and by consequence the life of us all, and we through him as subject members by a just union annexed to the head, have with great earnestness entreated your holiness for judgment; we have however entreated in vain: we are by the greatness of our grief therefore forced separately and distinctly by these our letters most humbly to demand a speedy determination. there ought, indeed, to have been no need of this request on our part. the justice of the cause itself, approved to be just by the sentence of so many learned men, by the suffrage of the most famous universities in england, france, and italy, should have sufficed alone to have induced your holiness to confirm the sentence given by others; especially when the interests of a king and kingdom are at stake, which in so many ways have deserved well of the apostolic see. this we say ought to have been motive sufficient with you, without need of petition on our part; and if we had added our entreaties, it should have been but as men yielding to a causeless anxiety, and wasting words for which there was no occasion. since, however, neither the merit of the cause nor the recollection of the benefits which you have received, nor the assiduous and diligent supplications of our prince have availed anything with your holiness; since we cannot obtain from you what it is your duty as a father to grant; the load of our grief, increased as it is beyond measure by the remembrance of the past miseries and calamities which have befallen this nation, makes vocal every member of our commonwealth, and compels us by word and letter to utter our complaints. "for what a misfortune is this,--that a sentence which our own two universities, which the university of paris, and many other universities in france, which men of the highest learning and probity everywhere, at home and abroad, are ready to defend with word and pen, that such sentence, we say, cannot be obtained from the apostolic see by a prince to whom that see owes its present existence. amidst the attacks of so many and so powerful enemies, the king of england ever has stood by that see with sword and pen, with voice and with authority. yet he alone is to reap no benefit from his labours. he has saved the papacy from ruin, that others might enjoy the fruits of the life which he has preserved for it. we see not what answer can be made to this; and meanwhile we perceive a flood of miseries impending over the commonwealth, threatening to bring back upon us the ancient controversy on the succession, which had been extinguished only with so much blood and slaughter. we have now a king most eminent for his virtues, and reigning by unchallenged title, who will secure assured tranquillity to the realm if he leave a son born of his body to succeed him. the sole hope that such a son may be born to him lies in the being found for him some lawful marriage into which he may enter; and to such marriage the only obstacle lies with your holiness. it cannot be until you shall confirm the sentence of so many learned men on the character of his former connection. this if you will not do, if you who ought to be our father have determined to leave us as orphans, and to treat us as castaways, we shall interpret such conduct to mean only that we are left to care for ourselves, and to seek our remedy elsewhere. we do not desire to be driven to this extremity, and therefore we beseech your holiness without further delay to assist his majesty's just and reasonable desires. we entreat you to confirm the judgment of these learned men; and for the sake of that love and fatherly affection which your office requires you to show towards us, not to close your bowels of compassion against us, your most dutiful, most loving, most obedient children. the cause of his majesty is the cause of each of ourselves; the head cannot suffer, but the members must bear a part. we have all our common share in the pain and in the injury; and as the remedy is wholly in the power of your holiness, so does the duty of your fatherly office require you to administer it. if, however, your holiness will not do this, or if you choose longer to delay to do it, our condition hitherto will have been so much the more wretched, that we have so long laboured fruitlessly and in vain. but it will not be wholly irremediable; extreme remedies are ever harsh of application; but he that is sick will by any means be rid of his distemper; and there is hope in the exchange of miseries, when, if we cannot obtain what is good, we may obtain a lesser evil, and trust that time may enable us to endure it. "these things we beseech your holiness, in the name of our lord jesus christ, to consider with yourself. you profess that on earth you are his vicar. endeavour, then, to show yourself so to be, by pronouncing your sentence to the glory and praise of god, and giving your sanction to that truth which has been examined, approved, and after much deliberation confirmed by the most learned men of all nations. we meanwhile will pray the all-good god, whom we know by most sure testimony to be truth itself, that he will deign so to inform and direct the counsels of your holiness, that we obtaining by your authority what is holy, just, and true, may be spared from seeking it by other more painful methods." thus was the great crisis steadily maturing itself, and the cause by this petition was made to rest upon its proper merits. the justification of the demand for the divorce was the danger of civil war; and into civil war the nation had no intention of permitting themselves to be drifted by papal imbecility. whatever was the origin of henry's resolution, it was acted out with calmness, and justified by sober reason; and backed by the good sense of his lay subjects, he proceeded bravely, in spite of excommunication, interdict, and the nun of kent, towards the object which his country's interests, as well as his own, required. it would have been well if his private behaviour as a man had been as unobjectionable as his conduct as a sovereign. hitherto he had remained under the same roof with queen catherine, but with that indelicacy which was the singular blemish on his character, he had maintained her rival in the same household with the state of a princess,[333] and needlessly wounded feelings which he was bound to have spared to the utmost which his duty permitted. the circumstances of the case, if they were known to us, though they could never excuse such a proceeding, might perhaps partially palliate it. catherine was harsh and offensive, and it was by her own determination, and not by henry's desire, that she was unprovided with an establishment elsewhere. there lay, moreover, as i have said, behind the scenes a whole drama of contention and bitterness, which now is happily concealed from us; but which being concealed, leaves us without the clue to these painful doings. indelicate, however, the position given to anne boleyn could not but be; and, if it was indelicate in henry to grant such a position, what shall we say of the lady who consented, in the presence of her sovereign and mistress, to wear such ignominious splendour? but in these most offensive relations there was henceforth to be a change. in june, 1531, two months after the prorogation of parliament, a deputation of the privy council went to the apartments of catherine at greenwich, and laying before her the papers which had been read by sir thomas more to the two houses, demanded formally, whether, for the sake of the country, and for the quiet of the king's conscience, she would withdraw her appeal to rome, and submit to an arbitration in the kingdom. it was, probably, but an official request, proposed without expectation that she would yield. after rejecting a similar entreaty from the pope himself, she was not likely, inflexible as she had ever been, to yield when the pope had admitted her appeal, and the emperor, victorious through europe, had promised her support. she refused, of course, like herself, proudly, resolutely, gallantly, and not without the scorn which she was entitled to feel. the nation had no claims upon her, and "for the king's conscience," she answered, "i pray god send his grace good quiet therein, and tell him i say i am his lawful wife, and to him lawfully married; and in that point i will abide till the court of rome, which was privy to the beginning, hath made thereof a determination and a final ending."[334] the learned councillors retired with their answer. a more passive resistance would have been more dignified; but catherine was a queen, and a queen she chose to be; and in defence of her own high honour, and of her daughter's, by no act of hers would she abate one tittle of her dignity, or cease to assert her claim to it. her reply, however, appears to have been anticipated, and the request was only preparatory to ulterior measures. for the sake of public decency, and certainly in no unkind spirit towards herself, a retirement from the court was now to be forced upon her. at midsummer she accompanied the king to windsor; in the middle of july he left her there, and never saw her again. she was removed to the more, a house in hertfordshire, which had been originally built by george neville, archbishop of york, and had belonged to wolsey, who had maintained it with his usual splendour.[335] once more an attempt was made to persuade her to submit; but with no better result, and a formal establishment was then provided for her at ampthill, a large place belonging to henry not far from dunstable. there at least she was her own mistress, surrounded by her own friends, who were true to her as queen, and she attracted to her side from all parts of england those whom sympathy or policy attached to her cause. the court, though keeping a partial surveillance over her, did not dare to restrict her liberty; and as the measures against the church became more stringent, and a separation from the papacy more nearly imminent, she became the nucleus of a powerful political party. her injuries had deprived the king and the nation of a right to complain of her conduct. she owed nothing to england. her allegiance, politically, was to spain; spiritually she was the subject of the pope; and this dubious position gave her an advantage which she was not slow to perceive. rapidly every one rallied to her who adhered to the old faith, and to whom the measures of the government appeared a sacrilege. through herself, or through her secretaries and confessors, a correspondence was conducted which brought the courts of the continent into connection with the various disaffected parties in england, with the nun of kent and her friars, with the poles, the nevilles, the courtenays, and all the remaining faction of the white rose. and so first the great party of sedition began to shape itself, which for sixty years, except in the shortlived interlude of its triumph under catherine's daughter, held the nation on the edge of civil war. we shall see this faction slowly and steadily organising itself, starting from scattered and small beginnings, till at length it overspread all england and ireland and scotland, exploding from time to time in abortive insurrections, yet ever held in check by the tact and firmness of the government, and by the inherent loyalty of the english to the land of their birth. there was a proverb then current that "the treasons of england should never cease."[336] it was perhaps fortunate that the papal cause was the cause of a foreign power, and could only be defended by a betrayal of the independence of the country. in scotland and ireland the insurrectionists were more successful, being supported in either instance by the national feeling. but the strength of scotland had been broken at flodden; and ireland, though hating "the saxons" with her whole heart, was far off and divided. the true danger was at home; and when the extent and nature of it is fairly known and weighed, we shall understand better what is called the "tyranny" of henry viii. and of elizabeth; and rather admire the judgment than condemn the resolution which steered the country safe among those dangerous shoals. elizabeth's position is more familiar to us, and is more reasonably appreciated because the danger was more palpable. henry has been hardly judged because he trampled down the smouldering fire, and never allowed it to assume the form which would have justified him with the foolish and the unthinking. once and once only the flame blazed out; but it was checked on the instant, and therefore it has been slighted and forgotten. but with despatches before his eyes, in which charles v. was offering james of scotland the hand of the princess mary, with the title for himself of prince of england and duke of york[337]--with ireland, as we shall speedily see it, in flame from end to end, and dublin castle the one spot left within the island on which the banner of st. george still floated--with a corps of friars in hair shirts and chains, who are also soon to be introduced to us, and an inspired prophetess at their head preaching rebellion in the name of god--with his daughter, and his daughter's mother in league against him, some forty thousand clergy to be coerced into honest dealing, and the succession to the crown floating in uncertainty--finally, with excommunication hanging over himself, and at length falling, and his deposition pronounced, henry, we may be sure, had no easy time of it, and no common work to accomplish; and all these things ought to be present before our minds, as they were present before his mind, if we would see him as he was, and judge him as we would be judged ourselves. leaving disaffection to mature itself, we return to the struggle between the house of commons and the bishops, which recommenced in the following winter; first pausing to notice a clerical interlude of some illustrative importance which took place in the close of the summer. the clergy, as we saw, were relieved of their premunire on engaging to pay 118,000 pounds within five years. they were punished for their general offences; the formal offence for which they were condemned being one which could not fairly be considered an offence at all. when they came to discuss therefore the manner in which the money was to be levied, they naturally quarrelled among themselves as to where the burden of the fine should fairly rest, and a little scene has been preserved to us by hall, through which, with momentary distinctness, we can look in upon those poor men in their perplexity. the bishops had settled among themselves that each diocese should make its own arrangements; and some of these great persons intended to spare their own shoulders to the utmost decent extremity. with this object, stokesley, bishop of london, who was just then very busy burning heretics, and therefore in bad odour with the people, resolved to call a meeting of five or six of his clergy, on whom he could depend; and passing quietly with their assistance such resolutions as seemed convenient, to avoid in this way the more doubtful expedient of a large assembly. the necessary intimations were given, and the meeting was to be held on the 1st of september, in the chapter-house of st. paul's. the bishop arrived at the time appointed, but unhappily for his hopes, not only the chosen six, but with them six hundred of the clergy of middlesex, accompanied by a mob of the london citizens, all gathered in a crowd at the chapter-house door, and clamouring to be admitted. the bishop, trusting in the strength of the chains and bolts, and still hoping to manage the affair officially, sent out a list of persons who might be allowed to take part in the proceedings, and these with difficulty made their way to the entrance. a rush was made by the others as they were going in, and there was a scuffle, which ended for the moment in the victory of the officials: but the triumph was of brief duration; the excluded clergy were now encouraged by the people; they returned vigorously to the attack, broke down the doors, "struck the bishop's officers over the face," and the whole crowd, priests and laity, rushed together, storming and shouting, into the chapter-house. the scene may be easily imagined; dust flying, gowns torn, heads broken, well-fed faces in the hot september weather steaming with anger and exertion, and every voice in loudest outcry. at length the clamour was partially subdued, and the bishop, beautifully equal to the emergency, arose bland and persuasive. "my brethren," he said, "i marvel not a little why ye be so heady. ye know not what shall be said to you, therefore i pray you keep silence, and hear me patiently. my friends, ye all know that we be men, frail of condition and no angels; and by frailty and lack of wisdom we have misdemeaned ourselves towards the king our sovereign lord and his laws; so that all we of the clergy were in premunire, by reason whereof all our promotions, lands, goods, and chattels were to him forfeit, and our bodies ready to be imprisoned. yet his grace, moved with pity and compassion, demanded of us what we could say why he should not extend his laws upon us. "then the fathers of the clergy humbly besought his grace for mercy, to whom he answered he was ever inclined to mercy. then for all our great offences we had but little penance; for when he might, by the rigour of his laws, have taken all our livelihoods, he was contented with one hundred thousand pounds, to be paid in five years. and though this sum may be more than we may easily bear, yet, by the rigour of his law, we should have borne the whole burden; whereupon, my brethren, i charitably exhort you to bear your parts of your livelihood and salary towards payment of this sum granted."[338] the ingenuity of this address deserved all praise; but the beauty of the form was insufficient to disguise the inconclusiveness of the reasoning. it confessed an offence which the hearers knew to be none; the true provocation which had led to the penalty--the unjust extortion of the high church officials--was ignored. the crowd laughed and hooted. the clergy fiercely tightened their purse-strings, and the bishop was heard out with hardly restrained indignation. "my lord," it was shortly answered by one of them, "twenty nobles a year is but a bare living for a priest. victual and all else is now so dear that poverty enforceth us to say nay. besides that, my lord, we never meddled with the cardinal's faculties. let the bishops and abbots which have offended pay." loud clamour followed and shouts of applause. the bishop's officers gave the priests high words. the priests threw back the taunts as they came; and the london citizens, delighting in the scandalous quarrel, hounded on the opposition. from words they passed to blows; the bedell and vergers tried to keep order, but "were buffeted and stricken,"[339] and the meeting broke up in wild uproar and confusion. for this matter five of the lay crowd and fifteen london curates were sent to the tower by sir thomas more; but the undignified manoeuvre had failed, and the fruit of it was but fresh disgrace. united, the clergy might have defied the king and the parliament; but in the race of selfishness the bishops and high dignitaries had cared only for their own advantage. they had left the poorer members of their order with no interest in common with that of their superiors, beyond the shield which the courts consented to extend over moral delinquency; and in the hour of danger they found themselves left naked and alone to bear the storm as they were able. this incident, and it was perhaps but one of many, is not likely to have softened the disposition of the commons, or induced them to entertain more respectfully the bishops' own estimate of their privileges. the convocation and the parliament met simultaneously, on the 15th of january, and the conflict, which had been for two years in abeyance, recommenced. the initial measure was taken by convocation, and this body showed a spirit still unsubdued, and a resolution to fight in their own feebly tyrannical manner to the last. a gentleman in gloucestershire had lately died, by name tracy. in his last testament he had bequeathed his soul to god through the mercies of christ, declining the mediatorial offices of the saints; and leaving no money to be expended in masses.[340] such notorious heresy could not be passed over with impunity, and the first step of the assembled clergy[341] was to issue a commission to raise the body and burn it. their audacity displayed at once the power which they possessed, and the temper in which they were disposed to use it. the archbishop of canterbury seems to have been responsible for this monstrous order, which unfortunately was carried into execution before henry had time to interfere.[342] it was the last act of the kind, however, in which he was permitted to indulge, and the legislature made haste to take away such authority from hands so incompetent to use it. from their debates upon burning the dead tracy, convocation were proceeding to discuss the possibility of burning the living latimer,[343] when they were recalled to their senses by a summons to prepare some more reasonable answer than that which the bishops had made for them on their privilege of making laws. twenty more years of work were to be lived by latimer before they were to burn him, and their own delinquencies were for the present of a more pressing nature. the house of commons at the same time proceeded to frame necessary bills on the other points of their complaint. the first act upon the roll recalls the constitutions of clarendon and the famous quarrel between becket and the crown. when catholicism was a living belief, when ordained priests were held really and truly to possess those awful powers which the mystery of transubstantiation assigns to them, they were acknowledged by common consent to be an order apart from the rest of mankind, and being spiritual men, to be amenable only to spiritual jurisdiction. it was not intended that, if they committed crimes, they should escape the retributive consequences of those crimes: offenders against the law might (originally at least) be degraded, if the bishops thought good, and stripped of their commission be delivered thus to the secular arm. but the more appropriate punishment for such persons was of a more awful kind, proportioned to the magnitude of the fault; and was conveyed or held to be conveyed in the infliction of the spiritual death of excommunication. excommunication was, in real earnest, the death of the soul, at a time when communion with the church was the only means by which the soul could be made partaker of the divine life; and it was a noble thing to believe that there was something worse for a man than legal penalties on his person or on his mortal body; it was beautiful to recognise in an active living form, that the heaviest ill which could befall a man was to be cut off from god. but it is only for periods that humanity can endure the atmosphere of these high altitudes of morality. the early christians attempted a community of goods, but they were unequal to it for more than a generation. the discipline of catholicism was assisted by superstition,--it remained vigorous for many hundreds of years, but it languished at last; and although there was so great virtue in a living idea, that its forms preserved the reverence of mankind unabated, even when in their effect and working they had become as evil as they once were noble; yet reverence and endurance were at length exhausted, and these forms were to submit to alteration in conformity with the altered nature of the persons whom they affected. i have already alluded to the abuse of "benefit of clergy;"[344] we have arrived at the first of those many steps by which at length it was finally put away,--a step which did not, however, as yet approach the heart of the evil, but touched only its extreme outworks. the clergy had monopolised the learning of the middle ages, and few persons external to their body being able to read or write, their privileges became co-extensive, as i above stated, with these acquirements. the exemption from secular jurisdiction, which they obtained in virtue of their sacred character, had been used as a protection in villainy for every scoundrel who could write his name. under this plea, felons of the worst kind might claim, till this time, to be taken out of the hands of the law judges, and to be tried at the bishops' tribunals; and at these tribunals, such a monstrous solecism had catholicism become, the payment of money was ever welcomed as the ready expiation of crime. to prevent the escape of the bishop of rochester's cook, who was a "clerk," parliament had specially interfered, and sentenced him without trial, by attainder. they now passed a general act, remarkable alike in what it provided as in what, for the present, it omitted to provide.[345] the preamble related the nature of the evil which was to be remedied, and the historical position of it. it dwelt upon the assurances which had been given again and again by the ordinaries that their privileges should not be abused; but these promises had been broken as often as they had been made; so that "continually manifest thieves and murderers, indicted and found guilty of their misdeeds by good and substantial inquests, and afterwards, by the usages of the common lawes of the land, delivered to the ordinaries as clerks convict, were speedily and hastily delivered and set at large by the ministers of the said ordinaries for corruption and lucre; or else because the ordinaries enclaiming such offenders by the liberties of the church would in no wise take the charges in safe keeping of them, but did suffer them to make their purgation by such as nothing knew of their misdeeds, and by such fraud did annull and make void the good and provable trial which was used against such offenders by the king's law; to the pernicious example, increase, and courage of such offenders, if the king's highness by his authority royal put not speedy remedy thereto." to provide such necessary remedy, it was enacted that thenceforward no person under the degree of subdeacon, if guilty of felony, should be allowed to plead "his clergy" any more, but should be proceeded against by the ordinary law. so far it was possible to go--an enormous step if we think of what the evil had been; and in such matters to make a beginning was the true difficulty--it was the logical premise from which the conclusion could not choose but follow. yet such was the mystical sacredness which clung about the ordained clergy, that their patent profligacy had not yet destroyed it--a priest might still commit a murder, and the profane hand of the law might not reach to him. the measure, however, if imperfect, was excellent in its degree; and when this had been accomplished, the house proceeded next to deal with the arches court--the one enormous grievance of the time. the petition of the commons has already exhibited the condition of this institution; but the act by which the power of it was limited added more than one particular to what had been previously stated, and the first twenty lines of the statute which was now passed[346] may be recommended to the consideration of the modern censors of the reformation. the framer of the resolution was no bad friend to the bishops, if they had possessed the faculty of knowing who their true friends were, for the statement of complaint was limited, mild, and moderate. again, as with the "benefit of clergy," the real ground for surprise is that any fraction of a system so indefensible should have been permitted to continue. the courts were nothing else but the vicious sources of unjust revenue; and with the opportunity so fairly offered, it is strange indeed that they were not swept utterly away. but sweeping measures have never found favour in england. there has ever been in english legislation, even when most reforming, that temperate spirit of equity which has refused to visit the sins of centuries upon a single generation. the statute limited its accusations to the points which it was designed to correct, and touched these with a hand firmly gentle. "whereas great numbers of the king's subjects," says the preamble, "as well men, wives, servants, or others dwelling in divers dioceses of the realm of england and wales, heretofore have been at many times called by citations and other processes compulsory to appear in the arches, audience, and other high courts of the archbishops of this realm, far from and out of the dioceses where such persons are inhabitant and dwelling; and many times to answer to surmised and feigned causes and matters, which have been sued more for vexation and malice than from any just cause of suit; and when certificate hath been made by the sumners, apparitors, or any such light litterate persons, that the party against whom such citations have been awarded hath been cited or summoned; and thereupon the same party so certified to be cited or summoned hath not appeared according to the certificate, the same party therefore hath been excommunicated, or, at the least, suspended from all divine service; and thereupon, before that he or she could be absolved, hath been compelled, not only to pay the fees of the court whereunto he or she was so called, amounting to the sum of two shillings, or twenty pence at the least; but also to pay to the sumner, for every mile distant from the place where he or she then dwelled unto the same court whereunto he or she was summoned to appear, twopence; to the great charge and impoverishment of the king's subjects, and to the great occasion of misbehaviour of wives, women, and servants, and to the great impairment and diminution of their good names and honesties--be it enacted----" we ask what?--looking with impatience for some large measure to follow these solemn accusations; and we find parliament contenting itself with forbidding the bishops, under heavy penalties, to cite any man out of his own diocese, except for specified causes (heresy being one of them), and with limiting the fees which were to be taken by the officers of the courts.[347] it could hardly be said that in this parliament there was any bitter spirit against the church. this act showed only mild forbearance and complacent endurance of all tolerable evil. another serious matter was dealt with in the same moderate temper. the mortmain act had prohibited the church corporations from further absorbing the lands; but the mortmain act was evaded in detail, the clergy using their influence to induce persons on their deathbeds to leave estates to provide a priest for ever "to sing for their souls." the arrangement was convenient possibly for both parties, or if not for both, certainly for one; but to tie up lands for ever for a special service was not to the advantage of the country; and it was held unjust to allow a man a perpetual power over the disposition of property to atone for the iniquities of his life. but the privilege was not abolished altogether; it was submitted only to reasonable limitation. men might still burden their lands to find a priest for twenty years. after twenty years the lands were to relapse for the service of the living, and sinners were expected in equity to bear the consequence in their own persons of such offences as remained after that time unexpiated.[348] thus, in two sessions, the most flagrant of the abuses first complained of were in a fair way of being remedied. the exorbitant charges for mortuaries, probate duties, legacy duties, the illegal exactions for the sacraments, the worst injustices of the ecclesiastical courts, the non-residence, pluralities, neglect of cures, the secular occupations and extravagant privileges of the clergy, were either terminated or brought within bounds. there remained yet to be disposed of the legislative power of the convocation and the tyrannical prosecutions for heresy. the last of these was not yet ripe for settlement; the former was under reconsideration by the convocation itself, which at length was arriving at a truer conception of its position; and this question was not therefore to be dealt with by the legislature. one more important measure, however, was passed by parliament before it separated, and it is noticeable as the first step which was taken in the momentous direction of a breach with the see of rome. a practice had existed for some hundreds of years in all the churches of europe, that bishops and archbishops, on presentation to their sees, should transmit to the pope, on receiving their bulls of investment, one year's income from their new preferments. it was called the payment of annates, or firstfruits, and had originated in the time of the crusades, as a means of providing a fund for the holy wars. once established, it had settled into custom,[349] and was one of the chief resources of the papal revenue. from england alone, as much as 160,000 pounds had been paid out of the country in fifty years;[350] and the impost was alike oppressive to individuals and injurious to the state. men were appointed to bishopricks frequently at an advanced age, and dying, as they often did, within two or three years of their nomination, their elevation had sometimes involved their families and friends in debt and embarrassment;[351] while the annual export of so much bullion was a serious evil at a time when the precious metals formed the only currency, and were so difficult to obtain. before a quarrel with the court of rome had been thought of as a possible contingency, the king had laboured with the pope to terminate the system by some equitable composition; and subsequently cessation of payment had been mentioned more than once in connection with the threats of a separation. the pope had made light of these threats, believing them to be no more than words; there was an opportunity, therefore, of proving that the english government was really in earnest, in a manner which would touch him in a point where he was naturally sensitive, and would show him at the same time that he could not wholly count on the attachment even of the clergy themselves. for, in fact, the church itself was fast disintegrating, and the allegiance even of the bishops and the secular clergy to rome had begun to waver: they had a stronger faith in their own privileges than in the union of christendom; and if they could purchase the continuance of the former at the price of a quarrel with the pope, some among them were not disinclined to venture the alternative. the bishop of rochester held aloof from such tendencies, and warham, though he signed the address of the house of lords to the pope, regretted the weakness to which he had yielded: but in the other prelates there was little seriousness of conviction; and the constitution of the bench had been affected also by the preferment of gardiner and edward lee to two of the sees made vacant by the death of wolsey. both these men had been active agents in the prosecution of the divorce; and gardiner, followed at a distance by the other, had shaped out, as the pope grew more intractable, the famous notion that the english church could and should subsist as a separate communion, independent of foreign control, self governed, self organised, and at the same time adhering without variation to catholic doctrine. this principle (if we may so abuse the word) shot rapidly into popularity: a party formed about it strong in parliament, strong in convocation, strong out of doors among the country gentlemen and the higher clergy--a respectable, wealthy, powerful body, trading upon a solecism, but not the less, therefore, devoted to its maintenance, and in their artificial horror of being identified with heresy, the most relentless persecutors of the protestants. this party, unreal as they were, and influential perhaps in virtue of their unreality, became for the moment the arbiters of the church of england; and the bishops belonging to it, and each rising ecclesiastic who hoped to be a bishop, welcomed the resistance of the annates as an opportunity for a demonstration of their strength. on this question, with a fair show of justice, they could at once relieve themselves of a burden which pressed upon their purses, and as they supposed, gratify the king. the conservatives were still numerically the strongest, and for a time remained in their allegiance to the papacy,[352] but their convictions were too feeble to resist the influence brought to bear upon them, and when parliament re-assembled after the easter recess, the two houses of convocation presented an address to the crown for the abolition of the impost, and with it of all other exactions, direct and indirect,--the indulgences, dispensations, delegacies, and the thousand similar forms and processes by which the privileges of the church of england were abridged for the benefit of the church of rome, and weighty injury of purse inflicted both on the clergy and the laity.[353] that they contemplated a conclusive revolt from rome as a consequence of the refusal to pay annates, appears positively in the close of their address: "may it please your grace," they concluded, after detailing their occasions for complaint,--"may it please your grace to cause the said unjust exactions to cease, and to be foredone for ever by act of your high court of parliament; and in case the pope will make process against this realm for the attaining those annates, or else will retain bishops' bulls till the annates be paid; forasmuch as the exaction of the said annates is against the law of god and the pope's own laws, forbidding the buying or selling of spiritual gifts or promotions; and forasmuch as all good christian men be more bound to obey god than any man; and forasmuch as st. paul willeth us to withdraw from all such as walk inordinately; may it please your highness to ordain in this present parliament that the obedience of your highness and of the people be withdrawn from the see of rome."[354] it was perhaps cruel to compel the clergy to be the first to mention separation--or the language may have been furnished by the erastian party in the church, who hoped to gratify the king by it, and save the annates for themselves; but there was no intention, if the battle was really to be fought, of decorating the clergy with the spoils. the bill was passed, but passed conditionally, leaving power to the crown if the pope would consent to a compromise of settling the question by a composition. there was a papal party in the house of commons whose opposition had perhaps to be considered,[355] and the annates were left suspended before clement at once as a menace and a bribe. "forasmuch," concluded the statute, "as the king's highness and this his high court of parliament neither have nor do intend in this or any other like cause any manner of extremity or violence, before gentle courtesy and friendly ways and means be first approved and attempted, and without a very great urgent cause and occasion given to the contrary; but principally coveting to disburden this realm of the said great exactions and intolerable charges of annates and firstfruits: [the said court of parliament] have therefore thought convenient to commit the final order and determination of the premises unto the king's highness, so that if it may seem to his high wisdom and most prudent discretion meet to move the pope's holiness and the court of rome, amicably, charitably, and reasonably, to compound either to extinct the said annates, or by some friendly, loving, and tolerable composition to moderate the same in such way as may be by this his realm easily borne and sustained, then those ways of composition once taken shall stand in the strength, force, and effect of a law."[356] the business of the session was closing. it remained to receive the reply of convocation on the limitation of its powers. the convocation, presuming, perhaps, upon its concessions on the annates question, and untamed by the premunire, had framed their answer in the same spirit which had been previously exhibited by the bishops. they had re-asserted their claims as resting on divine authority, and had declined to acknowledge the right of any secular power to restrain or meddle with them.[357] the second answer, as may be supposed, fared no better than the first. it was returned with a peremptory demand for submission; and taught by experience the uselessness of further opposition, the clergy with a bad grace complied. the form was again drawn by the bishops, and it is amusing to trace the workings of their humbled spirit in their reluctant descent from their high estate. they still laboured to protect their dignity in the terms of their concession:-"as concerning such constitutions and ordinances provincial," they wrote, "as shall be made hereafter by your most humble subjects, we having our special trust and confidence in your most excellent wisdom, your princely goodness, and fervent zeal for the promotion of god's honour and christian religion, and specially in your incomparable learning far exceeding in our judgment the learning of all other kings and princes that we have read of; and not doubting but that the same should still continue and daily increase in your majesty; do offer and promise here unto the same, that from henceforth we shall forbear to enact, promulge, or put in execution any such constitutions and ordinances so by us to be made in time coming, unless your highness by your royal assent shall license us to make, promulge, and execute such constitutions, and the same so made be approved by your highness's authority. "and whereas your highness's most honourable commons do pretend that divers of the constitutions provincial, which have been heretofore enacted, be not only much prejudicial to your highness's prerogative royal, but be also overmuch onerous to your said commons, we, your most humble servants for the consideration before said, be contented to refer all the said constitutions to the judgment of your grace only. and whatsoever of the same shall finally be found prejudicial and overmuch onerous as is pretended, we offer and promise your highness to moderate or utterly to abrogate and annul the same, according to the judgment of your grace. saving to us always such liberties and immunities of this church of england as hath been granted unto the same by the goodness and benignity of your highness and of others your most noble progenitors; with such constitutions provincial as do stand with the laws of almighty god and of your realm heretofore made, which we most humbly beseech your grace to ratify and approve by your most royal assent for the better execution of the same in times to come."[358] the acknowledgment appeared to be complete, and might perhaps have been accepted without minute examination, except for the imprudent acuteness of the lower house of convocation. as it passed through their hands, they discovered--what had no doubt been intended as a loophole for future evasion--that the grounds which were alleged to excuse the submission were the virtues of the reigning king: and therefore, as they sagaciously argued, the submission must only remain in force for his life. they introduced a limitation to that effect. some further paltry dabbling was also attempted with the phraseology: and at length, impatient with such dishonest trifling, and weary of a discussion in which they had resolved to allow but one conclusion, the king and the legislature thought it well to interfere with a high hand, and cut short such unprofitable folly. the language of the bishops was converted into an act of parliament; a mixed commission was appointed to revise the canon law, and the clergy with a few brief strokes were reduced for ever into their fit position of subjects.[359] thus with a moderate hand this great revolution was effected, and, to outward appearance, with offence to none except the sufferers, whose misuse of power when they possessed it deprived them of all sympathy in their fall. but no change of so vast a kind can be other than a stone of stumbling to those many persons for whom the beaten ways of life alone are tolerable, and who, when these ways are broken, are bewildered and lost. religion, when men are under its influence at all, so absorbs their senses, and so pervades all their associations, that no faults in the ministers of it can divest their persons of reverence; and just and necessary as all these alterations were, many a pious and noble heart was wounded, many a man was asking himself in his perplexity where things would end, and still more sadly, where, if these quarrels deepened, would lie his own duty. now the nun of kent grew louder in her cassandra wailings. now the mendicant friars mounted the pulpits exclaiming sacrilege; bold men, who feared nothing that men could do to them, and who dared in the king's own presence, and in his own chapel, to denounce him by name.[360] the sacred associations of twelve centuries were tumbling into ruin; and hot and angry as men had been before the work began, the hearts of numbers sank in them when they "saw what was done;" and they fell away slowly to doubt, disaffection, distrust, and at last treason. the first outward symptom of importance pointing in this direction, was the resignation of the seals by sir thomas more.[361] more had not been an illiberal man; when he wrote the _utopia_, he seemed even to be in advance of his time. none could see the rogue's face under the cowl clearer than he, or the proud bad heart under the scarlet hat; and few men had ventured to speak their thoughts more boldly. but there was in more a want of confidence in human nature, a scorn of the follies of his fellow creatures which, as he became more earnestly religious, narrowed and hardened his convictions, and transformed the genial philosopher into the merciless bigot. "heresy" was naturally hateful to him; his mind was too clear and genuine to allow him to deceive himself with the delusions of anglicanism; and as he saw the inevitable tendency of the reformation to lead ultimately to a change of doctrine, he attached himself with increasing determination to the cause of the pope and of the old faith. as if with an instinctive prescience of what would follow from it, he had from the first been opposed to the divorce; and he had not concealed his feeling from the king at the time when the latter had pressed the seals on his unwilling acceptance. in consenting to become chancellor, he had yielded only to henry's entreaties; he had held his office for two years and a half--and it would have been well for his memory if he had been constant in his refusal--for in his ineffectual struggles against the stream, he had attempted to counterpoise the attack upon the church by destroying the unhappy protestants. at the close of the session, however, the acts of which we have just described, he felt that he must no longer countenance, by remaining in an office so near to the crown, measures which he so intensely disapproved and deplored; it was time for him to retire from a world not moving to his mind; and in the fair tranquillity of his family prepare himself for the evil days which he foresaw. in may, 1532, he petitioned for permission to resign, resting his request unobtrusively on failing health; and henry sadly consented to lose his services. parallel to more's retirement, and though less important, yet still noticeable, is a proceeding of old archbishop warham under the same trying circumstances. in the days of his prosperity, warham had never reached to greatness as a man. he had been a great ecclesiastic, successful, dignified, important, but without those highest qualities which command respect or interest. the iniquities of warham's spiritual courts were greater than those of any other in england. he had not made them what they were. they grew by their own proper corruption; and he was no more responsible for them than every man is responsible for the continuance of an evil by which he profits, and which he has power to remedy. we must look upon him as the leader of the bishops in their opposition to the reform; and he was the probable author of the famous answer to the commons' petition, which led to such momentous consequences.[362] these consequences he had lived partially to see. powerless to struggle against the stream, he had seen swept away one by one those gigantic privileges to which he had asserted for his order a claim divinely sanctioned; and he withdrew himself heartbroken, into his palace at lambeth, and there entered his solemn protest against all which had been done. too ill to write, and trembling on the edge of the grave, he dictated to his notaries from his bed these not unaffecting words:-"in the name of god, amen. we, william, by divine providence archbishop of canterbury, primate of all england, legate of the apostolic see, hereby publicly and expressly do protest for ourselves and for our holy metropolitan church of canterbury, that to any statute passed or hereafter to be passed in this present parliament, began the third of november, 1529, and continued until this present time; in so far as such statute or statutes be in derogation of the pope of rome or the apostolic see, or be to the hurt, prejudice, or limitation of the powers of the church, or shall tend to the subverting, enervating, derogating from, or diminishing the laws, customs, privileges, prerogatives, pre-eminence of liberties of our metropolitan church of canterbury; we neither will, nor intend, nor with clear conscience are able to consent to the same, but by these writings we do dissent from, refuse, and contradict them."[363] thus formally having delivered his soul, he laid himself down and died. chapter v marriage of henry and anne boleyn although in the question of the divorce the king had interfered despotically to control the judgment of the universities, he had made no attempt, as we have seen, to check the tongues of the clergy. nor if he had desired to check them, is it likely that at the present stage of proceedings he could have succeeded. no law had as yet been passed which made a crime of a difference of opinion on the pope's dispensing powers; and so long as no definitive sentence had been pronounced, every one had free liberty to think and speak as he pleased. so great, indeed, was the anxiety to disprove catherine's assertion that england was a _locus suspectus_, and therefore that the cause could not be equitably tried there, that even in the distribution of patronage there was an ostentatious display of impartiality. not only had sir thomas more been made chancellor, although emphatically on catherine's side; but cuthbert tunstal, who had been her counsel, was promoted to the see of durham. the nun of kent, if her word was to be believed, had been offered an abbey,[364] and that henry permitted language to pass unnoticed of the most uncontrolled violence, appears from a multitude of informations which were forwarded to the government from all parts of the country. but while imposing no restraint on the expression of opinion, the council were careful to keep themselves well informed of the opinions which were expressed, and an instrument was ready made to their hands, which placed them in easy possession of what they desired. among the many abominable practices which had been introduced by the ecclesiastical courts, not the least hateful was the system of espionage with which they had saturated english society; encouraging servants to be spies on their masters, children on their parents, neighbours on their neighbours, inviting every one who heard language spoken anywhere of doubtful allegiance to the church, to report the words to the nearest official, as an occasion of instant process. it is not without a feeling of satisfaction, that we find this detestable invention recoiling upon the heads of its authors. those who had so long suffered under it, found an opportunity in the turning tide, of revenging themselves on their oppressors; and the country was covered with a ready-made army of spies, who, with ears ever open, were on the watch for impatient or disaffected language in their clerical superiors, and furnished steady reports of such language to cromwell.[365] specimens of these informations will throw curious light on the feelings of a portion at least of the people. the english licence of speech, if not recognised to the same extent as it is at present, was certainly as fully practised. on the return of the abbot of whitby from the convocation at york in the summer of 1532, when the premunire money was voted, the following conversation was reported as having been overheard in the abbey. the prior of the convent asked the abbot what the news were. "what news," said the abbot, "evil news. the king is ruled by a common ---anne boleyn, who has made all the spiritualty to be beggared, and the temporalty also. further he told the prior of a sermon that he had heard in york, in which it was said, when a great wind rose in the west we should hear news. and he asked what that was; and he said a great man told him at york, and if he knew as much as three in england he would tell what the news were. and he said who were they? and he said the duke of norfolk, the earl of wiltshire, and the common ---anne boleyn."[366] the dates of these papers cannot always be determined; this which follows, probably, is something later, but it shows the general temper in which the clergy were disposed to meet the measures of the government. "robert legate, friar of furness, deposeth that the monks had a prophecy among them, that 'in england shall be slain the decorate rose in his mother's belly,' and this they interpret of his majesty, saying that his majesty shall die by the hands of priests; for the church is the mother, and the church shall slay his grace. the said robert maintaineth that he hath heard the monks often say this. also, it is said among them that the king's grace was not the right heir to the crown; for that his grace's father came in by no line, but by the sword. also, that no secular knave should be head of the church; also that the abbot did know of these treasons, and had made no report thereof."[367] nor was it only in the remote abbeys of the north that such dangerous language was ventured. the pulpit of st. paul's rang sunday after sunday with the polemics of the divorce; and if "the holy water of the court" made the higher clergy cringing and cowardly, the rank and file, even in london itself, showed a bold english front, and spoke out their thoughts with entire recklessness. among the preachers on catherine's side, father forest, famous afterward in catholic martyrologies, began to distinguish himself. forest was warden of a convent of observants at greenwich attached to the royal chapel, and having been catherine's confessor, remained, with the majority of the friars, faithful to her interests, and fearless in the assertion of them. from their connection with the palace, the intercourse of these monks with the royal household was considerable; their position gave them influence, and anne boleyn tried the power of her charms, if possible, to gain them over. she had succeeded with a few of the weaker brothers, but she was unable (and her inability speaks remarkably for henry's endurance of opposition through the early stages of the controversy) to protect those whose services she had won from the anger of their superiors. one monk in whom she was interested the warden imprisoned,[368] another there was an effort to expel,[369] because he was ready to preach on her side; and forest himself preached a violent sermon at paul's cross, attacking cromwell and indirectly the king.[370] he was sent for to the court, and the persecuted brothers expected their triumph; but he returned, as one of them wrote bitterly to cromwell, having been received with respect and favour, as if, after all, the enmity of a brave man found more honour at the court than the complacency of cowardice. father forest, says this letter, has been with the king. "he says he spake with the king for half an hour and more, and was well retained by his grace; and the king's grace did send him a great piece of beef from his own table; and also he met with my lord of norfolk, and he says he took him in his arms and bade him welcome."[371] forest, unfortunately for himself, misconstrued forbearance into fear, and went his way at last, through treason and perjury, to the stake. in the meantime the observants were left in possession of the royal chapel, the weak brother died in prison, and the king, when at greenwich, continued to attend service, submitting to listen, as long as submission was possible, to the admonitions which the friars used the opportunity to deliver to him. in these more courteous days we can form little conception of the licence which preachers in the sixteenth century allowed themselves, or the language which persons in high authority were often obliged to bear. latimer spoke as freely to henry viii. of neglected duties, as to the peasants in his wiltshire parish. st. ambrose did not rebuke the emperor theodosius more haughtily than john knox lectured queen mary and her ministers on the vanities of holyrood; and catholic priests, it seems, were not afraid to display even louder disrespect. on sunday, the first of may, 1532, the pulpit at greenwich was occupied by father peto, afterwards cardinal peto, famous through europe as a catholic incendiary; but at this time an undistinguished brother of the observants convent. his sermon had been upon the story of ahab and naboth, and his text had been, "where the dogs licked the blood of naboth, even there shall they lick thy blood, o king." henry, the court, and most likely anne boleyn herself, were present; the first of may being the great holy-day of the english year, and always observed at greenwich with peculiar splendour. the preacher had dilated at length upon the crimes and the fall of ahab, and had drawn the portrait in all its magnificent wickedness. he had described the scene in the court of heaven, and spoken of the lying prophets who had mocked the monarch's hopes before the fatal battle. at the end, he turned directly to henry, and assuming to himself the mission of micaiah, he closed his address in the following audacious words:--"and now, o king," he said, "hear what i say to thee. i am that micaiah whom thou wilt hate, because i must tell thee truly that this marriage is unlawful, and i know that i shall eat the bread of affliction and drink the waters of sorrow, yet because the lord hath put it in my mouth i must speak it. there are other preachers, yea too many, which preach and persuade thee otherwise, feeding they folly and frail affections upon hopes of their own worldly promotion; and by that means they betray thy soul, thy honour, and thy posterity; to obtain fat benefices, to become rich abbots and bishops, and i know not what. these i say are the four hundred prophets who, in the spirit of lying, seek to deceive thee. take heed lest thou, being seduced, find ahab's punishment, who had his blood licked up by the dogs." henry must have been compelled to listen to many such invectives. he left the chapel without noticing what had passed; and in the course of the week peto went down from greenwich to attend a provincial council at canterbury, and perhaps to communicate with the nun of kent. meantime a certain dr. kirwan was commissioned to preach on the other side of the question the following sunday. kirwan was one of those men of whom the preacher spoke prophetically, since by the present and similar services he made his way to the archbishopric of dublin and the bishopric of oxford, and accepting the erastian theory of a christian's duty, followed edward vi. into heresy, and mary into popery and persecution. he regarded himself as an official of the state religion; and his highest conception of evil in a christian was disobedience to the reigning authority. we may therefore conceive easily the burden of his sermon in the royal chapel. "he most sharply reprehended peto," calling him foul names, "dog, slanderer, base beggarly friar, rebel, and traitor," saying "that no subject should speak so audaciously to his prince:" he "commended" henry's intended marriage, "thereby to establish his seed in his seat for ever;" and having won, as he supposed, his facile victory, he proceeded with his peroration, addressing his absent antagonist. "i speak to thee, peto," he exclaimed, "to thee, peto, which makest thyself micaiah, that thou mayest speak evil of kings; but now art not to be found, being fled for fear and shame, as unable to answer my argument." in the royal chapel at greenwich there was more reality than decorum. a voice out of the rood-loft cut short the eloquent declamation. "good sir," it said, "you know father peto is gone to canterbury to a provincial council, and not fled for fear of you; for to-morrow he will return again. in the meantime i am here as another micaiah, and will lay down my life to prove those things true which he hath taught. and to this combat i challenge thee; thee kirwan, i say, who art one of the four hundred into whom the spirit of lying is entered, and thou seekest by adultery to establish the succession, betraying thy king for thy own vain glory into endless perdition." a scene of confusion followed, which was allayed at last by the king himself, who rose from his seat and commanded silence. it was thought that the limit of permissible licence had been transcended, and the following day peto and elstowe, the other speaker, were summoned before the council to receive a reprimand. lord essex told them they deserved to be sewn into a sack and thrown into the thames. "threaten such things to rich and dainty folk, which have their hope in this world," answered elstowe, gallantly, "we fear them not; with thanks to god we know the way to heaven to be as ready by water as by land."[372] men of such metal might be broken, but they could not be bent. the two offenders were hopelessly unrepentant and impracticable, and it was found necessary to banish them. they retired to antwerp, where we find them the following year busy procuring copies of the bishop of rochester's book against the king, which was broadly disseminated on the continent, and secretly transmitting them into england; in close correspondence also with fisher himself, with sir thomas more, and for the ill fortune of their friends, with the court at brussels, between which and the english catholics the intercourse was dangerously growing.[373] the greenwich friars, with their warden, went also a bad way. the death of the persecuted brother was attended with circumstances in a high degree suspicious.[374] henry ordered an enquiry, which did not terminate in any actual exposure; but a cloud hung over the convent, which refused to be dispelled; the warden was deposed, and soon after it was found necessary to dissolve the order. if the english monks had shared as a body the character of the greenwich observants, of the carthusians of london and richmond, and of some other establishments,--which may easily be numbered,--the resistance which they might have offered to the government, with the sympathy which it would have commanded, would have formed an obstacle to the reformation that no power could have overcome. it was time, however, for the dissolution of the monasteries, when the few among them, which on other grounds might have claimed a right to survive, were driven by their very virtues into treason. the majority perished of their proper worthlessness; the few remaining contrived to make their existence incompatible with the safety of the state. leaving for the present these disorders to mature themselves, i must now return to the weary chapter of european diplomacy, to trace the tortuous course of popes and princes, duping one another with false hopes; saying what they did not mean, and meaning what they did not say. it is a very slough of despond, through which we must plunge desperately as we may; and we can cheer ourselves in this dismal region only by the knowledge that, although we are now approaching the spot where the mire is deepest, the hard ground is immediately beyond. we shall, perhaps, be able most readily to comprehend the position of the various parties in europe, by placing them before us as they stood severally in the summer of 1532, and defining briefly the object which each was pursuing. henry only, among the great powers, laid his conduct open to the world, declaring truly what he desired, and seeking it by open means. he was determined to proceed with the divorce, and he was determined also to continue the reformation of the english church. if consistently with these two objects he could avoid a rupture with the pope, he was sincerely anxious to avoid it. he was ready to make great efforts, to risk great sacrifices, to do anything short of surrendering what he considered of vital moment, to remain upon good terms with the see of rome. if his efforts failed, and a quarrel was inevitable, he desired to secure himself by a close maintenance of the french alliance; and having induced francis to urge compliance upon the pope by a threat of separation if he refused, to prevail on him, in the event of the pope's continued obstinacy, to put his threat in execution, and unite with england in a common schism. all this is plain and straightforward--henry concealed nothing, and, in fact, had nothing to conceal. in his threats, his promises, and his entreaties, we feel entire certainty that he was speaking his real thoughts. the emperor's position, also, though not equally simple, is intelligible, and commands our respect. although if he had consented to sacrifice his aunt, he might have spared himself serious embarrassment; although both by the pope and by the consistory such a resolution would probably have been welcomed with passionate thankfulness; yet at all hazards charles was determined to make her his first object, even with the risk of convulsing europe. at the same time his position was encumbered with difficulty. the turks were pressing upon him in hungary and in the mediterranean; his relations with francis--fortunately for the prospects of the reformation--were those of inveterate hostility; while in germany he had been driven to make terms with the protestant princes; he had offended the pope by promising them a general council, in which the lutheran divines should be represented; and the pope, taught by recent experience, was made to fear that these symptoms of favour towards heresy, might convert themselves into open support. with francis the prevailing feeling was rivalry with the emperor, combined with an eager desire to recover his influence in italy, and to restore france to the position in europe which had been lost by the defeat of pavia, and the failure of lautrec at naples. this was his first object, to which every other was subsidiary. he was disinclined to a rupture with the pope; but the possibility of such a rupture had been long contemplated by french statesmen. it was a contingency which the pope feared:--which the hopes of henry pictured as more likely than it was--and francis, like his rivals in the european system, held the menace of it extended over the chair of st. peter, to coerce its unhappy occupant into compliance with his wishes. with respect to henry's divorce, his conduct to the university of paris, and his assurances repeated voluntarily on many occasions, show that he was sincerely desirous to forward it. he did not care for henry, or for england, or for the cause itself; he desired only to make the breach between henry and charles irreparable; to make it impossible for ever that "his two great rivals" should become friends together; and by inducing the pope to consent to the english demand, to detach the court of rome conclusively from the imperial interests. the two princes who disputed the supremacy of europe, were intriguing one against the other, each desiring to constitute himself the champion of the church; and to compel the church to accept his services, by the threat of passing over to her enemies. by a dexterous use of the cards which were in his hands, the king of france proposed to secure one of two alternatives. either he would form a league between himself, henry, and the pope, against the emperor, of which the divorce, and the consent to it, which he would extort from clement, should be the cement; or, if this failed him, he would avail himself of the vantage ground which was given to him by the english alliance to obtain such concessions for himself at the emperor's expense as the pope could be induced to make, and the emperor to tolerate. such, in so far as i can unravel the web of the diplomatic correspondence, appear to have been the open positions and the secret purposes of the great european powers. there remains the fourth figure upon the board, the pope himself, labouring with such means as were at his disposal to watch over the interests of the church, and to neutralise the destructive ambition of the princes, by playing upon their respective selfishnesses. on the central question, that of the divorce, his position was briefly this. both the emperor and henry pressed for a decision. if he decided for henry, he lost germany; if he decided for catherine, while henry was supported by francis, france and england threatened both to fall from him. it was therefore necessary for him to induce the emperor to consent to delay, while he worked upon the king of france; and, if france and england could once be separated, he trusted that henry would yield in despair. this most subtle and difficult policy reveals itself in the transactions open and secret of the ensuing years. it was followed with a dexterity as extraordinary as its unscrupulousness, and with all but perfect success. that it failed at all, in the ordinary sense of failure, was due to the accidental delay of a courier; and clement, while he succeeded in preserving the allegiance of france to the roman see, succeeded also--and this is no small thing to have accomplished--in weaving the most curious tissue of falsehood which will be met with even in the fertile pages of italian subtlety. with this general understanding of the relation between the great parties in the drama, let us look to their exact position in the summer of 1532. charles was engaged in repelling an invasion of the turks, with an anarchical germany in his rear, seething with fanatical anabaptists, and clamouring for a general council. henry and francis had been called upon to furnish a contingent against solyman, and had declined to act with the emperor. they had undertaken to concert their own measures between themselves, if it proved necessary for them to move; and in the meantime cardinal grammont and cardinal tournon were sent by francis to rome, to inform clement that unless he gave a verdict in henry's favour, the kings of france and england, being _une mesme chose_, would pursue some policy with respect to him,[375] to which he would regret that he had compelled them to have recourse. so far their instructions were avowed and open. a private message revealed the secret means by which the pope might escape from his dilemma; the cardinals were to negotiate a marriage between the duke of orleans and the pope's niece (afterwards so infamously famous), catherine de medicis. the marriage, as francis represented it to henry, was beneath the dignity of a prince of france, he had consented to it, as he professed, only for henry's sake;[376] but the pope had made it palatable by a secret article in the engagement, for the grant of the duchy of milan as the lady's dowry. henry, threatened as we have seen with domestic disturbance, and with further danger on the side of scotland, which charles had succeeded in agitating, concluded, on the 23rd of june, a league, offensive and defensive, with francis, the latter engaging to send a fleet into the channel, and to land 15,000 troops in england if the emperor should attempt an invasion from the sea.[378] for the better consolidation of this league, and to consult upon the measures which they would pursue on the great questions at issue in christendom, and lastly to come to a final understanding on the divorce, it was agreed further that in the autumn the two kings should meet at calais. the conditions of the interview were still unarranged on the 22nd of july, when the bishop of paris, who remained ambassador at the english court, wrote to montmorency to suggest that anne boleyn should be invited to accompany the king of england on this occasion, and that she should be received in state. the letter was dated from ampthill, to which henry had escaped for a while from his greenwich friars and other troubles, and where the king was staying a few weeks before the house was given up to queen catherine. anne boleyn was with him; she now, as a matter of course, attended him everywhere. intending her, as he did, to be the mother of the future heir to his crown, he preserved what is technically called her honour unimpeached and unimpaired. in all other respects she occupied the position and received the homage due to the actual wife of the english sovereign; and in this capacity it was the desire of henry that she should be acknowledged by a foreign prince. the bishop's letter on this occasion is singularly interesting and descriptive. the court were out hunting, he said, every day; and while the king was pursuing the heat of the chase, he and mademoiselle anne were posted together, each with a crossbow, at the point to which the deer was to be driven. the young lady, in order that the appearance of her reverend cavalier might correspond with his occupation, had made him a present of a hunting cap and frock, a horn and a greyhound. her invitation to calais he pressed with great earnestness, and suggested that marguerite de valois, the queen of navarre, should be brought down to entertain her. the queen of france being a spaniard, would not, he thought, be welcome: "the sight of a spanish dress being as hateful in the king of england's eyes as the devil himself." in other respects the reception should be as magnificent as possible, "and i beseech you," he concluded, "keep out of the court, _deux sortes de gens_, the imperialists, and the wits and mockers; the english can endure neither of them."[379] through the tone of this language the contempt is easily visible with which the affair was regarded in the french court. but for francis to receive in public the rival of queen catherine, to admit her into his family, and to bring his sister from paris to entertain her, was to declare in the face of europe, in a manner which would leave no doubt of his sincerity, that he intended to countenance henry. with this view only was the reception of anne desired by the king of england; with this view it was recommended by the bishop, and assented to by the french court. nor was this the only proof which francis was prepared to give, that he was in earnest. he had promised to distribute forty thousand crowns at rome, in bribing cardinals to give their voices for henry in the consistory, with other possible benefactions.[380] he had further volunteered his good offices with the court of scotland, where matters were growing serious, and where his influence could be used to great advantage. the ability of james the fifth to injure henry happily fell short of his inclination, but encouraged by secret promises from clement and from the emperor, he was waiting his opportunity to cross the border with an army; and in the meantime he was feeding with efficient support a rebellion in ireland. of what was occurring at this time in that perennially miserable country i shall speak in a separate chapter. it is here sufficient to mention, that on the 23rd of august, henry received information that mcconnell of the isles, after receiving knighthood from james, had been despatched into ulster with four thousand men,[381] and was followed by mackane with seven thousand more on the 3rd of september.[382] peace with england nominally continued; but the kers, the humes, the scotts of buccleugh, the advanced guard of the marches, were nightly making forays across the border, and open hostilities appeared to be on the point of explosion.[383] if war was to follow, henry was prepared for it. he had a powerful force at berwick, and in scotland itself a large party were secretly attached to the english interests. the clan of douglas, with their adherents, were even prepared for open revolt, and open transfer of allegiance.[384] but, although scottish nobles might be gained over, and scottish armies might be defeated in the field, scotland itself, as the experience of centuries had proved, could never be conquered. the policy of the tudors had been to abstain from aggression, till time should have soothed down the inherited animosity between the two countries; and henry was unwilling to be forced into extremities which might revive the bitter memories of flodden. the northern counties also, in spite of their border prejudices, were the stronghold of the papal party, and it was doubtful how far their allegiance could be counted upon in the event of an invasion sanctioned by the pope. the hands of the english government were already full without superadded embarrassment, and the offered mediation of francis was gratefully welcomed. these were the circumstances under which the second great interview was to take place between francis the first and henry of england.[385] twelve years had passed since their last meeting, and the experience which those years had brought to both of them, had probably subdued their inclination for splendid pageantry. nevertheless, in honour of the occasion, some faint revival was attempted of the magnificence of the field of the cloth of gold. anne boleyn was invited duly; and the queen of navarre, as the bishop of paris recommended, came down to boulogne to receive her. the french princes came also to thank henry in person for their deliverance out of their spanish prison; and he too, on his side, brought with him his young marcellus, the duke of richmond, his only son--illegitimate unfortunately--but whose beauty and noble promise were at once his father's misery and pride; giving point to his bitterness at the loss of his sons by catherine; quickening his hopes of what might be, and deepening his discontent with that which was. if this boy had lived, he would have been named to follow edward the sixth in the succession, and would have been king of england;[386] but he too passed away in the flower of his loveliness, one more evidence of the blight which rested upon the stem of the tudors. the english court was entertained by francis at boulogne. the french court was received in return at calais by the english. the outward description of the scene, the magnificent train of the princes, the tournaments, the feasts, the dances, will be found minutely given in the pages of hall, and need not be repeated here. to hall indeed, the outward life of men, their exploits in war, and their pageantries in peace, alone had meaning or interest; and the backstairs secrets of vatican diplomacy, the questionings of opinion, and all the brood of mental sicknesses then beginning to distract the world, were but impertinent interferences with the true business of existence. but the healthy objectiveness of an old english chronicler is no longer possible for us; we may envy where we cannot imitate; and our business is with such features of the story as are of moment to ourselves. the political questions which were to be debated at the conference, were three; the turkish invasion, the general council, and king henry's divorce. on the first, it was decided that there was no immediate occasion for france and england to move. solyman's retreat from vienna had relieved europe from present peril; and the enormous losses which he had suffered, might prevent him from repeating the experiment. if the danger became again imminent, however, the two kings agreed to take the field in person the following year at the head of eighty thousand men. on the second point they came to no conclusion, but resolved only to act in common. on the third and most important, they parted with a belief that they understood each other; but their memories, or the memory of one of them, proved subsequently treacherous; and we can only extract what passed between them out of their mutual recriminations. it was determined certainly that at the earliest convenient moment, a meeting should take place between the pope and francis; and that at this meeting francis should urge in person concession to henry's demands. if the pope professed himself unable to risk the displeasure of the emperor, it should be suggested that he might return to avignon, where he would be secure under the protection of france and england. if he was still reluctant, and persisted in asserting his right to compel henry to plead before him at rome, or if he followed up his citations by inhibitions, suspensions, excommunications, or other form of censure, francis declared that he would support henry to the last, whether against the pope himself or against any prince or potentate who might attempt to enforce the sentence. on this point the promises of the king of france were most profuse and decided; and although it was not expressly stated in words, henry seems to have persuaded himself that, if the pope pressed matters to extremities, francis had engaged further that the two countries should pursue a common course, and unite in a common schism. the two princes did in fact agree, that if the general council which they desired was refused, they would summon provincial councils on their own authority. each of them perhaps interpreted their engagements by their own wishes or interests.[387] we may further believe, since it was affirmed by henry, and not denied by francis, that the latter advised henry to bring the dispute to a close, by a measure from which he could not recede; that he recommended him to act on the general opinion of europe that his marriage with queen catherine was null, and at once upon his return to england to make anne boleyn his wife.[388] so far the account is clear. this advice was certainly given, and as certainly francis undertook to support henry through all the consequences in which the marriage might involve him. but a league for mutual defence fell short of what henry desired, and fell short also of what francis, by the warmth of his manner, had induced henry for the moment to believe that he meant. it is probable that the latter pressed upon him engagements which he avoided by taking refuge in general professions; and no sooner had henry returned to england, than either misgivings occurred to him as to the substantial results of the interview, or he was anxious to make the french king commit himself more definitely. he sent to him to beg that he would either write out, or dictate and sign, the expressions which he had used; professing to wish it only for the comfort which he would derive from the continual presence of such refreshing words--but surely for some deeper reason.[389] francis had perhaps said more than he meant; henry supposed him to have meant more than he said. yet some promise was made, which was not afterwards observed; and francis acknowledged some engagement in an apology which he offered for the breach of it. he asserted, in defence of himself, that he had added a stipulation which henry passed over in silence,--that no steps should be taken towards annulling the marriage with catherine in the english law courts until the effect had been seen of his interview with the pope, provided the pope on his side remained similarly inactive.[390] whatever it was which he had bound himself to do, this condition, if made at all, could be reconciled only with his advice that henry should marry anne boleyn without further delay, on the supposition that the interview in question was to take place immediately; for the natural consequences of the second marriage would involve, as a matter of course, some speedy legal declaration with respect to the first. and when on various pretexts the pope postponed the meeting, and on the other part of his suggestion henry had acted within a few months of his return from calais, it became impossible that such a condition could be observed. it availed for a formal excuse; but francis vainly endeavoured to disguise his own infirmity of purpose behind the language of a negotiation which conveyed, when it was used, a meaning widely different. the conference was concluded on the 1st of november, but the court was detained at calais for a further fortnight by violent gales in the channel. in the excited state of public feeling, events in themselves ordinary assumed a preternatural significance. the friends of queen catherine, to whom the meeting between the kings was of so disastrous augury, and the nation generally, which an accident to henry at such a time would have plunged into a chaos of confusion, alike watched the storm with anxious agitation; on the king's return to london, te deums were offered in the churches, as if for his deliverance from some extreme and imminent peril. the nun of kent on this great occasion was admitted to conferences with angels. she denounced the meeting, under celestial instruction, as a conspiracy against heaven. the king, she said, but for her interposition, would have proceeded, while at calais, to his impious marriage;[391] and god was so angry with him, that he was not permitted to profane with his unholy eyes the blessed sacrament. "it was written in her revelations," says the statute of her attainder, "that when the king's grace was at calais, and his majesty and the french king were hearing mass in the church of our lady, that god was so displeased with the king's highness, that his grace saw not at that time the blessed sacrament in the form of bread, for it was taken away from the priest, being at mass, by an angel, and was ministered to the said elizabeth, there being present and invisible, and suddenly conveyed and rapt thence again into the nunnery where she was professed."[392] she had an interview with henry on his return through canterbury, to try the effect of her cassandra presence on his fears;[393] but if he still delayed his marriage, it was probably neither because he was frightened by her denunciations, nor from alarm at the usual occurrence of an equinoctial storm. many motives combined to dissuade him from further hesitation. six years of trifling must have convinced him that by decisive action alone he could force the pope to a conclusion. he was growing old, and the exigencies of the succession, rendered doubly pressing by the long agitation, required immediate resolution. he was himself satisfied that he was at liberty to marry whom he pleased and when he pleased, his relationship to catherine, according to his recent convictions, being such as had rendered his connection with her from the beginning invalid and void. his own inclinations and the interests of the nation pointed to the same course. the king of france had advised it. even the pope himself, at the outset of the discussion, had advised it also. "marry freely," the pope had said; "fear nothing, and all shall be arranged as you desire." he had forborne to take the pope at his word; he had hoped that the justice of his demands might open a less violent way to him; and he had shrunk from a step which might throw even a causeless shadow over the legitimacy of the offspring for which he longed. the case was now changed; no other alternative seemed to be open to his choice, and it was necessary to bring the matter to a close once and for all. but henry, as he said himself, was past the age when passion or appetite would be likely to move him, and having waited so many years, he could afford to wait a little longer, till the effects of the calais conferences upon the pope should have had time to show themselves. in december, clement was to meet the emperor at bologna. in the month following, it might be hoped that he would meet francis at marseilles or avignon, and from their interview would be seen conclusively the future attitude of the papal and imperial courts. experience of the past forbade anything like sanguine expectation; yet it was not impossible that the pope might be compelled at last to yield the required concessions. the terms of henry's understanding with francis were not perhaps made public, but he was allowed to dictate the language which the french cardinals were to make use of in the consistory;[394] and the reception of anne boleyn by the french king was equivalent to the most emphatic declaration that if the censures of the church were attempted in defence of catherine, the enforcement of them would be resisted by the combined arms of france and england. and the pope did in fact feel himself in a dilemma from which all his address was required to extricate him. he had no support from his conscience, for he knew that he was acting unjustly in refusing the divorce; while to risk the emperor's anger, which was the only honest course before him, was perhaps for that very reason impossible. he fell back upon his italian cunning, and it did not fail him in his need. but his conduct, though creditable to his ingenuity, reflects less pleasantly on his character; and when it is traced through all its windings, few reasonable persons will think that they have need to blush at the causes which led to the last breach between england and the papacy. from the time of catherine's appeal and the retirement of campeggio, clement, with rare exceptions, had maintained an attitude of impassive reserve. he had allowed judgment to be delayed on various pretexts, because until that time delay had answered his purposes sufficiently. but to the english agents he had been studiously cold, not condescending even to hold out hopes to them that concession might be possible. some little time before the meeting at calais, however, a change was observed in the language both of the pope himself and of the consistory. the cardinals were visibly afraid of the position which had been taken by the french king; questions supposed to be closed were once more admitted to debate in a manner which seemed to show that their resolution was wavering; and one day, at the close of a long argument, the following curious conversation took place between some person (sir gregory cassalis, apparently), who reported it to henry, and clement himself. "i had desired a private interview with his holiness," says the writer, "intending to use all my endeavours to persuade him to satisfy your majesty. but although i did my best, i could obtain nothing from him; he had an answer for everything which i advanced, and it was in vain that i laboured to remove his difficulties. at length, however, in reply to something which i had proposed, he said shortly,--multo minus scandalosum fuisset dispensare cum majestate vestrâ super duabus uxoribus, quam ea cedere quæ ego petebam, _it would have created less scandal to have granted your majesty a dispensation to have two wives than to concede what i was then demanding_. as i did not know how far this alternative would be pleasing to your majesty, i endeavoured to divert him from it, and to lead him back to what i had been previously saying. he was silent for a while, and then, paying no regard to my interruption, he continued to speak of the 'two wives,' admitting however that there were difficulties in the way of such an arrangement, principally it seemed because the emperor would refuse his consent from the possible injury which it might create to his cousin's prospects of the succession. i replied, that as to the succession, i could not see what right the emperor had to a voice upon the matter. if some lawful means could be discovered by which your majesty could furnish yourself with male offspring, the emperor could no more justly complain than if the queen were to die and the prospects of the princess were interfered with by a second marriage of an ordinary kind. to this the pope made no answer. i cannot tell what your majesty will think, nor how far this suggestion of the pope would be pleasing to your majesty. nor indeed can i feel sure, in consequence of what he said about the emperor, that he actually would grant the dispensation of which he spoke. i have thought it right, however, to inform you of what passed."[395] this letter is undated, but it was written, as appears from internal evidence, some time in the year 1532.[396] the pope's language was ambiguous, and the writer did not allow himself to derive from it any favourable augury; but the tone in which the suggestions had been made was by many degrees more favourable than had been heard for a very long time in the quarter from which they came, and the symptoms which it promised of a change of feeling were more than confirmed in the following winter. charles was to be at bologna in the middle of december, where he was to discuss with clement the situation of europe, and in particular of germany, with the desirableness of fulfilling the engagements into which he had entered for a general council. this was the avowed object of the meeting. but, however important the question of holding a council was becoming, it was not immediately pressing; and we cannot doubt that the disquiet occasioned by the alliance of england and france was the cause that the conference was held at so inconvenient a season. the pope left rome on the 18th of november, having in his train a person who afterwards earned for himself a dark name in english history, dr. bonner, then a famous canon lawyer attached to the embassy. the journey in the wild weather was extremely miserable; and bonner, whose style was as graphic as it was coarse, sent home a humorous account of it to cromwell.[397] three wretched weeks the party were upon the road, plunging through mire and water. they reached bologna on the 8th of december, where, four days after them, arrived charles v. it is important, as we shall presently see, to observe the dates of these movements. i shall have to compare with them the successive issues of several curious documents. on the 12th of december the pope and the emperor met at bologna; on the 24th dr. bennet, henry's able secretary, who had been despatched from england to be present at the conference, wrote to report the result of his observations. he had been admitted to repeated interviews with the pope, as well before as after the emperor's arrival; and the language which the former made use of could only be understood, and was of course intended to be understood, as expressing the attitude in which he was placing himself towards the imperial faction. bennet's letter was as follows:-"i have been sundry and many times with the pope, as well afore the coming of the emperour as sythen, yet i have not at any time found his holiness more tractable or propense to show gratuity unto your highness than now of late,--insomuch that he hath more freely opened his mind than he was accustomed, and said also that he would speak with me frankly without any observance or respect at all. at which time, i greatly lamented (your highness's cause being so just) no means could be found and taken to satisfy your highness therein; and i said also that i doubted not but that (if his holiness would) ways might be found by his wisdom, now at the emperour's being with him, to satisfy your highness; and that done, his holiness should not only have your highness in as much or more friendship than he hath had heretofore, but also procure thereby that thing which his holiness hath chiefly desired, which is, as he hath said, a universal concord among the princes of christendom. his holiness answered, that he would it had cost him a joint of his hand that such a way might be excogitate; and he said also, that the best thing which he could see to be done therein at this present, for a preparation to that purpose, was the thing which is contained in the first part of the cipher.[398] speaking of the justness of your cause, he called to his remembrance the thing which he told me two years past; which was, that the opinion of the lawyers was more certain, favourable, and helping to your cause than the opinion of the divines; for he said that as far as he could perceive, the lawyers, though they held quod papa possit dispensare in this case, yet they commonly do agree quod hoc fieri debeat ex maximâ causâ, adhibitâ causæ cognitione, which in this case doth not appear; and he said, that to come to the truth herein he had used all diligence possible, and enquired the opinion of learned men, being of fame and indifferency both in the court here and in other places. and his holiness promised me that he would herein use all good policy and dexterity to imprint the same in the emperour's head; which done, he reckoneth many things to be invented that may be pleasant and profitable to your highness; adding yet that this is not to be done with a fury, but with leisure and as occasion shall serve, lest if he should otherwise do, he should let and hinder that good effect which peradventure might ensue thereby."[399] this letter has all the character of truth about it. the secretary had no interest in deceiving henry, and it is quite certain that, whether honestly or not, the pope had led him to believe that his sympathies were again on the english side, and that he was using his best endeavours to subdue the emperor's opposition. on the 26th of december, two days later, sir gregory cassalis, who had also followed the papal court to bologna, wrote to the same effect. he, too, had been with the pope, who had been very open and confidential with him. the emperor, the pope said, had complained of the delay in the process, but he had assured him that it was impossible for the consistory to do more than it had done. the opinion of the theologians was on the whole against the papal power of dispensation in cases of so close relationship; of the canon lawyers part agreed with the theologians, and those who differed from them were satisfied that such a power might not be exercised unless there were most urgent cause, unless, that is, the safety of a kingdom were dependent upon it. such occasion he had declared that he could not find to have existed for the dispensation granted by his predecessor. the emperor had replied that there had been such occasion: the dispensation had been granted to prevent war between spain and england; and that otherwise great calamities would have befallen both countries. but this was manifestly untrue; and his holiness said that he had answered, it was a pity, then, that these causes had not been submitted at the time, as the reason for the demand, which it was clear that they had not been: as the case stood, it was impossible for him to proceed further. upon which he added, "se vidisse cæsarem obstupefactum." "i write the words," continued sir gregory, "exactly as the pope related them to me. whether he really spoke in this way, i cannot tell; of this, however, i am sure, that on the day of our conversation he had taken the blessed sacrament. he assured me further, that he had laboured to induce the emperor to permit him to satisfy your majesty. i recommended him that when next the emperor spoke with him upon the subject, he should enter at greater length on the question of _justice_, and that some other person should be present at the conference, that there might be no room left for suspicion."[400] the manner of clement was so unlike what cassalis had been in the habit of witnessing in him, that he was unable, as we see, wholly to persuade himself that the change was sincere: the letter, however, was despatched to england, and was followed in a few days by bonner, who brought with him the result of the pope's good will in the form of definite propositions--instructions of similar purport having been forwarded at the same time to the papal nuncio in england. the pope, so henry was informed, was now really well disposed to do what was required; he had urged upon the emperor the necessity of concessions, and the cause might be settled in one of two ways, to either of which he was himself ready to consent. catherine had appealed against judgment being passed in england, as a place which was not indifferent. henry had refused to allow his cause to be heard anywhere but in his own realm; pleading first his privilege as a sovereign prince; and secondly, his exemption as an englishman.[401] the pope, with appearance of openness, now suggested that henry should either "send a mandate requiring the remission of his cause to an indifferent place, in which case he would himself surrender his claim to have it tried in the courts at rome, and would appoint a legate and two auditors to hear the trial elsewhere;" or else, a truce of three or four years being concluded between england, france, and spain, the pope would "with all celerity indict a general council, to which he would absolutely and wholly remit the consideration of the question."[402] both proposals carried on their front a show of fair dealing, and if honestly proffered, were an evidence that something more might at length be hoped than words. but the true obstacle to a settlement lay, as had been long evident, rather in the want of an honest will, than in legal difficulties or uncertainty as to the justice of the cause; and while neither of the alternatives as they stood were admissible or immediately desirable, there were many other roads, if the point of honesty were once made good, which would lead more readily to the desired end. once for all henry could not consent to plead out of england; while an appeal to a council would occupy more time than the condition of the country could conveniently allow. but the offer had been courteously made; it had been accompanied with language which might be sincere; and the king replied with grace, and almost with cordiality; not wholly giving clement his confidence, but expressing a hope that he might soon be no longer justified in withholding it. he was unable, he said, to accept the first condition, because it was contrary to his coronation oath; "it so highly touched the prerogative royal of the realm, that though he were minded to do it, yet must he abstain without the assent of the court of parliament, which he thought verily would never condescend to it."[403] the other suggestion he did not absolutely reject, but the gathering of a council was too serious a matter to be precipitated, and the situation of christendom presented many obstacles to a measure which would be useless unless it were carried through by all the great powers in a spirit of cordial unanimity. he trusted therefore that if the pope's intentions were really such as he pretended to entertain, he would find some method more convenient of proving his sincerity. it was happy for henry that experience had taught him to be distrustful. events proved too clearly that clement's assumed alteration of tone was no more than a manoeuvre designed to entice him to withdraw from the position in which he had entrenched himself, and to induce him to acknowledge that he was amenable to an earthly authority exterior to his own realm.[404] in his offer to refer the cause to a general council, he proved that he was insincere, when in the following year he refused to allow a council to be a valid tribunal for the trial of it. the course which he would have followed if the second alternative had been accepted, may be conjectured from the measures which, as i shall presently show, he was at this very moment secretly pursuing. henry, however, had happily resolved that he would be trifled with no further; he felt instinctively that only action would cut the net in which he was entangled; and he would not hesitate any longer to take a step which, in one way or another, must bring the weary question to a close. if the pope meant well, he would welcome a resolution which made further procrastination impossible; if he did not mean well, he could not be permitted to dally further with the interests of the english nation. within a few days, therefore, of bonner's return from bologna, he took the final step from which there was no retreat, and "somewhere about st. paul's day,"[405] anne boleyn received the prize for which she had thirsted seven long years, in the hand of the king of england. the ceremony was private. no authentic details are known either of the scene of it or the circumstances under which it took place; but it is said to have been performed by the able rowland lee, bishop of lichfield, summoned up for the purpose from the welsh marches, of which he was warden. it was done, however--in one way or other finally done--the cast was thrown, and a match was laid to the train which now at length could explode the spell of intrigue, and set henry and england free. we have arrived at a point from which the issue of the labyrinth is clearly visible. the course of it has been very dreary; and brought in contact as we have been with so much which is painful, so much which is discreditable to all parties concerned, we may perhaps have lost our sense of the broad bearings of the question in indiscriminate disgust. it will be well, therefore, to pause for a moment to recapitulate those features of the story which are the main indications of its character, and may serve to guide our judgment in the censure which we shall pass. it may be admitted, or it ought to be admitted, that if henry viii. had been contented to rest his demand for a divorce merely on the interests of the kingdom, if he had forborne, while his request was pending, to affront the princess who had for many years been his companion and his queen; if he had shown her that respect which her high character gave her a right to demand, and which her situation as a stranger ought to have made it impossible to him to refuse; his conduct would have been liable to no imputation, and our sympathies would without reserve have been on his side. he could not have been expected to love a person to whom he had been married as a boy for political convenience, merely because she was his wife; especially when she was many years his senior in age, disagreeable in her person, and by the consciousness of it embittered in her temper. his kingdom demanded the security of a stable succession; his conscience, it may not be doubted, was seriously agitated by the loss of his children; and looking upon it as the sentence of heaven upon a connection, the legality of which had from the first been violently disputed, he believed that he had been living in incest, and that his misfortunes were the consequence of it. under these circumstances he had a full right to apply for a divorce.[406] the causa urgentissima of the canon law for which, by the pope's own showing, the dispensing powers had been granted to him, had arisen in an extreme form; and when the vital interests of england were sacrificed to the will of a foreign prince, sufficient reason had arisen for the nation to decline submission to so emphatic injustice, and to seek within itself its own remedies for its own necessities. these considerations must be allowed all their weight; and except for them, it is not to be supposed that henry would have permitted private distaste or inclination to induce him to create a scandal in europe. in his conduct, however, as in that of most men, good was chequered with evil, and sincerity with self-deception. personal feeling can be traced from the first, holding a subsidiary, indeed, but still an influential place, among his motives; and exactly so far as he was influenced by it, his course was wrong, as the consequence miserably proved. the position which, in his wife's presence, he assigned to another woman, however he may have persuaded himself that catherine had no claim to be considered his wife, admits neither of excuse nor of palliation; and he ought never to have shared his throne with a person who consented to occupy that position. he was blind to the coarseness of anne boleyn, because, in spite of his chivalry, his genius, his accomplishments, in his relations with women he was without delicacy himself. he directed, or attempted to direct, his conduct by the broad rules of what he thought to be just; and in the wide margin of uncertain ground where rules of action cannot be prescribed, and where men must guide themselves by consideration for the feelings of others, he--so far as women were concerned--was altogether or almost a stranger. such consideration is a virtue which can be learned only in the society of equals, where necessity obliges men to practise it. henry had been a king from his boyhood; he had been surrounded by courtiers who had anticipated all his desires; and exposed as he was to an ordeal from which no human being could have escaped uninjured, we have more cause, after all, to admire him for those excellences which he conquered for himself, than to blame the defects which he retained. but if in his private relations the king was hasty and careless, towards the pope to whom we must now return, he exhausted all resources of forbearance: and although, when separation from rome was at length forced upon him, he then permitted no half measures, and swept into his new career with the strength of irresistible will, it was not till he had shown resolution no less great in the endurance of indignity; and of the three great powers in europe, the prince who was compelled to break the unity of the catholic church, was evidently the only one who was capable of real sacrifices to preserve it unbroken. clement comprehended his reluctance, but presumed too far upon it; and if there was sin in the "great schism" of the reformation, the guilt must rest where it is due. we have now to show the reverse side of the transactions at bologna, and explain what a person wearing the title of his holiness, in virtue of his supposed sanctity, had been secretly doing. in january, 1532, some little time before his conversation with sir gregory cassalis on the subject of the two wives, the pope had composed a pastoral letter to henry, which had never been issued. from its contents it would seem to have been written on the receipt of an indignant remonstrance of queen catherine, in which she had complained of her desertion by her husband, and of the public position which had been given to her rival. she had supposed (and it was the natural mistake of an embittered and injured woman) that anne boleyn had been placed in possession of the rights of an actual, and not only of an intended wife; and the pope, accepting her account of the situation, had written to implore the king to abstain, so long as the cause remained undetermined, from creating so great a scandal in christendom, and to restore his late queen to her place at his side. this letter, as it was originally written, was one of clement's happiest compositions.[407] he abstained in it from using any expression which could be construed into a threat: he appealed to henry's honourable character, which no blot had hitherto stained; and dwelling upon the general confusion of the christian world, he urged with temperate earnestness the ill effects which would be produced by so open a defiance of the injunctions of the holy see in a person of so high a position. so far all was well. henry had deserved that such a letter should be written to him; and the pope was more than justified in writing it. the letter, however, if it was sent, produced no effect, and on the 15th of november, three days before clement's departure to bologna, where he pretended (we must not forget) that he considered henry substantially right; he added a postscript, in a tone not contrasting only with his words to the ambassadors, but with the language of the brief itself. again urging henry's delinquencies, his separation from his wife, and the scandal of his connection with another person, he commanded him, under penalty of excommunication, within one month of the receipt of those injunctions, to restore the queen to her place, and to abstain thenceforward from all intercourse with anne boleyn pending the issue of the trial. "otherwise," the pope continued, "when the said term shall have elapsed, we pronounce thee, henry king of england, and the said anne, to be _ipso facto_ excommunicate, and command all men to shun and avoid your presence; and although our mind shrinks from allowing such a thought of your serenity, although by ourselves and by our auditory of the rota an inhibition has been already issued against you; although the act of which you are suspected be in itself forbidden by all laws human and divine, yet the reports which are brought to us do so move us, that once more we do inhibit you from dissolving your marriage with the aforesaid catherine, or from continuing process, in your own courts, of divorce from her. and we do also hereby warn you, that you presume not to contract any new marriage with the said or with any other woman; we declare such marriage, if you still attempt it, to be vain and of none effect, and so to be regarded by all persons in obedience to the apostolic see."[408] an inhibitory mandate, was a natural consequence of the conference of calais, provided that the pope intended to proceed openly and uprightly; and if it had been sent upon the spot, henry could have complained of nothing worse than of an honourable opposition to his wishes. but the mystery was not yet exhausted. the postscript was not issued, it was not spoken of; it was carried secretly to bologna, and it bears at its foot a further date of the 23rd of december, the very time, that is to say, at which the pope was representing himself to bennet as occupied only in devising the best means of satisfying henry, and to sir gregory cassalis, as so convinced of the justice of the english demands, that he had ventured in defence of them to the edge of rupture with the emperor. it might be urged that he was sincere both in his brief and in his conversation; that he believed that a verdict ought to be given, and would at last be given, against the original marriage, and that therefore he was the more anxious to prevent unnecessary scandal. yet a menace of excommunication couched in so haughty a tone, could have been honestly reconciled with his other conduct, only by his following a course with respect to it which he did not follow--by informing the ambassadors openly of what he had done, and transmitting his letter through their hands to henry himself. this he might have done; and though the issue of such a document at such a time would have been open to question, it might nevertheless have been defended. his holiness, however, did nothing of the kind. no hint was let fall of the existence of any minatory brief; he sustained his pretence of good will, till there was no longer any occasion for him to counterfeit; and two months later it suddenly appeared on the doors of the churches in flanders. henry at first believed it to be forgery, one forged brief had already been produced by the imperialists in the course of their transactions, and he imagined that this was another; even his past experience of clement had not prepared him for this last venture of effrontery; he wrote to bennet, enclosing a copy, and requiring him to ascertain if it were really genuine.[409] the pope could not deny his hand, though the exposure, and the strange irregular character of the brief itself troubled him, and bonner, who was again at the papal court, said that "he was in manner ashamed, and in great perplexity what he might do therein."[410] his conduct will be variously interpreted, and to attempt to analyse the motives of a double-minded man is always a hazardous experiment; but a comparison of date, the character of clement himself, the circumstances in which he was placed, and the retrospective evidence from after events, points almost necessarily to but one interpretation. it is scarcely disputable that, frightened at the reception of anne boleyn in france, the pope found it necessary to pretend for a time an altered disposition towards henry; and that the emperor, unable to feel wholly confident that a person who was false to others was true to himself, had exacted the brief from him as a guarantee for his good faith; charles, on his side, reserving the publication until francis had been gained over, and until clement was screened against the danger which he so justly feared, from the consequences of the interview at calais. there was duplicity of a kind; this cannot be denied; and if not designed to effect this object, this object in fact it answered. while clement was talking smoothly to bennet and cassalis, secret overtures were advanced at paris for a meeting at nice between the pope, the emperor, and the king of france, from which henry was to be excluded.[411] the emperor made haste with concessions to francis, which but a few months before would have seemed impossible. he withdrew his army out of lombardy, and left italy free; he consented to the marriage which he had so earnestly opposed between catherine de medici and the duke of orleans, agreeing also, it is probable, to the contingency of the duchy of milan becoming ultimately her dowry. and francis having coquetted with the proposal for the nice meeting,[412] not indeed accepting, but not absolutely rejecting it, charles consented also to waive his objections to the interview between francis and the pope, on which he had looked hitherto with so much suspicion; provided that the pope would bear in mind some mysterious and unknown communication which had passed at bologna.[413] thus was francis won. he cared only, as the pope had seen, for his own interests; and from this time he drew away, by imperceptible degrees, from his engagements to england. he did not stoop to dishonour or treacherous betrayal of confidence, for with all his faults he was, in the technical acceptation of that misused term, a gentleman. he declined only to maintain the attitude which, if he had continued in it, would have compelled the pope to yield; and although he continued honestly to urge him to make concessions, he no longer affected to make them the price of preserving france in allegiance to the holy see. nor need we regret that francis shrank from a resolution which henry had no right to require of him. to have united with france in a common schism at the crisis of the reformation would have only embarrassed the free motions of england; and two nations whose interests and whose tendencies were essentially opposite, might not submit to be linked together by the artificial interests of their princes. the populace of england were unconsciously on the rapid road to protestantism. the populace of france were fanatically catholic. england was to go her way through a golden era of elizabeth to cromwell, the puritans, and a protestant republic; a republic to be perpetuated, if not in england herself, yet among her great children beyond the sea. france was to go her way through bartholomew massacres and the dragonnades to a polished louis the magnificent, and thence to the bloody medea's cauldron of revolution, out of which she was to rise as now we know her. no common road could have been found for such destinies as these; and the french prince followed the direction of his wiser instincts when he preferred a quiet arrangement with the pope, in virtue of which his church should be secured by treaty the liberties which she desired, to a doubtful struggle for a freedom which his people neither wished nor approved. the interests of the nation were in fact his own. he could ill afford to forsake a religion which allowed him so pleasantly to compound for his amatory indulgences by the estrapade[414] and a zeal for orthodoxy. it became evident to henry early in the spring that he was left substantially alone. his marriage had been kept secret with the intention that it should be divulged by the king of france to the pope when he met him at marseilles; and as the pope had pretended an anxiety that either the king of england should be present in person at that interview, or should be represented by an ambassador of adequate rank, a train had been equipped for the occasion, the most magnificent which england could furnish. time, meanwhile, passed on; the meeting, which was to have taken place first in january, and then in april, was delayed till october, and in the interval the papal brief had appeared in flanders; the queen's pregnancy could not admit of concealment; and the evident proof which appeared that france was no longer to be depended upon, convinced the english government that they had nothing to hope for from abroad, and that henry's best resources were to be found, where in fact they had always been, in the strength and affection of his own people. from this choking atmosphere, therefore, we now turn back to england and the english parliament; and the change is from darkness to light, from death to life. here was no wavering, no uncertainty, no smiling faces with false hearts behind them; but the steady purpose of resolute men, who slowly, and with ever opening vision, bore the nation forward to the fair future which was already dawning. parliament met at the beginning of february, a few days after the king's marriage, which, however, still remained a secret. it is, i think, no slight evidence of the calmness with which the statesmen of the day proceeded with their work, that in a session so momentous, in a session in which the decisive blow was to be struck of the most serious revolution through which the country as yet had passed, they should have first settled themselves calmly down to transact what was then the ordinary business of legislation, the struggle with the vital evils of society. the first nine statutes which were passed in this session were economic acts to protect the public against the frauds of money-making tradesmen; to provide that shoes and boots should be made of honest leather; that food should be sold at fair prices, that merchants should part with their goods at fair profits; to compel, or as far as the legislature was able to do it, to compel all classes of persons to be true men; to deal honestly with each other, in that high quixotic sense of honesty which requires good subjects at all times and under all circumstances to consider the interests of the commonwealth as more important than their own. i have already spoken of this economic legislation, and i need not dwell now upon details of it; although under some aspects it may be thought that more which is truly valuable in english history lies in these unobtrusive statutes than in all our noisy wars, reformations, and revolutions. the history of this as of all other nations (or so much of it as there is occasion for any of us to know), is the history of the battles which it has fought and won with evil; not with political evil merely, or spiritual evil; but with all manifestations whatsoever of the devil's power. and to have beaten back, or even to have struggled against and stemmed in ever so small a degree those besetting basenesses of human nature, now held so invincible that the influences of them are assumed as the fundamental axioms of economic science; this appears to me a greater victory than agincourt, a grander triumph of wisdom and faith and courage than even the english constitution or the english liturgy. such a history, however, lies beside the purpose which i may here permit myself; and the two acts with which the session closed, alone in this place require our attention. the first of these is one of the many "acts of apparel," which are to be found in the early volumes of the statute book. the meaning of these laws becomes intelligible when we reflect upon the condition of the people. the english were an organised nation of soldiers; they formed an army perpetually ready for the field, where the degrees were determined by social position; and the dresses prescribed to the various orders of society were the graduated uniforms which indicated the rank of the wearers. when every man was a soldier, and every gentleman was an officer, the same causes existed for marking, by costume, the distinctions of authority, which lead to the answering differences in the modern regiments. the changing conditions of the country at the time of the reformation, the growth of a middle class, with no landed possessions, yet made wealthy by trade or other industry, had tended necessarily to introduce confusion; and the policy of this reign, which was never more markedly operative than during the most critical periods of it, was to reinvigorate the discipline of the feudal system; and pending the growth of what might better suit the age, pending the great struggle in which the nation was engaged, to hold every man at his post. the statute specifies its object, and the motives with which it was passed. "whereas," says the preamble, "divers laws, ordinances, and statutes have been with great deliberation and advice provided and established for the necessary repressing and avoiding the inordinate excess daily more and more used in the sumptuous and costly array and apparel accustomably worn in this realm, whereof hath ensued, and daily do chance such sundry high and notable inconveniences as be to the great and notorious detriment of the commonweal, the subversion of politic order in knowledge and distinction of people according to their preeminence and degrees, to the utter impoverishment and undoing of many light and inexpert persons inclined to pride, the mother of all vices: be it enacted,"[415]--but i need not enter into the particulars of the uniforms worn by the nobles and gentlemen of the court of henry viii.; the temper, not the detail, is of importance; and of the wisdom or unwisdom of such enactments, we who live in a changed age should be cautious of forming a hasty opinion. the ends which the old legislation proposed to itself, have in latter ages been resigned as impracticable. we are therefore no longer adequate judges how far those ends may in other times have been attainable, and we can still less judge of the means through which the attainment of them was sought. the second act of which i have to speak is open to no such ambiguity; it remains among the few which are and will be of perpetual moment in our national history. the conduct of the pope had forced upon the parliament the reconsideration of the character of his supremacy; and when the question had once been asked, in the existing state of feeling but one answer to it was possible. the authority of the church over the state, the supreme kingship of christ, and consequently of him who was held to be christ's vicar, above all worldly sovereignties, was an established reality of mediæval europe. the princes had with difficulty preserved their jurisdiction in matters purely secular; while in matters spiritual, and in that vast section of human affairs in which the spiritual and the secular glide one into the other, they had been compelled--all such of them as lay within the pale of the latin communion--to acknowledge a power superior to their own. to the popes was the ultimate appeal in all causes of which the spiritual courts had cognisance. their jurisdiction had been extended by an unwavering pursuit of a single policy, and their constancy in the twelfth century was rewarded by absolute victory. in england, however, the field was no sooner won than it was again disputed, and the civil government gave way at last only when the danger seemed to have ceased. so long as the papacy was feared, so long as the successors of st. peter held a sword which could inflict sensible wounds, and enforce obedience by penalties, the english kings had resisted both the theory and the application. while the pope was dangerous he was dreaded and opposed. when age had withered his arm, and the feeble lightnings flickered in harmless insignificance, they consented to withdraw their watchfulness, and his supremacy was silently allowed as an innocent superstition. it existed as some other institutions exist at the present day, with a merely nominal authority; with a tacit understanding, that the power which it was permitted to retain should be exerted only in conformity with the national will. under these conditions the tudor princes became loyal subjects to the holy see, and so they would have willingly remained, had not clement, in an evil hour for himself, forgotten the terms of the compact. he laid upon a legal fiction a strain which his predecessors, in their palmiest days, would have feared to attempt; and the nation, after grave remonstrance, which was only received with insults, exorcised the chimæra with a few resolute words for ever. the parliament, in asserting the freedom of england, carefully chose their language. they did not pass a new law, but they passed an act declaratory merely of the law which already existed, and which they were vindicating against illegal encroachment. "whereas," says the statute of appeals, "by divers sundry old authentic histories and chronicles, it is manifestly declared and expressed that this realm of england is an empire, and so hath been accepted in the world; governed by one supreme head and king, having the dignity and royal estate of the imperial crown of the same; unto whom a body politic compact of all sorts and degrees of people, divided in terms by names of spiritualty and temporalty, be bound and ought to bear, next to god, a natural and humble obedience: he being also institute and furnished by the goodness and sufferance of almighty god with plenary, whole, and entire power, pre-eminence and authority, prerogative and jurisdiction, to render and yield justice and final determination to all manner of folk resident or subject within this his realm, without restraint or provocation to any foreign prince or potentate of the world: the body spiritual whereof having power when any cause of the law divine happened to come in question, or of spiritual learning, [such cause being] declared, interpret, and shewed by that part of the body politic called the spiritualty, now usually called the english church; (which also hath been reported and also found of that sort, that both for knowledge, integrity, and sufficiency of numbers, it hath been always thought to be, and is also at this hour sufficient and meet of itself, without the interfering of any exterior person or persons, to declare and determine all such doubts, and to administer all such offices and duties as to the administration of their rooms spiritual doth appertain): and the laws temporal, for trial of property of lands and goods, and for the conservation of the people of this realm in unity and peace, having been and yet being administered, adjudged, and executed by sundry judges and administers of the said body politic called the temporalty: and seeing that both these authorities and jurisdictions do conjoin together for the due administration of justice, the one to help the other: and whereas the king's most noble progenitors, and the nobility and commons of this said realm at divers and sundry parliaments, as well in the time of king edward i., edward iii., richard ii., henry iv., and other noble kings of this realm, made sundry ordinances, laws, and provisions for the conservation of the prerogatives, liberties, and pre-eminences of the imperial crown of this realm, and of the jurisdiction spiritual and temporal of the same, to keep it from the annoyance as well of the see of rome as from the authority of other foreign potentates attempting the diminution or violation thereof, as often as from time to time any such annoyance or attempt might be known or espied: and notwithstanding the said good statutes and ordinances, and since the making thereof, divers inconveniences and dangers not provided for plainly by the said statutes, have risen and sprung by reason of appeals sued out of this realm to the see of rome, in causes testamentary, causes of matrimony and divorce, right of tithes, oblations, and obventions, not only to the great inquietation, vexation, trouble, costs, and charges of the king's highness, and many of his subjects and residents in this his realm; but also to the delay and let of the speedy determination of the said causes, for so much as parties appealing to the said court of rome most commonly do the same for the delay of justice; and forasmuch as the great distance of way is so far out of this realm, so that the necessary proofs, nor the true knowledge of the causes, can neither there be so well known, nor the witnesses so well examined there as within this realm, so that the parties grieved by means of the said appeals be most times without remedy; in consideration hereof, all testamentary and matrimonial causes, and all suits for tithes, oblations, and obventions shall henceforth be adjudged in the spiritual and temporal courts within the realm, without regard to any process of foreign jurisdiction, or any inhibition, excommunication, or interdict. persons procuring processes, inhibitions, appeals, or citations from the court of rome, as well as their fautors, comforters, counsellors, aiders and abettors, all and every of them shall incur the penalties of premunire; and in all such cases as have hitherto admitted of appeal to rome, the appeals shall be from the archdeacon's court to the bishop's court, from the bishop's court to that of the archbishop, and no further."[416] the act was carried through parliament in february, but again, as with the annates bill, the king delayed his sanction till the post could reach and return from the vatican. the bishop of bayonne wrote that there was hope that clement might yet give way, and entreated that the king would send an "excusator," a person formally empowered to protest for him that he could not by the laws of england plead at a foreign tribunal; and that with this imperfect recognition of his authority the pope would be satisfied. chastillon, the french ambassador, had an interview with the king, to communicate the bishop's message. "the morning after," chastillon wrote, "his majesty sent for me and desired me to repeat my words before the council. i obeyed; but the majority declared, that there was nothing in them to act upon, and that the king must not put himself in subjection. his majesty himself, too, i found less warm than in his preceding conversation. i begged the council to be patient. i said everything that i could think of likely to weigh with the king, i promised him a sentence from our holy father declaring his first marriage null, his present marriage good. i urged him on all grounds, public and private, to avoid a rupture with the holy see. such a sentence, i said, would be the best security for the queen, and the safest guarantee for the unopposed succession of her offspring. if the marriage was confirmed by the holy father's authority, the queen's enemies would lose the only ground where they could make a stand. the peace of the realm was now menaced. the emperor talked loudly and made large preparations. let the king be allied with france, and through france with the holy see, and the emperor could do him no harm. thus i said my proposals were for the benefit of the realm of his majesty, and of the children who might be born to him. the king would act more prudently both for his own interest, and for the interest of his children, in securing himself, than in running a risk of creating universal confusion; and, besides, he owed something to the king his brother, who had worked so long and so hard for him. "after some further conversation, his majesty took me aside into a garden, where he told me that for himself he agreed in what i had said; but he begged me to keep his confidence secret. he fears, i think, to appear to condescend too easily. "he will not, however, publish the acts of parliament till he sees what is done at rome. the vast sums of money which used to be sent out of the country will go no longer; but in other respects he will be glad to return to good terms. he will send the excusator when he hears again from m. de paris; and for myself, i think, that although the whole country is in a blaze against the pope, yet with the good will and assistance of the king, the holy father will be reinstated in the greater part of his prerogatives." but the hope that the pope would yield proved again delusive. henry wrote to him himself in the spirit of his conversation with chastillon. his letter was presented by cardinal tournon, and clement said all that could be said in acknowledgment without making the one vital concession. but whenever it was put before him that the cause must be heard and decided in england and in no other place, he talked in the old language of uncertainty and impossibilities;[417] and henry learning at the same time that a correspondence was going forward between clement and francis, with the secrets of which he was not made acquainted, went forward upon his own way. april brought with it the certainty that the expected concessions were delusive. anne boleyn's pregnancy made further delay impossible. d'inteville, who had succeeded chastillon as french ambassador, once more attempted to interfere, but in vain. henry told him he could not help himself, the pope forced him to the course which he was pursuing, by the answer which he had been pleased to issue; and he could only encounter enmity with its own weapons. "the archbishop," d'inteville wrote to francis, "will try the question, and will give judgment. i entreated the king to wait till the conference at nice, but he would not consent. i prayed him to keep the sentence secret till the pope had seen your majesty; he replied it was impossible."[418] thus the statute became law which transferred to the english courts of law the power so long claimed and exercised by the roman see. there are two aspects under which it may be regarded, as there were two objects for which it was passed. considered as a national act, few persons will now deny that it was as just in itself as it was politically desirable. if the pope had no jurisdiction over english subjects, it was well that he should be known to have none; if he had, it was equally well that such jurisdiction should cease. the question was not of communion between the english and roman churches, which might or might not continue, but which this act would not affect. the pope might still retain his rights of episcopal precedency, whatever those might be, with all the privileges attached to it. the parliament merely declared that he possessed no right of interference in domestic disputes affecting persons and property. but the act had a special as well as a national bearing, and here it is less easy to arrive at a just conclusion. it destroyed the validity of queen catherine's appeal; it placed a legal power in the hands of the english judges to proceed to pass sentence upon the divorce; and it is open to the censure which we ever feel entitled to pass upon a measure enacted to meet the particular position of a particular person. when embarrassments have arisen from unforeseen causes, we have a right to legislate to prevent a repetition of those embarrassments. our instincts tell us that no legislation should be retrospective, and should affect only positions which have been entered into with a full knowledge at the time of the condition of the laws. the statute endeavours to avoid the difficulty by its declaratory form; but again this is unsatisfactory; for that the pope possessed some authority was substantially acknowledged in every application which was made to him; and when catherine had married under a papal dispensation, it was a strange thing to turn upon her, and to say, not only that the dispensation in the particular instance had been unlawfully granted, but that the pope had no jurisdiction in the matter by the laws of the land which she had entered. on the other hand, throughout the entire negotiations king henry and his ministers had insisted jealously on the english privileges. they had declared from the first that they might, if they so pleased, fall back upon their own laws. in desiring that the cause might be heard by a papal legate in england, they had represented themselves rather as condescending to a form than acknowledging a right; and they had, in fact, in allowing the opening of campeggio's court, fallen, all of them, even henry himself, under the penalties of the statutes of provisors. the validity of catherine's appeal they had always consistently denied. if the papal jurisdiction was to be admitted at all, it could only be through a minister sitting as judge within the realm of england; and the maxim, "ne angli extra angliam litigare cogantur," was insisted upon as the absolute privilege of every english subject. yet, if we allow full weight to these considerations, a feeling of painful uncertainty continues to cling to us; and in ordinary cases to be uncertain on such a point is to be in reality certain. the state of the law could not have been clear, or the statute of appeals would not have been required; and explain it as we may, it was in fact passed for a special cause against a special person; and that person a woman. how far the parliament was justified by the extremity of the case is a further question, which it is equally difficult to answer. the alternative, as i have repeatedly said, was an all but inevitable civil war, on the death of the king; and practically, when statesmen are entrusted with the fortunes of an empire, the responsibility is too heavy to allow them to consider other interests. salus populi suprema lex, ever has been and ever will be the substantial canon of policy with public men, and morality is bound to hesitate before it censures them. there are some acts of injustice which no national interest can excuse, however great in itself that interest may be, or however certain to be attained by the means proposed. yet government, in its easiest tax, trenches to a certain extent on natural right and natural freedom; and trenches further and further in proportion to the emergency with which it has to deal. how far it may go in this direction, or whether henry viii. and his parliament went too far, is a difficult problem; their best justification is an exceptive clause introduced into the act, which was intended obviously to give queen catherine the utmost advantage which was consistent with the liberties of the realm. "in case," says the concluding paragraph, "of any cause, or matter, or contention now depending for the causes before rehearsed, or that hereafter shall come into contention for any of the same causes in any of the foresaid courts, which hath, doth, shall, or may touch the king, his heirs or successors, kings of this realm; in all or every such case or cases the party grieved as aforesaid shall or may appeal from any of the said courts of this realm, to the spiritual prelates and other abbots and priors of the upper house, assembled and convocate by the king's writ in convocation."[419] if catherine's cause was as just as catholics and english high churchmen are agreed to consider it, the english church might have saved her. if catherine herself had thought first or chiefly of justice, she would not perhaps have accepted the arbitration of the english convocation; but long years before she would have been in a cloister. thus it is that while we regret, we are unable to blame; and we cannot wish undone an act, to have shrunk from which might have spared a single heart, but _might_ have wrecked the english nation. we increase our pity for catherine because she was a princess. we measure the magnitude of the evils which human beings endure by their position in the scale of society; and misfortunes which private persons would be expected to bear without excessive complaining, furnish matter for the lamentation of ages when they touch the sacred head which has been circled with a diadem. let it be so. let us compensate the queen's sorrows with unstinted sympathy; but let us not trifle with history, by confusing a political necessity with a moral crime. the english parliament, then, had taken up the gauntlet which the pope had flung to it with trembling fingers: and there remained nothing but for the archbishop of canterbury to make use of the power of which by law he was now possessed. and the time was pressing, for the new queen was enciente, and further concealment was not to be thought of. the delay of the interview between the pope and francis, and the change in the demeanour of the latter, which had become palpably evident, discharged henry of all promises by which he might have bound himself; and to hesitate before the menaces of the pope's brief would have been fatal. the act of appeals being passed, convocation was the authority to which the power of determining unsettled points of spiritual law seemed to have lapsed. in the month of april, therefore, cranmer, now archbishop of canterbury,[420] submitted to it the two questions, on the resolution of which the sentence which he was to pass was dependent. the first had been already answered separately by the bench of bishops and by the universities, and had been agitated from end to end of europe--was it lawful to marry the widow of a brother dying without issue, but having consummated his marriage; and was the levitical prohibition of such a marriage grounded on a divine law, with which the pope could not dispense, or on a canon law of which a dispensation was permissible?[421] the pope had declared himself unable to answer; but he had allowed that the general opinion was against the power of dispensing,[422] and there could be little doubt, therefore, of the reply of the english convocation, or at least of the upper house. fisher attempted an opposition; but wholly without effect. the, question was one in which the interests of the higher clergy were not concerned, and they were therefore left to the dominion of their ordinary understandings. out of two hundred and sixty-three votes, nineteen only were in the pope's favour.[423] the lower house was less unanimous, as might have been expected, and as had been experienced before; the opposition spirit of the english clergy being usually then, as much as now, in the ratio of their poverty. but there too the nature of the case compelled an overwhelming majority.[424] it was decided by both houses that pope julius, in granting a licence for the marriage of henry and catherine, had exceeded his authority, and that this marriage was therefore, _ab initio_, void. the other question to be decided was one of fact; whether the marriage of catherine with prince arthur had or had not been consummated, a matter which the catholic divines conceived to be of paramount importance, but which to few persons at the present day will seem of any importance whosoever. we cannot even read the evidence which was produced without a sensation of disgust, although in those broader and less conscious ages the indelicacy was less obviously perceptible. and we may console ourselves with the hope that the discussion was not so wounding as might have been expected to the feelings of queen catherine, since at all official interviews, with all classes of persons, at all times and in all places, she appeared herself to court the subject.[425] there is no occasion in this place to follow her example. it is enough that ferdinand, at the time of her first marriage, satisfied himself, after curious inquiry, that he might hope for a grandchild; and that the fact of the consummation was asserted in the treaty between england and spain, which preceded the marriage with henry, and in this supposed brief of pope julius which permitted it.[426] we cannot in consequence be surprised that the convocation accepted the conclusion which was sanctioned by so high authority, and we rather wonder at the persistency of catherine's denials. with respect to this vote, therefore, we need notice nothing except that dr. clerk, bishop of bath and wells[427] was one of an exceedingly small minority, who were inclined to believe that the denial might be true, and this bishop was one of the four who were associated with cranmer when he sate at dunstable for the trial of the cause. the ground being thus opened, and all preparations being completed, the archbishop composed a formal letter to the king, in which he dwelt upon the uncertain prospects of the succession, and the danger of leaving a question which closely affected it so long unsettled. he expatiated at length on the general anxiety which was felt throughout the realm, and requested permission to employ the powers attached to his office to bring it to some conclusion. the recent alterations had rendered the archbishop something doubtful of the nature of his position; he was diffident and unwilling to offend; and not clearly knowing in the exercise of the new authority which had been granted to him, whether the extension of his power was accompanied with a parallel extension of liberty in making use of it, he wrote two copies of this letter, with slight alterations of language, that the king might select between them the one which he would officially recognise. both these copies are extant; both were written the same day from the same place; both were folded, sealed, and sent. it seems, therefore, that neither was cranmer furnished beforehand with a draught of what he was to write; nor was his first letter sent back to him corrected. he must have acted by his own judgment; and a comparison of the two letters is singular and instructive. in the first he spoke of his office and duty in language, chastened indeed and modest, but still language of independence; and while he declared his unwillingness to "enterprise any part of that office" without his grace's favour obtained, and pleasure therein first known, he implied nevertheless that his request was rather of courtesy than of obligation, and had arisen rather from a sense of moral propriety than because he might not legally enter on the exercise of his duty without the permission of the crown.[428] the moderate gleam of freedom vanishes in the other copy under a few pithy changes, as if cranmer instinctively felt the revolution which had taken place in the relations of church and state. where in the first letter he asked for his grace's favour, in the second he asked for his grace's favour _and licence_--where in the first he requested to know his grace's pleasure as to his proceeding, in the second he desired his most excellent majesty to _license_ him to proceed. the burden of both letters was the same, but the introduction of the little word license changed all. it implied a hesitating belief that the spiritual judges might perhaps thenceforward be on a footing with the temporal judges and the magistrates; that under the new constitution they were to understand that they held their offices not directly under god as they had hitherto pretended, but under god through the crown. the answer of henry indicated that he had perceived the archbishop's uncertainty; and that he was desirous by the emphatic distinctness of his own language to spare him a future recurrence of it. he accepted the deferential version of the petition; but even cranmer's anticipation of what might be required of him had not reached the reality. in running through the preamble, the king flung into the tone of it a character of still deeper humility;[429] and he conceded the desired licence in the following imperial style. "in consideration of these things,"--_i.e._ of the grounds urged by the archbishop for the petition--"albeit we being your king and sovereign, do recognise no superior on earth but only god, and not being subject to the laws of any earthly creature; yet because ye be under us, by god's calling and ours, the most principal minister of our spiritual jurisdiction within this our realm, who we think assuredly is so in the fear of god, and love towards the observance of his laws, to the which laws, we as a christian king have always heretofore, and shall ever most obediently submit ourself, we will not therefore refuse (our pre-eminence, power, and authority to us and to our successors in this behalf nevertheless saved) your humble request, offer, and towardness--that is, to mean to make an end according to the will and pleasure of almighty god in our said great cause of matrimony, which hath so long depended undetermined, to our great and grievous unquietness and burden of our conscience. wherefore we, inclining to your humble petition, by these our letters sealed with our seal, and signed with our sign manual, do license you to proceed in the said cause, and the examination and final determination of the same; not doubting but that ye will have god and the justice of the said cause only before your eyes, and not to regard any earthly or worldly affection therein; for assuredly the thing which we most covet in the world, is so to proceed in all our acts and doings as may be the most acceptable to the pleasure of almighty god our creator, to the wealth and honour of us, our successors and posterity, and the surety of our realm, and subjects within the same."[430] the vision of ecclesiastical independence, if cranmer had indulged in it, must have faded utterly before his eyes on receiving this letter. as clergy who committed felony were no longer exempted from the penalties of their crimes; so henceforward the courts of the clergy were to fell into conformity with the secular tribunals. the temporal prerogatives of ecclesiastics as a body whose authority over the laity was countervailed with no reciprocal obligation, existed no longer. this is what the language of the king implied. the difficulty which the persons whom he was addressing experienced in realising the change in their position, obliged him to be somewhat emphatic in his assertion of it; and it might be imagined at first sight, that in insisting on his superiority to the officers of the spiritual courts, he claimed a right to dictate their sentences. but to venture such a supposition would be to mistake the nature of english sovereignty and the spirit of the change. the supreme authority in england was the law; and the king no more possessed, or claimed a power of controlling the judgment of the bishops or their ministers, than he could interfere with the jurisdiction of the judges of the bench. all persons in authority, whether in church or state, held their offices thenceforth by similar tenure; but the rule of the proceedings in each remained alike the law of the land, which henry had no more thought of superseding by his own will than the most constitutional of modern princes. the closing sentences of his reply to cranmer are striking, and it is difficult to believe that he did not mean what he was saying. from the first step in the process to the last, he maintained consistently that his only object was to do what was right. he was thoroughly persuaded that the course which he was pursuing was sanctioned by justice--and persons who are satisfied that he was entitled to feel such persuasion, need not refuse him the merit of sincerity, because (to use the language which cromwell used at the fatal crisis of his life[431]) "it may be well that they who medelle in many matters are not able to answer for them all." cranmer, then, being fortified with this permission, and taking with him the bishops of london, winchester, lincoln, and bath and wells (the latter perhaps having been chosen in consequence of his late conduct in the convocation, to give show of fairness to the proceeding), went down to dunstable and opened his court there. the queen was at ampthill, six miles distant, having entered on her sad tenancy, it would seem, as soon as the place had been evacuated by the gaudy hunting party of the preceding summer. the cause being undecided, and her title being therefore uncertain, she was called by the safe name of "the lady catherine," and under this designation she was served with a citation from the archbishop to appear before him on saturday, the 10th of may. the bearers of the summons were sir francis bryan (an unfortunate choice, for he was cousin of the new queen, and insolent in his manner and bearing), sir thomas gage, and lord vaux. she received them like herself with imperial sorrow. they delivered their message; she announced that she refused utterly to acknowledge the competency of the tribunal before which she was called; the court was a mockery; the archbishop was a shadow.[432] she would neither appear before him in person, nor commission any one to appear on her behalf. the court had but one course before it--she was pronounced contumacious, and the trial went forward. none of her household were tempted even by curiosity to be present. "there came not so much as a servant of hers to dunstable, save such as were brought in as witnesses;" some of them having been required to give evidence in the re-examination which was thought necessary, as to the nature of the relation of their mistress with her first boy husband. as soon as this disgusting question had been sufficiently investigated, nothing remained but to pronounce judgment. the marriage with the king was declared to have been null and void from the beginning, and on the 23rd of may, the archbishop sent to london the welcome news that the long matter was at an end.[433] it was over;--over at last; yet so over, that the conclusion could but appear to the losing party a fresh injustice. to those who were concerned in bringing it to pass, to the king himself, to the nation, to europe, to every one who heard of it at the time, it must have appeared, as it appears now to us who read the story of it, if a necessity, yet a most unwelcome and unsatisfying one. that the king remained uneasy is evident from the efforts which he continued to make, or which he allowed to be made, notwithstanding the brief of the 23rd of december, to gain the sanction of the pope. that the nation was uneasy, we should not require the evidence of history to tell us. "there was much murmuring in england," says hall, "and it was thought by the unwise that the bishop of rome would curse all englishmen; that the emperor and he would destroy all the people." and those who had no such fears, and whose judgment in the main approved of what had been done, were scandalised at the presentation to them at the instant of the publication of the divorce, of a new queen, four months advanced in pregnancy. this also was a misfortune which had arisen out of the chain of duplicities, a fresh accident swelling a complication which was already sufficiently entangled. it had been occasioned by steps which at the moment at which they were ventured, prudence seemed to justify; but we the more regret it, because, in comparison with the interests which were at issue, the few months of additional delay were infinitely unimportant. nevertheless, we have reason to be thankful that the thing, well or ill, was over; seven years of endurance were enough for the english nation, and may be supposed to have gained even for henry a character for patience. in some way, too, it is needless to say, the thing must have ended. the life of none of us is long enough to allow us to squander so large a section of it struggling in the meshes of a law-suit; and although there may be a difference of opinion on the wisdom of having first entered upon ground of such a kind, few thinking persons can suggest any other method in which either the nation or the king could have extricated themselves. meanwhile, it was resolved that such spots and blemishes as hung about the transaction should be forgotten in the splendour of the coronation. if there was scandal in the condition of the queen, yet under another aspect that condition was matter of congratulation to a people so eager for an heir; and henry may have thought that the sight for the first time in public of so beautiful a creature, surrounded by the most magnificent pageant which london had witnessed since the unknown day on which the first stone of it was laid, and bearing in her bosom the long-hoped-for inheritor of the english crown, might induce a chivalrous nation to forget what it was the interest of no loyal subject to remember longer, and to offer her an english welcome to the throne. in anticipation of the timely close of the proceedings at dunstable, notice had been given in the city early in may, that preparations should be made for the coronation on the first of the following month. queen anne was at greenwich, but, according to custom, the few preceding days were to be spent at the tower; and on the 19th of may, she was conducted thither in state by the lord mayor and the city companies, with one of those splendid exhibitions upon the water which in the days when the silver thames deserved its name, and the sun could shine down upon it out of the blue summer sky, were spectacles scarcely rivalled in gorgeousness by the world-famous wedding of the adriatic. the river was crowded with boats, the banks and the ships in the pool swarmed with people; and fifty great barges formed the procession, all blazing with gold and banners. the queen herself was in her own barge, close to that of the lord mayor; and in keeping with the fantastic genius of the time, she was preceded up the water by "a foyst or wafter full or ordnance, in which was a great dragon continually moving and casting wildfire, and round about the foyst stood terrible monsters and wild men, casting fire and making hideous noise."[434] so, with trumpets blowing, cannon pealing, the tower guns answering the guns of the ships, in a blaze of fireworks and splendour, anne boleyn was borne along to the great archway of the tower, where the king was waiting on the stairs to receive her. and now let us suppose eleven days to have elapsed, the welcome news to have arrived at length from dunstable, and the fair summer morning of life dawning in treacherous beauty after the long night of expectation. no bridal ceremonial had been possible; the marriage had been huddled over like a stolen love-match, and the marriage feast had been eaten in vexation and disappointment. these past mortifications were to be atoned for by a coronation pageant which the art and the wealth of the richest city in europe should be poured out in the most lavish profusion to adorn. on the morning of the 31st of may, the families of the london citizens were stirring early in all houses. from temple bar to the tower, the streets were fresh strewed with gravel, the footpaths were railed off along the whole distance, and occupied on one side by the guilds, their workmen, and apprentices, on the other by the city constables and officials in their gaudy uniforms, "with their staves in hand for to cause the people to keep good room and order."[435] cornhill and gracechurch street had dressed their fronts in scarlet and crimson, in arras and tapestry, and the rich carpet-work from persia and the east. cheapside, to outshine her rivals, was draped even more splendidly in cloth of gold, and tissue, and velvet. the sheriffs were pacing up and down on their great flemish horses, hung with liveries, and all the windows were thronged with ladies crowding to see the procession pass. at length the tower guns opened, the grim gates rolled back, and under the archway in the bright may sunshine, the long column began slowly to defile. two states only permitted their representatives to grace the scene with their presence--venice and france. it was, perhaps, to make the most of this isolated countenance, that the french ambassador's train formed the van of the cavalcade. twelve french knights came riding foremost in surcoats of blue velvet with sleeves of yellow silk, their horses trapped in blue, with white crosses powdered on their hangings. after them followed a troop of english gentlemen, two and two, and then the knights of the bath, "in gowns of violet, with hoods purfled with miniver like doctors." next, perhaps at a little interval, the abbots passed on, mitred in their robes; the barons followed in crimson velvet, the bishops then, and then the earls and marquises, the dresses of each order increasing in elaborate gorgeousness. all these rode on in pairs. then came alone audeley, lord-chancellor, and behind him the venetian ambassador and the archbishop of york; the archbishop of canterbury, and du bellay, bishop of bayonne and of paris, not now with bugle and hunting-frock, but solemn with stole and crozier. next, the lord mayor, with the city mace in hand, the garter in his coat of arms; and then lord william howard--belted will howard, of the scottish border, marshal of england. the officers of the queen's household succeeded the marshal in scarlet and gold, and the van of the procession was closed by the duke of suffolk, as high constable, with his silver wand. it is no easy matter to picture to ourselves the blazing trail of splendour which in such a pageant must have drawn along the london streets,--those streets which now we know so black and smoke-grimed, themselves then radiant with masses of colour, gold, and crimson, and violet. yet there it was, and there the sun could shine upon it, and tens of thousands of eyes were gazing on the scene out of the crowded lattices. glorious as the spectacle was, perhaps however, it passed unheeded. those eyes were watching all for another object, which now drew near. in an open space behind the constable there was seen approaching "a white chariot," drawn by two palfreys in white damask which swept the ground, a golden canopy borne above it making music with silver bells: and in the chariot sat the observed of all observers, the beautiful occasion of all this glittering homage; fortune's plaything of the hour, the queen of england--queen at last--borne along upon the waves of this sea of glory, breathing the perfumed incense of greatness which she had risked her fair name, her delicacy, her honour, her self-respect, to win; and she had won it. there she sate, dressed in white tissue robes, her fair hair flowing loose over her shoulders, and her temples circled with a light coronet of gold and diamonds--most beautiful--loveliest--most favoured perhaps, as she seemed at that hour, of all england's daughters. alas! "within the hollow round" of that coronet- kept death his court, and there the antick sate, scoffing her state and grinning at her pomp. allowing her a little breath, a little scene to monarchise, be feared, and kill with looks, infusing her with self and vain conceit, as if the flesh which walled about her life were brass impregnable; and humoured thus, bored through her castle walls; and farewell, queen. fatal gift of greatness! so dangerous ever! so more than dangerous in those tremendous times when the fountains are broken loose of the great deeps of thought; and nations are in the throes of revolution;--when ancient order and law and tradition are splitting in the social earthquake; and as the opposing forces wrestle to and fro, those unhappy ones who stand out above the crowd become the symbols of the struggle, and fall the victims of its alternating fortunes. and what if into an unsteady heart and brain, intoxicated with splendour, the outward chaos should find its way, converting the poor silly soul into an image of the same confusion,--if conscience should be deposed from her high place, and the pandora box be broken loose of passions and sensualities and follies; and at length there be nothing left of all which man or woman ought to value, save hope of god's forgiveness. three short years have yet to pass, and again, on a summer morning, queen anne boleyn will leave the tower of london--not radiant then with beauty on a gay errand of coronation, but a poor wandering ghost, on a sad tragic errand, from which she will never more return, passing away out of an earth where she may stay no longer, into a presence where, nevertheless, we know that all is well--for all of us--and therefore for her. but let us not cloud her shortlived sunshine with the shadow of the future. she went on in her loveliness, the peeresses following in their carriages, with the royal guard in their rear. in fenchurch street she was met by the children of the city schools; and at the corner of gracechurch street a masterpiece had been prepared of the pseudo-classic art, then so fashionable, by the merchants of the styll yard. a mount parnassus had been constructed, and a helicon fountain upon it playing into a basin with four jets of rhenish wine. on the top of the mountain sat apollo with calliope at his feet, and on either side the remaining muses, holding lutes or harps, and singing each of them some "posy" or epigram in praise of the queen, which was presented, after it had been sung, written in letters of gold. from gracechurch street, the procession passed to leadenhall, where there was a spectacle in better taste, of the old english catholic kind, quaint perhaps and forced, but truly and even beautifully emblematic. there was again a "little mountain," which was hung with red and white roses; a gold ring was placed on the summit, on which, as the queen appeared, a white falcon was made to "descend as out of the sky"--"and then incontinent came down an angel with great melody, and set a close crown of gold upon the falcon's head; and in the same pageant sat saint anne with all her issue beneath her; and mary cleophas with her four children, of the which children one made a goodly oration to the queen, of the fruitfulness of st. anne, trusting that like fruit should come of her."[436] with such "pretty conceits," at that time the honest tokens of an english welcome, the new queen was received by the citizens of london. these scenes must be multiplied by the number of the streets, where some fresh fancy met her at every turn. to preserve the festivities from flagging, every fountain and conduit within the walls ran all day with wine; the bells of every steeple were ringing; children lay in wait with song, and ladies with posies, in which all the resources of fantastic extravagance were exhausted; and thus in an unbroken triumph--and to outward appearance received with the warmest affection--she passed under temple bar, down the strand by charing cross to westminster hall. the king was not with her throughout the day; nor did he intend to be with her in any part of the ceremony. she was to reign without a rival, the undisputed sovereign of the hour. saturday being passed in showing herself to the people, she retired for the night to "the king's manour house at westminster," where she slept. on the following morning, between eight and nine o'clock, she returned to the hall, where the lord mayor, the city council, and the peers were again assembled, and took her place on the high dais at the top of the stairs under the cloth of state; while the bishops, the abbots, and the monks of the abbey formed in the area. a railed way had been laid with carpets across palace yard and the sanctuary to the abbey gates, and when all was ready, preceded by the peers in their robes of parliament, the knights of the garter in the dress of the order, she swept out under her canopy, the bishops and the monks "solemnly singing." the train was borne by the old duchess of norfolk her aunt, the bishops of london and winchester on either side "bearing up the lappets of her robe." the earl of oxford carried the crown on its cushion immediately before her. she was dressed in purple velvet furred with ermine, her hair escaping loose, as she usually wore it, under a wreath of diamonds. on entering the abbey, she was led to the coronation chair where she sat while the train fell into their places, and the preliminaries, of the ceremonial were despatched. then she was conducted up to the high altar, and anointed queen of england, and she received from the hands of cranmer, fresh come in haste from dunstable, with the last words of his sentence upon catherine scarcely silent upon his lips, the golden sceptre, and st. edward's crown. did any twinge of remorse, any pang of painful recollection, pierce at that moment the incense of glory which she was inhaling? did any vision flit across her of a sad mourning figure which once had stood where she was standing, now desolate, neglected, sinking into the darkening twilight of a life cut short by sorrow? who can tell? at such a time, that figure would have weighed heavily upon a noble mind, and a wise mind would have been taught by the thought of it, that although life be fleeting as a dream, it is long enough to experience strange vicissitudes of fortune. but anne boleyn was not noble and was not wise,--too probably she felt nothing but the delicious, all-absorbing, all-intoxicating present, and if that plain, suffering face presented itself to her memory at all, we may fear that it was rather as a foil to her own surpassing loveliness. two years later, she was able to exult over catherine's death; she is not likely to have thought of her with gentler feelings in the first glow and flush of triumph. we may now leave these scenes. they concluded in the usual english style, with a banquet in the great hall, and with all outward signs of enjoyment and pleasure. there must have been but few persons present however who did not feel that the sunshine of such a day might not last for ever, and that over so dubious a marriage no englishman could exult with more than half a heart. it is foolish to blame lightly actions which arise in the midst of circumstances which are and can be but imperfectly known; and there may have been political reasons which made so much pomp desirable. anne boleyn had been the subject of public conversation for seven years, and henry, no doubt, desired to present his jewel to them in the rarest and choicest setting. yet to our eyes, seeing, perhaps, by the light of what followed, a more modest introduction would have appeared more suited to the doubtful nature of her position. at any rate we escape from this scene of splendour very gladly as from something unseasonable. it would have been well for henry viii. if he had lived in a world in which women could have been dispensed with; so ill, in all his relations with them, he succeeded. with men he could speak the right word, he could do the right thing; with women he seemed to be under a fatal necessity of mistake. it was now necessary, however, after this public step, to communicate in form to the emperor the divorce and the new marriage. the king was assured of the rectitude of the motives on which he had himself acted, and he knew at the same time that he had challenged the hostility of the papal world. yet he did not desire a quarrel if there were means of avoiding it; and more than once he had shown respect for the opposition which he had met with from charles, as dictated by honourable care for the interests of his kinswoman. he therefore, in the truest language which will be met with in the whole long series of the correspondence, composed a despatch for his ambassador at brussels, and expressed himself in a tone of honest sorrow for the injury which he had been compelled to commit. neither the coercion which the emperor had exerted over the pope, nor his intrigues with his subjects in ireland and england, could deprive the nephew of catherine of his right to a courteous explanation; and henry directed doctor nicholas hawkins in making his communication "to use only gentle words;" to express a hope that charles would not think only of his own honour, but would remember public justice; and that a friendship of long standing, which the interests of the subjects of both countries were concerned so strongly in maintaining, might not be broken. the instructions are too interesting to pass over with a general description. after stating the grounds on which henry had proceeded, and which charles thoroughly understood, hawkins was directed to continue thus:-"the king of england is not ignorant what respect is due unto the world. how much he hath laboured and travailed therein he hath sufficiently declared and showed in his acts and proceedings. if he had contemned the order and process of the world, or the friendship and amity of your majesty, he needed not to have sent so often to the pope and to you both, nor continued and spent his time in delays. he might have done what he has done now, had it so liked him, with as little difficulty as now, if without such respect he would have followed his pleasure." the minister was then to touch the pope's behaviour and henry's forbearance, and after that to say:-"going forward in that way his highness saw that he could come to no conclusion; and he was therefore compelled to step right forth out of the maze, and so to quiet himself at last. and is it not time to have an end in seven years? it is not to be asked nor questioned whether the matter hath been determined after the common fashion, but whether it hath in it common justice, truth, and equity. for observation of the common order, his grace hath done what lay in him. enforced by necessity he hath found the true order which he hath in substance followed with effect, and hath done as becometh him. he doubteth not but your majesty, remembering his cause from the beginning hitherto, will of yourself consider and think, that among mortal men nothing should be immortal; and suits must once have an end, si possis recte, si non quocunque modo. if his highness cannot as he would, then must he do as he may; and he that hath a journey to be perfected must, if he cannot go one way, essay another. for his matter with the pope, he shall deal with him apart. your majesty he taketh for his friend, and as to a friend he openeth these matters to you, trusting to find your majesty no less friendly than he hath done heretofore."[437] if courtesy obliged henry to express a confidence in the stability of the relations between himself and charles, which it was impossible that he could have felt, yet in other respects this letter has the most pleasant merit of honesty. hawkins was so much overcome by "the sweetness of it," that "he nothing doubted if that the emperor read the same, by god's grace he should be utterly persuaded;" and although in this expectation he was a little over sanguine, as in calmer moments he would have acknowledged, yet plain speech is never without its value; and charles himself after he had tried other expedients, and they had not succeeded with him, found it more prudent to acquiesce in what could no longer be altered, and to return to cordiality. for the present he remained under the impression that by the great body of the english the divorce was looked upon with coldness and even with displeasure, that the king was supported only by the complacency of a few courtiers, and that the nation were prepared to compel him to undo the wrong which had been inflicted upon catherine and the princess. so he was assured by the spanish party in england; so all the disaffected assured him, who were perhaps themselves deceived. he had secured ireland, and scotland also in so far as james's promises could secure it;[438] and he was not disposed to surrender for the present so promising a game till he had tried his strength and proved his weakness. he replied coldly to hawkins, "that for the king of england's amity he would be glad thereof, so the said king would do works according. the matter was none of his; but the lady, whose rights had been violated, was his aunt and an orphan, and that he must see for her, and for her daughter his cousin."[439] the scarcely ambiguous answer was something softened the following day; perhaps only, however, because it was too plain a betrayal of his intentions. he communicated at once with catherine, and henry speedily learnt the nature of the advice which he had given to her. after the coronation had passed off so splendidly, when no disturbance had risen, no voice had been raised for her or for her daughter, the poor queen's spirit for the moment had sunk; she had thought of leaving the country, and flying with the princess mary to spain. the emperor sent to urge her to remain a little longer, guaranteeing her, if she could command her patience, an ample reparation for her injuries. whatever might appear upon the surface, the new queen, he was assured, was little loved by the people, and "they were ready to join with any prince who would espouse her quarrel."[440] all classes, he said, were agreed in one common feeling of displeasure. they were afraid of a change of religion; they were afraid of the wreck of their commerce; and the whole country was fast ripening towards insurrection. the points on which he relied as the occasion of the disaffection betrayed the sources of his information. he was in correspondence with the regular clergy through peto at antwerp, and through his flemish subjects with merchants of london. among both these classes, as well as among the white rose nobles, he had powerful adherents; and it could not have been forgotten in the courts, either of london or brussels, that within the memory of living men, a small band of exiles, equipped by a duke of burgundy, had landed at a yorkshire village, and in a month had revolutionised the kingdom. in the eyes of charles there was no reason why an attempt which had succeeded once might not succeed again under circumstances seemingly of far fairer promise. the strength of a party of insurrection is a power which official statesmen never justly comprehend. it depends upon moral influences, which they are professionally incapable of appreciating. they are able complacently to ignore the existence of substantial disaffection though all society may be undermined; they can build their hopes, when it suits their convenience, on the idle trifling of superficial discontent. in the present instance there was some excuse for the mistake. that in england there really existed an active and organised opposition, prepared, when opportunity offered, to try the chances of rebellion, was no delusion of persons who measured facts by their desires; it was an ascertained peril of serious magnitude, which might be seriously calculated upon; and if the experiment was tried, reasonable men might fairly be divided in opinion on the result to be expected. in the meantime the government had been obliged to follow up the coronation of the new queen by an act which the situation of the kingdom explained and excused; but which, if catherine had been no more than a private person, would have been wanton cruelty. among the people she still bore her royal title; but the name of queen, so long as she was permitted to retain it, was an allowed witness against the legality of the sentence at dunstable. there could not be "two queens" in england,[441] and one or other must retire from the designation. a proclamation was therefore issued by the council, declaring, that in consequence of the final proofs that the lady catherine had never been lawfully married to the king, she was to bear thenceforward the title which she had received after the death of her first husband, and be called the princess dowager. harsh as this measure was, she had left no alternative to the government by which to escape the enforcement of it, by her refusal to consent to any form of compromise. if she was queen, anne boleyn was not queen. if she was queen, the princess mary remained the heir to the crown, and the expected offspring of anne would be illegitimate. if the question had been merely of names, to have moved it would have been unworthy and wicked; but where respect for private feeling was incompatible with the steps which a nation felt necessary in order to secure itself against civil convulsions, private feeling was compelled not unjustly to submit to injury. mary, though still a girl, had inherited both her father's will and her mother's obstinacy. she was in correspondence, as we have seen, with the nun of kent, and aware at least, if she was not further implicated in it, of a conspiracy to place her on the throne. charles was engaged in the same designs; and it will not be pretended that catherine was left without information of what was going forward, or that her own conduct was uninfluenced by policy. these intrigues it was positively necessary to stifle, and it was impossible to leave a pretext of which so powerful a use might be made in the hands of a party whose object was not only to secure to the princess her right to succeed her father, but to compel him by arms either to acknowledge it, or submit to be deposed.[442] our sympathies are naturally on the side of the weak and the unsuccessful. state considerations lose their force after the lapse of centuries, when no interests of our own are any longer in jeopardy; and we feel for the great sufferers of history only in their individual capacity, without recalling or caring for the political exigencies to which they were sacrificed. it is an error of disguised selfishness, the counterpart of the carelessness with which in our own age, when we are ourselves constituents of an interested public, we ignore what it is inconvenient to remember. thus, therefore, on one hot midsummer sunday in this year 1533, the people gathering to church in every parish through the english counties, read, nailed upon the doors, a paper signed henry r., setting forth that the lady catherine of spain, heretofore called queen of england, was not to be called by that title any more, but was to be called princess dowager, and so to be held and esteemed. the proclamation, we may suppose, was read with varying comments; of the reception of it in the northern counties, the following information was forwarded to the crown. the earl of derby, lord-lieutenant of yorkshire, wrote to inform the council that he had arrested a certain "lewd and naughty priest," james harrison by name, on the charge of having spoken unfitting and slanderous words of his highness and the queen's grace. he had taken the examinations of several witnesses, which he had sent with his letter, and which were to the following effect:-richard clark deposeth that the said james harrison reading the proclamation, said that queen catherine was queen, nan bullen should not be queen, nor the king should be no king but on his bearing. william dalton deposeth, that in his hearing the above-named james said, i will take none for queen but queen catherine--who the devil made nan bullen, that hoore, queen? i will never take her for queen--and he the said william answered, "hold thy peace, thou wot'st not what thou sayest--but that thou art a priest i should punish thee, that others should take example." richard sumner and john clayton depose, that they came in company with the said james from perbalt to eccleston, when the said james did say, "this is a marvellous world--the king will put down the order of priests and destroy the sacrament, but he cannot reign long, for york will be in london hastily."[443] here was the later growth of the spirit which we saw a few months previously in the monks of furness. the mutterings of discontent had developed into plain open treason, confident of success, and scarcely caring to conceal itself--and yorkshire was preparing for rebellion and "the pilgrimage of grace." there is another quarter also into which we must follow the proclamation, and watch the effect of the royal order in a scene where it is well that we should for a few moments rest. catherine was still at ampthill, surrounded by her own attendants, who formed an inner circle, shielding her retirement against impertinent curiosity. she rarely or never allowed herself to be seen; lord mountjoy, with an official retinue, was in attendance in the house; but the occupation was not a pleasant one, and he was as willing to respect the queen's seclusion as she to remain secluded. injunctions arrived however from the court at the end of june, which compelled him to request an interview; a deputation of the privy council had come down to inform the ex-queen of the orders of the government, and to desire that they might be put in force in her own family. aware probably of the nature of the communication which was to be made to her, she refused repeatedly to admit them to her presence. at length, however, she nerved herself for the effort, and on the 3rd of july mountjoy and the state commissioners were informed that she was ready to receive them. as they entered her room she was lying on a sofa. she had a bad cough, and she had hurt her foot with a pin, and was unable to stand or walk. her attendants were all present by her own desire; she was glad to see around her some sympathising human faces, to enable her to endure the cold hard eyes of the officials of the council. she inquired whether the message was to be delivered in writing or by word of mouth. they replied that they had brought with them instructions which they were to read, and that they were further charged with a message which was to be delivered verbally. she desired that they would read their written despatch. it was addressed to the princess dowager, and she at once excepted to the name. she was not princess dowager, she said, but queen, and the king's true wife. she came to the king a clear maid for any bodily knowledge of prince arthur; she had borne him lawful issue and no bastard, and therefore queen she was, and queen she would be while she lived. the commissioners were prepared for the objection, and continued, without replying, to read. the paper contained a statement of worn-out unrealities; the old story of the judgment of the universities and the learned men, the sentence of convocation, and of the houses of parliament; and, finally, the fact of substantial importance, that the king, acting as he believed according to the laws of god, had married the lady anne boleyn, who was now his lawful wife, and anointed queen of england. oh yes, she answered when they had done, we know that, and "we know the authority by which it has been done--more by power than justice." the king's learned men were learned heretics; the honest learning was for her. as for the seals of the universities there were strange stories about the way in which they had been obtained. the universities and the parliament had done what the king bade them; and they had gone against their consciences in doing it; but it was of no importance to her--she was in the hands of the pope, who was god's vicar, and she acknowledged no other judge. the commissioners informed her of the decision of the council that she was no longer to bear the title of queen. it stood, they said, neither with the laws of god nor man, nor with the king's honour, to have two queens named within the realm; and in fact, there was but one queen, the king's lawful wife, to whom he was now married. she replied shortly that she was the king's lawful queen, and none other. there was little hope in her manner that anything which could be said would move her; but her visitors were ordered to try her to the uttermost. the king, they continued, was surprised that she could be so disobedient; and not only that she was disobedient herself, but that she allowed and encouraged her servants in the same conduct. she was ready to obey the king; she answered, when she could do so without disobeying god; but she could not damn her soul even for him. her servants, she said, must do the best they could; they were standing round her as she was speaking; and she turned to them with an apology, and a hope that they would pardon her. she would hinder her cause, she said; and put her soul in danger, if on their account she were to relinquish her name, and she could not do it. the deputation next attempted her on her worldly side. if she would obey, they informed her that she would be allowed not only her jointure as princess dowager and her own private fortune, but all the settlements which had been made upon her on her marriage with the king. she "passed not upon possessions, in regard of this matter," she replied. it touched her conscience, and no worldly considerations were of the slightest moment. in disobeying the king, they said; seeing that she was none other than his subject, she might give cause for dissension and disturbance; and she might lose the favour of the people. she "trusted not," she replied--she "never minded it, nor would she"--she "desired only to save her right; and if she should lose the favour of the people in defending that right, yet she trusted to go to heaven cum famâ et infamiâ." promises and persuasions being unavailing, they tried threats. she was told that if she persisted in so obstinate a course, the king would be obliged to make known to the world the offers which he had made to her, and the ill reception which they had met with--and then he would perhaps withdraw those offers, and conceive some evil opinions of high displeasure towards her. she answered that there was no manner of offers neither of lands nor goods that she had respect unto in comparison of her cause--and as to the loss of the king's affection, she trusted to god, to whom she would daily pray for him. the learned council might as well have reasoned with the winds; or threatened the waves of the sea. but they were not yet weary, and their next effort was as foolish as it was ungenerous. they suggested, "that if she did reserve the name of queen, it was thought that she would do it of a vain desire and appetite of glory; and further, she might be an occasion that the king would withdraw his love from her most dear daughter the lady princess, which should chiefly move her, if none other cause did." they must have known little of catherine, if they thought she could be influenced by childish vanity. it was for no vain glory that she cared, she answered proudly; she was the king's true wife, and her conscience forbade her to call herself otherwise; the princess was his true begotten child; and as god hath given her to them, so for her part she would render her again; neither for daughter, family, nor possessions, would she yield in her cause; and she made a solemn protestation, calling on every one present to bear witness to what she said, that the king's wife she was, and such she would take herself to be, and that she would never surrender the name of queen till the pope had decided that she must bear it no longer. so ended the first interview. catherine, before the commissioners left her, desired to have a copy of the proposals which they had brought, that she might translate and send them to rome. they returned with them the next day, when she requested to see the report which they intended to send to the council of the preceding conversation. it was placed in her hands; and as she read it and found there the name of princess dowager, she took a pen and dashed out the words, the mark of which indignant ink-stroke may now be seen in the letter from which this account is taken.[444] with the accuracy of the rest she appeared to be satisfied--only when she found again their poor suggestion that she was influenced by vanity, she broke out with a burst of passionate indignation. "i would rather be a poor beggar's wife," she said, "and be sure of heaven, than queen of all the world, and stand in doubt thereof by reason of my own consent. i stick not so for vain glory, but because i know myself the king's true wife--and while you call me the king's subject, i was his subject while he took me for his wife. but if he take me not for his wife, i came not into this realm as merchandise, nor to be married to any merchant; nor do i continue in the same but as his lawful wife, and not as a subject to live under his dominion otherwise. i have always demeaned myself well and truly towards the king--and if it can be proved that either in writing to the pope or any other, i have either stirred or procured anything against his grace, or have been the means to any person to make any motion which might be prejudicial to his grace or to his realm, i am content to suffer for it. i have done england little good, and i should be sorry to do it any harm. but if i should agree to your motions and persuasions, i should slander myself, and confess to have been the king's harlot for twenty-four years. the cause, i cannot tell by what subtle means, has been determined here within the king's realm, before a man of his own making, the bishop of canterbury, no person indifferent i think in that behalf; and for the indifference of the place, i think the place had been more indifferent to have been judged in hell; for no truth can be suffered here, whereas the devils themselves i suppose do tremble to see the truth in this cause so sore oppressed."[445] most noble, spirited, and like a queen. yet she would never have been brought to this extremity, and she would have shown a truer nobleness, if four years before she could have yielded at the pope's entreaty on the first terms which were proposed to her. those terms would have required no humiliating confessions; they would have involved no sentence on her marriage nor touched her daughter's legitimacy. she would have broken no law of god, nor seemed to break it. she was required only to forget her own interests; and she would not forget them, though all the world should be wrecked by her refusal. she denied that she was concerned in "motions prejudicial to the king or to the realm," but she must have placed her own interpretation on the words, and would have considered excommunication and interdict a salutary discipline to the king and parliament. she knew that this sentence was imminent, that in its minor form it had already fallen; and she knew that her nephew and her friends in england were plotting to give effect to the decree. but we may pass over this. it is not for an english writer to dwell upon those faults of catherine of arragon, which english remorse has honourably insisted on forgetting. her injuries, inevitable as they were, and forced upon her in great measure by her own wilfulness, remain among the saddest spots in the pages of our history. one other brief incident remains to be noticed here, to bring up before the imagination the features of this momentous summer. it is contained in the postscript of a letter of cranmer to hawkins the ambassador in germany; and the manner in which the story is told is no less suggestive than the story itself. the immediate present, however awful its import, will ever seem common and familiar to those who live and breathe in the midst of it. in the days of the september massacre at paris, the theatres were open as usual; men ate, and drank, and laughed, and cried, and went about their common work, unconscious that those days which were passing by them, so much like other days, would remain the _dies nefasti_, accursed in the memory of mankind for ever. nothing is terrible, nothing is sublime in human things, so long as they are before our eyes. the great man has so much in common with men in general, the routine of daily life, in periods the most remarkable in history, contains so much that is unvarying, that it is only when time has done its work; and all which was unimportant has ceased to be remembered, that such men and such times stand out in their true significance. it might have been thought that to a person like cranmer, the court at dunstable, the coronation of the new queen, the past out of which these things had risen, and the future which they threatened to involve, would have seemed at least serious; and that engaged as he had been as a chief actor, in a matter which, if it had done nothing else, had broken the heart of a high-born lady whom once he had honoured as his queen, he would have been either silent about his exploits, or if he had spoken of them, would have spoken not without some show of emotion. we look for a symptom of feeling, but we do not find it. when the coronation festivities were concluded he wrote to his friend an account of what had been done by himself and others in the light gossiping tone of easiest content; as if he were describing the common incidents of a common day. it is disappointing, and not wholly to be approved of. still less can we approve of the passage with which he concludes his letter. "other news we have none notable, but that one frith, which was in the tower in prison,[446] was appointed by the king's grace to be examined before me, my lord of london, my lord of winchester, my lord of suffolk, my lord chancellor, and my lord of wiltshire; whose opinion was so notably erroneous that we could not dispatch him, but were fain to leave him to the determination of his ordinary, which is the bishop of london. his said opinion is of such nature, that he thought it not necessary to be believed as an article of our faith that there is the very corporeal presence of christ within the host and sacrament of the altar; and holdeth on this point much after the opinion of oecolampadius. "and surely i myself sent for him three or four times to persuade him to leave that imagination. but for all that we could do therein, he would not apply to any counsel. notwithstanding now he is at a final end with all examinations; for my lord of london hath given sentence, and delivered him to the secular power when he looketh every day to go unto the fire. and there is also condemned with him one andrew a tailor for the self-same opinion; and thus fare you well."[447] these victims went as they were sentenced, dismissed to their martyr's crowns at smithfield, as queen anne boleyn but a few days before had received her golden crown at the altar of westminster abbey. twenty years later another fire was blazing under the walls of oxford; and the hand which was now writing these light lines was blackening in the flames of it, paying there the penalty of the same "imagination" for which frith and the poor london tailor were with such cool indifference condemned. it is affecting to know that frith's writings were the instruments of cranmer's conversion; and the fathers of the anglican church have left a monument of their sorrow for the shedding of this innocent blood in the order of the communion service, which closes with the very words on which the primate, with his brother bishops, had sate in judgment.[448] chapter vi the protestants where changes are about to take place of great and enduring moment, a kind of prologue, on a small scale, sometimes anticipates the true opening of the drama; like the first drops which give notice of the coming storm, or as if the shadows of the reality were projected forwards into the future, and imitated in dumb show the movements of the real actors in the story. such a rehearsal of the english reformation was witnessed at the close of the fourteenth century, confused, imperfect, disproportioned, to outward appearance barren of results; yet containing a representative of each one of the mixed forces by which that great change was ultimately effected, and foreshadowing even something of the course which it was to run. there was a quarrel with the pope upon the extent of the papal privileges; there were disputes between the laity and the clergy,--accompanied, as if involuntarily, by attacks on the sacramental system and the catholic faith,--while innovation in doctrine was accompanied also with the tendency which characterised the extreme development of the later protestants--towards political republicanism, the fifth monarchy, and community of goods. some account of this movement must be given in this place, although it can be but a sketch only. "lollardry"[449] has a history of its own; but it forms no proper part of the history of the reformation. it was a separate phenomenon, provoked by the same causes which produced their true fruit at a later period; but it formed no portion of the stem on which those fruits ultimately grew. it was a prelude which was played out, and sank into silence, answering for the time no other end than to make the name of heretic odious in the ears of the english nation. in their recoil from their first failure, the people stamped their hatred of heterodoxy into their language; and in the word _miscreant_, misbeliever, as the synonym of the worst species of reprobate, they left an indelible record of the popular estimate of the followers of john wycliffe. the lollard story opens with the disputes between the crown and the see of rome on the presentation to english benefices. for the hundred and fifty years which succeeded the conquest, the right of nominating the archbishops, the bishops, and the mitred abbots, had been claimed and exercised by the crown. on the passing of the great charter, the church had recovered its liberties, and the privilege of free election had been conceded by a special clause to the clergy. the practice which then became established was in accordance with the general spirit of the english constitution. on the vacancy of a see, the cathedral chapter applied to the crown for a congé d'élire. the application was a form; the consent was invariable. a bishop was then elected by a majority of suffrages; his name was submitted to the metropolitan, and by him to the pope. if the pope signified his approval, the election was complete; consecration followed; and the bishop having been furnished with his bulls of investiture, was presented to the king, and from him received "the temporalities" of his see. the mode in which the great abbots were chosen was precisely similar; the superiors of the orders to which the abbeys belonged were the channels of communication with the pope, in the place of the archbishops; but the elections in themselves were free, and were conducted in the same manner. the smaller church benefices, the small monasteries or parish churches, were in the hands of private patrons, lay or ecclesiastical; but in the case of each institution a reference was admitted, or was supposed to be admitted, to the court of rome. there was thus in the pope's hand an authority of an indefinite kind, which it was presumed that his sacred office would forbid him to abuse, but which, however, if he so unfortunately pleased, he might abuse at his discretion. he had absolute power over every nomination to an english benefice; he might refuse his consent till such adequate reasons, material or spiritual, as he considered sufficient to induce him to acquiesce, had been submitted to his consideration. in the case of nominations to the religious houses, the superiors of the various orders residing abroad had equal facilities for obstructiveness; and the consequence of so large a confidence in the purity of the higher orders of the church became visible in an act of parliament which it was found necessary to pass in 1306-7.[450] "of late," says this act, "it has come to the knowledge of the king, by the grievous complaint of the honourable persons, lords, and other noblemen of his realm, that whereas monasteries, priories, and other religious houses were founded to the honour and glory of god, and the advancement of holy church, by the king and his progenitors, and by the said noblemen and their ancestors; and a very great portion of lands and tenements have been given by them to the said monasteries, priories, and religious houses, and the religious men serving god in them; to the intent that clerks and laymen might be admitted in such houses, and that sick and feeble folk might be maintained, hospitality, almsgiving, and other charitable deeds might be done, and prayers be said for the souls of the founders and their heirs; the abbots, priors, and governors of the said houses, _and certain aliens their superiors_, as the abbots and priors of the cistertians, the premonstrants, the orders of saint augustine and of saint benedict, and many more of other religions and orders have at their own pleasure set divers heavy, unwonted heavy and importable tallages, payments, and impositions upon every of the said monasteries and houses subject unto them, in england, ireland, scotland, and wales, without the privity of the king and his nobility, contrary to the laws and customs of the said realm; and thereby the number of religious persons being oppressed by such tallages, payments, and impositions, the service of god is diminished, alms are not given to the poor, the sick, and the feeble; the healths of the living and the souls of the dead be miserably defrauded; hospitality, alms-giving, and other godly deeds do cease; and so that which in times past was charitably given to godly uses and to the service of god, is now converted to an evil end, by permission whereof there groweth great scandal to the people." to provide against a continuance of these abuses, it was enacted that no "religious" persons should, under any pretence or form, send out of the kingdom any kind of tax, rent, or tallage; and that "priors aliens" should not presume to assess any payment, charge, or other burden whatever upon houses within the realm.[451] the language of this act was studiously guarded. the pope was not alluded to; the specific methods by which the extortion was practised were not explained; the tax upon presentations to benefices, either having not yet distinguished itself beyond other impositions, or the government trusting that a measure of this general kind might answer the desired end. lucrative encroachments, however, do not yield so easily to treatment; nearly fifty years after it became necessary to re-enact the same statute; and while recapitulating the provisions of it, the parliament found it desirable to point out more specifically the intention with which it was passed. the popes in the interval had absorbed in their turn from the heads of the religious orders, the privileges which by them had been extorted from the affiliated societies. each english benefice had become the fountain of a rivulet which flowed into the roman exchequer, or a property to be distributed as the private patronage of the roman bishop: and the english parliament for the first time found itself in collision with the father of christendom. "the pope," says the fourth of the twenty-fifth of edward iii., "accroaching to himself the signories of the benefices within the realm of england, doth give and grant the same to aliens which did never dwell in england, and to cardinals which could not dwell here, and to others as well aliens as denizens, whereby manifold inconveniences have ensued." "not regarding" the statute of edward i., he had also continued to present to bishopricks, abbeys, priories, and other valuable preferments: money in large quantities was carried out of the realm from the proceeds of these offices, and it was necessary to insist emphatically that the papal nominations should cease. they were made in violation of the law, and were conducted with simony so flagrant that english benefices were sold in the papal courts to any person who would pay for them, whether an englishman or a stranger. it was therefore decreed that the elections to bishopricks should be free as in time past, that the rights of patrons should be preserved, and penalties of imprisonment, forfeiture, or outlawry, according to the complexion of the offence, should be attached to all impetration of benefices from rome by purchase or otherwise.[452] if statute law could have touched the evil, these enactments would have been sufficient for the purpose; but the influence of the popes in england was of that subtle kind which was not so readily defeated. the law was still defied, or still evaded; and the struggle continued till the close of the century, the legislature labouring patiently, but ineffectually, to confine with fresh enactments their ingenious adversary.[453] at length symptoms appeared of an intention on the part of the popes to maintain their claims with spiritual censures, and the nation was obliged to resolve upon the course which, in the event of their resorting to that extremity, it would follow. the lay lords[454] and the house of commons found no difficulty in arriving at a conclusion. they passed a fresh penal statute with prohibitions even more emphatically stringent, and decided that "if any man brought into this realm any sentence, summons, or excommunication, contrary to the effect of the statute, he should incur pain of life and members, with forfeiture of goods; and if any prelate made execution of such sentence, his temporalities should be taken from him, and should abide in the king's hands till redress was made."[455] so bold a measure threatened nothing less than open rupture. the act, however, seems to have been passed in haste, without determined consideration; and on second thoughts, it was held more prudent to attempt a milder course. the strength of the opposition to the papacy lay with the commons.[456] when the session of parliament was over, a great council was summoned to reconsider what should be done, and an address was drawn up, and forwarded to rome, with a request that the then reigning pope would devise some manner by which the difficulty could be arranged.[457] boniface ix. replied with the same want of judgment which was shown afterwards on an analogous occasion by clement vii. he disbelieved the danger; and daring the government to persevere, he granted a prebendal stall at wells to an italian cardinal, to which a presentation had been made already by the king. opposing suits were instantly instituted between the claimants in the courts of the two countries. a decision was given in england in favour of the nominee of the king, and the bishops agreeing to support the crown were excommunicated.[458] the court of rome had resolved to try the issue by a struggle of force, and the government had no alternative but to surrender at discretion, or to persevere at all hazards, and resist the usurpation. the proceedings on this occasion seem to have been unusual, and significant of the importance of the crisis. parliament either was sitting at the time when the excommunication was issued, or else it was immediately assembled; and the house of commons drew up, in the form of a petition to the king, a declaration of the circumstances which had occurred. after having stated generally the english law on the presentation to benefices, "now of late," they added, "divers processes be made by his holiness the pope, and censures of excommunication upon certain bishops, because they have made execution of the judgments [given in the king's courts], to the open disherison of the crown; whereby, if remedy be not provided, the crown of england, which hath been so free at all times, that it has been in no earthly subjection, should be submitted to the pope; and the laws and statutes of the realm by him be defeated and avoided at his will, in perpetual destruction of the sovereignty of the king our lord, his crown, his regality, and all his realm." the commons, therefore, on their part, declared, "that the things so attempted were clearly against the king's crown and his regality, used and approved of in the time of all his progenitors, and therefore they and all the liege commons of the realm would stand with their said lord the king, and his said crown, in the cases aforesaid, to live and die."[459] whether they made allusion to the act of 1389 does not appear--a measure passed under protest from one of the estates of the realm was possibly held unequal to meet the emergency--at all events they would not rely upon it. for after this peremptory assertion of their own opinion, they desired the king, "and required him in the way of justice," to examine severally the lords spiritual and temporal how they thought, and how they would stand.[460] the examination was made, and the result was satisfactory. the lay lords replied without reservation that they would support the crown. the bishops (they were in a difficulty for which all allowance must be made) gave a cautious, but also a manly answer. they would not affirm, they said, that the pope had a right to excommunicate them in such cases, and they would not say that he had not. it was clear, however, that legal or illegal, such excommunication was against the privileges of the english crown, and therefore that, on the whole, they would and ought to be with the crown, _loialment_, like loyal subjects, as they were bound by their allegiance.[461] in this unusual and emphatic manner, the three estates agreed that the pope should be resisted; and an act passed "that all persons suing at the court of rome, and obtaining thence any bulls, instruments, sentences of excommunication which touched the king, or were against him, his regality, or his realm, and they which brought the same within the realm, or received the same, or made thereof notification, or any other execution whatever, within the realm or without, they, their notaries, procurators, maintainers and abettors, fautors and counsellors, should be put out of the king's protection, and their lands and tenements, goods and chattels, be forfeited." the resolute attitude of the country terminated the struggle. boniface prudently yielded, and for the moment; and indeed for ever under this especial form, the wave of papal encroachment was rolled back. the temper which had been roused in the contest, might perhaps have carried the nation further. the liberties of the crown had been asserted successfully. the analogous liberties of the church might have followed; and other channels, too, might have been cut off, through which the papal exchequer fed itself on english blood. but at this crisis the anti-roman policy was arrested in its course by another movement, which turned the current of suspicion, and frightened back the nation to conservatism. while the crown and the parliament had been engaged with the pope, the undulations of the dispute had penetrated down among the body of the people, and an agitation had been commenced of an analogous kind against the spiritual authorities at home. the parliament had lamented that the duties of the religious houses were left unfulfilled, in consequence of the extortions of their superiors abroad. the people, who were equally convinced of the neglect of duty, adopted an interpretation of the phenomenon less favourable to the clergy, and attributed it to the temptations of worldliness, and the self-indulgence generated by enormous wealth. this form of discontent found its exponent in john wycliffe, the great forerunner of the reformation, whose austere figure stands out above the crowd of notables in english history, with an outline not unlike that of another forerunner of a greater change. the early life of wycliffe is obscure. lewis, on the authority of leland,[462] says that he was born near richmond, in yorkshire. fuller, though with some hesitation, prefers durham.[463] he emerges into distinct notice in 1360, ten years subsequent to the passing of the first statute of provisors, having then acquired a great oxford reputation as a lecturer in divinity, and having earned for himself powerful friends and powerful enemies. he had made his name distinguished by attacks upon the clergy for their indolence and profligacy: attacks both written and orally delivered--those written, we observe, being written in english, not in latin.[464] in 1365, islip, archbishop of canterbury, appointed him warden of canterbury hall; the appointment, however, was made with some irregularity, and the following year, archbishop islip dying, his successor, langham, deprived wycliffe, and the sentence was confirmed by the king. it seemed, nevertheless, that no personal reflection was intended by this decision, for edward iii. nominated the ex-warden one of his chaplains immediately after, and employed him on an important mission to bruges, where a conference on the benefice question was to be held with a papal commission. other church preferment was subsequently given to wycliffe; but oxford remained the chief scene of his work. he continued to hold his professorship of divinity; and from this office the character of his history took its complexion. at a time when books were rare and difficult to be procured, lecturers who had truth to communicate fresh drawn from the fountain, held an influence which in these days it is as difficult to imagine as, however, it is impossible to overrate. students from all europe flocked to the feet of a celebrated professor, who became the leader of a party by the mere fact of his position. the burden of wycliffe's teaching was the exposure of the indolent fictions which passed under the name of religion in the established theory of the church. he was a man of most simple life; austere in appearance, with bare feet and russet mantle.[465] as a soldier of christ, he saw in his great master and his apostles the patterns whom he was bound to imitate. by the contagion of example he gathered about him other men who thought as he did; and gradually, under his captaincy, these "poor priests," as they were called--vowed to poverty because christ was poor--vowed to accept no benefice, lest they should misspend the property of the poor, and because, as apostles, they were bound to go where their master called them,[466] spread out over the country as an army of missionaries, to preach the faith which they found in the bible--to preach, not of relics and of indulgences, but of repentance and of the grace of god. they carried with them copies of the bible which wycliffe had translated, leaving here and there, as they travelled, their costly treasures, as shining seed points of light; and they refused to recognise the authority of the bishops, or their right to silence them. if this had been all, and perhaps if edward iii. had been succeeded by a prince less miserably incapable than his grandson richard, wycliffe might have made good his ground; the movement of the parliament against the pope might have united in a common stream with the spiritual move against the church at home, and the reformation have been antedated by a century. he was summoned to answer for himself before the archbishop of canterbury in 1377. he appeared in court supported by the presence of john of gaunt, duke of lancaster, the eldest of edward's surviving sons, and the authorities were unable to strike him behind so powerful a shield. but the "poor priests" had other doctrines besides those which they discovered in the bible, relating to subjects with which, as apostles, they would have done better if they had shrunk from meddling. the inefficiency of the clergy was occasioned, as wycliffe thought, by their wealth and by their luxury. he desired to save them from a temptation too heavy for them to bear, and he insisted that by neglect of duty their wealth had been forfeited, and that it was the business of the laity to take it from its unworthy possessors. the invectives with which the argument was accompanied produced a widely-spread irritation. the reins of the country fell simultaneously into the weak hands of richard ii., and the consequence was a rapid spread of disorder. in the year which followed richard's accession, consistory judges were assaulted in their courts, sanctuaries were violated, priests were attacked and ill-treated in church, church-yard, and cathedral, and even while engaged in the mass;[467] the contagion of the growing anarchy seems to have touched even wycliffe himself, and touched him in a point most deeply dangerous. his theory of property, and his study of the character of christ, had led him to the near confines of anabaptism. expanding his views upon the estates of the church into an axiom, he taught that "charters of perpetual inheritance were impossible;" "that god could not give men civil possessions for ever;"[468] "that property was founded in grace, and derived from god;" and "seeing that forfeiture was the punishment of treason, and all sin was treason against god, the sinner must consequently forfeit his right to what he held of god." these propositions were nakedly true, as we shall most of us allow; but god has his own methods of enforcing extreme principles; and human legislation may only meddle with them at its peril. the theory as an abstraction could be represented as applying equally to the laity as to the clergy, and the new teaching received a practical comment in 1381, in the invasion of london by wat, the tyler of dartford, and 100,000 men, who were to level all ranks, put down the church, and establish universal liberty.[469] two priests accompanied the insurgents, not wycliffe's followers, but the licentious counterfeits of them, who trod inevitably in their footsteps, and were as inevitably countenanced by their doctrines. the insurrection was attended with the bloodshed, destruction, and ferocity natural to such outbreaks. the archbishop of canterbury and many gentlemen were murdered; and a great part of london sacked and burnt. it would be absurd to attribute this disaster to wycliffe, nor was there any desire to hold him responsible for it; but it is equally certain that the doctrines which he had taught were incompatible, at that particular time, with an effective repression of the spirit which had caused the explosion. it is equally certain that he had brought discredit on his nobler efforts by ambiguous language on a subject of the utmost difficulty, and had taught the wiser and better portion of the people to confound heterodoxy of opinion with sedition, anarchy, and disorder. so long as wycliffe lived, his own lofty character was a guarantee for the conduct of his immediate disciples; and although his favour had far declined, a party in the state remained attached to him, with sufficient influence to prevent the adoption of extreme measures against the "poor priests." in the year following the insurrection, an act was passed for their repression in the house of lords, and was sent down by the king to the commons. they were spoken of as "evil persons," going from place to place in defiance of the bishops, preaching in the open air to great congregations at markets and fairs, "exciting the people," "engendering discord between the estates of the realm." the ordinaries had no power to silence them, and had therefore desired that commissions should be issued to the sheriffs of the various counties, to arrest all such persons, and confine them, until they would "justify themselves" in the ecclesiastical courts.[470] wycliffe petitioned against the bill, and it was rejected; not so much perhaps out of tenderness for the reformer, as because the lower house was excited by the controversy with the pope; and being doubtfully disposed towards the clergy, was reluctant to subject the people to a more stringent spiritual control. but wycliffe himself meanwhile had received a clear intimation of his own declining position. his opposition to the church authorities, and his efforts at re-invigorating the faith of the country, had led him into doubtful statements on the nature of the eucharist; he had entangled himself in dubious metaphysics on a subject on which no middle course is really possible; and being summoned to answer for his language before a synod in london, he had thrown himself again for protection on the duke of lancaster. the duke (not unnaturally under the circumstances) declined to encourage what he could neither approve nor understand;[471] and wycliffe, by his great patron's advice, submitted. he read a confession of faith before the bishops, which was held satisfactory; he was forbidden, however, to preach again in oxford, and retired to his living of lutterworth, in leicestershire, where two years later he died. with him departed all which was best and purest in the movement which he had commenced. the zeal of his followers was not extinguished, but the wisdom was extinguished which had directed it; and perhaps the being treated as the enemies of order had itself a tendency to make them what they were believed to be. they were left unmolested for the next twenty years, the feebleness of the government, the angry complexion which had been assumed by the dispute with rome, and the political anarchy in the closing decade of the century, combining to give them temporary shelter; but they availed themselves of their opportunity to travel further on the dangerous road on which they had entered; and on the settlement of the country under henry iv. they fell under the general ban which struck down all parties who had shared in the late disturbances. they had been spared in 1382, only for more sharp denunciation, and a more cruel fate; and boniface having healed, on his side, the wounds which had been opened, by well-timed concessions, there was no reason left for leniency. the character of the lollard teaching was thus described (perhaps in somewhat exaggerated language) in the preamble of the act of 1401.[472] "divers false and perverse people," so runs the act _de heretico comburendo_, "of a certain new sect, damnably thinking of the faith of the sacraments of the church, and of the authority of the same, against the law of god and of the church, usurping the office of preaching, do perversely and maliciously, in divers places within the realm, preach and teach divers new doctrines, and wicked erroneous opinions, contrary to the faith and determination of holy church. and of such sect and wicked doctrines they make unlawful conventicles, they hold and exercise schools, they make and write books, they do wickedly instruct and inform people, and excite and stir them to sedition and insurrection, and make great strife and division among the people, and other enormities horrible to be heard, daily do perpetrate and commit. the diocesans cannot by their jurisdiction spiritual, without aid of the king's majesty, sufficiently correct these said false and perverse people, nor refrain their malice, because they do go from diocess to diocess, and will not appear before the said diocesans; but the jurisdiction spiritual, the keys of the church, and the censures of the same, do utterly contemn and despise; and so their wicked preachings and doctrines they do from day to day continue and exercise, to the destruction of all order and rule, right and reason." something of these violent accusations is perhaps due to the horror with which false doctrine in matters of faith was looked upon in the catholic church, the grace by which alone an honest life was made possible being held to be dependent upon orthodoxy. but the lollards had become political revolutionists as well as religious reformers; the revolt against the spiritual authority had encouraged and countenanced a revolt against the secular; and we cannot be surprised, therefore, that these institutions should have sympathised with each other, and have united to repress a danger which was formidable to both. the bishops, by this act, received arbitrary power to arrest and imprison on suspicion, without check or restraint of law, at their will and pleasure. prisoners who refused to abjure their errors, who persisted in heresy, or relapsed into it after abjuration, were sentenced to be burnt at the stake--a dreadful punishment, on the wickedness of which the world has long been happily agreed. yet we must remember that those who condemned teachers of heresy to the flames, considered that heresy itself involved everlasting perdition; that they were but faintly imitating the severity which orthodoxy still ascribes to almighty god himself. the tide which was thus setting back in favour of the church did not yet, however, flow freely, and without a check. the commons consented to sacrifice the heretics, but they still cast wistful looks on the lands of the religious houses. on two several occasions, in 1406, and again 1410, spoliation was debated in the lower house, and representations were made upon the subject to the king.[473] the country, too, continued to be agitated with war and treason; and when henry v. became king, in 1412, the church was still uneasy, and the lollards were as dangerous as ever. whether by prudent conduct they might have secured a repeal of the persecuting act is uncertain; it is more likely, from their conduct, that they had made their existence incompatible with the security of any tolerable government. a rumour having gone abroad that the king intended to enforce the laws against heresy, notices were found fixed against the doors of the london churches, that if any such measure was attempted, a hundred thousand men would be in arms to oppose it. these papers were traced to sir john oldcastle, otherwise called lord cobham, a man whose true character is more difficult to distinguish, in the conflict of the evidence which has come down to us about him, than that of almost any noticeable person in history. he was perhaps no worse than a fanatic. he was certainly prepared, if we may trust the words of a royal proclamation (and henry was personally intimate with oldcastle, and otherwise was not likely to have exaggerated the charges against him), he was prepared to venture a rebellion, with the prospect of himself becoming the president of some possible lollard commonwealth.[474] the king, with swift decisiveness, annihilated the incipient treason. oldcastle was himself arrested. he escaped out of the tower into scotland; and while henry was absent in france he seems to have attempted to organise some kind of scotch invasion; but he was soon after again taken on the welsh border, tried and executed. an act which was passed in 1414 described his proceedings as an "attempt to destroy the king, and all other manner of estates of the realm, as well spiritual as temporal, and also all manner of policy, and finally the laws of the land." the sedition was held to have originated in heresy, and for the better repression of such mischiefs in time to come, the lord chancellor, the judges, the justices of the peace, the sheriffs, mayors, bailiffs, and every other officer having government of people, were sworn on entering their office to use their best power and diligence to detect and prosecute all persons suspected of so heinous a crime.[475] thus perished wycliffe's labour,--not wholly, because his translation of the bible still remained a rare treasure; as seed of future life, which would spring again under happier circumstances. but the sect which he organised, the special doctrines which he set himself to teach, after a brief blaze of success, sank into darkness; and no trace remained of lollardry except the black memory of contempt and hatred with which the heretics of the fourteenth century were remembered by the english people, long after the actual reformation had become the law of the land.[476] so poor a close to a movement of so fair promise was due partly to the agitated temper of the times; partly, perhaps, to a want of judgment in wycliffe; but chiefly and essentially because it was an untimely birth. wycliffe saw the evil; he did not see the remedy; and neither in his mind nor in the mind of the world about him, had the problem ripened itself for solution. england would have gained little by the premature overthrow of the church, when the house out of which the evil spirit was cast out could have been but swept and garnished for the occupation of the seven devils of anarchy. the fire of heresy continued to smoulder, exploding occasionally in insurrection,[477] occasionally blazing up in nobler form, when some poor seeker for the truth, groping for a vision of god in the darkness of the years which followed, found his way into that high presence through the martyr's fire. but substantially, the nation relapsed into obedience--the church was reprieved for a century. its fall was delayed till the spirit in which it was attacked was winnowed clean of all doubtful elements--until protestantism had recommenced its enterprise in a desire, not for a fairer adjustment of the world's good things, but in a desire for some deeper, truer, nobler, holier insight into the will of god. it recommenced not under the auspices of a wycliffe, not with the partial countenance of a government which was crossing swords with the father of catholic christendom, and menacing the severance of england from the unity of the faith, but under a strong dynasty of undoubted catholic loyalty, with the entire administrative power, secular as well as spiritual, in the hands of the episcopate. it sprung up spontaneously, unguided, unexcited, by the vital necessity of its nature, among the masses of the nation. leaping over a century, i pass to the year 1525, at which time, or about which time, a society was enrolled in london calling itself "the association of christian brothers."[478] it was composed of poor men, chiefly tradesmen, artisans, a few, a very few of the clergy; but it was carefully organised, it was provided with moderate funds, which were regularly audited; and its paid agents went up and down the country carrying testaments and tracts with them, and enrolling in the order all persons who dared to risk their lives in such a cause. the harvest had been long ripening. the records of the bishops' courts[479] are filled from the beginning of the century with accounts of prosecutions for heresy--with prosecutions, that is, of men and women to whom the masses, the pilgrimages, the indulgences, the pardons, the effete paraphernalia of the establishment, had become intolerable; who had risen up in blind resistance, and had declared, with passionate anger, that whatever was the truth, all this was falsehood. the bishops had not been idle; they had plied their busy tasks with stake and prison, and victim after victim had been executed with more than necessary cruelty. but it was all in vain: punishment only multiplied offenders, and "the reek" of the martyrs, as was said when patrick hamilton was burnt at st. andrews, "infected all that it did blow upon."[480] there were no teachers, however, there were no books, no unity of conviction, only a confused refusal to believe in lies. copies of wycliffe's bible remained, which parties here and there, under death penalties if detected, met to read;[481] copies, also, of some of his tracts[482] were extant; but they were unprinted transcripts, most rare and precious, which the watchfulness of the police made it impossible to multiply through the press, and which remained therefore necessarily in the possession of but a few fortunate persons. the protestants were thus isolated in single groups or families, without organisation, without knowledge of each other, with nothing to give them coherency as a party; and so they might have long continued, except for an impulse from some external circumstances. they were waiting for direction, and men in such a temper are seldom left to wait in vain. the state of england did but represent the state of all northern europe. wherever the teutonic language was spoken, wherever the teutonic nature was in the people, there was the same weariness of unreality, the same craving for a higher life. england rather lagged behind than was a leader in the race of discontent. in germany, all classes shared the common feeling; in england it was almost confined to the lowest. but, wherever it existed, it was a free, spontaneous growth in each separate breast, not propagated by agitation, but springing self sown, the expression of the honest anger of honest men at a system which had passed the limits of toleration, and which could be endured no longer. at such times the minds of men are like a train of gunpowder, the isolated grains of which have no relation to each other, and no effect on each other, while they remain unignited; but let a spark kindle but one of them, and they shoot into instant union in a common explosion. such a spark was kindled in germany, at wittenberg, on the 31st of october, 1517. in the middle of that day luther's denunciation of indulgences was fixed against the gate of all saints church, wittenberg, and it became, like the brazen serpent in the wilderness, the sign to which the sick spirits throughout the western world looked hopefully and were healed. in all those millions of hearts the words of luther found an echo, and flew from lip to lip, from ear to ear. the thing which all were longing for was done, and in two years from that day there was scarcely perhaps a village from the irish channel to the danube in which the name of luther was not familiar as a word of hope and promise. then rose a common cry for guidance. books were called for--above all things, the great book of all, the bible. luther's inexhaustible fecundity flowed with a steady stream, and the printing presses in germany and in the free towns of the netherlands, multiplied testaments and tracts in hundreds of thousands. printers published at their own expense as luther wrote.[483] the continent was covered with disfrocked monks who had become the pedlars of these precious wares;[484] and as the contagion spread, noble young spirits from other countries, eager themselves to fight in god's battle, came to wittenberg to learn from the champion who had struck the first blow at their great enemy how to use their weapons. "students from all nations came to wittenberg," says one, "to hear luther and melancthon. as they came in sight of the town they returned thanks to god with clasped hands; for from wittenberg, as heretofore from jerusalem, proceeded the light of evangelical truth, to spread thence to the utmost parts of the earth."[485] thither came young patrick hamilton from edinburgh, whose "reek" was of so much potency, a boy-enthusiast of nature as illustrious as his birth; and thither came also from england, which is here our chief concern, william tyndal, a man whose history is lost in his work, and whose epitaph is the reformation. beginning life as a restless oxford student, he moved thence to cambridge, thence to gloucestershire, to be tutor in a knight's family, and there hearing of luther's doings, and expressing himself with too warm approval to suit his patron's conservatism,[486] he fell into disgrace. from gloucestershire he removed to london, where cuthbert tunstall had lately been made bishop, and from whom he looked for countenance in an intention to translate the new testament. tunstall showed little encouragement to this enterprise; but a better friend rose where he was least looked for; and a london alderman, humfrey monmouth by name, hearing the young dreamer preach on some occasion at st. dunstan's, took him to his home for half a year, and kept him there: where "the said tyndal," as the alderman declared, "lived like a good priest, studying both night and day; he would eat but sodden meat, by his good will, nor drink but small single beer; nor was he ever seen to wear linen about him all the time of his being there."[487] the half year being passed, monmouth gave him ten pounds, with which provision he went off to wittenberg; and the alderman, for assisting him in that business, went to the tower--escaping, however, we are glad to know, without worse consequences than a short imprisonment. tyndal saw luther,[488] and under his immediate direction translated the gospels and epistles while at wittenberg. thence he returned to antwerp, and settling there under the privileges of the city, he was joined by joy, who shared his great work with him. young frith from cambridge came to him also, and barnes, and lambert, and many others of whom no written record remains, to concert a common scheme of action. in antwerp, under the care of these men, was established the printing press, by which books were supplied, to accomplish for the teaching of england what luther and melancthon were accomplishing for germany. tyndal's testament was first printed, then translations of the best german books, reprints of wycliffe's tracts or original commentaries. such volumes as the people most required were here multiplied as fast as the press could produce them; and for the dissemination of these precious writings, the brave london protestants dared, at the hazard of their lives, to form themselves into an organised association. it is well to pause and look for a moment at this small band of heroes; for heroes they were, if ever men deserved the name. unlike the first reformers who had followed wycliffe, they had no earthly object, emphatically none; and equally unlike them, perhaps, because they had no earthly object, they were all, as i have said, poor men--either students, like tyndal, or artisans and labourers who worked for their own bread, and in tough contact with reality, had learnt better than the great and the educated the difference between truth and lies. wycliffe had royal dukes and noblemen for his supporters--knights and divines among his disciples--a king and a house of commons looking upon him, not without favour. the first protestants of the sixteenth century had for their king the champion of holy church, who had broken a lance with luther; and spiritual rulers over them alike powerful and imbecile, whose highest conception of christian virtue was the destruction of those who disobeyed their mandates. the masses of the people were indifferent to a cause which promised them no material advantage; and the commons of parliament, while contending with the abuses of the spiritual authorities, were laboriously anxious to wash their hands of heterodoxy. "in the crime of heresy, thanked be god," said the bishops in 1529, "there hath no notable person fallen in our time;" no chief priest, chief ruler, or learned pharisee--not one. "truth it is that certain apostate friars and monks, lewd priests, bankrupt merchants, vagabonds and lewd idle fellows of corrupt nature, have embraced the abominable and erroneous opinions lately sprung in germany, and by them have been some seduced in simplicity and ignorance. against these, if judgment have been exercised according to the laws of the realm, we be without blame. if we have been too remiss or slack, we shall gladly do our duty from henceforth."[489] such were the first protestants in the eyes of their superiors. on one side was wealth, rank, dignity, the weight of authority, the majority of numbers, the prestige of centuries; here too were the phantom legions of superstition and cowardice; and here were all the worthier influences so pre-eminently english, which lead wise men to shrink from change, and to cling to things established, so long as one stone of them remains upon another, this was the army of conservatism. opposed to it were a little band of enthusiasts, armed only with truth and fearlessness; "weak things of the world," about to do battle in god's name; and it was to be seen whether god or the world was the stronger. they were armed, i say, with the truth. it was that alone which could have given them victory in so unequal a struggle. they had returned to the essential fountain of life; they re-asserted the principle which has lain at the root of all religions, whatever their name or outward form, which once burnt with divine lustre in that catholicism which was now to pass away; the fundamental axiom of all real life, that the service which man owes to god is not the service of words or magic forms, or ceremonies or opinions; but the service of holiness, of purity, of obedience to the everlasting laws of duty. when we look through the writings of latimer, the apostle of the english reformation, when we read the depositions against the martyrs, and the lists of their crimes against the established faith, we find no opposite schemes of doctrine, no "plans of salvation;" no positive system of theology which it was held a duty to believe; these things were of later growth, when it became again necessary to clothe the living spirit in a perishable body. we find only an effort to express again the old exhortation of the wise man--"will you hear the beginning and the end of the whole matter? fear god and keep his commandments; for that is the whole duty of man." had it been possible for mankind to sustain themselves upon this single principle without disguising its simplicity, their history would have been painted in far other colours than those which have so long chequered its surface. this, however, has not been given to us; and perhaps it never will be given. as the soul is clothed in flesh, and only thus is able to perform its functions in this earth, where it is sent to live; as the thought must find a word before it can pass from mind to mind; so every great truth seeks some body, some outward form in which to exhibit its powers. it appears in the world, and men lay hold of it, and represent it to themselves, in histories, in forms of words, in sacramental symbols; and these things which in their proper nature are but illustrations, stiffen into essential fact, and become part of the reality. so arises in era after era an outward and mortal expression of the inward immortal life; and at once the old struggle begins to repeat itself between the flesh and the spirit, the form and the reality. for a while the lower tendencies are held in check; the meaning of the symbolism is remembered and fresh; it is a living language, pregnant and suggestive. bye and bye, as the mind passes into other phases, the meaning is forgotten; the language becomes a dead language; and the living robe of life becomes a winding-sheet of corruption. the form is represented as everything, the spirit as nothing; obedience is dispensed with; sin and religion arrange a compromise; and outward observances, or technical inward emotions, are converted into jugglers' tricks, by which men are enabled to enjoy their pleasures and escape the penalties of wrong. then such religion becomes no religion, but a falsehood; and honourable men turn away from it, and fall back in haste upon the naked elemental life. this, as i understand it, was the position of the early protestants. they found the service of god buried in a system where obedience was dissipated into superstition; where sin was expiated by the vicarious virtues of other men; where, instead of leading a holy life, men were taught that their souls might be saved through masses said for them, at a money rate, by priests whose licentiousness disgraced the nation which endured it; a system in which, amidst all the trickery of the pardons, pilgrimages, indulgences,--double-faced as these inventions are--wearing one meaning in the apologies of theologians, and quite another to the multitude who live and suffer under their influence--one plain fact at least is visible. the people substantially learnt that all evils which could touch either their spirits or their bodies, might be escaped by means which resolved themselves, scarcely disguised, into the payment of moneys. the superstition had lingered long; the time had come when it was to pass away. those in whom some craving lingered for a christian life turned to the heart of the matter, to the book which told them who christ was, and what he was; and finding there that holy example for which they longed, they flung aside in one noble burst of enthusiastic passion, the disguise which had concealed it from them. they believed in christ, not in the bowing rood, or the pretended wood of the cross on which he suffered; and when that saintly figure had once been seen--the object of all love, the pattern of all imitation--thenceforward neither form nor ceremony should stand between them and their god. under much confusion of words and thoughts, confusion pardonable in all men, and most of all in them, this seems to me to be transparently visible in the aim of these "christian brothers;" a thirst for some fresh and noble enunciation of the everlasting truth, the one essential thing for all men to know and believe. and therefore they were strong; and therefore they at last conquered. yet if we think of it, no common daring was required in those who would stand out at such a time in defence of such a cause. the bishops might seize them on mere suspicion; and the evidence of the most abandoned villains sufficed for their conviction.[490] by the act of henry v., every officer, from the lord chancellor to the parish constable, was sworn to seek them out and destroy them; and both bishops and officials had shown no reluctance to execute their duty. hunted like wild beasts from hiding-place to hiding-place, decimated by the stake, with the certainty that however many years they might be reprieved, their own lives would close at last in the same fiery trial; beset by informers, imprisoned, racked, and scourged; worst of all, haunted by their own infirmities, the flesh shrinking before the dread of a death of agony--thus it was that they struggled on; earning for _themselves_ martyrdom--for _us_, the free england in which we live and breathe. among the great, until cromwell came to power, they had but one friend, and he but a doubtful one, who long believed the truest kindness was to kill them. henry viii. was always attracted towards the persons of the reformers. their open bearing commanded his respect. their worst crime in the bishops' eyes--the translating the bible--was in his eyes not a crime, but a merit; he had himself long desired an authorised english version, and at length compelled the clergy to undertake it; while in the most notorious of the men themselves, in tyndal and in frith, he had more than once expressed an anxious interest.[491] but the convictions of his early years were long in yielding. his feeling, though genuine, extended no further than to pity, to a desire to recover estimable heretics out of errors which he would endeavour to pardon. they knew, and all the "brethren" knew, that if they persisted, they must look for the worst from the king and from every earthly power; they knew it, and they made their account with it. an informer deposed to the council, that he had asked one of the society "how the king's grace did take the matter against the sacrament; which answered, the king's highness was extreme against their opinions, and would punish them grievously; also that my lords of norfolk and suffolk, my lord marquis of exeter, with divers other great lords, were very extreme against them. then he (the informer) asked him how he and his fellows would do seeing this, the which answered they had two thousand books out against the blessed sacrament, in the commons' hands; and if it were once in the commons' heads, they would have no further care."[492] tyndal then being at work at antwerp, and the society for the dispersion of his books thus preparing itself in england, the authorities were not slow in taking the alarm. the isolated discontent which had prevailed hitherto had been left to the ordinary tribunals; the present danger called for measures of more systematic coercion. this duty naturally devolved on wolsey, and the office of grand inquisitor, which he now assumed, could not have fallen into more competent hands. wolsey was not cruel. there is no instance, i believe, in which he of his special motion sent a victim to the stake;--it would be well if the same praise could be allowed to cranmer. there was this difference between the cardinal and other bishops, that while they seemed to desire to punish, wolsey was contented to silence; while they, in their conduct of trials, made escape as difficult as possible, wolsey sought rather to make submission easy. he was too wise to suppose that he could cauterise heresy, while the causes of it, in the corruption of the clergy, remained unremoved; and the remedy to which he trusted, was the infusing new vigour into the constitution of the church.[493] nevertheless, he was determined to repress, as far as outward measures could repress it, the spread of the contagion; and he set himself to accomplish his task with the full energy of his nature, backed by the whole power, spiritual and secular, of the kingdom. the country was covered with his secret police, arresting suspected persons and searching for books. in london the scrutiny was so strict that at one time there was a general flight and panic; suspected butchers, tailors, and carpenters, hiding themselves in the holds of vessels in the river, and escaping across the channel.[494] even there they were not safe. heretics were outlawed by a common consent of the european governments. special offenders were hunted through france by the english emissaries with the permission and countenance of the court,[495] and there was an attempt to arrest tyndal at brussels, from which, for that time, he happily escaped.[496] simultaneously the english universities fell under examination, in consequence of the appearance of dangerous symptoms among the younger students. dr. barnes, returning from the continent, had used violent language in a pulpit at cambridge; and latimer, then a neophyte in heresy, had grown suspect, and had alarmed the heads of houses. complaints against both of them were forwarded to wolsey, and they were summoned to london to answer for themselves. latimer, for some cause, found favour with the cardinal, and was dismissed, with a hope on the part of his judge that his accusers might prove as honest as he appeared to be, and even with a general licence to preach.[497] barnes was less fortunate; he was far inferior to latimer; a noisy, unwise man, without reticence or prudence. in addition to his offences in matters of doctrine, he had attacked wolsey himself with somewhat vulgar personality; and it was thought well to single him out for a public, though not a very terrible admonition. his house had been searched for books, which he was suspected, and justly suspected, of having brought with him from abroad. these, however, through a timely warning of the danger, had been happily secreted,[498] or it might have gone harder with him. as it was, he was committed to the fleet on the charge of having used heretical language. an abjuration was drawn up by wolsey, which he signed; and while he remained in prison preparations were made for a ceremony, in which he was to bear a part, in st. paul's church, by which the catholic authorities hoped to produce some salutary effect on the disaffected spirits of london. vast quantities of tyndal's publications had been collected by the police. the bishops, also, had subscribed among themselves[499] to buy up the copies of the new testament before they left antwerp;--an unpromising method, like an attempt to extinguish fire by pouring oil upon it; they had been successful, however, in obtaining a large immediate harvest, and a pyramid of offending volumes was ready to be consumed in a solemn _auto da fé_. in the morning of shrove sunday, then, 1527, we are to picture to ourselves a procession moving along london streets from the fleet prison to st. paul's cathedral. the warden of the fleet was there, and the knight marshal, and the tipstaffs, and "all the company they could make," "with bills and glaives;" and in the midst of these armed officials, six men marching in penitential dresses, one carrying a lighted taper five pounds' weight, the others with symbolic fagots, signifying to the lookers-on the fate which their crimes had earned for them, but which this time, in mercy, was remitted. one of these was barnes; the other five were "stillyard men," undistinguishable by any other name, but detected members of the brotherhood. it was eight o'clock when they arrived at st. paul's. the people had flocked in crowds before them. the public seats and benches were filled. all london had hurried to the spectacle. a platform was erected in the centre of the nave, on the top of which, enthroned in pomp of purple and gold and splendour, sate the great cardinal, supported on each side with eighteen bishops, mitred abbots, and priors--six-and-thirty in all; his chaplains and "spiritual doctors" sitting also where they could find place, "in gowns of damask and satin." opposite the platform, over the north door of the cathedral, was a great crucifix--a famous image, in those days called the rood of northen; and at the foot of it, inside a rail, a fire was burning, with the sinful books, the tracts and testaments, ranged round it in baskets, waiting for the execution of sentence. such was the scene into the midst of which the six prisoners entered. a second platform stood in a conspicuous place in front of the cardinal's throne, where they could be seen and heard by the crowd; and there upon their knees, with their fagots on their shoulders, they begged pardon of god and the holy catholic church for their high crimes and offences. when the confession was finished fisher, bishop of rochester, preached a sermon: and the sermon over, barnes turned to the people, declaring that "he was more charitably handled than he deserved, his heresies were so heinous and detestable." there was no other religious service: mass had perhaps been said previous to the admission into the church of heretics lying under censure; and the knight marshal led the prisoners down from the stage to the fire underneath the crucifix. they were taken within the rails, and three times led round the blazing pile, casting in their fagots as they passed. the contents of the baskets were heaped upon the fagots, and the holocaust was complete. this time, an unbloody sacrifice was deemed sufficient. the church was satisfied with penance, and fisher pronounced the prisoners absolved, and received back into communion.[500] so ended this strange exhibition, designed to work great results on the consciences of the spectators. it may be supposed, however, that men whom the tragedies of smithfield failed to terrify, were not likely to be affected deeply by melodrame and blazing paper. a story follows of far deeper human interest, a story in which the persecution is mirrored with its true lights and shadows, unexaggerated by rhetoric; and which, in its minute simplicity, brings us face to face with that old world, where men like ourselves lived, and worked, and suffered, three centuries ago. two years before the time at which we have now arrived, wolsey, in pursuance of his scheme of converting the endowments of the religious houses to purposes of education, had obtained permission from the pope to suppress a number of the smaller monasteries. he had added largely to the means thus placed at his disposal from his own resources, and had founded the great college at oxford, which is now called christchurch.[501] desiring his magnificent institution to be as perfect as art could make it, he had sought his professors in rome, in the italian universities, wherever genius or ability could be found; and he had introduced into the foundation several students from cambridge, who had been reported to him as being of unusual promise. frith, of whom we have heard, was one of these. of the rest, john clark, sumner, and taverner are the most noticeable. at the time at which they were invited to oxford, they were tainted, or some of them were tainted, in the eyes of the cambridge authorities, with suspicion of heterodoxy;[502] and it is creditable to wolsey's liberality, that he set aside these unsubstantiated rumours, not allowing them to weigh against ability, industry, and character. the church authorities thought only of crushing what opposed them, especially of crushing talent, because talent was dangerous. wolsey's noble anxiety was to court talent, and if possible to win it. the young cambridge students, however, ill repaid his confidence (so, at least, it must have appeared to him), and introduced into oxford the rising epidemic. clark, as was at last discovered, was in the habit of reading st. paul's epistles to young men in his rooms; and a gradually increasing circle of undergraduates, of three or four years' standing,[503] from various colleges, formed themselves into a spiritual freemasonry, some of them passionately insisting on being admitted to the lectures, in spite of warnings from clark himself, whose wiser foresight knew the risk which they were running, and shrank from allowing weak giddy spirits to thrust themselves into so fearful peril.[504] this little party had been in the habit of meeting for about six months,[505] when at easter, 1527, thomas garret, a fellow of magdalen,[506] who had gone out of residence, and was curate at all hallows church, in london, re-appeared in oxford. garret was a secret member of the london society, and had come down at clark's instigation, to feel his way in the university. so excellent a beginning had already been made, that he had only to improve upon it. he sought out all such young men as were given to greek, hebrew, and the polite latin;[507] and in this visit met with so much encouragement, that the christmas following he returned again, this time bringing with him treasures of forbidden books, imported by "the christian brothers;" new testaments, tracts and volumes of german divinity, which he sold privately among the initiated. he lay concealed, with his store, at "the house of one radley,"[508] the position of which cannot now be identified; and there he remained for several weeks, unsuspected by the university authorities, till orders were sent by wolsey to the dean of christchurch, for his arrest. precise information was furnished at the same time respecting himself, his mission in oxford, and his place of concealment.[509] the proctors were put upon the scent, and directed to take him; but one of them, arthur cole, of magdalen, by name, not from any sympathy with garret's objects, as the sequel proved, but probably from old acquaintance, for they were fellows at the same college, gave him information of his danger, and warned him to escape. his young friends, more alarmed for their companion than for themselves, held a meeting instantly to decide what should be done; and at this meeting was anthony dalaber, an undergraduate of alban hall, and one of clark's pupils, who will now tell the story of what followed. "the christmas before that time, i, anthony dalaber, the scholar of alban hall, who had books of master garret, had been in my country, at dorsetshire, at stalbridge, where i had a brother, parson of this parish, who was very desirous to have a curate out of oxford, and willed me in any wise to get him one there, if i could. this just occasion offered, it was thought good among the brethren (for so we did not only call one another, but were indeed one to another), that master garret, changing his name, should be sent forth with my letters into dorsetshire, to my brother, to serve him there for a time, until he might secretly convey himself from thence some whither over the sea. according hereunto i wrote my letters in all haste possible unto my brother, for master garret to be his curate; but not declaring what he was indeed, for my brother was a rank papist, and afterwards was the most mortal enemy that ever i had, for the gospel's sake. "so on wednesday (feb. 18), in the morning before shrovetide, master garret departed out of oxford towards dorsetshire, with my letter, for his new service." the most important person being thus, as was supposed, safe from immediate danger, dalaber was at leisure to think a little about himself; and supposing, naturally, that the matter would not end there, and that some change of residence might be of advantage for his own security, he moved off from alban hall (as undergraduates it seems were then at liberty to do) to gloucester college,[510] under pretence that he desired to study civil law, for which no facilities existed at the hall. this little matter was affected on the thursday; and all friday and saturday morning he "was so much busied in setting his poor stuff in order, his bed, his books, and such things else as he had," that he had no leisure to go forth anywhere those two days, friday and saturday. "having set up my things handsomely," he continues, "the same day, before noon, i determined to spend that whole afternoon, until evensong time, at frideswide college,[511] at my book in mine own study; and so shut my chamber door unto me, and my study door also, and took into my head to read francis lambert upon the gospel of st. luke, which book only i had then within there. all my other books written on the scriptures, of which i had great numbers, i had left in my chamber at alban's hall, where i had made a very secret place to keep them safe in, because it was so dangerous to have any such books. and so, as i was diligently reading in the same book of lambert upon luke, suddenly one knocked at my chamber door very hard, which made me astonished, and yet i sat still and would not speak; then he knocked again more hard, and yet i held my peace; and straightway he knocked again yet more fiercely; and then i thought this: peradventure it is somebody that hath need of me; and therefore i thought myself bound to do as i would be done unto; and so, laying my book aside, i came to the door and opened it, and there was master garret, as a man amazed, whom i thought to have been with my brother, and one with him." garret had set out on his expedition into dorsetshire, but had been frightened, and had stolen back into oxford on the friday, to his old hiding place, where, in the middle of the night, the proctors had taken him. he had been carried to lincoln, and shut up in a room in the rector's house, where he had been left all day. in the afternoon the rector went to chapel, no one was stirring about the college, and he had taken advantage of the opportunity to slip the bolt of the door and escape. he had a friend at gloucester college, "a monk who had bought books of him;" and gloucester lying on the outskirts of the town, he had hurried down there as the readiest place of shelter. the monk was out; and as no time was to be lost, garret asked the servant on the staircase to show him dalaber's rooms. as soon as the door was opened, "he said he was undone, for he was taken." "thus he spake unadvisedly in the presence of the young man, who at once slipped down the stairs," it was to be feared, on no good errand. "then i said to him," dalaber goes on, "alas, master garret, by this your uncircumspect coming here and speaking so before the young man, you have disclosed yourself and utterly undone me. i asked him why he was not in dorsetshire. he said he had gone a day's journey and a half; but he was so fearful, his heart would none other but that he must needs return again unto oxford. with deep sighs and plenty of tears, he prayed me to help to convey him away; and so he cast off his hood and gown wherein he came to me, and desired me to give him a coat with sleeves, if i had any; and he told me that he would go into wales, and thence convey himself, if he might, into germany. then i put on him a sleeved coat of mine. he would also have had another manner of cap of me, but i had none but priestlike, such as his own was. "then kneeled we both down together upon our knees, and lifting up our hearts and hands to god our heavenly father, desired him, with plenty of tears, so to conduct and prosper him in his journey, that he might well escape the danger of all his enemies, to the glory of his holy name, if his good pleasure and will so were. and then we embraced and kissed the one the other, the tears so abundantly flowing out from both our eyes, that we all bewet both our faces, and scarcely for sorrow could we speak one to another. and so he departed from me, apparelled in my coat, being committed unto the tuition of our almighty and merciful father. "when he was gone down the stairs from my chamber, i straightways did shut my chamber door, and went into my study; and taking the new testament in my hands, kneeled down on my knees, and with many a deep sigh and salt tear, i did, with much deliberation, read over the tenth chapter of st. matthew's gospel,[512] praying that god would endue his tender and lately-born little flock in oxford with heavenly strength by his holy spirit; that quietly to their own salvation, with all godly patience, they might bear christ's heavy cross, which i now saw was presently to be laid on their young and weak backs, unable to bear so huge a burden without the greater help of his holy spirit. "this done, i laid aside my book safe, folded up master garret's gown and hood, and so, having put on my short gown, and shut my doors, i went towards frideswide (christchurch), to speak with that worthy martyr of god, master clark. but of purpose i went by st. mary's church, to go first unto corpus christi college, to speak with diet and udal, my faithful brethren and fellows in the lord. by chance i met by the way a brother of ours, one master eden, fellow of magdalen, who, as soon as he saw me, said, we were all undone, for master garret was returned, and was in prison. i said it was not so; he said it was. i heard, quoth he, our proctor, master cole, say and declare the same this day. then i told him what was done; and so made haste to frideswide, to find master clark, for i thought that he and others would be in great sorrow. "evensong was begun; the dean and the canons were there in their grey amices; they were almost at magnificat before i came thither. i stood in the choir door and heard master taverner play, and others of the chapel there sing, with and among whom i myself was wont to sing also; but now my singing and music were turned into sighing and musing. as i there stood, in cometh dr. cottisford,[513] the commissary, as fast as ever he could go, bareheaded, as pale as ashes (i knew his grief well enough); and to the dean he goeth into the choir, were he was sitting in his stall, and talked with him, very sorrowfully: what, i know not; but whereof i might and did truly guess. i went aside from the choir door to see and hear more. the commissary and dean came out of the choir, wonderfully troubled as it seemed. about the middle of the church, met them dr. london,[514] puffing, blustering, and blowing like a hungry and greedy lion seeking his prey. they talked together awhile; but the commissary was much blamed by them, insomuch that he wept for sorrow. "the doctors departed, and sent abroad their servants and spies everywhere. master clark, about the middle of the compline,[515] came forth of the choir. i followed him to his chamber, and declared what had happened that afternoon of master garret's escape. then he sent for one master sumner and master bets, fellows and canons there. in the meantime he gave me a very godly exhortation, praying god to give us all the wisdom of the serpent and the harmlessness of doves, for we should shortly have much need thereof. when master sumner and master bets came, he caused me to declare again the whole matter to them two. then desiring them to tell our other brethren in that college, i went to corpus christi college, to comfort our brethren there, where i found in diet's chamber, looking for me, fitzjames, diet, and udal. they all knew the matter before by master eden, whom i had sent unto fitzjames. so i tarried there and supped with them, where they had provided meat and drink for us before my coming; and when we had ended, fitzjames would needs have me to lie that night with him in my old lodging at alban's hall. but small rest and little sleep took we both there that night." the next day, which was sunday, dalaber rose at five o'clock, and as soon as he could leave the hall, hastened off to his rooms at gloucester. the night had been wet and stormy, and his shoes and stockings were covered with mud. the college gates, when he reached them, were still closed, an unusual thing at that hour; and he walked up and down under the walls in the bleak grey morning, till the clock struck seven, "much disquieted, his head full of forecasting cares," but resolved, like a brave man, that come what would, he would accuse no one, and declare nothing but what he saw was already known. the gates were at last opened; he went to his rooms, and for some time his key would not turn in the door, the lock having been meddled with. at length he succeeded in entering, and found everything in confusion, his bed tossed and tumbled, his study door open, and his clothes strewed about the floor. a monk who occupied the opposite rooms, hearing him return, came to him and said that the commissary and the two proctors had been there looking for garret. bills and swords had been thrust through the bed-straw, and every corner of the room searched for him. finding nothing, they had left orders that dalaber, as soon as he returned, should appear before the prior of the students. "this so troubled me," dalaber says, "that i forgot to make clean my hose and shoes, and to shift me into another gown; and all bedirted as i was, i went to the said prior's chamber." the prior asked him where he had slept that night. at alban's hall, he answered, with his old bedfellow, fitzjames. the prior said he did not believe him, and asked if garret had been at his rooms the day before. he replied that he had. whither had he gone, then? the prior inquired; and where was he at that time? "i answered," says dalaber, "that i knew not, unless he was gone to woodstock; he told me that he would go there, because one of the keepers had promised him a piece of venison to make merry with at shrovetide. this tale i thought meetest, though it were nothing so."[516] at this moment the university beadle entered with two of the commissary's servants, bringing a message to the prior that he should repair at once to lincoln, taking dalaber with him. "i was brought into the chapel," the latter continues, "and there i found dr. cottisford, commissary; dr. higdon, dean of cardinal's college; and dr. london, warden of new college; standing together at the altar. they called for chairs and sate down, and then [ordered] me to come to them; they asked me what my name was, how long i had been at the university, what i studied," with various other inquiries: the clerk of the university, meanwhile, bringing pens, ink, and paper, and arranging a table with a few loose boards upon tressels. a mass book, he says, was then placed before him, and he was commanded to lay his hand upon it, and swear that he would answer truly such questions as should be asked him. at first he refused; but afterwards, being persuaded, "partly by fair words, and partly by great threats," he promised to do as they would have him; but in his heart he "meant nothing so to do." "so i laid my hand on the book," he goes on, "and one of them gave me my oath, and commanded me to kiss the book. they made great courtesy between them who should examine me; at last, the rankest pharisee of them all took upon him to do it. "then he asked me again, by my oath, where master garret was, and whither i had conveyed him. i said i had not conveyed him, nor yet wist where he was, nor whither he was gone, except he were gone to woodstock, as i had before said. surely, they said, i brought him some whither this morning, for they might well perceive by my foul shoes and dirty hosen that i had travelled with him the most part of the night. i answered plainly, that i lay at alban's hall with sir fitzjames, and that i had good witness thereof. they asked me where i was at evensong. i told them at frideswide, and that i saw, first, master commissary, and then master doctor london, come thither to master dean. doctor london and the dean threatened me that if i would not tell the truth i should surely be sent to the tower of london, and there be racked, and put into little-ease.[517] "at last when they could get nothing out of me whereby to hurt or accuse any man, or to know anything of that which they sought, they all three together brought me up a long stairs, into a great chamber, over master commissary's chamber, wherein stood a great pair of very high stocks. then master commissary asked me for my purse and girdle, and took away my money and my knives; and then they put my legs into the stocks, and so locked me fast in them, in which i sate, my feet being almost as high as my head; and so they departed, locking fast the door, and leaving me alone. "when they were all gone, then came into my remembrance the worthy forewarning and godly declaration of that most constant martyr of god, master john clark, who, well nigh two years before that, when i did earnestly desire him to grant me to be his scholar, said unto me after this sort: 'dalaber, you desire you wot not what, and that which you are, i fear, unable to take upon you; for though now my preaching be sweet and pleasant to you, because there is no persecution laid on you for it, yet the time will come, and that, peradventure, shortly, if ye continue to live godly therein, that god will lay on you the cross of persecution, to try you whether you can as pure gold abide the fire. you shall be called and judged a heretic; you shall be abhorred of the world; your own friends and kinsfolk will forsake you, and also hate you; you shall be cast into prison, and none shall dare to help you; you shall be accused before bishops, to your reproach and shame, to the great sorrow of all your friends and kinsfolk. then will ye wish ye had never known this doctrine; then will ye curse clark, and wish that ye had never known him because he hath brought you to all these troubles.' "at which words, i was so grieved that i fell down on my knees at his feet, and with tears and sighs besought him that, for the tender mercy of god, he would not refuse me; saying that i trusted, verily, that he which had begun this in me would not forsake me, but would give me grace to continue therein to the end. when he heard me say so, he came to me, took me in his arms and kissed me, the tears trickling from his eyes; and said unto me: 'the lord god almighty grant you so to do; and from henceforth for ever, take me for your father, and i will take you for my son in christ.'" in these meditations the long sunday morning wore away. a little before noon the commissary came again to see if his prisoner was more amenable; finding him, however, still obstinate, he offered him some dinner--a promise which we will hope he fulfilled, for here dalaber's own narrative abruptly forsakes us,[518] leaving uncompleted, at this point, the most vivid picture which remains to us of a fraction of english life in the reign of henry viii. if the curtain fell finally on the little group of students, this narrative alone would furnish us with rare insight into the circumstances under which the protestants fought their way. the story, however, can be carried something further, and the strangest incident connected with it remains to be told. dalaber breaks off on sunday at noon. the same day, or early the following morning, he was submitted once more to examination: this time, for the discovery of his own offences, and to induce him to give up his confederates. with respect to the latter he proved "marvellous obstinate." "all that was gotten of him was with much difficulty;" nor would he confess to any names as connected with heresy or heretics except that of clark, which was already known. about himself he was more open. he wrote his "book of heresy," that is, his confession of faith, "with his own hand"--his evening's occupation, perhaps, in the stocks in the rector of lincoln's house; and the next day he was transferred to prison.[519] this offender being thus disposed of, and strict secrecy being observed to prevent the spread of alarm, a rapid search was set on foot for books in all suspected quarters. the fear of the authorities was that "the infect persons would flee," and "convey" their poison "away with them."[520] the officials, once on the scent of heresy, were skilful in running down the game. no time was lost, and by monday evening many of "the brethren" had been arrested, their rooms examined, and their forbidden treasures discovered and rifled. dalaber's store was found "hid with marvellous secresy;" and in one student's desk a duplicate of garret's list--the titles of the volumes with which the first "religious tract society" set themselves to convert england. information of all this was conveyed in haste by dr. london to the bishop of lincoln, as the ordinary of the university; and the warden told his story with much self-congratulation. on one point, however, the news which he had to communicate was less satisfactory. garret himself was gone--utterly gone. dalaber was obstinate, and no clue to the track of the fugitive could be discovered. the police were at fault; neither bribes nor threats could elicit anything; and in these desperate circumstances, as he told the bishop, the three heads of houses conceived that they might strain a point of propriety for so good a purpose as to prevent the escape of a heretic. accordingly, after a full report of the points of their success, doctor london went on to relate the following remarkable proceeding: "after master garret escaped, _the commissary being in extreme pensiveness, knew no other remedy but this extraordinary, and caused a figure to be made by one expert in astronomy--and his judjment doth continually persist upon this, that he fled in a tawny coat south-eastward, and is in the middle of london, and will shortly to the sea side_. he was curate unto the parson of honey lane.[521] it is likely he is privily cloaked there. wherefore, as soon as i knew the judgment of this astronomer, i thought it expedient and my duty with all speed to ascertain your good lordship of all the premises; that in time your lordship may advertise my lord his grace, and my lord of london. it will be a gracious deed that he and all his pestiferous works, which he carrieth about, might be taken, to the salvation of his soul, opening of many privy heresies, and extinction of the same."[522] we might much desire to know what the bishop's sensations were in reading this letter--to know whether it occurred to him that in this naïve acknowledgment, the oxford heresy hunters were themselves confessing to an act of heresy; and that by the law of the church, which they were so eager to administer, they were liable to the same death which they were so zealous to secure for the poor vendors of testaments. so indeed they really were. consulting the stars had been ruled from immemorial time to be dealing with the devil; the penalty of it was the same as for witchcraft; yet here was a reverend warden of a college considering it his duty to write eagerly of a discovery obtained by these forbidden means, to his own diocesan, begging him to communicate with the cardinal of york and the bishop of london, that three of the highest church authorities in england might become _participes criminis_, by acting on this diabolical information. meanwhile, the commissary, not wholly relying on the astrologer, but resolving prudently to make use of the more earthly resources which were at his disposal, had sent information of garret's escape to the corporations of dover, rye, winchester, southampton, and bristol, with descriptions of the person of the fugitive; and this step was taken with so much expedition, that before the end of the week no vessel was allowed to leave either of those harbours without being strictly searched. the natural method proved more effectual than the supernatural, though again with the assistance of a singular accident. garret had not gone to london; unfortunately for himself, he had not gone to wales as he had intended. he left oxford, as we saw, the evening of saturday, february 21st. that night he reached a village called corkthrop,[523] where he lay concealed till wednesday; and then, not in the astrologer's orange-tawny dress, but in "a courtier's coat and buttoned cap," which he had by some means contrived to procure, he set out again on his forlorn journey, making for the nearest sea-port, bristol, where the police were looking out to receive him. his choice of bristol was peculiarly unlucky. the "chapman" of the town was the step-father of cole, the oxford proctor: to this person, whose name was master wilkyns, the proctor had written a special letter, in addition to the commissary's circular; and the family connection acting as a spur to his natural activity, a coast guard had been set before garret's arrival, to watch for him down the avon banks, and along the channel shore for fifteen miles. all the friday night "the mayor, with the aldermen, and twenty of the council, had kept privy watch," and searched suspicious houses at master wilkyns's instance; the whole population were on the alert, and when the next afternoon, a week after his escape, the poor heretic, footsore and weary, dragged himself into the town, he found that he had walked into the lion's mouth.[524] he quickly learnt this danger to which he was exposed, and hurried off again with the best speed which he could command; but it was too late. the chapman, alert and indefatigable, had heard that a stranger had been seen in the street; the police were set upon his track, and he was taken at bedminster, a suburb on the opposite bank of the avon, and hurried before a magistrate, where he at once acknowledged his identity. with such happy success were the good chapman's efforts rewarded. yet in this world there is no light without shadow; no pleasure without its alloy. in imagination, master wilkyns had thought of himself conducting the prisoner in triumph into the streets of oxford, the hero of the hour. the sour formality of the law condemned him to ill-merited disappointment. garret had been taken beyond the liberties of the city; it was necessary, therefore, to commit him to the county gaol, and he was sent to ilchester. "master wilkyns offered himself to be bound to the said justice in three hundred pounds to discharge him of the said garret, and to see him surely to master proctor's of oxford; yet could he not have him, for the justice said that the order of the law would not so serve."[525] the fortunate captor had therefore to content himself with the consciousness of his exploit, and the favourable report of his conduct which was sent to the bishops; and garret went first to ilchester, and thence was taken by special writ, and surrendered to wolsey. thus unkind had fortune shown herself to the chief criminal, guilty of the unpardonable offence of selling testaments at oxford, and therefore hunted down as a mad dog, and a common enemy of mankind. he escaped for the present the heaviest consequences, for wolsey persuaded him to abjure. a few years later we shall again meet him, when he had recovered his better nature, and would not abjure, and died as a brave man should die. in the meantime we return to the university, where the authorities were busy trampling out the remains of the conflagration. two days after his letter respecting the astrologer, the warden of new college wrote again to the diocesan, with an account of his further proceedings. he was an efficient inquisitor, and the secrets of the poor undergraduates had been unravelled to the last thread. some of "the brethren" had confessed; all were in prison; and the doctor desired instructions as to what should be done with them. it must be said for dr. london, that he was anxious that they should be treated leniently. dalaber described him as a roaring lion, and he was a bad man, and came at last to a bad end. but it is pleasant to find that even he, a mere blustering arrogant official, was not wholly without redeeming points of character; and as little good will be said for him hereafter, the following passage in his second letter may be placed to the credit side of his account. the tone in which he wrote was at least humane, and must pass for more than an expression of natural kindness, when it is remembered that he was addressing a person with whom tenderness for heresy was a crime. "these youths," he said, "have not been long conversant with master garret, nor have greatly perused his mischievous books; and long before master garret was taken, divers of them were weary of these works, and delivered them to dalaber. i am marvellous sorry for the young men. if they be openly called upon, although they appear not greatly infect, yet they shall never avoid slander, because my lord's grace did send for master garret to be taken. i suppose his grace will know of your good lordship everything. nothing shall be hid, i assure your good lordship, an every one of them were my brother; and i do only make this moan for these youths, for surely they be of the most towardly young men in oxford; and as far as i do yet perceive, not greatly infect, but much to blame for reading any part of these works."[526] doctor london's intercession, if timid, was generous; he obviously wished to suggest that the matter should be hushed up, and that the offending parties should be dismissed with a reprimand. if the decision had rested with wolsey, it is likely that this view would have been readily acted upon. but the bishop of lincoln was a person in whom the spirit of humanity had been long exorcised by the spirit of an ecclesiastic. he was staggering along the last years of a life against which his own register[527] bears dreadful witness, and he would not burden his conscience with mercy to heretics. he would not mar the completeness of his barbarous career. he singled out three of the prisoners--garret, clark, and ferrars[528]--and especially entreated that they should be punished. "they be three perilous men," he wrote to wolsey, "and have been the occasion of the corruption of youth. they have done much mischief, and for the love of god let them be handled thereafter."[529] wolsey had garret in his own keeping, and declined to surrender him. ferrars had been taken at the black friars, in london,[530] and making his submission, was respited and escaped with abjuration. but clark was at oxford, in the bishop's power, and the wicked old man was allowed to work his will upon him. a bill of heresy was drawn, which the prisoner was required to sign. he refused, and must have been sent to the stake, had he not escaped by dying prematurely of the treatment which he had received in prison.[531] his last words only are recorded. he was refused the communion, not perhaps as a special act of cruelty, but because the laws of the church would not allow the holy thing to be profaned by the touch of a heretic. when he was told that it would not be suffered, he said "_crede et manducâsti_"--"faith is the communion;" and so passed away; a very noble person, so far as the surviving features of his character will let us judge; one who, if his manhood had fulfilled the promise of his youth, would have taken no common part in the reformation. the remaining brethren were then dispersed. some were sent home to their friends--others, anthony dalaber among them, were placed on their trial, and being terrified at their position, recanted, and were sentenced to do penance. ferrars was brought to oxford for the occasion, and we discern indistinctly (for the mere fact is all which survives) a great fire at carfax; a crowd of spectators, and a procession of students marching up high street with fagots on their shoulders, the solemn beadles leading them with gowns and maces. the ceremony was repeated to which dr. barnes had been submitted at st. paul's. they were taken three times round the fire, throwing in each first their fagot, and then some one of the offending books, in token that they repented and renounced their errors. thus was oxford purged of heresy. the state of innocence which dr. london pathetically lamented[532] was restored, and the heads of houses had peace till their rest was broken by a ruder storm. in this single specimen we may see a complete image of wolsey's persecution, as with varying details it was carried out in every town and village from the tweed to the land's end. i dwell on the stories of individual suffering, not to colour the narrative, or to re-awaken feelings of bitterness which may well rest now and sleep for ever; but because, through the years in which it was struggling for recognition, the history of protestantism is the history of its martyrs. no rival theology, as i have said, had as yet shaped itself into formulas. we have not to trace any slow growing elaboration of opinion. protestantism, before it became an establishment, was a refusal to live any longer in a lie. it was a falling back upon the undefined untheoretic rules of truth and piety which lay upon the surface of the bible, and a determination rather to die than to mock with unreality any longer the almighty maker of the world. we do not look in the dawning manifestations of such a spirit for subtleties of intellect. intellect, as it ever does, followed in the wake of the higher virtues of manly honesty and truthfulness. and the evidences which were to effect the world's conversion were so cunningly arranged syllogistic demonstrations, but once more those loftier evidences which lay in the calm endurance by heroic men of the extremities of suffering, and which touched--not the mind with conviction, but the heart with admiring reverence. in the concluding years of his administration wolsey was embarrassed with the divorce. difficulties were gathering round him, from the failure of his hopes abroad and the wreck of his popularity at home; and the activity of the persecution was something relaxed, as the guiding mind of the great minister ceased to have leisure to attend to it. the bishops, however, continued, each in his own diocese, to act with such vigour as they possessed. their courts were unceasingly occupied with vexatious suits, commenced without reason, and conducted without justice. they summoned arbitrarily as suspected offenders whoever had the misfortune to have provoked their dislike; either compelling them to criminate themselves by questions on the intricacies of theology,[533] or allowing sentence to be passed against them on the evidence of abandoned persons, who would not have been admissible as witnesses before the secular tribunals.[534] it might have been thought that the clear perception which was shown by the house of commons of the injustice with which the trials for heresy were conducted, the disregard, shameless and flagrant, of the provisions of the statutes under which the bishops were enabled to proceed, might have led them to reconsider the equity of persecution in itself; or, at least, to remove from the office of judges persons who had shown themselves so signally unfit to exercise that office. it would have been indecent, however, if not impossible, to transfer to a civil tribunal the cognisance of opinion; and, on the other hand, there was as yet among the upper classes of the laity no kind of disposition to be lenient towards those who were really unorthodox. the desire so far was only to check the reckless and random accusations of persons whose offence was to have criticised, not the doctrine but the moral conduct, of the church authorities. the protestants, although from the date of the meeting of the parliament and wolsey's fall their ultimate triumph was certain, gained nothing in its immediate consequences. they suffered rather from the eagerness of the political reformers to clear themselves from complicity with heterodoxy; and the bishops were even taunted with the spiritual dissensions of the realm as an evidence of their indolence and misconduct.[535] language of this kind boded ill for the "christian brethren;" and the choice of wolsey's successor for the office of chancellor soon confirmed their apprehensions; wolsey had chastised them with whips; sir thomas more would chastise them with scorpions; and the philosopher of the _utopia_, the friend of erasmus, whose life was of blameless beauty, whose genius was cultivated to the highest attainable perfection, was to prove to the world that the spirit of persecution is no peculiar attribute of the pedant, the bigot, of the fanatic, but may co-exist with the fairest graces of the human character. the lives of remarkable men usually illustrate some emphatic truth. sir thomas more may be said to have lived to illustrate the necessary tendencies of romanism in an honest mind convinced of its truth; to show that the test of sincerity in a man who professes to regard orthodoxy as an essential of salvation, is not the readiness to endure persecution, but the courage which will venture to inflict it. the seals were delivered to the new chancellor in november, 1529. by his oath on entering office he was bound to exert himself to the utmost for the suppression of heretics:[536] he was bound, however, equally to obey the conditions under which the law allowed them to be suppressed. unfortunately for his reputation as a judge, he permitted the hatred of "that kind of men," which he did not conceal that he felt,[537] to obscure his conscience on this important feature of his duty, and tempt him to imitate the worst iniquities of the bishops. i do not intend in this place to relate the stories of his cruelties in his house at chelsea,[538] which he himself partially denied, and which at least we may hope were exaggerated. being obliged to confine myself to specific instances, i choose rather those on which the evidence is not open to question; and which prove against more, not the zealous execution of a cruel law, for which we may not fairly hold him responsible, but a disregard, in the highest degree censurable, of his obligations as a judge. the acts under which heretics were liable to punishment, were the 15th of the 2nd of henry iv., and the 1st of the 2nd of henry v. by the act of henry iv., the bishops were bound to bring offenders to trial in open court, within three months of their arrest, if there were no lawful impediment. if conviction followed, they might imprison at their discretion. except under these conditions, they were not at liberty to imprison. by the act of henry v., a heretic, if he was first indicted before a secular judge, was to be delivered within ten days (or if possible, a shorter period) to the bishop, "to be acquit or convict" by a jury in the spiritual court, and to be dealt with accordingly.[539] the secular judge might detain a heretic for ten days before delivering him to the bishop. the bishop might detain him for three months before his trial. neither the secular judge nor the bishop had power to inflict indefinite imprisonment at will while the trial was delayed; nor if on the trial the bishop failed in securing a conviction, was he at liberty to detain the accused person any longer on the same charge, because the result was not satisfactory to himself. these provisions were not preposterously lenient. sir thomas more should have found no difficulty in observing them himself, and in securing the observance of them by the bishops, at least in cases where he was himself responsible for the first committal. it is to be feared that he forgot that he was a judge in his eagerness to be a partisan, and permitted no punctilious legal scruples to interfere with the more important object of ensuring punishment to heretics. the first case which i shall mention is one in which the bishop of london was principally guilty; not, however, without more's countenance, and, if foxe is to be believed, his efficient support. in december, 1529, the month succeeding his appointment as chancellor, more, at the instance of the bishop of london,[540] arrested a citizen of london, thomas philips by name, on a charge of heresy. the prisoner was surrendered in due form to his diocesan, and was brought to trial on the 4th of february; a series of articles being alleged against him by foxford, the bishop's vicar-general. the articles were of the usual kind. the prisoner was accused of having used unorthodox expressions on transubstantiation, on purgatory, pilgrimages, and confession. it does not appear whether any witnesses were produced. the vicar-general brought his accusations on the ground of general rumour, and failed to maintain them. whether there were witnesses or not, neither the particular offences, nor even the fact of the general rumour, could be proved to the satisfaction of the jury. philips himself encountered each separate charge with a specific denial, declaring that he neither was, nor ever had been, other than orthodox; and the result of the trial was, that no conviction could be obtained. the prisoner "was found so clear from all manner of infamous slanders and suspicions, that all the people before the said bishop, shouting in judgment as with one voice, openly witnessed his good name and fame, to the great reproof and shame of the said bishop, if he had not been ashamed to be ashamed."[541] the case had broken down; the proceedings were over, and by law the accused person was free. but the law, except when it was on their own side, was of little importance to the church authorities. as they had failed to prove philips guilty of heresy, they called upon him to confess his guilt by abjuring it; "as if," he says, "there were no difference between a nocent and an innocent, between a guilty and a not guilty."[542] he refused resolutely, and was remanded to prison, in open violation of the law. the bishop, in conjunction with sir thomas more,[543] sent for him from time to time, submitting him to private examinations, which again were illegal; and urged the required confession, in order, as philips says, "to save the bishop's credit." the further they advanced, the more difficult it was to recede; and the bishop at length, irritated at his failure, concluded the process with an arbitrary sentence of excommunication. from this sentence, whether just or unjust, there was then no appeal, except to the pope. the wretched man, in virtue of it, was no longer under the protection of the law, and was committed to the tower, where he languished for three years, protesting, but protesting fruitlessly, against the tyranny which had crushed him, and clamouring for justice in the deaf ears of pedants who knew not what justice meant. if this had occurred at the beginning of the century, the prisoner would have been left to die, as countless multitudes had already died, unheard, uncared for, unthought of; the victim not of deliberate cruelty, but of that frightfullest portent, folly armed with power. happily the years of his imprisonment had been years of swift revolution. the house of commons had become a tribunal where oppression would not any longer cry wholly unheard; philips appealed to it for protection, and recovered his liberty.[544] the weight of guilt in this instance presses essentially on stokesley; yet a portion of the blame must be borne also by the chancellor, who first placed philips in stokesley's hands; who took part in the illegal private examinations, and who could not have been ignorant of the prisoner's ultimate fate. if, however, it be thought unjust to charge a good man's memory with an offence in which his part was only secondary, the following iniquity was wholly and exclusively his own. i relate the story without comment in the address of the injured person to more's successor.[545] "_to the right hon. the lord chancellor of england. (sir t. audeley) and other of the king's council._ "in most humble wise showeth unto your goodness your poor bedeman john field, how that the next morrow upon twelfth day,[546] in the twenty-first year of our sovereign lord the king's highness, sir thomas more, knight, then being lord chancellor of england, did send certain of his servants, and caused your said bedeman, with certain others, to be brought to his place at chelsea, and there kept him (after what manner and fashion it were now long to tell), by the space of eighteen days;[547] and then set him at liberty, binding him to appear before him again the eighth day following in the star chamber, which was candlemas eve; at which day your said bedeman appeared, and was then sent to the fleet, where he continued until palm sunday two years after [in violation of both the statutes], kept so close the first quarter that his keeper only might visit him; and always after closed up with those that were handled most straitly; often searched, sometimes even at midnight; besides snares and traps laid to take him in. betwixt michaelmas and allhalloween tide next after his coming to prison there was taken from your bedeman a greek vocabulary, price five shillings; saint cyprian's works, with a book of the same sir thomas more's making, named the _supplication of souls_. for what cause it was done he committeth to the judgment of god, that seeth the souls of all persons. the said palm sunday, which was also our lady's day, towards night there came two officers of the fleet, named george porter and john butler, and took your bedeman into a ward alone, and there, after long searching, found his purse hanging at his girdle; which they took, and shook out the money to the sum of ten shillings, which was sent him to buy such necessaries as he lacked, and delivered him again his purse, well and truly keeping the money to themselves, as they said for their fees; and forthwith carried him from the fleet (where he lost such poor bedding as he then had, and could never since get it), and delivered him to the marshalsea, under our gracious sovereign's commandment and sir thomas more's. when the sunday before the rogation week following, your bedeman fell sick; and the whitsun monday was carried out on four men's backs, and delivered to his friends to be recovered if it so pleased god. at which time the keeper took for your bedeman's fees other ten shillings, when four shillings should have sufficed if he had been delivered in good health. "within three weeks it pleased god to set your bedeman on his feet, so that he might walk abroad. whereof when sir thomas more heard (who went out of his chancellorship about the time your bedeman was carried out of prison), although he had neither word nor deed which he could ever truly lay to your bedeman's charge, yet made he such means by the bishops of winchester and london, as your bedeman heard say, to the hon. lord thomas duke of norfolk, that he gave new commandment to the keeper of the marshalsea to attach again your said bedeman; which thing was speedily done the sunday three weeks after his deliverance. and so he continued in prison again until saint lawrence tide following; at which time money was given to the keeper, and some things he took which were not given, and then was your bedeman re-delivered through the king's goodness, under sureties bound in a certain sum, that he should appear the first day of the next term following, and then day by day until his dismission. and so hath your bedeman been at liberty now twelve months waiting daily from term to term, and nothing laid to his charge as before. "wherefore, the premises tenderly considered, and also your said bedeman's great poverty, he most humbly beseecheth your goodness that he may now be clearly discharged; and if books, money, or other things seem to be taken or kept from him otherwise than justice would, eftsoons he beseecheth you that ye will command it to be restored. "as for his long imprisonment, with other griefs thereto appertaining, he looketh not to have recompense of man; but committeth his whole cause to god, to whom your bedeman shall daily pray, according as he is bound, that ye may so order and govern the realm that it may be to the honour of god and your heavenly and everlasting reward." i do not find the result of this petition, but as it appeared that henry had interested himself in the story, it is likely to have been successful. we can form but an imperfect judgment on the merits of the case, for we have only the sufferer's _ex parte_ complaint, and more might probably have been able to make some counter-statement. but the illegal imprisonment cannot be explained away, and cannot be palliated; and when a judge permits himself to commit an act of arbitrary tyranny, we argue from the known to the unknown, and refuse reasonably to give him credit for equity where he was so little careful of law. yet a few years of misery in a prison was but an insignificant misfortune when compared with the fate under which so many other poor men were at this time overwhelmed. under wolsey's chancellorship the stake had been comparatively idle; he possessed a remarkable power of making recantation easy; and there is, i believe, no instance in which an accused heretic was brought under his immediate cognisance, where he failed to arrange some terms by which submission was made possible. with wolsey heresy was an error--with more it was a crime. soon after the seals changed hands the smithfield fires recommenced; and, the chancellor acting in concert with them, the bishops resolved to obliterate, in these edifying spectacles, the recollection of their general infirmities. the crime of the offenders varied--sometimes it was a denial of the corporal presence, more often it was a reflection too loud to be endured on the character and habits of the clergy; but whatever it was, the alternative lay only between abjuration humiliating as ingenuity could make it, or a dreadful death. the hearts of many failed them in the trial, and of all the confessors those perhaps do not deserve the least compassion whose weakness betrayed them, who sank and died broken-hearted. of these silent sufferers history knows nothing. a few, unable to endure the misery of having, as they supposed, denied their saviour, returned to the danger from which they had fled, and washed out their fall in martyrdom. latimer has told us the story of his friend bilney--little bilney, or saint bilney,[548] as he calls him, his companion at cambridge, to whom he owed his own conversion. bilney, after escaping through wolsey's hands in 1527, was again cited in 1529 before the bishop of london. three times he refused to recant. he was offered a fourth and last chance. the temptation was too strong, and he fell. for two years he was hopelessly miserable; at length his braver nature prevailed. there was no pardon for a relapsed heretic, and if he was again in the bishop's hands he knew well the fate which awaited him. he told his friends, in language touchingly significant, that "he would go up to jerusalem;" and began to preach in the fields. the journey which he had undertaken was not to be a long one. he was heard to say in a sermon, that of his personal knowledge certain things which had been offered in pilgrimage had been given to abandoned women. the priests, he affirmed, "take away the offerings, and hang them about their women's necks; and after that they take them off the women, if they please them not, and hang them again upon the images."[549] this was bilney's heresy, or formed the ground of his arrest; he was orthodox on the mass, and also on the power of the keys; but the secrets of the sacred order were not to be betrayed with impunity. he was seized, and hurried before the bishop of norwich; and being found heterodox on the papacy and the mediation of the saints by the bishop of norwich he was sent to the stake. another instance of recovered courage, and of martyrdom consequent upon it, is that of james bainham, a barrister of the middle temple. this story is noticeable from a very curious circumstance connected with it. bainham had challenged suspicion by marrying the widow of simon fish, the author of the famous _beggars' petition_, who had died in 1528; and, soon after his marriage, was challenged to give an account of his faith. he was charged with denying transubstantiation, with questioning the value of the confessional, and the power of the keys; and the absence of authoritative protestant dogma had left his mind free to expand to a yet larger belief. he had ventured to assert, that "if a turk, a jew, or a saracen do trust in god and keep his law, he is a good christian man,"[550]--a conception of christianity, a conception of protestantism, which we but feebly dare to whisper even at the present day. the proceedings against him commenced with a demand that he should give up his books, and also the names of other barristers with whom he was suspected to have held intercourse. he refused; and in consequence his wife was imprisoned, and he himself was racked in the tower by order of sir thomas more. enfeebled by suffering, he was then brought before stokesley, and terrified by the cold merciless eyes of his judge, he gave way, not about his friends, but about himself: he abjured, and was dismissed heartbroken. this was on the seventeenth of february. he was only able to endure his wretchedness for a month. at the end of it, he appeared at a secret meeting of the christian brothers, in "a warehouse in bow lane," where he asked forgiveness of god and all the world for what he had done; and then went out to take again upon his shoulders the heavy burden of the cross. the following sunday, at the church of st. augustine, he rose in his seat with the fatal english testament in his hand, and "declared openly, before all the people, with weeping tears, that he had denied god," praying them all to forgive him, and beware of his weakness; "for if i should not return to the truth," he said, "this word of god would damn me, body and soul, at the day of judgment." and then he prayed "everybody rather to die than to do as he did, for he would not feel such a hell again as he did feel for all the world's good."[551] of course but one event was to be looked for; he knew it, and himself wrote to the bishop, telling him what he had done. no mercy was possible: he looked for none, and he found none. yet perhaps he found what the wise authorities thought to be some act of mercy. they could not grant him pardon in this world upon any terms; but they would not kill him till they had made an effort for his soul. he was taken to the bishop of london's coal cellar at fulham, the favourite episcopal penance chamber, where he was ironed and put in the stocks; and there was left for many days, in the chill march weather, to bethink himself. this failing to work conviction, he was carried to sir thomas more's house at chelsea, where for two nights he was chained to a post and whipped; thence, again, he was taken back to fulham for another week of torture; and finally to the tower, for a further fortnight, again with ineffectual whippings. the demands of charity were thus satisfied. the pious bishop and the learned chancellor had exhausted their means of conversion; they had discharged their consciences; and the law was allowed to take its course. the prisoner was brought to trial on the 20th of april, as a relapsed heretic. sentence followed; and on the last of the month the drama closed in the usual manner at smithfield. before the fire was lighted bainham made a farewell address to the people, laying his death expressly to more, whom he called his accuser and his judge.[552] it is unfortunately impossible to learn the feelings with which these dreadful scenes were witnessed by the people. there are stories which show that, in some instances, familiarity had produced the usual effect; that the martyrdom of saints was at times of no more moment to an english crowd than the execution of ordinary felons--that it was a mere spectacle to the idle, the hardened, and the curious. on the other hand, it is certain that the behaviour of the sufferers was the argument which at last converted the nation; and an effect which in the end was so powerful with the multitude, must have been visible long before in the braver and better natures. the increasing number of prosecutions in london shows, also, that the leaven was spreading. there were five executions in smithfield between 1529 and 1533, besides those in the provinces. the prisons were crowded with offenders who had abjured and were undergoing sentence; and the list of those who were "troubled" in various ways is so extensive, as to leave no doubt of the sympathy which, in london at least, must have been felt by many, very many, of the spectators of the martyrs' deaths. we are left, in this important point, mainly to conjecture; and if we were better furnished with evidence, the language of ordinary narrative would fail to convey any real notion of perplexed and various emotions. we have glimpses, however, into the inner world of men, here and there of strange interest; and we must regret that they are so few. a poor boy at cambridge, john randall, of christ's college, a relation of foxe the martyrologist, destroyed himself in these years in religious desperation; he was found in his study hanging by his girdle, before an open bible, with his dead arm and finger stretched pitifully towards a passage on predestination.[553] a story even more remarkable is connected with bainham's execution. among the lay officials present at the stake, was "one pavier," town clerk of london. this pavier was a catholic fanatic, and as the flames were about to be kindled he burst out into violent and abusive language. the fire blazed up, and the dying sufferer, as the red flickering tongues licked the flesh from off his bones, turned to him and said, "may god forgive thee, and shew more mercy than thou, angry reviler, shewest to me." the scene was soon over; the town clerk went home. a week after, one morning when his wife had gone to mass, he sent all his servants out of his house on one pretext or another, a single girl only being left, and he withdrew to a garret at the top of the house, which he used as an oratory. a large crucifix was on the wall, and the girl having some question to ask, went to the room, and found him standing before it "bitterly weeping." he told her to take his sword, which was rusty, and clean it. she went away, and left him; when she returned, a little time after, he was hanging from a beam, dead. he was a singular person. edward hall, the historian, knew him, and had heard him say, that "if the king put forth the new testament in english, he would not live to bear it."[554] and yet he could not bear to see a heretic die. what was it? had the meaning of that awful figure hanging on the torturing cross suddenly revealed itself? had some inner voice asked him whether, in the prayer for his persecutors with which christ had parted out of life, there might be some affinity with words which had lately sounded in his own ears? god, into whose hands he threw himself, self-condemned in his wretchedness, only knows the agony of that hour. let the secret rest where it lies, and let us be thankful for ourselves that we live in a changed world. thus, however, the struggle went forward; a forlorn hope of saints led the way up the breach, and paved with their bodies a broad road into the new era; and the nation the meanwhile was unconsciously waiting till the works of the enemy were won, and they could walk safely in and take possession. while men like bilney and bainham were teaching with words and writings, there were stout english hearts labouring also on the practical side of the same conflict, instilling the same lessons, and meeting for themselves the same consequences. speculative superstition was to be met with speculative denial. practical idolatry required a rougher method of disenchantment. every monastery, every parish church, had in those days its special relics, its special images, its special something, to attract the interest of the people. the reverence for the remains of noble and pious men, the dresses which they had worn, or the bodies in which their spirits had lived, was in itself a natural and pious emotion; but it had been petrified into a dogma; and like every other imaginative feeling which is submitted to that bad process, it had become a falsehood, a mere superstition, a substitute for piety, not a stimulus to it, and a perpetual occasion of fraud. the people brought offerings to the shrines where it was supposed that the relics were of greatest potency. the clergy, to secure the offerings, invented the relics, and invented the stories of the wonders which had been worked by them. the greatest exposure of these things took place at the visitation of the religious houses. in the meantime, bishop shaxton's unsavoury inventory of what passed under the name of relics in the diocese of salisbury, will furnish an adequate notion of these objects of popular veneration. there "be set forth and commended unto the ignorant people," he said, "as i myself of certain which be already come to my hands, have perfect knowledge, stinking boots, mucky combes, ragged rochettes, rotten girdles, pyl'd purses, great bullocks' horns, locks of hair, and filthy rags, gobbetts of wood, under the name of parcels of the holy cross, and such pelfry beyond estimation."[555] besides matters of this kind, there were images of the virgin or of the saints; above all, roods or crucifixes, of especial potency, the virtues of which had begun to grow uncertain, however, to sceptical protestants; and from doubt to denial, and from denial to passionate hatred, there were but a few brief steps. the most famous of the roods was that of boxley in kent, which used to smile and bow, or frown and shake its head, as its worshippers were generous or closehanded. the fortunes and misfortunes of this image i shall by and bye have to relate. there was another, however, at dovercourt, in suffolk, of scarcely inferior fame. this image was of such power that the door of the church in which it stood was open at all hours to all comers, and no human hand could close it. dovercourt therefore became a place of great and lucrative pilgrimage, much resorted to by the neighbours on all occasions of difficulty. now it happened that within the circuit of a few miles there lived four young men, to whom the virtues of the rood had become greatly questionable. if it could work miracles, it must be capable, so they thought, of protecting its own substance; and they agreed to apply a practical test which would determine the extent of its abilities. accordingly (about the time of bainham's first imprisonment), robert king of dedham, robert debenham of eastbergholt, nicholas marsh of dedham, and robert gardiner of dedham, "their consciences being burdened to see the honour of almighty god so blasphemed by such an idol," started off "on a wondrous goodly night" in february, with hard frost and a clear full moon, ten miles across the wolds, to the church. the door was open as the legend declared; but nothing daunted, they entered bravely, and lifting down the "idol" from its shrine, with its coat and shoes, and the store of tapers which were kept for the services, they carried it on their shoulders for a quarter of a mile from the place where it had stood, "without any resistance of the said idol." there setting it on the ground, they struck a light, fastened the tapers to the body, and with the help of them, sacrilegiously burnt the image down to a heap of ashes; the old dry wood "blazing so brimly," that it lighted them a full mile on their way home.[556] for this night's performance, which, if the devil is the father of lies, was a stroke of honest work against him and his family, the world rewarded these men after the usual fashion. one of them, robert gardiner, escaped the search which was made, and disappeared till better times; the remaining three were swinging in chains six months later on the scene of their exploit. their fate was perhaps inevitable. men who dare to be the first in great movements are ever self-immolated victims. but i suppose that it was better for them to be bleaching on their gibbets, than crawling at the feet of a wooden rood, and believing it to be god. * * * * * these were the first paladins of the reformation; the knights who slew the dragons and the enchanters, and made the earth habitable for common flesh and blood. they were rarely, as we have said, men of great ability, still more rarely men of "wealth and station;" but men rather of clear senses and honest hearts. tyndal was a remarkable person, and so clark and frith promised to become; but the two last were cut off before they had found scope to show themselves; and tyndal remaining abroad, lay outside the battle which was being fought in england, doing noble work, indeed, and ending as the rest ended, with earning a martyr's crown; but taking no part in the actual struggle except with his pen. as yet but two men of the highest order of power were on the side of protestantism--latimer and cromwell. of them we have already said something; but the time was now fast coming when they were to step forward, pressed by circumstances which could no longer dispense with them, into scenes of far wider activity; and the present seems a fitting occasion to give some closer account of their history. when the breach with the pope was made irreparable, and the papal party at home had assumed an attitude of suspended insurrection, the fortunes of the protestants entered into a new phase. the persecution ceased; and those who but lately were carrying fagots in the streets, or hiding for their lives, passed at once by a sudden alternation into the sunshine of political favour. the summer was but a brief one, followed soon by returning winter; but cromwell and latimer had together caught the moment as it went by; and before it was over, a work had been done in england which, when it was accomplished once, was accomplished for ever. the conservative party recovered their power, and abused it as before; but the chains of the nation were broken, and no craft of kings or priests or statesmen could weld the magic links again. it is a pity that of two persons to whom england owes so deep a debt, we can piece together such scanty biographies. i must attempt, however, to give some outline of the little which is known. the father of latimer was a solid english yeoman, of thurcaston, in leicestershire. "he had no lands of his own," but he rented a farm "of four pounds by the year," on which "he tilled so much as kept half a dozen men;" "he had walk for a hundred sheep, and meadow ground for thirty cows."[557] the world prospered with him; he was able to save money for his son's education and his daughters' portions; but he was freehanded and hospitable; he kept open house for his poor neighbours; and he was a good citizen, too, for "he did find the king a harness with himself and his horse," ready to do battle for his country, if occasion called. his family were brought up "in godliness and the fear of the lord;" and in all points the old latimer seems to have been a worthy, sound, upright man, of the true english mettle. there were several children.[558] the reformer was born about 1490, some five years after the usurper richard had been killed at bosworth. bosworth being no great distance from thurcaston, latimer the father is likely to have been present in the battle, on one side or the other--the right side in those times it was no easy matter to choose--but he became a good servant of the new government--and the little hugh, when a boy of seven years old, helped to buckle[559] on his armour for him, "when he went to blackheath field."[560] being a soldier himself, the old gentleman was careful to give his sons, whatever else he gave them, a sound soldier's training. "he was diligent," says latimer, "to teach me to shoot with the bow: he taught me how to draw, how to lay my body in the bow--not to draw with strength of arm, as other nations do, but with the strength of the body. i had my bows bought me according to my age and strength; as i increased in these, my bows were made bigger and bigger."[561] under this education, and in the wholesome atmosphere of the farmhouse, the boy prospered well; and by and bye, showing signs of promise, he was sent to school. when he was fourteen, the promises so far having been fulfilled, his father transferred him to cambridge.[562] he was soon known at the university as a sober, hard-working student. at nineteen, he was elected fellow of clare hall; at twenty, he took his degree, and became a student in divinity, when he accepted quietly, like a sensible man, the doctrines which he had been brought up to believe. at the time when henry viii. was writing against luther, latimer was fleshing his maiden sword in an attack upon melancthon;[563] and he remained, he said, till he was thirty, "in darkness and the shadow of death." about this time he became acquainted with bilney, whom he calls "the instrument whereby god called him to knowledge." in bilney, doubtless, he found a sound instructor; but a careful reader of his sermons will see traces of a teaching for which he was indebted to no human master. his deepest knowledge was that which stole upon him unconsciously through the experience of life and the world. his words are like the clear impression of a seal; the account and the result of observations, taken first hand, on the condition of the english men and women of his time, in all ranks and classes, from the palace to the prison. he shows large acquaintance with books; with the bible, most of all; with patristic divinity and school divinity; and history, sacred and profane: but if this had been all, he would not have been the latimer of the reformation, and the church of england would not, perhaps, have been here to-day. like the physician, to whom a year of practical experience in a hospital teaches more than a life of closest study, latimer learnt the mental disorders of his age in the age itself; and the secret of that art no other man, however good, however wise, could have taught him. he was not an echo, but a voice; and he drew his thoughts fresh from the fountain--from the facts of the era in which god had placed him. he became early famous as a preacher at cambridge, from the first, "a seditious fellow," as a noble lord called him in later life, highly troublesome to unjust persons in authority. "none, except the stiff-necked and uncircumcised, ever went away from his preaching, it was said, without being affected with high detestation of sin, and moved to all godliness and virtue."[564] and, in his audacious simplicity, he addressed himself always to his individual hearers, giving his words a personal application, and often addressing men by name. this habit brought him first into difficulty in 1525. he was preaching before the university, when the bishop of ely came into the church, being curious to hear him. he paused till the bishop was seated; and when he recommenced, he changed his subject, and drew an ideal picture of a prelate as a prelate ought to be; the features of which, though he did not say so, were strikingly unlike those of his auditor. the bishop complained to wolsey, who sent for latimer, and inquired what he had said. latimer repeated the substance of his sermon; and other conversation then followed, which showed wolsey very clearly the nature of the person with whom he was speaking. no eye saw more rapidly than the cardinal's the difference between a true man and an impostor; and he replied to the bishop of ely's accusations by granting the offender a licence to preach in any church in england. "if the bishop of ely cannot abide such doctrine as you have here repeated," he said, "you shall preach it to his beard, let him say what he will."[565] thus fortified, latimer pursued his way, careless of the university authorities, and probably defiant of them. he was still orthodox in points of theoretic belief. his mind was practical rather than speculative, and he was slow in arriving at conclusions which had no immediate bearing upon action. no charge could be fastened upon him, definitely criminal; and he was too strong to be crushed by that compendious tyranny which treated as an act of heresy the exposure of imposture or delinquency. on wolsey's fall, however, he would have certainly been silenced: if he had fallen into the hands of sir thomas more, he would have perhaps been prematurely sacrificed. but, fortunately, he found a fresh protector in the king. henry heard of him, sent for him, and, with instinctive recognition of his character, appointed him one of the royal chaplains. he now left cambridge and removed to windsor, but only to treat his royal patron as freely as he had treated the cambridge doctors--not with any absence of respect, for he was most respectful, but with that highest respect which dares to speak unwelcome truth where the truth seems to be forgotten. he was made chaplain in 1530--during the new persecution, for which henry was responsible by a more than tacit acquiescence. latimer, with no authority but his own conscience, and the strong certainty that he was on god's side, threw himself between the spoilers and their prey, and wrote to the king, protesting against the injustice which was crushing the truest men in his dominions. the letter is too long to insert; the close of it may show how a poor priest could dare to address the imperious henry viii.: "i pray to god that your grace may take heed of the worldly wisdom which is foolishness before god; that you may do that [which] god commandeth, and not that [which] seemeth good in your own sight, without the word of god; that your grace may be found acceptable in his sight, and one of the members of his church; and according to the office that he hath called your grace unto, you may be found a faithful minister of his gifts, and not a defender of his faith: for he will not have it defended by man or man's power, but by his word only, by the which he hath evermore defended it, and that by a way far above man's power or reason. "wherefore, gracious king, remember yourself; have pity upon your soul; and think that the day is even at hand when you shall give account for your office, and of the blood that hath been shed by your sword. in which day, that your grace may stand steadfastly, and not be ashamed, but be clear and ready in your reckoning, and have (as they say), your _quietus est_ sealed with the blood of our saviour christ, which only serveth at that day, is my daily prayer to him that suffered death for our sins, which also prayeth to his father for grace for us continually; to whom be all honour and praise for ever. amen. the spirit of god preserve your grace."[566] these words, which conclude an address of almost unexampled grandeur, are unfortunately of no interest to us, except as illustrating the character of the priest who wrote them, and the king to whom they were written. the hand of the persecutor was not stayed. the rack and the lash and the stake continued to claim their victims. so far it was labour in vain. but the letter remains, to speak for ever for the courage of latimer; and to speak something, too, for a prince that could respect the nobleness of the poor yeoman's son, who dared in such a cause to write to him as a man to a man. to have written at all in such a strain was as brave a step as was ever deliberately ventured. like most brave acts, it did not go unrewarded; for henry remained ever after, however widely divided from him in opinion, his unshaken friend. in 1531, the king gave him the living of west kingston, in wiltshire, where for a time he now retired. yet it was but a partial rest. he had a special licence as a preacher from cambridge, which continued to him (with the king's express sanction)[567] the powers which he had received from wolsey. he might preach in any diocese to which he was invited; and the repose of a country parish could not be long allowed in such stormy times to latimer. he had bad health, being troubled with headache, pleurisy, colic, stone; his bodily constitution meeting feebly the demands which he was forced to make upon it.[568] but he struggled on, travelling up and down to london, to kent, to bristol, wherever opportunity called him; marked for destruction by the bishops, if he was betrayed into an imprudent word, and himself living in constant expectation of death.[569] at length the bishop of london believed that latimer was in his power. he had preached at st. abb's, in the city, "at the request of a company of merchants,"[570] in the beginning of the winter of 1531; and soon after his return to his living, he was informed that he was to be cited before stokesley. his friends in the neighbourhood wrote to him, evidently in great alarm, and more anxious that he might clear himself, than expecting that he would be able to do so;[571] he himself, indeed, had almost made up his mind that the end was coming.[572] the citation was delayed for a few weeks. it was issued at last, on the 10th of january, 1531-2,[573] and was served by sir walter hungerford, of farley.[574] the offences with which he was charged were certain "excesses and irregularities" not specially defined; and the practice of the bishops in such cases was not to confine the prosecution to the acts committed; but to draw up a series of articles, on which it was presumed that the orthodoxy of the accused person was open to suspicion, and to question him separately upon each. latimer was first examined by stokesley; subsequently at various times by the bishops collectively; and finally, when certain formulas had been submitted to him, which he refused to sign, his case was transferred to convocation. the convocation, as we know, were then in difficulty with their premunire; they had consoled themselves in their sorrow with burning the body of tracy; and they would gladly have taken further comfort by burning latimer.[575] he was submitted to the closest cross-questionings, in the hope that he would commit himself. they felt that he was the most dangerous person to them in the kingdom, and they laboured with unusual patience to ensure his conviction.[576] with a common person they would have rapidly succeeded. but latimer was in no haste to be a martyr; he would be martyred patiently when the time was come for martyrdom; but he felt that no one ought "to consent to die," as long as he could honestly live;[577] and he baffled the episcopal inquisitors with their own weapons. he has left a most curious account of one of his interviews with them. "i was once in examination," he says,[578] "before five or six bishops, where i had much turmoiling. every week, thrice, i came to examination, and many snares and traps were laid to get something. now, god knoweth, i was ignorant of the law; but that god gave me answer and wisdom what i should speak. it was god indeed, for else i had never escaped them. at the last, i was brought forth to be examined into a chamber hanged with arras, where i was before wont to be examined, but now, at this time, the chamber was somewhat altered: for whereas before there was wont ever to be a fire in the chimney,[579] now the fire was taken away, and an arras hanging hanged over the chimney; and the table stood near the chimney's end, so that i stood between the table and the chimney's end. there was among these bishops that examined me one with whom i had been very familiar, and took him for my great friend, an aged man, and he sate next the table end. then, among all other questions, he put forth one, a very subtle and crafty one, and such one indeed as i could not think so great danger in. and when i would make answer, 'i pray you, master latimer,' said he, 'speak out; i am very thick of hearing, and here be many that sit far off.' i marvelled at this, that i was bidden to speak out, and began to misdeem, and gave an ear to the chimney; and, sir, there i heard a pen walking in the chimney, behind the cloth. they had appointed one there to write all mine answers; for they made sure work that i should not start from them: there was no starting from them: god was my good lord, and gave me answer; i could never else have escaped it. the question was this: 'master latimer, do you not think, on your conscience, that you have been suspected of heresy?'--a subtle question--a very subtle question. there was no holding of peace would serve. to hold my peace had been to grant myself faulty. to answer was every way full of danger. but god, which hath always given rile answer, helped me, or else i could never have escaped it. _ostendite mihi numisma_ _censûs_. shew me, said he, a penny of the tribute money. they laid snares to destroy him, but he overturneth them in their own traps."[580] the bishops, however, were not men who were nice in their adherence to the laws; and it would have gone ill with latimer, notwithstanding his dialectic ability. he was excommunicated and imprisoned, and would soon have fallen into worse extremities; but at the last moment he appealed to the king, and the king, who knew his value, would not allow him to be sacrificed. he had refused to subscribe the articles proposed to him.[581] henry intimated to the convocation that it was not his pleasure that the matter should be pressed further; they were to content themselves with a general submission, which should be made to the archbishop, without exacting more special acknowledgments. this was the reward to latimer for his noble letter. he was absolved, and returned to his parish, though snatched as a brand out of the fire. soon after, the tide turned, and the reformation entered into a new phase. such is a brief sketch of the life of hugh latimer, to the time when it blended with the broad stream of english history. with respect to the other very great man whom the exigencies of the state called to power simultaneously with him, our information is far less satisfactory. though our knowledge of latimer's early story comes to us in fragments only, yet there are certain marks in it by which the outline can be determined with certainty. a cloud rests over the youth and early manhood of thomas cromwell, through which, only at intervals, we catch glimpses of authentic facts; and these few fragments of reality seem rather to belong to a romance than to the actual life of a man. cromwell, the malleus monachorum, was of good english family, belonging to the cromwells of lincolnshire. one of these, probably a younger brother, moved up to london and conducted an ironfoundry, or other business of that description, at putney. he married a lady of respectable connections, of whom we know only that she was sister of the wife of a gentleman in derbyshire, but whose name does not appear.[582] the old cromwell dying early, the widow was re-married to a cloth-merchant; and the child of the first husband, who made himself so great a name in english story, met with the reputed fortune of a stepson, and became a vagabond in the wide world. the chart of his course wholly fails us. one day in later life he shook by the hand an old bell-ringer at sion house before a crowd of courtiers, and told them that "this man's father had given him many a dinner in his necessities." and a strange random account is given by foxe of his having joined a party in an expedition to rome to obtain a renewal from the pope of certain immunities and indulgences for the town of boston; a story which derives some kind of credibility from its connection with lincolnshire, but is full of incoherence and unlikelihood. following still the popular legend, we find him in the autumn of 1515 a ragged stripling at the door of frescobaldi's banking-house in florence, begging for help. frescobaldi had an establishment in london,[583] with a large connection there; and seeing an english face, and seemingly an honest one, he asked the boy who and what he was. "i am, sir," quoth he, "of england, and my name is thomas cromwell; my father is a poor man, and by occupation a cloth-shearer; i am strayed from my country, and am now come into italy with the camp of frenchmen that were overthrown at garigliano, where i was page to a footman, carrying after him his pike and burganet." something in the boy's manner was said to have attracted the banker's interest; he took him into his house, and after keeping him there as long as he desired to stay, he gave him a horse and sixteen ducats to help him home to england.[584] foxe is the first english authority for the story; and foxe took it from bandello, the novelist; but it is confirmed by, or harmonises with, a sketch of cromwell's early life in a letter of chappuys, the imperial ambassador, to chancellor granvelle. "master cromwell," wrote chappuys in 1535, "is the son of a poor blacksmith, who lived in a small village four miles from london, and is buried in a common grave in the parish churchyard. in his youth, for some offence, he was imprisoned, and had to leave the country. he went to flanders, and thence to rome and other places in italy."[585] returning to england, he married the daughter of a woollen-dealer, and became a partner in the business, where he amassed or inherited a considerable fortune.[586] circumstances afterwards brought him, while still young, in contact with wolsey, who discovered his merit, took him into service, and in 1525, employed him in the most important work of visiting and breaking up the small monasteries, which the pope had granted for the foundation of the new colleges. he was engaged with this business for two years, and was so efficient that he obtained an unpleasant notoriety, and complaints of his conduct found their way to the king. nothing came of these complaints, however, and cromwell remained with the cardinal till his fall.[587] it was then that the truly noble nature which was in him showed itself. he accompanied his master through his dreary confinement at esher,[588] doing all that man could do to soften the outward wretchedness of it; and at the meeting of parliament, in which he obtained a seat, he rendered him a still more gallant service. the lords had passed a bill of impeachment against wolsey, violent, vindictive, and malevolent. it was to be submitted to the commons, and cromwell prepared to attempt an opposition. cavendish has left a most characteristic description of his leaving esher at this trying time. a cheerless november evening was closing in with rain and storm. wolsey was broken down with sorrow and sickness; and had been unusually tried by parting with his retinue, whom he had sent home, as unwilling to keep them attached any longer to his fallen fortunes. when they were all gone, "my lord," says cavendish, "returned to his chamber, lamenting the departure of his servants, making his moan unto master cromwell, who comforted him the best he could, and desired my lord to give him leave to go to london, where he would either make or mar before he came again, which was always his common saying. then after long communication with my lord in secret, he departed, and took his horse and rode to london; at whose departing i was by, whom he bade farewell, and said, ye shall hear shortly of me, and if i speed well i will not fail to be here again within these two days."[589] he did speed well. "after two days he came again with a much pleasanter countenance, and meeting with me before he came to my lord, said unto me, that he had adventured to put in his foot where he trusted shortly to be better regarded or all were done." he had stopped the progress of the impeachment in the lower house, and was answering the articles one by one. in the evening he rode down to esher for instructions. in the morning he was again at his place in parliament; and he conducted the defence so skilfully, that finally he threw out the bill, saved wolsey, and himself "grew into such estimation in every man's opinion, for his honest behaviour in his master's cause, that he was esteemed the most faithfullest servant, [and] was of all men greatly commended."[590] henry admired his chivalry, and perhaps his talent. the loss of wolsey had left him without any very able man, unless we may consider sir thomas more such, upon his council, and he could not calculate on more for support in his anti-roman policy; he was glad, therefore, to avail himself of the service of a man who had given so rare a proof of fidelity, and who had been trained by the ablest statesman of the age.[591] to wolsey cromwell could render no more service except as a friend, and his warm friend he remained to the last. he became the king's secretary, representing the government in the house of commons, and was at once on the high road to power. i cannot call him ambitious; an ambitious man would scarcely have pursued so refined a policy, or have calculated on the admiration which he gained by adhering to a fallen minister. he did not seek greatness--greatness rather sought him as the man in england most fit to bear it. his business was to prepare the measures which were to be submitted to parliament by the government. his influence, therefore, grew necessarily with the rapidity with which events were ripening; and when the conclusive step was taken, and the king was married, the virtual conduct of the reformation passed into his hands. his protestant tendencies were unknown as yet, perhaps, even to his own conscience; nor to the last could he arrive at any certain speculative convictions. he was drawn towards the protestants as he rose into power by the integrity of his nature, which compelled him to trust only those who were honest like himself. appendix to chapter vi will of thomas cromwell--1529. in the name of god, amen. the 12th day of july, in the year of our lord god mcccccxxix., and in the 21st year of the reign of our sovereign lord, king henry viii., i, thomas cromwell, of london, gentleman, being whole in body and in good and perfect memory, lauded be the holy trinity, make, ordain, and declare this my present testament, containing my last will, in manner as following:--first i bequeath my soul to the great god of heaven, my maker, creator, and redeemer, beseeching the most glorious virgin and blessed lady saint mary the virgin and mother, with all the holy company of heaven, to be mediators and intercessors for me to the holy trinity, so that i may be able, when it shall please almighty god to call me out of this miserable world and transitory life, to inherit the kingdom of heaven amongst the number of good christian people; and whensoever i shall depart this present life i bequeath my body to be buried where it shall please god to ordain me to die, and to be ordered after the discretion of mine executors undernamed. and for my goods which our lord hath lent me in this world, i will shall be ordered and disposed in manner and form as hereafter shall ensue. first i give and bequeath unto my son gregory cromwell six hundred threescore six pounds, thirteen shillings, and fourpence, of lawful money of england, with the which six hundred threescore six pounds, thirteen shillings, and fourpence, i will mine executors undernamed immediately or as soon as they conveniently may after my decease, shall purchase lands, tenements, and hereditaments to the clear yearly value of £33 6s. 8d. by the year above all charges and reprises to the use of my said son gregory, for term of his life; and after the decease of the said gregory to the heirs male of his body lawfully to be begotten, and for lack of heirs male of the body of the said gregory, lawfully begotten, to the heirs general of his body lawfully begotten. and for lack of such heirs to the right heirs of me the said thomas cromwell, in fee. i will also that immediately and as soon as the said lands, tenements, and hereditaments shall be so purchased after my death as is aforesaid by mine executors, that the yearly profits thereof shall be wholly spent and employed in and about the education and finding honestly of my said son gregory, in virtue, good learning, and manners, until such time as he shall come to the full age of 24 years. during which time i heartily desire and require my said executors to be good unto my said you gregory, and to see he do lose no time, but to see him virtuously ordered and brought up according to my trust. item. i give and bequeath to my said son gregory, (when he shall come to his full age of 24 years), two hundred pounds of lawful english money to order them as our lord shall give him grace and discretion, which £200 i will shall be put in surety to the intent the same may come to his hands at his said age of 24 years. item. i give and bequeath to my said son gregory of such household stuff as god hath lent me, three of my best featherbeds with their bolsters; and, the best pair of blankets of fustian, my best coverlet of tapestry, and my quilt of yellow turkey satin; one pair of my best sheets, four pillows of down, with four pair of the best pillowberes, four of my best table-cloths, four of my best towels, two dozen of my finest napkins, and two dozen of my other napkins, two garnish of my best vessel, three of my best brass pots, three of my best brass pans, two of my best kettles, two of my best spits, my best joined bed of flanders work, with the best ---and tester, and other the appurtenances thereto belonging; my best press, carven of flanders work, and my best cupboard, carven of flanders work, with also six joined stools of flanders work, and six of my best cushions. item. i give and bequeath to my said son gregory a basin with an ewer parcel-gilt, my best salt gilt, my best cup gilt, three of my best goblets; three other of my goblets parcel-gilt, twelve of my best silver spoons, three of my best drinking ale-pots gilt; all the which parcels of plate and household stuff i will shall be safely kept to the use of my said you gregory till he shall come to his said full age of 24. and all the which plate, household stuff, napery, and all other the premises, i will mine executors do put in safe keeping until my said son come to the said years or age of 24. and if he die before the age of 24, then i will all the said plate, vessel, and household stuff shall be sold by mine executors. and the money thereof coming to be given and equally divided amongst my poor kinsfolk, that is to say, amongst the children as well of mine own sisters elizabeth and katherine, as of my late wife's sister joan, wife to john williamson;[592] and if it happen that all the children of my said sisters and sister-in-law do die before the partition be made, and none of them be living, then i will that all the said plate, vessel, and household stuff shall be sold and given to other my poor kinsfolk then being in life, and other poor and indigent people, in deeds of charity for my soul, my father and mother their souls, and all christian souls. [[593] item. i give and bequeath to my daughter anne an hundred marks of lawful money of england when she shall come to her lawful age or happen to be married, and £40 toward her finding until the time that she shall be of lawful age or be married, which £40 i will shall be delivered to my friend john cook, one of the six clerks of the king's chancery, to the intent he may order the same and cause the same to be employed in the best wise he can devise about the virtuous education and bringing up of my said daughter till she shall come to her lawful age or marriage. then i will that the said 100 marks, and so much of the said £40 as then shall be unspent and unemployed at the day of the death of my said daughter anne, i will it shall remain to gregory my son, if he then be in life; and if he be dead, the same hundred marks, and also so much of the said £40 as then shall be unspent, to be departed amongst my sisters' children, in manner and form aforesaid. and if it happen my said sisters' children then to be all dead, then i will the said 100 marks and so much of the said £40 as shall be unspent, shall be divided amongst my kinsfolk, such as then, shall be in life.] item. i give and bequeath unto my sister elizabeth wellyfed £40, three goblets without a cover, a mazer, and a nut. item. i give and bequeath to my nephew richard willyams [[594] servant with my lord marquess dorset, £66 13s. 4d.], £40 sterling, my [[594] fourth] best gown, doublet, and jacket. item. i give and bequeath to my nephew, christopher wellyfed £40, [[594] £20] my fifth gown, doublet, and jacket. item. i give and bequeath to my nephew william wellyfed the younger £20, [[594] £40]. item. i give and bequeath to my niece alice wellyfed, to her marriage, £20. and if it happen her to die before marriage, then i will that the said £20 shall remain to her brother christopher. and if it happen him to die, the same £20 to remain to wm. wellyfed the younger, his brother. and if it happen them all to die before their lawful age or marriage, then i will that all their parts shall remain to gregory my son. and if it happen him to die before them, then i will all the said parts shall remain [[594] to anne and grace, my daughters] to richard willyams and walter willyams, my nephews. and if it happen them to die, then i will that all the said parts shall be distributed in deeds of charity for my soul, my father's and mother's souls, and all christian souls. item. i give and bequeath to my mother-in-law mercy prior, £40 of lawful english money, and her chamber, with certain household stuff; that is to say, a featherbed, a bolster, two pillows with their beres, six pair of sheets, a pair of blankets, a garnish of vessel, two pots, two pans, two spits, with such other of my household stuff as shall be thought meet for her by the discretion of mine executors, and such as she will reasonably desire, not being bequeathed to other uses in this my present testament and last will. item. i give and bequeath to my said mother-in-law a little salt of silver, a mazer, six silver spoons, and a drinking-pot of silver. and also i charge mine executors to be good unto her during her life. item. i give and bequeath to my brother-in-law william wellyfed, £20, my third gown, jacket, and doublet. item. i give and bequeath to john willyams my brother-in-law, 100 marks, a gown, a doublet, a jacket, a featherbed, a bolster, six pair of sheets, two table-cloths, two dozen napkins, two towels, two brass pots, two brass pans, a silver pot, a nut parcel-gilt; and to joan, his wife, £40. item. i give and bequeath to joan willyams, their daughter, to her marriage, £20, and to every other of their children, £12 13s. 4d. item. i bequeath to walter willyams, my nephew, £20. item. i give and bequeath to ralph sadler, my servant, 200 marks of lawful english money, my second gown, jacket, and doublet, and all my books. item. i give and bequeath to hugh whalley, my servant, £6 13s. 4d. item. i give and bequeath to stephen vaughan, sometime my servant, 100 marks, a gown, jacket, and doublet. item. i give and bequeath to page, my servant, otherwise called john de fount, £6 13s. 4d. [[594] item. i give and bequeath to elizabeth gregory, sometime my servant, £20, six pair of sheets, a featherbed, a pair of blankets, a coverlet, two table-cloths, one dozen napkins, two brass pots, two pans, two spits.] and also to thomas averey, my servant, £6 13s. 4d. [[594] item. i give and bequeath to john cooke, one of the six master clerks of the chancery, £10, my second gown, doublet, and jacket. item. i give and bequeath to roger more, servant of the king's bakehouse, £6 13s. 4d., three yards of satin; and to maudelyn, his wife, £3 6s. 8d.] item. i give and bequeath to john horwood, £6 13s. 4d. [[594] item. i give and bequeath to my little daughter grace 100 marks of lawful english money when she shall come to her lawful age or marriage; and also £40 towards her exhibition and finding until such time she shall be of lawful age or be married, which £40 i will shall be delivered to my brother-in-law, john willyams, to the intent he may order and cause the same to be employed in and about the virtuous education and bringing up of my said daughter, till she shall come to her lawful age of marriage. and if it happen my said daughter to die before she come to her lawful age or marriage, then i will that the said 100 marks, and so much of the said £40 as shall then be unspent and unemployed about the finding of my said daughter at the day of the death of my said daughter shall remain and be delivered to gregory my son, if he then shall happen to be in life; and if he be dead, then the said 100 marks, and the said residue of the said £40, to be evenly departed among my grown kinsfolk--that is to say, my sisters' children aforesaid.] item. that the rest of mine apparel before not given or bequeathed in this my testament and last will shall be given and equally departed amongst my servants after the order and discretion of mine executors. item. i will also that mine executors shall take the yearly profits above the charges of my farm of carberry, and all other things contained in my said lease of carberry, in the county of middlesex, and with the profits thereof shall yearly pay unto my brother-in-law william (wellyfed) and elizabeth his wife, mine only sister, twenty pounds; give and distribute for my soul quarterly 40 shillings during their lives and the longer of them; and after the decease of the said william and elizabeth, the profits of the said farm over and above the yearly rent to be kept to the use of my son gregory till he be come to the age of 24 years. and at the years of 24 the said lease and farm of carberry, i do give and bequeath to my son gregory, to have the same to him, his executors and assigns. and if it fortune the said gregory my son to die before, my said brother-in-law and sister being dead, he shall come to the age of 24 years, then i will my said cousin richard willyams shall have the farm with the appurtenances to him and to his executors and assigns; and if it happen my said brother-in-law, my sister, my son gregory, and my said cousin richard, to die before the accomplishment of this my will touching the said farm, then i will mine executors shall sell the said farm, and the money thereof coming to employ in deeds of charity, to pray for my soul and all christian souls. item. i will mine executors shall conduct and hire a priest, being an honest person of continent and good living, to sing for my soul by the space of seven years next after my death, and to give him for the same £6 13s. 4d. for his stipend. item. i give and bequeath towards the making of highways in this realm, where it shall be thought most necessary, £20 to be disposed by the discretion of mine executors. item. i give and bequeath to every the five orders of friars within the city of london, to pray for my soul, 20 shillings. item. i give and bequeath to 60 poor maidens in marriage, £40, that is to say, 13s. 4d. to every of the said poor maidens, to be given and distributed by the discretion of mine executors. item. i will that there shall be dealt and given after my decease amongst poor people householders, to pray for my soul, £20, such as by mine executors shall be thought most needful. item. i give and bequeath to the poor parishioners of the parish where god shall ordain me to have my dwellingplace at the time of my death, £10, to be truly distributed amongst them by the discretion of mine executors. item. i give and bequeath to my parish church for my tithes forgotten, 20 shillings. item. to the poor prisoners of newgate, ludgate, king's bench, and marshalsea, to be equally distributed amongst them, £10. willing, charging, and desiring mine executors underwritten, that they shall see this my will performed in every point according to my true meaning and intent as they will answer to god, and discharge their consciences. the residue of all my goods, chattels, and debts not bequeathed, my funeral and burial performed, which i will shall be done without any earthly pomp, and my debts paid, i will shall be sold, and the money thereof coming, to be distributed in works of charity and pity, after the good discretion of mine executors undernamed. whom i make and ordain, stephen vaughan, ralph sadler, my servants, and john willyams my brother-in-law. praying and desiring the same mine executors to be good unto my son gregory, and to all other my poor friends and kinsfolk and servants aforenamed in this my testament. and of this my present testament and last will i make roger more mine overseer; unto whom and also to every of the other mine executors i give and bequeath £6 13s. 4d. for their pains to be taken in the execution of this my last will and testament, over and above such legacies as herebefore i have bequeathed them in this same testament and will. in witness whereof, to this my present testament and last will i have set to my hand in every leaf contained in this book, the day and year before limited. thomas cromwell. item. i give and bequeath to william brabazon, my servant, £20 8s., a gun, a doublet, a jacket, and my second gelding. it. to john avery, yeoman of the bedchamber with the king's highness, £6 13s. 4d., and a doublet of satin. it. to thurston, my cook. £6 13s. 4d. it. to william body, my servant, £6 13s. 4d. it. to peter mewtas, my servant, £6 13s. 4d. it. to ric. sleysh, my servant, £6 13s. 4d. it. to george wilkinson, my servant, £6 13s. 4d. it. to my friend, thomas alvard. £10, and my best gelding. it. to my friend, thomas rush, £10. it. to my servant, john hynde, my horsekeeper, £3 6s. 8d. item. i will that mine executors shall safely keep the patent of the manor of romney to the use of my son gregory, and the money growing thereof, till he shall come to his lawful age, to be yearly received to the use of my said son, and the whole revenue thereof coming to be truly paid unto him at such time as he shall come to the age of 24 years. chapter vii the last efforts of diplomacy i have now to resume the thread of the political history where it was dropped at the sentence of divorce pronounced by cranmer, and the coronation of the new queen. the effect was about to be ascertained of these bold measures upon europe; and of what their effect would be, only so much could be foretold with certainty, that the time for trifling was past, and the pope and francis of france would be compelled to declare their true intentions. if these intentions were honest, the subordination of england to the papacy might be still preserved in a modified form. the papal jurisdiction was at end, but the spiritual supremacy of the bishop of rome, with a diminished but considerable revenue attached to it, remained unaffected; and it was for the pope to determine whether, by fulfilling at last his original engagements, he would preserve these remnants of his power and privileges, or boldly take up the gage, excommunicate his disobedient subjects, and attempt by force to bring them back to their allegiance. the news of what had been done did not take him wholly by surprise. it was known at brussels at the end of april that the king had married. the queen regent[595] spoke of it to the ambassador sternly and significantly, not concealing her expectation of the mortal resentment which would be felt by her brothers;[596] and the information was forwarded with the least possible delay to the cardinals of the imperial faction at rome. the true purposes which underlay the contradiction of clement's language are undiscoverable. perhaps in the past winter he had been acting out a deep intrigue--perhaps he was drifting between rival currents, and yielded in any or all directions as the alternate pressure varied; yet whatever had been the meaning of his language, whether it was a scheme to deceive henry, or was the expression only of weakness and good-nature desiring to avoid a quarrel to the latest moment, the decisive step which had been taken in the marriage, even though it was nominally undivulged, obliged him to choose his course and openly adhere to it. after the experience of the past, there could be no doubt what that course would be. on the 12th of may a citation was issued against the king of england, summoning him to appear by person or proxy at a stated day. it had been understood that no step of such a kind was to be taken before the meeting of the pope and francis; bennet, therefore, henry's faithful secretary, hastily inquired the meaning of this measure. the pope told him that it could not be avoided, and the language which he used revealed to the english agent the inevitable future. the king, he said, had defied the inhibitory brief which had been lately issued, and had incurred excommunication; the imperialists insisted that he should be proceeded against for contempt, and that the excommunication should at once be pronounced. however great might be his own personal reluctance, it was not possible for him to remain passive; and if he declined to resort at once to the more extreme exercise of his power, the hesitation was merely until the emperor was prepared to enforce the censures of the church with the strong hand. it stood not "with his honour to execute such censures," he said, "and the same not to be regarded."[597] but there was no wish to spare henry; and if francis could be detached from his ally, and if the condition of the rest of christendom became such as to favour the enterprise, england might evidently look for the worst which the pope, with the catholic powers, could execute. if the papal court was roused into so menacing a mood by the mere intimation of the secret marriage, it was easy to foresee what would ensue when the news arrived of the proceedings at dunstable. bennet entreated that the process should be delayed till the interview; but the pope answered coldly that he had done his best and could do no more; the imperialists were urgent, and he saw no reason to refuse their petition.[598] this was clement's usual language, but there was something peculiar in his manner. he had been often violent, but he had never shown resolution, and the english agents were perplexed. the mystery was soon explained. he had secured himself on the side of france; and francis, who at calais had told henry that his negotiations with the see of rome were solely for the interests of england, that for henry's sake he was marrying his son into a family beneath him in rank, that henry's divorce was to form the especial subject of his conference with the pope, had consented to allow these dangerous questions to sink into a secondary place, and had relinquished his intention, if he had ever seriously entertained it, of becoming an active party in the english quarrel. the long-talked-of interview was still delayed. first it was to have taken place in the winter, then in the spring; june was the date last fixed for it, and now bennet had to inform the king that it would not take place before september; and that, from the terms of a communication which had just passed between the parties who were to meet, the subjects discussed at the conference would not be those which he had been led to expect. francis, in answer to a question from the pope, had specified three things which he proposed particularly to "intreat." the first concerned the defence of christendom against the turks, the second concerned the general council, and the third concerned "the extinction of the lutheran sect."[599] these were the points which the most christian king was anxious to discuss with the pope. for the latter good object especially, "he would devise and treat for the provision of an army." in the king of england's cause, he trusted "some means might be found whereby it might be compounded;"[600] but if persuasion failed, there was no fear lest he should have recourse to any other method. it was this which had given back to the pope his courage. it was this which bennet had now to report to henry. the french alliance, it was too likely, would prove a broken reed, and pierce the hand that leant upon it. henry knew the danger; but danger was not a very terrible thing either to him or to his people. if he had conquered his own reluctance to risk a schism in the church, he was not likely to yield to the fear of isolation; and if there was something to alarm in the aspect of affairs, there was also much to encourage. his parliament was united and resolute. his queen was pregnant. the nun of kent had assigned him but a month to live after his marriage; six months had passed, and he was alive and well; the supernatural powers had not declared against him; and while safe with respect to enmity from above, the earthly powers he could afford to defy. when he finally divorced queen catherine, he must have foreseen his present position at least as a possibility, and if not prepared for so swift an apostasy in francis, and if not yet wholly believing it, we may satisfy ourselves he had never absolutely trusted a prince of metal so questionable. the duke of norfolk was waiting at the french court, with a magnificent embassy, to represent the english king at the interview. the arrival of the pope had been expected in may. it was now delayed till september; and if clement came after all, it would be for objects in which england had but small concern. it was better for england that there should be no meeting at all, than a meeting to devise schemes for the massacre of lutherans. henry therefore wrote to the duke, telling him generally what he had heard from rome; he mentioned the three topics which he understood were to form the matter of discussion; but he skilfully affected to regard them as having originated with the imperialists, and not with the french king. in a long paper of instructions, in which earnestness and irony were strangely blended, he directed the ambassador to treat his good brother as if he were still exclusively devoted to the interests of england; and to urge upon him, on the ground of this fresh delay, that the interview should not take place at all.[601] "our pleasure is," he wrote, "that ye shall say--that we be not a little moved in our heart to see our good brother and us, being such princes of christendom, to be so handled with the pope, so much to our dishonour, and to the pope's and the emperor's advancement; seeming to be at the pope's commandment to come or tarry as he or his cardinals shall appoint; and to depend upon his pleasure when to meet--that is to say, when he list or never. if our good brother and we were either suitors to make request, the obtaining whereof we did much set by, or had any particular matter of advantage to entreat with him, these proceedings might be the better tolerated; but our good brother having no particular matter of his own, and being ... that [no] more glory nor surety could happen to the emperour than to obtain the effect of the three articles moved by the pope and his cardinals, we think it not convenient to attend the pleasure of the pope, to go or to abyde. we could have been content to have received and taken at the pope's hand, jointly with our good brother, pleasure and friendship in our great cause; [but] on the other part, we cannot esteem the pope's part so high, as to have our good brother an attendant suitor therefore ... desiring him, therefore, in anywise to disappoint for his part the said interview; and if he have already granted thereto--upon some new good occasion, which he now undoubtedly hath--to depart from the same. "for we, ye may say, having the justness of our cause for us, with such an entire and whole consent of our nobility and commons of our realm and subjects, and being all matters passed, and in such terms as they now be, do not find such lack and want of that the pope might do, with us or against us, as we would for the obtaining thereof be contented to have a french king our so perfect a friend, to be not only a mediator but a suitor therein, and a suitor attendant to have audience upon liking and after the advice of such cardinals as repute it among pastymes to play and dally with kings and princes; whose honour, ye may say, is above all things, and more dear to us in the person of our good brother, than is any piece of our cause at the pope's hands. and therefore, if there be none other thing but our cause, and the other causes whereof we be advertised, our advice, counsel, special desire also and request is, [that our good brother shall] break off the interview, unless the pope will make suit to him; and [unless] our said good brother hath such causes of his own as may particularly tend to his own benefit, honour, and profit--wherein he shall do great and singular pleasure unto us; _giving to understand to the pope, that me know ourselves and him both, and look to be esteemed accordingly._" should it appear that on receipt of this communication, francis was still resolved to persevere, and that he had other objects in view to which henry had not been made privy, the ambassadors were then to remind him of the remaining obligations into which he had entered; and to ascertain to what degree his assistance might be calculated upon, should the pope pronounce henry deposed, and the emperor attempt to enforce the sentence. after forwarding these instructions, the king's next step was to anticipate the pope by an appeal which would neutralise his judgment should he venture upon it; and which offered a fresh opportunity of restoring the peace of christendom, if there was true anxiety to preserve that peace. the hinge of the great question, in the form which at last it assumed, was the validity or invalidity of the dispensation by which henry had married his brother's widow. being a matter which touched the limit of the pope's power, the pope was himself unable to determine it in his own favour; and the only authority by which the law could be ruled, was a general council. in the preceding winter, the pope had volunteered to submit the question to this tribunal; but henry believing that it was on the point of immediate solution in another way, had then declined, on the ground that it would cause a needless delay. he was already married, and he had hoped that sentence might be given in his favour in time to anticipate the publication of the ceremony. but he was perfectly satisfied that justice was on his side; and was equally confident of obtaining the verdict of europe, if it could be fairly pronounced. now, therefore, under the altered circumstances, he accepted the offered alternative. he anticipated with tolerable certainty the effect which would be produced at rome, when the news should arrive there of the dunstable divorce; and on the 29th of june, he appealed formally, in the presence of the archbishop of york, from the pope's impending sentence, to the next general council.[602] of this curious document the substance was as follows:--it commenced with a declaration that the king had no intention of acting otherwise than became a good catholic prince; or of injuring the church or attacking the privileges conceded by god to the holy see. if his words could be lawfully shown to have such a tendency he would revoke, emend, and correct them in a catholic spirit. the general features of the case were then recapitulated. his marriage with his brother's wife had been pronounced illegal by the principal universities of europe, by the clergy of the two provinces of the church of england, by the most learned theologians and canonists, and finally, by the public judgment of the church.[603] he therefore had felt himself free; and, "by the inspiration of the host high, had lawfully married another woman." furthermore, "for the common weal and tranquillity of the realm of england, and for the wholesome rule and government of the same, he had caused to be enacted certain statutes and ordinances, by authority of parliaments lawfully called for that purpose." "now, however," he continued, "we fearing that his holyness the pope ... having in our said cause treated us far otherwise than either respect for our dignity and desert, or the duty of his own office required at his hands, and having done us many injuries which we now of design do suppress, but which hereafter we shall be ready, should circumstances so require, to divulge ... may now proceed to acts of further injustice, and heaping wrong on wrong, may pronounce the censures and other penalties of the spiritual sword against ourselves, our realm, and subjects, seeking thereby to deprive us of the use of the sacraments, and to cut us off, in the sight of the world, from the unity of the church, to the no slight hurt and injury of our realm and subjects: "fearing these things, and desiring to preserve from detriment not only ourselves, our own dignity and estimation, but also our subjects, committed to us by almighty god; to keep them in the unity of the christian faith, and in the wonted participation in the sacraments; that, when in truth they be not cut off from the integrity of the church, nor can nor will be so cut off in any manner, they may not appear to be so cut off in the estimation of men; [desiring further] to check and hold back our people whom god has given to us, lest, in the event of such injury, they refuse utterly to obey any longer the roman pontiff, as a hard and cruel pastor: [for these causes] and believing, from reasons probable, conjectures likely, and words used to our injury by his holiness the pope, which in divers manners have been brought to our ears, that some weighty act may be committed by him or others to the prejudice of ourselves and of our realm;--we, therefore, in behalf of all and every of our subjects, and of all persons adhering to us in this our cause, do make our appeal to the next general council, which shall be lawfully held, in place convenient, with the consent of the christian princes, and of such others as it may concern--not in contempt of the holy see, but for defence of the truth of the gospel, and for the other causes afore rehearsed. and we do trust in god that it shall not be interpreted as a thing ill done on our part, if preferring the salvation of our soul and the relief of our conscience to any mundane respects or favours, we have in this cause regarded more the divine law than the laws of man, and have thought it rather meet to obey god than to obey man."[604] by the appeal and the causes which were assigned for it, henry pre-occupied the ground of the conflict; he entrenched himself in the "debateable land" of legal uncertainty; and until his position had been pronounced untenable by the general voice of christendom, any sentence which the pope could issue would have but a doubtful validity. it was, perhaps, but a slight advantage; and the niceties of technical fencing might soon resolve themselves into a question of mere strength; yet, in the opening of great conflicts, it is well, even when a resort to force is inevitable, to throw on the opposing party the responsibility of violence; and henry had been led, either by a refinement of policy, or by the plain straightforwardness of his intentions, into a situation where he could expect without alarm the unrolling of the future. the character of that future was likely soon to be decided. the appeal was published on the 29th of june; and as the pope must have heard, by the middle of the month at latest, of the trial and judgment at dunstable, a few days would bring an account of the manner in which he had received the intelligence. prior to the arrival of the couriers, bennet, with the assistance of cardinal tournon, had somewhat soothed down his exasperation. francis, also, having heard that immediate process was threatened, had written earnestly to deprecate such a measure;[605] and though he took the interference "very displeasantly,"[606] the pope could not afford to lose, by premature impatience; the fruit of all his labour and diplomacy, and had yielded so far as to promise that nothing of moment should be done. to this state of mind he had been brought one day in the second week of june. the morning after, bennet found him "sore altered." the news of "my lord of canterbury's proceedings" had arrived the preceding night; and "his holiness said that [such] doings were too sore for him to stand still at and do nothing."[607] it was "against his duty towards god and the world to tolerate them." the imperialist cardinals, impatient before, clamoured that the evil had been caused by the dilatory timidity with which the case had been handled from the first.[608] the consistory sate day after day with closed doors;[609] and even such members of it as had before inclined to the english side, joined in the common indignation. "some extreme process" was instantly looked for, and the english agents, in their daily interviews with the pope, were forced to listen to language which it was hard to bear with equanimity. bennet's well-bred courtesy carried him successfully through the difficulty; his companion bonner was not so fortunate. bonner's tongue was insolent, and under bad control. he replied to menace by impertinence; and on one occasion was so exasperating, that clement threatened to burn him alive, or boil him in a caldron of lead.[610] when fairly roused, the old man was dangerous; and the future bishop of london wrote to england in extremity of alarm. his letter has not been found, but the character of it may be perceived from the reassuring reply of the king. the agents, henry said, were not to allow themselves to be frightened; they were to go on calmly, with their accustomed diligence and dexterity, disputing the ground from point to point, and trust to him. their cause was good, and, with god's help, he would be able to defend them from the malice of their adversaries.[611] fortunately for bonner, the pope's passion was of brief duration, and the experiment whether henry's arm could reach to the dungeons of the vatican remained untried. the more moderate of the cardinals, also, something assuaged the storm; and angry as they all were, the majority still saw the necessity of prudence. in the heat of the irritation, final sentence was to have been pronounced upon the entire cause, backed by interdict, excommunication, and the full volume of the papal thunders. at the close of a month's deliberation they resolved to reserve judgement on the original question, and to confine themselves for the present to revenging the insult to the pope by "my lord of canterbury." both the king and the archbishop had disobeyed a formal inhibition. on the 12th of july, the pope issued a brief, declaring cranmer's judgment to have been illegal, the english process to have been null and void, and the king, by his disobedience, to have incurred, _ipso facto_, the threatened penalties of excommunication. of his clemency he suspended these censures till the close of the following september, in order that time might be allowed to restore the respective parties to their old positions: if within that period the parties were not so restored, the censures would fall.[612] this brief was sent into flanders, and fixed in the usual place against the door of a church in dunkirk. henry was prepared for a measure which was no more than natural. he had been prepared for it as a possibility when he married. both he and francis must have been prepared for it on their meeting at calais, when the french king advised him to marry, and promised to support him through the consequences. his own measures had been arranged beforehand, and he had secured himself in technical entrenchments by his appeal. after the issue of the brief, however, he could allow no english embassy to compliment clement by its presence on his visit to france. he "knew the pope," as he said. long experience had shown him that nothing was to be gained by yielding in minor points; and the only chance which now remained of preserving the established order of christendom, was to terrify the vatican court into submission by the firmness of his attitude. for the present complications, the court of rome, not he, was responsible. the pope, with a culpable complacency for the emperor, had shrunk from discharging a duty which his office imposed upon him; and the result had been, that the duty was discharged by another. henry could not blame himself for the consequences of clement's delinquency. he rather felt himself wronged in having been driven to so extreme a measure against his will. he resolved, therefore, to recall the embassy, and once more, though with no great hope that he would be successful, to invite francis to fulfil his promise, and to unite with himself in expressing his resentment at the pope's conduct. his despatch to the duke of norfolk on this occasion was the natural sequel of what he had written a few weeks previously. that letter had failed wholly of its effect. the interview was resolved upon for quite other reasons than those which were acknowledged, and therefore was not to be given up. a promise, however, had been extracted, that it should be given up, if in the course of the summer the pope "innovated anything" against the king of england; and henry now required, formally, that this engagement should be observed. "a notorious and notable innovation" had been made, and francis must either deny his words, or adhere to them. it would be evident to all the world, if the interview took place under the present circumstances, that the alliance with england was no longer of the importance with him which it had been; that his place in the struggle, when the struggle came, would be found on the papal side. the language of henry throughout this paper was very fine and noble. he reminded francis that substantially the cause at issue was the cause of all princes; the pope claiming a right to summon them to plead in the courts of rome, and refusing to admit their exemption as sovereign rulers. he had been required not only to undo his marriage, and cancel the sentence of divorce, but, as a condition of reconciliation with the holy see, to undo also, the act of appeals, and to restore the papal jurisdiction. he desired it to be understood, with emphasis, that these points were all equally sacred, and the repeal of the act was as little to be thought of as the annulling the marriage. "the pope," he said, "did inforce us to excogitate some new thing, whereby we might be healed and relieved of that continual disease, to care for our cause at rome, where such defence was taken from us, as by the laws of god, nature, and man, is due unto us. hereupon depended the wealth of our realm; hereupon consisted the surety of our succession, which by no other means could be well assured." "and therefore," he went on, "you [the duke] shall say to our good brother, that the pope persisting in the ways he hath entered, ye must needs despair in any meeting between the french king and the pope, to produce any such effect as to cause us to meet in concord with the pope; but we shall be even as far asunder as is between yea and nay. for to the pope's enterprise to revoke or put back anything that is done here, either in marriage, statute, sentence, or proclamation[613]--of which four members is knit and conjoined the surety of our matter, nor any can be removed from the other, lest thereby the whole edifice should be destroyed--we will and shall, by all ways and means say nay, and declare our nay in such sort as the world shall hear, and the pope feel it. wherein ye may say our firm trust, perfect hope, and assured confidence is, that our good brother will agree with us; as well for that it should be partly dishonourable for him to see decay the thing that was of his own foundation and planting: as also that it should be too much dishonourable for us--having travelled so far in this matter, and brought it to this point, that all the storms of the year passed, it is now come to harvest, trusting to see shortly the fruit of our marriage, to the wealth, joy, and comfort of all our realm, and our own singular consolation--that anything should now be done by us to impair the same, and to put our issue either in peril of bastardy, or otherwise disturb that [which] is by the whole agreement of our realm established for their and our commodity, wealth, and benefit. and in this determination ye know us to be so fixed, and the contrary hereof to be so infeasible, either at our hands, or by the consent of the realm, that ye must needs despair of any order to be taken by the french king with the pope. for if any were by him taken wherein any of these four pieces should be touched--that is to say, the marriage of the queen our wife, the revocation of the bishop of canterbury's sentence, the statute of our realm, or our late proclamation, which be as it were one--and as walls, covering, the foundation make a house, so they knit together, establish, and make one matter--ye be well assured, and be so ascertained from us, that in no wise we will relent, but will, as we have before written, withstand the same. whereof ye may say that ye have thought good to advertise him, to the intent he make no farther promise to the pope therein than may be performed." the ambassadors were the more emphatically to insist on the king's resolution, lest francis, in his desire for conciliation, might hold out hopes to the pope which could not be realised. they were to say, however, that the king of england still trusted that the interview would not take place. the see of rome was asserting a jurisdiction which, if conceded, would encourage an unlimited usurpation. if princes might be cited to the papal courts in a cause of matrimony, they might be cited equally in other causes at the pope's pleasure; and the free kingdoms of europe would be converted into dependent provinces of the see of rome. it concerned alike the interest and the honour of all sovereigns to resist encroachments which pointed to such an issue; and, therefore, henry said he hoped that his good brother would use the pope as he had deserved, "doing him to understand his folly, and [that] unless he had first made amends, he could not find in his heart to have further amity with him." if notwithstanding, the instructions concluded, "all these persuasions cannot have place to let the said meeting, and the french king shall say it is expedient for him to have in his hands the duchess,[614] under pretence of marriage for his son, which he cannot obtain but by this means, ye shall say that ye remember ye heard him say once he would never conclude that marriage but to do us good, which is now infaisible; and now in the voice of the world shall do us both more hurt in the diminution of the reputation of our amity than it should do otherwise profit. nevertheless, [if] ye cannot let his precise determination, [ye] can but lament and bewail your own chance to depart home in this sort; and that yet of the two inconvenients, it is to you more tolerable to return to us nothing done, than to be present at the interview and to be compelled to look patiently upon your master's enemy." after having entered thus their protest against the french king's conduct, the embassy was to return to england, leaving a parting intimation of the single condition under which henry would consent to treat. if the pope would declare that "the matrimony with the lady catherine was and is nought, he should do somewhat not to be refused;" except with this preliminary, no offer whatever could be entertained.[615] this communication, as henry anticipated, was not more effectual than the former in respect of its immediate object. at the meeting of calais the interests of francis had united him with england, and in pursuing the objects of henry he was then pursuing his own. the pope and the emperor had dissolved the coalition by concessions on the least dangerous side. the interests of francis lay now in the other direction, and there are few instances in history in which governments have adhered to obligations against their advantage from a spirit of honour, when the purposes with which they contracted those obligations have been otherwise obtained. the english embassy returned as they were ordered; the french court pursued their way to marseilles; not quarrelling with england; intending to abide by the alliance, and to give all proofs of amity which did not involve inconvenient sacrifices; but producing on the world at large by their conduct the precise effect which henry had foretold. the world at large, looking to acts rather than to words, regarded the interview as a contrivance to reconcile francis and the emperor through the intervention of the pope, as a preliminary for a packed council, and for a holy war against the lutherans[616]--a combination of ominous augury to christendom, from the consequences of which, if germany was to be the first sufferer, england would be inevitably the second. meanwhile, as the french alliance threatened to fail, the english government found themselves driven at last to look for a connection among those powers from whom they had hitherto most anxiously disconnected themselves. at such a time. protestant germany, not catholic france, was england's natural friend. the reformation was essentially a teutonic movement; the germans, the english, the scotch, the swedes, the hollanders, all were struggling on their various roads towards an end essentially the same. the same dangers threatened them, the same inspiration moved them; and in the eyes of the orthodox catholics they were united in a black communion of heresy. unhappily, though this identity was obvious to their enemies, it was far from obvious to themselves. the odium theologicum is ever hotter between sections of the same party which are divided by trifling differences, than between the open representatives of antagonist principles; and anglicans and lutherans, instead of joining hands across the channel, endeavoured only to secure each a recognition of themselves at the expense of the other. the english plumed themselves on their orthodoxy. they were "not as those publicans," heretics, despisers of the keys, disobedient to authority; they desired only the independence of their national church, and they proved their zeal for the established faith with all the warmth of persecution. to the germans national freedom was of wholly minor moment, in comparison with the freedom of the soul; the orthodoxy of england was as distasteful to the disciples of luther as the orthodoxy of rome--and the interests of europe were sacrificed on both sides to this foolish and fatal disunion. circumstances indeed would not permit the division to remain in its first intensity, and their common danger compelled the two nations into a partial understanding. yet the reconciliation, imperfect to the last, was at the outset all but impossible. their relations were already embittered by many reciprocal acts of hostility. henry viii. had won his spurs as a theologian by an attack on luther. luther had replied by a hailstorm of invectives. the lutheran books had been proscribed, the lutherans themselves had' been burnt by henry's bishops. the protestant divines in germany had attempted to conciliate the emperor by supporting the cause of catherine; and luther himself had spoken loudly in condemnation of the king. the elements of disunion were so many and so powerful, that there was little hope of contending against them successfully. nevertheless, as henry saw, the coalition of francis and the emperor, if the pope succeeded in cementing it, was a most serious danger, to which an opposite alliance would alone be an adequate counterpoise; and the experiment might at least be tried whether such an alliance was possible. at the beginning of august, therefore, stephen vaughan was sent on a tentative mission to the elector of saxe, john frederick, at weimar.[617] he was the bearer of letters containing a proposal for a resident english ambassador; and if the elector gave his consent, he was to proceed with similar offers to the courts of the landgrave of hesse and the duke of lunenberg.[618] vaughan arrived in due time at the elector's court, was admitted to audience and delivered his letters. the prince read them, and in the evening of the same day returned for answer a polite but wholly absolute refusal. being but a prince elector, he said, he might not aspire to so high an honour as to be favoured with the presence of an english ambassador. it was not the custom in germany, and he feared that if he consented he should displease the emperor.[619] the meaning of such a reply delivered in a few hours was not to be mistaken, however disguised in courteous language. the english emissary saw that he was an unwelcome visitor, and that he must depart with the utmost celerity. "the elector," he wrote,[620] "thirsted to have me gone from him, which i right well perceived by evident tokens which declared unto me the same." he had no anxiety to expose to hazard the toleration which the protestant dukedoms as yet enjoyed from the emperor, by committing himself to a connection with a prince with whose present policy he had no sympathy, and whose conversion to the cause of the reformation he had as yet no reason to believe sincere.[621] the reception which vaughan met with at weimar satisfied him that he need go no further; neither the landgrave nor the duke of lunenberg would be likely to venture on a course which the elector so obviously feared. he, therefore, gave up his mission, and returned to england. the first overtures in this direction issued in complete failure, nor was the result wholly to be regretted. it taught henry (or it was a first commencement of the lesson) that so long as he pursued a merely english policy he might not expect that other nations would embroil themselves in his defence. he must allow the reformation a wider scope, he must permit it to comprehend within its possible consequences the breaking of the chains by which his subjects' minds were bound--not merely a change of jailors. then perhaps the german princes might return some other answer. the disappointment, however, fell lightly; for before the account of the failure had reached england, an event had happened, which, poor as the king might be in foreign alliances, had added most material strength to his position in england. the full moment of that event he had no means of knowing. in its immediate bearing it was matter for most abundant satisfaction. on the seventh of september, between three and four in the afternoon, at the palace of greenwich, was born a princess, named three days later in her baptism, after the king's mother, elizabeth.[622] a son had been hoped for. the child was a daughter only; yet at least providence had not pronounced against the marriage by a sentence of barrenness; at least there was now an heir whose legitimacy the nation had agreed to accept. te deums were sung in all the churches; again the river decked itself in splendour; again all london steeples were musical with bells. a font of gold was presented for the christening. francis, in compensation for his backslidings, had consented to be godfather; and the infant, who was soon to find her country so rude a stepmother, was received with all the outward signs of exulting welcome. to catherine's friends the offspring of the rival marriage was not welcome, but was an object rather of bitter hatred; and the black cloud of a sister's jealousy gathered over the cradle whose innocent occupant had robbed her of her title and her expectations. to the king, to the parliament, to the healthy heart of england, she was an object of eager hope and an occasion for thankful gratitude; but the seeds were sown with her birth of those misfortunes which were soon to overshadow her, and to form the school of the great nature which in its maturity would re-mould the world. leaving elizabeth for the present, we return to the continent, and to the long-promised interview, which was now at last approaching. henry made no further attempt to remonstrate with francis; and francis assured him, and with all sincerity, that he would use his best efforts to move the pope to make the necessary concessions. the english embassy meanwhile was withdrawn. the excommunication had been received as an act of hostility, of which henry would not even condescend to complain; and it was to be understood distinctly that in any exertions which might be made by the french king, the latter was acting without commission on his own responsibility. the intercession was to be the spontaneous act of a mutual friend, who, for the interests of christendom, desired to heal a dangerous wound; but neither directly nor indirectly was it to be interpreted as an expression of a desire for a reconciliation on the english side. it was determined further, on the recal of the duke of norfolk, that the opportunity of the meeting should be taken to give a notice to the pope of the king's appeal to the council; and for this purpose, bennet and bonner were directed to follow the papal court from rome. bennet never accomplished this journey, dying on the route, worn out with much service.[623] his death delayed bonner, and the conferences had opened for many days before his arrival. clement had reached marseilles by ship from genoa, about the 20th of october. as if pointedly to irritate henry, he had placed himself under the conduct of the duke of albany.[624] he was followed two days later by his fair niece, catherine de medici; and the preparations for the marriage were commenced with the utmost swiftness and secrecy. the conditions of the contract were not allowed to transpire, but they were concluded in three days; and on this 25th of october the pope bestowed his precious present on the duke of orleans, he himself performing the nuptial ceremony, and accompanying it with his paternal benediction on the young pair, and on the happy country which was to possess them for its king and queen. france being thus securely riveted to rome, other matters could be talked of more easily. francis made all decent overtures to the pope in behalf of henry; if the pope was to be believed indeed, he was vehemently urgent.[625] clement in turn made suggestions for terms of alliance between francis and charles, "to the advantage of the most christian king;"[626] and thus parried the remonstrances. the only point positively clear to the observers, was the perfect understanding which existed between the king of france and his spiritual father.[627] unusual activity was remarked in the dockyards; italian soldiers of fortune were about the court in unusual numbers, and apparently in favour.[628] an invasion of lombardy was talked of among the palace retinue; and the emperor was said to distrust the intentions of the conference. possibly experience had taught all parties to doubt each other's faith. possibly they were all in some degree waiting upon events; and had not yet resolved upon their conduct. in the midst of this scene arrived doctor bonner, in the beginning of november, with henry's appeal. he was a strange figure to appear in such a society. there was little probity, perhaps, either in the court of france, or in their italian visitors: but of refinement, of culture, of those graces which enable men to dispense with the more austere excellences of character--which transform licentiousness into elegant frailty, and treachery and falsehood into pardonable finesse--of these there was very much: and when a rough, coarse, vulgar englishman was plunged among these delicate ladies and gentlemen, he formed an element which contrasted strongly with the general environment. yet banner, perhaps, was not without qualifications which fitted him for his mission. he was not, indeed, virtuous; but he had a certain downright honesty about him, joined with an entire insensibility to those finer perceptions which would have interfered with plain speaking, where plain speaking was desirable; he had a broad, not ungenial humour, which showed him things and persons in their genuine light, and enabled him to picture them for us with a distinctness for which we owe him lasting thanks. he appeared at marseilles on the 7th of november, and had much difficulty in procuring an interview. at length, weary of waiting, and regardless of the hot lead with which he had been lately threatened, he forced his way into the room where "the pope was standing, with the cardinals de lorraine and medici, ready apparelled with his stole to go to the consistory." "incontinently upon my coming thither," he wrote to henry,[629] "the pope, whose sight is incredulous quick, eyed me, and that divers times; making a good pause in one place; at which time i desired the datary to advertise his holiness that i would speak with him; and albeit the datary made no little difficulty therein, yet perceiving that upon refusal i would have gone forthwith to the pope, he advertised the pope of my said desire. his holiness dismissing as then the said cardinals, and letting his vesture fall, went to a window in the said chamber, calling me unto him. at which time i showed unto his holiness how that your highness had given me express and strait commandment to intimate unto him how that your grace had solemnly provoked and appealed unto the general council; submitting yourself to the tuition and defence thereof; which provocation and appeal i had under authentic writings then with me, to show for that purpose. and herewithal i drew out the said writing, showing his said holiness that i brought the same in proof of the premises, and that his holiness might see and perceive all the same. the pope having this for a breakfast, only pulled down his head to his shoulders, after the italian fashion, and said that because he was as then fully ready to go into the consistory, he would not tarry to hear or see the said writings, but willed me to come at afternoon." the afternoon came, and bonner returned, and was admitted. there was some conversation upon indifferent matters; the pope making good-natured inquiries about bennet, and speaking warmly and kindly of him. "presently," bonner continues, "falling out of that, he said that he marvelled your highness would use his holiness after such sort as it appears ye did. i said that your highness no less did marvel that his holiness having found so much benevolence and kindness at your hands in all times past, would for acquittal show such unkindness as of late he did. and here we entered in communication upon two points: one was that his holiness, having committed in times past, and in most ample form, the cause into the realm, promising not to revoke the said commission, and over that, to confirm the process and sentence of the commissaries, should not at the point of sentence have advoked the cause, retaining it at rome--forasmuch as rome was a place whither your highness could not, ne yet ought, personally to come unto, and also was not bound to send thither your proctor. the second point was, that your highness's cause being, in the opinion of the best learned men in christendom, approved good and just, and so [in] many ways known unto his holiness, the same should not so long have retained it in his hands without judgment. "his holiness answering the same, as touching the first point, said that if the queen (meaning the late wife of prince arthur, calling her always in his conversation the queen) had not given an oath refusing the judges as suspect, he would not have advoked the matter at all, but been content that it should have been determined and ended in your realm. but seeing she gave that oath, appealing also to his court, he might and ought to hear her, his promise made to your highness, which was qualified, notwithstanding. as touching the second point, his holiness said that your highness only was the default thereof, because ye would not send a proxy to the cause. these matters, however, he said, had been many times fully talked upon at rome; and therefore [he] willed me to omit further communication thereupon, and to proceed to the doing of such things that i was specially sent for. "whereupon making protestation of your highness's mind and intent towards the see apostolic--not intending anything to do in contempt of the same--i exhibited unto his holiness the commission which your highness had sent unto me; and his holiness delivering it to the datary, commanded him to read it; and hearing in the same the words (referring to the injuries which he had done to your highness), he began to look up after a new sort, and said, 'o questo et multo vero! (this is much true!)' meaning that it was not true indeed. and verily, sure not only in this, but also in many parts of the said commission, he showed himself grievously offended; insomuch that, when those words, 'to the next general council which shall be lawfully held in place convenient,' were read, he fell in a marvellous great choler and rage, not only declaring the same by his gesture and manner, but also by words: speaking with great vehemence, and saying, 'why did not the king, when i wrote to my nuncio this year past, to speak unto him for this general council, give no answer unto my said nuncio, but referred him for answer to the french king? at what time he might perceive by my doing, that i was very well disposed, and much spake for it.' 'the thing so standing, now to speak of a general council! oh, good lord! but well! his commission and all his other writings cannot be but welcome unto me;' which words methought he spake willing to hide his choler, and make me believe that he was nothing angry with their doings, when in vary deed i perceived, by many arguments, that it was otherwise. and one among others was taken here for infallible with them that knoweth the pope's conditions, that he was continually folding up and unwinding of his handkerchief, which he never doth but when he is tickled to the very heart with great choler." at length the appeal was read through; and at the close of it francis entered, and talked to the pope for some time, but in so low a voice that bonner could not hear what was passing. when he had gone, his holiness said that he would deliberate upon the appeal with the consistory, and after hearing their judgments would return his answer. three days passed, and then the english agent was informed that he might again present himself. the pope had recovered his calmness. when he had time to collect himself, clement could speak well and with dignity; and if we could forget that his conduct was substantially unjust, and that in his conscience he knew it to be unjust, he would almost persuade us to believe him honest. "he said," wrote bonner, "that his mind towards your highness always had been to minister justice, and to do pleasure to you; albeit it hath not been so taken: and he never unjustly grieved your grace that he knoweth, nor intendeth hereafter to do. as concerning the appeal, he said that, forasmuch as there was a constitution of pope pius, his predecessor, that did condemn and reprove all such appeals, he did therefore reject your grace's appeal as frivolous, forbidden, and unlawful." as touching the council, he said generally, that he would do his best that it should meet; but it was to be understood that the calling a general council belonged to him, and not to the king of england. the audience ended, and bonner left the pope convinced that he intended, on his return to rome, to execute the censures and continue the process without delay. that the sentence which he would pronounce would be against the king appeared equally certain. it appeared certain, yet after all no certain conclusion is possible. francis i., though not choosing to quarrel with the see of rome to do a pleasure to henry, was anxious to please his ally to the extent of his convenience; at any rate, he would not have gratuitously deceived him; and still less would he have been party to an act of deliberate treachery. when bonner was gone he had a last interview with the pope, in which he urged upon him the necessity of complying with henry's demands; and the pope on this occasion said that he was satisfied that the king of england was right; that his cause was good; and that he had only to acknowledge the papal jurisdiction by some formal act, to find sentence immediately pronounced in his favour. except for his precipitation, and his refusal to depute a proxy to plead for him, his wishes would have been complied with long before. in the existing posture of affairs, and after the measures which had been passed in england with respect to the see of rome, he himself, the pope said, could not make advances without some kind of submission; but a single act of acknowledgment was all which he required.[630] extraordinary as it must seem, the pope certainly bound himself by this engagement: and who can tell with what intention? to believe him sincere and to believe him false seems equally impossible. if he was persuaded that henry's cause _was_ good, why did he in the following year pronounce finally for catherine? why had he imperilled so needlessly the interests of the papacy in england? why had his conduct from the beginning pointed steadily to the conclusion at which he at last arrived? and why throughout europe were the ultramontane party, to a man, on catherine's side? on the other hand, what object at such a time can be conceived for falsehood? can we suppose that he designed to dupe henry into submission by a promise which he had predetermined to break? it is hard to suppose even clement capable of so elaborate an act of perfidy; and it is, perhaps, idle to waste conjectures on the motives of a weak, much-agitated man. he was, probably, but giving a fresh example of his disposition to say at each moment whatever would be most agreeable to his hearers. this was his unhappy habit, by which he earned for himself a character for dishonesty, i labour to think, but half deserved. if, however, clement meant to deceive, he succeeded, undoubtedly, in deceiving the french king. francis, in communicating to henry the language which the pope had used, entreated him to reconsider his resolution. the objection to pleading at rome might be overcome; for the pope would meet him in a middle course. judges could be appointed, who should sit at cambray, and pass a sentence in condemnation of the original marriage; with a definite promise that their sentence should not again be called in question. to this arrangement there could be no reasonable objection; and francis implored that a proposal so liberal should not be rejected. sufficient danger already threatened christendom, from heretics within and from the turks without; and although the english parliament were agreed to maintain the second marriage, it was unwise to provoke the displeasure of foreign princes. to allow time for the preliminary arrangements, the execution of the censures had been further postponed; and if henry would make up the quarrel, the french monarch was commissioned to offer a league, offensive and defensive, between england, france, and the papacy. he himself only desired to be faithful to his engagements to his good brother; and as a proof of his good faith, he said that he had been offered the duchy of milan, if he would look on while the emperor and the pope attacked england.[631] this language bears all the character of sincerity; and when we remember that it followed immediately upon a close and intimate communication of three weeks with clement, it is not easy to believe that he could have mistaken the extent of the pope's promises. we may suppose clement for the moment to have been honest, or wavering between honesty and falsehood; we may suppose further that francis trusted him because it was undesirable to be suspicious, in the belief that he was discharging the duty of a friend to henry, and of a friend to the church, in offering to mediate upon these terms. but henry was far advanced beyond the point at which fair words could move him. he had trusted many times, and had been many times deceived. it was not easy to entangle him again. it mattered little whether clement was weak or false; the result was the same--he could not be trusted. to an open english understanding there was something monstrous in the position of a person professing to be a judge, who admitted that a cause which lay before him was so clear that he could bind himself to a sentence upon it, and could yet refuse to pronounce that sentence, except upon conditions. it was scarcely for the interests of justice to leave the distribution of it in hands so questionable. instead, therefore, of coming forward, as francis hoped, instead of consenting to entangle himself again in the meshes of diplomatic intrigue, the king returned a peremptory refusal. the duke of norfolk, and such of the council as dreaded the completion of the schism, assured d'inteville, the french ambassador, that for themselves they considered francis was doing the best for england which could be done, and that they deprecated violent measures as much as possible; but in all this party there was a secret leaning to queen catherine, a dislike of queen anne and the whole boleyn race, and a private hope and belief that the pope would after all be firm. their tongues were therefore tied. they durst not speak except alone in whispers to each other; and the french ambassador, who did dare, only drew from henry a more determined expression of his resolution. as to his measures in england, the king said, the pope had begun the quarrel by issuing censures and by refusing to admit his reasons for declining to plead at rome. he was required to send a proctor, and was told that the cause should be decided in favour of whichever party was so represented there. for the sake of all other princes as well as himself, he would send no proctor, nor would he seem to acquiesce in the pretences of the papal see. the king of france told him that the pope admitted the justice of his cause. let the pope do justice, then. the laws passed in parliament were for the benefit of the commonwealth, and he would never revoke them. he demanded no reparation, and could make no reparation. he asked only for his right, and if he could not obtain it, he had god and truth on his side, and that was enough. in vain d'inteville answered feebly, that his master had done all that was in his power; the king replied that the french council wished to entangle him with the pope; but for his own part he would never more acknowledge the pope in his pretended capacity. he might be bishop of rome, or pope also, if he preferred the name; but the see of rome should have no more jurisdiction in england, and he thought he would be none the worse christian on that account, but rather the better. jesus christ he would acknowledge, and him only, as the true lord of christian men, and christ's word only should be preached in england. the spaniards might invade him as they threatened. he did not fear them. they might come, but they might not find it so easy to return.[632] the king had taken his position and was prepared for the consequences. he had foreseen for more than a year the possibility of an attempted invasion; and since his marriage, he had been aware that the chances of success in the adventure had been discussed on the continent by the papal and imperial party. the pope had spoken of his censures being enforced, and francis had revealed to henry the nature of the dangerous overtures which had been made to himself. the lutheran princes had hurriedly declined to connect themselves in any kind of alliance with england; and on the 25th of september, stephen vaughan had reported that troops were being raised in germany, which rumour destined for catherine's service.[633] ireland, too, as we shall hear in the next chapter, was on the verge of an insurrection, which had been fomented by papal agents. nevertheless, there was no real danger from an invasion, unless it was accompanied with an insurrection at home, or with a simultaneous attack from scotland; and while of the first there appeared upon the surface no probability, with scotland a truce for a year had been concluded on the 1st of october.[634] the king, therefore, had felt himself reasonably secure. parliament had seemed unanimous; the clergy were submissive; the nation acquiescent or openly approving;[635] and as late as the beginning of november, 1533, no suspicion seems to have been entertained of the spread of serious disaffection. a great internal revolution had been accomplished; a conflict of centuries between the civil and spiritual powers had been terminated without a life lost or a blow struck. partial murmurs there had been, but murmurs were inevitable, and, so far as the government yet knew, were harmless. the scotch war had threatened to be dangerous, but it had been extinguished. impatient monks had denounced the king from the pulpits, and disloyal language had been reported from other quarters, which had roused vigilance, but had not created alarm. the nun of kent had forced herself into the royal presence with menacing prophecies; but she had appeared to be a harmless dreamer, who could only be made of importance by punishment. the surface of the nation was in profound repose. cromwell, like walsingham after him, may perhaps have known of the fire which was smouldering below, and have watched it silently till the moment came at which to trample it out; but no symptom of uneasiness appears either in the conduct of the government or in the official correspondence. the organisation of the friars, the secret communication of the nun with catherine and the princess mary, with the papal nuncio, or with noble lords and reverend bishops, was either unknown, or the character of those communications was not suspected. that a serious political conspiracy should have shaped itself round the ravings of a seeming lunatic, to all appearance had not occurred as a possibility to a single member of the council, except to those whose silence was ensured by their complicity. so far as we are able to trace the story (for the links of the chain which led to the discovery of the design's which were entertained, are something imperfect), the suspicions of the government were first roused in the following manner: queen catherine, as we have already seen, had been called upon, at the coronation of anne boleyn, to renounce her title, and she had refused. mary had been similarly deprived of her rank as princess; but either her disgrace was held to be involved in that of her mother, or some other cause, perhaps the absence of immediate necessity, had postponed the demand for her own personal submission. as, however, on the publication of the second marriage, it had been urged on catherine that there could not be two queens in england, so on the birth of the princess elizabeth, an analogous argument required the disinheritance of mary. it was a hard thing; but her mother's conduct obliged the king to be peremptory. she might have been legitimatised by act of parliament, if catherine would have submitted. the consequences of catherine's refusal might be cruel, but they were unavoidable. mary was not with her mother. it had been held desirable to remove her from an influence which would encourage her in a useless opposition; and she was residing at beaulieu, afterwards new hall, in essex, under the care of lord hussey and the countess of salisbury. lord hussey was a dangerous guardian; he was subsequently executed for his complicity in the pilgrimage of grace, the avowed object of which was the restoration of mary to her place as heir-apparent. we may believe, therefore, that while under his surveillance she experienced no severe restraint, nor received that advice with respect to her conduct which prudence would have dictated. lord hussey, however, for the present enjoyed the confidence of the king, and was directed to inform his charge, that for the future she was to consider herself not as princess, but as the king's natural daughter, the lady mary tudor. the message was a painful one; painful, we will hope, more on her mother's account than on her own; but her answer implied that, as yet, henry viii. was no object of especial terror to his children. "her grace replied," wrote lord hussey to the council in communicating the result of his undertaking,[636] that "she could not a little marvel that i being alone, and not associate with some other the king's most honourable council, nor yet sufficiently authorised neither by commission not by any other writing from the king's highness, would attempt to declare such a high enterprise and matter of no little weight and importance unto her grace, in diminishing her said estate and name; her grace not doubting that she is the king's true and legitimate daughter and heir procreate in good and lawful matrimony; [and] further adding, that unless she were advertised from his highness by his writing that his grace was so minded to diminish her estate, name, and dignity, which she trusteth his highness will never do, she would not believe it." inasmuch as mary was but sixteen at this time, the resolution which she displayed in sending such a message was considerable. the early english held almost roman notions on the nature of parental authority, and the tone of a child to a father was usually that of the most submissive reverence. nor was she contented with replying indirectly through her guardian. she wrote herself to the king, saying that she neither could nor would in her conscience think the contrary, but that she was his lawful daughter born in true matrimony, and that she thought that he in his own conscience did judge the same.[637] such an attitude in so young a girl was singular, yet not necessarily censurable. henry was not her only parent, and if we suppose her to have been actuated by affection for her mother, her conduct may appear not pardonable only, but spirited and creditable. in insisting upon her legitimacy, nevertheless, she was not only asserting the good name and fame of catherine of arragon, but unhappily her own claim to the succession to the throne. it was natural that under the circumstances she should have felt her right to assert that claim; for the injury which she had suffered was patent not only to herself, but to europe. catherine might have been required to give way that the king might have a son, and that the succession might be established in a prince; but so long as the child of the second marriage was a daughter only, it seemed substantially monstrous to set aside the elder for the younger. yet the measure was a harsh necessity; a link in the chain which could not be broken. the harassed nation insisted above all things that no doubt should hang over the future, and it was impossible in the existing complications to recognise the daughter of catherine without excluding elizabeth, and excluding the prince who was expected to follow her. by asserting her title, mary was making herself the nucleus of sedition, which on her father's death would lead to a convulsion in the realm. she might not mean it, but the result would not be affected by a want of purpose in herself; and it was possible that her resolution might create immediate and far more painful complications. the king's excommunication was imminent, and if the censures were enforced by the emperor, she would be thrust into the unpermitted position of her father's rival. the political consequences of her conduct, notwithstanding, although evident to statesmen, might well be concealed from a headstrong, passionate girl. there was no suspicion that she herself was encouraging any of these dangerous thoughts, and henry looked upon her answer to lord hussey and her letter to himself as expressions of petulant folly. lord oxford, the earl of essex, and the earl of sussex were directed to repair to beaulieu, and explain to her the situation in which she had placed herself. "considering," wrote the king to them, "how highly such contempt and rebellion done by our daughter and her servants doth touch not only us, and the surety of our honour and person, but also the tranquillity of our realm; and not minding to suffer the pernicious example hereof to spread far abroad, but to put remedy to the same in due time, we have given you commandment to declare to her the great folly, temerity, and indiscretion that she hath used herein, with the peril she hath incurred by reason of her so doing. by these her ungodly doings hitherto she hath most worthily deserved our high indignation and displeasure, and thereto no less pain and punition than by the order of the laws of our realm doth appertain in case of high treason, unless our mercy and clemency should be shewed in that behalf. [if, however, after] understanding our mind and pleasure, [she will] conform herself humbly and obediently to the observation of the same, according to the office and duty of a natural daughter, and of a true and faithful subject, she may give us cause hereafter to incline our fatherly pity to her reconciliation, her benefit and advancement."[638] the reply of mary to this message is not discoverable; but it is certain that she persisted in her resolution, and clung either to her mother's "cause" or to her own rank and privilege, in sturdy defiance of her father. to punish her insubordination or to tolerate it was equally difficult; and the government might have been in serious embarrassment had not a series of discoveries, following rapidly one upon the other, explained the mystery of these proceedings, and opened a view with alarming clearness into the under-currents of the feeling of the country. information from time to time had reached henry from rome, relating to the correspondence between catherine and the pope. perhaps, too, he knew how assiduously she had importuned the emperor to force clement to a decision.[639] no effort, however, had been hitherto made to interfere with her hospitalities, or to oblige her visitors to submit to scrutiny before they could be admitted to her presence. she was the mistress of her own court and of her own actions; and confidential agents, both from rome, brussels, and spain, had undoubtedly passed and repassed with reciprocal instructions and directions. the crisis which was clearly approaching had obliged henry, in the course of this autumn, to be more watchful; and about the end of october, or the beginning of november,[640] two friars were reported as having been at bugden, whose movements attracted suspicion from their anxiety to escape observation. secret agents of the government, who had been "set" for the purpose, followed the friars to london, and notwithstanding "many wiles and cautells by them invented to escape," the suspected persons were arrested and brought before cromwell. cromwell, "upon examination" could gather nothing from them of any moment or great importance; but, "entering on further communication," he said, "he found one of them a very seditious person, and so committed them to ward." the king was absent from london, but had left directions that, in the event of any important occurrence of the kind, archbishop cranmer should be sent for; but cranmer not being immediately at hand, cromwell wrote to henry for instructions; inasmuch as, he said, "it is undoubted that they (the monks) have intended, and would confess, some great matter, if they might be examined as they ought to be--that is to say, by pains." the curtain here falls over the two prisoners; we do not know whether they were tortured, whether they confessed, or what they confessed; but we may naturally connect this letter, directly or indirectly, with the events which immediately followed. in the middle of november we find a commission sitting at lambeth, composed of cromwell, cranmer, and latimer, ravelling out the threads of a story, from which, when the whole was disentangled, it appeared that by queen catherine, the princess mary, and a large and formidable party in the country, the king, on the faith of a pretended revelation, was supposed to have forfeited the crown; that his death, either by visitation of god or by visitation of man, was daily expected; and that whether his death took place or not, a revolution was immediately looked for, which would place the princess on the throne. the nun of kent, as we remember, had declared that if henry persisted in his resolution of marrying anne, she was commissioned by god to tell him that he should lose his power and authority. she had not specified the manner in which the sentence would be carried into effect against him. the form of her threats had been also varied occasionally; she said that he should die, but whether by the hands of his subjects, or by a providential judgment, she left to conjecture;[641] and the period within which his punishment was to fall upon him was stated variously at one month or at six.[642] she had attempted no secresy with these prophecies; she had confined herself in appearance to words; and the publicity which she courted having prevented suspicion of secret conspiracy, henry quietly accepted the issue, and left the truth of the prophecy to be confuted by the event. he married. the one month passed; the six months passed; eight--nine months. his child was born and was baptised, and no divine thunder had interposed; only a mere harmless verbal thunder, from a poor old man at rome. the illusion, as he imagined, had been lived down, and had expired of its own vanity. but the nun and her friar advisers were counting on other methods of securing the fulfilment of the prophecy than supernatural assistance. it is remarkable that hypocrites and impostors as they knew themselves to be, they were not without a half belief that some supernatural intervention was imminent; but the career on which they had entered was too fascinating to allow them to forsake it when their expectation failed them. they were swept into the stream which was swelling to resist the reformation, and allowed themselves to be hurried forward either to victory or to destruction. the first revelation being apparently confuted by facts, a second was produced as an interpretation of it; which, however, was not published like the other, but whispered in secret to persons whose dispositions were known.[643] "when the king's grace," says the report of the commissioners, "had continued in good health, honour, and prosperity more than a month, dr. bocking shewed the said nun, that as king saul, abjected from his kingdom by god, yet continued king in the sight of the world, so her said revelations might be taken. and therefore the said nun, upon this information, forged another revelation, that her words should be understanded to mean that the king's grace should not be king in the reputation or acceptation of god, not one month or one hour after that he married the queen's grace that now is. the first revelation had moved a great number of the king's subjects, both high and low, to grudge against the said marriage before it was concluded and perfected; and also induced such as were stiffly bent against that marriage, daily to look for the destruction of the king's grace within a month after he married the queen's grace that now is. and when they were deluded in that expectation, the second revelation was devised not only as an interpretation of the former, but to the intent to induce the king's subjects to believe that god took the king's grace for no king of this realm, and that they should likewise take him for no righteous king, and themselves not bounden to be his subjects; which might have put the king and the queen's grace in jeopardy of their crown and of their issue, and the people of this realm in great danger of destruction."[644] it was no light matter to pronounce the king to be in the position of saul after his rejection; and read by the light of the impending excommunication, the nun's words could mean nothing but treason. the speaker herself was in correspondence with the pope; she had attested her divine commission by miracles, and had been recognised as a saint by an archbishop of canterbury; the regular orders of the clergy throughout the realm were known to regard her as inspired; and when the commission recollected that the king was threatened further with dying "a villain's death;" and that these and similar prophecies were carefully written out, and were in private circulation through the country, the matter assumed a dangerous complexion: it became at once essential to ascertain how far, and among what classes of the state, these things had penetrated. the friars mendicant were discovered to be in league with her, and these itinerants were ready-made missionaries of sedition. they had privilege of vagrancy without check or limit; and owing to their universal distribution and the freemasonry among themselves, the secret disposition of every family in england was intimately known to them. no movement, therefore, could be securely over-looked in which these orders had a share; the country might be undermined in secret; and the government might only learn their danger at the moment of explosion. no sooner, therefore, were the commissioners in possession of the general facts, than the principal parties--that is to say, the nun herself and five of the monks of christ church at canterbury--with whom her intercourse was most constant, were sent to the tower to be "examined"--the monks it is likely by "torture," if they could not otherwise be brought to confession. the nun was certainly not tortured. on her first arrest, she was obstinate in maintaining her prophetic character; and she was detected in sending messages to her friends, "to animate them to adhere to her and to her prophecies."[645] but her courage ebbed away under the hard reality of her position. she soon made a full confession, in which her accomplices joined her; and the half-completed web of conspiracy was ravelled out. they did not attempt to conceal that they had intended, if possible, to create an insurrection. the five monks--father bocking, father rich, father rysby, father dering, and father goold--had assisted the nun in inventing her "revelations;" and as apostles, they had travelled about the country to communicate them in whatever quarters they were likely to be welcome. when we remember that archbishop warham had been a dupe of this woman, and that even wolsey's experience and ability had not prevented him from believing in her power, we are not surprised to find high names among those who were implicated. vast numbers of abbots and priors, and of regular and secular clergy, had listened eagerly; country gentlemen also, and london merchants. the bishop of rochester had "wept for joy" at the first utterances of the inspired prophetess; and sir thomas more, "who at first did little regard the said revelations, afterwards did greatly rejoice to hear of them."[646] we learn, also, that the nun had continued to _communicate with "the lady princess dowager" and "the lady mary, her daughter."_[647] these were names which might have furnished cause for regret, but little for surprise or alarm. the commissioners must have found occasion for other feelings, however, when among the persons implicated were found the countess of salisbury and the marchioness of exeter, with their chaplains, households, and servants; sir thomas arundel, sir george carew, and "many of the nobles of england."[648] a combination headed by the countess of salisbury, if she were supported even by a small section of the nobility, would under any circumstances have been dangerous; and if such a combination was formed in support of an invasion, and was backed by the blessings of the pope and the fanaticism of the clergy, the result might be serious indeed. so careful a silence is observed in the official papers on this feature of the nun's conspiracy, that it is uncertain how far the countess had committed herself; but she had listened certainly to avowals of treasonable intentions without revealing them, which of itself was no slight evidence of disloyalty; and that the government were really alarmed may be gathered from the simultaneous arrest of sir william and sir george neville, the brothers of lord latimer. the connection and significance of these names i shall explain presently; in the meantime i return to the preparations which had been made by the nun. as the final judgment drew near--which, unless the king submitted, would be accompanied, with excommunication, and a declaration that the english nation was absolved from allegiance,--"the said false nun," says the report, "surmised herself to have made a petition to god to know, when fearful war should come, whether any man should take my lady mary's part or no; and she feigned herself to have answer by revelation that no man should fear but that she should have succour and help enough; and that no man should put her from her right that she was born unto. and petitioning next to know when it was the pleasure of god that her revelations should be put forth to the world, she had answer that knowledge should be given to her ghostly father when it should be time."[649] with this information father goold had hastened down to bugden, encouraging catherine to persevere in her resistance;[650] and while the imperialists at rome were pressing the pope for sentence (we cannot doubt at catherine's instance), the nun had placed herself in readiness to seize the opportunity when it offered, and to blow the trumpet of insurrection in the panic which might be surely looked for when that sentence should be published. for this purpose she had organised, with considerable skill, a corps of fanatical friars, who, when the signal was given, were simultaneously to throw themselves into the midst of the people, and call upon them to rise in the name of god. "to the intent," says the report, "to set forth this matter, certain spiritual and religious persons were appointed, as they had been chosen of god, to preach the false revelations of the said nun, when the time should require, if warning were given them; and some of these preachers have confessed openly, and subscribed their names to their confessions, that if the nun had so sent them word, they would have preached to the king's subjects that the pleasure of god was that they should take him no longer for their king; and some of these preachers were such as gave themselves to great fasting, watching, long prayers, wearing of shirts of hair and great chains of iron about their middle, whereby the people had them in high estimation of their great holiness,--and this strait life they took on them by the counsel and exhortation of the said nun."[651] here, then, was the explanation of the attitude of catherine and mary. smarting under injustice, and most naturally blending their private quarrel with the cause of the church, they had listened to these disordered visions as to a message from heaven, and they had lent themselves to the first of those religious conspiracies which held england in chronic agitation for three quarters of a century. the innocent saint at bugden was the forerunner of the prisoner at fotheringay; and the observant friars, with their chain girdles and shirts of hair, were the antitypes of parsons and campion. how critical the situation of england really was, appears from the following letter of the french ambassador. the project for the marriage of the princess mary with the dauphin had been revived by the catholic party; and a private arrangement, of which this marriage was to form the connecting link, was contemplated between the ultramontanes in france, the pope, and the emperor. _d'inteville to cardinal tournon._[652] "my lord,--you will be so good as to tell the most christian king that the emperor's ambassador has communicated with the old queen. the emperor sends a message to her and to her daughter, that he will not return to spain till he has seen them restored to their rights. "the people are so much attached to the said ladies that they will rise in rebellion, and join any prince who will undertake their quarrel. you probably know from other quarters the intensity of this feeling. it is shared by all classes, high and low, and penetrates even into the royal household. "the nation is in marvellous discontent. every one but the relations of the present queen, is indignant on the ladies' account. some fear the overthrow of religion; others fear war and injury to trade. up to this time, the cloth, hides, wool, lead, and other merchandise of england have found markets in flanders, spain, and italy; now it is thought navigation will be so dangerous that english merchants must equip their ships for war if they trade to foreign countries; and besides the risk of losing all to the enemy, the expense of the armament will swallow the profits of the voyage. in like manner, the emperor's subjects and the pope's subjects will not be able to trade with england. the coasts will be blockaded by the ships of the emperor and his allies; and at this moment men's fears are aggravated by the unseasonable weather throughout the summer, and the failure of the crops. there is not corn enough for half the ordinary consumption. "the common people, foreseeing these inconveniences, are so violent against the queen, that they say a thousand shameful things of her, and of all who have supported her in her intrigues. on them is cast the odium of all the calamities anticipated from the war. "when the war comes, no one doubts that the people will rebel as much from fear of the dangers which i have mentioned, as from the love which is felt for the two ladies, and especially for the princess. she is so entirely beloved that, notwithstanding the law made at the last parliament, and the menace of death contained in it, they persist in regarding her as princess. no parliament, they say, can make her anything but the king's daughter, born in marriage; and so the king and every one else regarded her before that parliament. "lately, when she was removed from greenwich, a vast crowd of women, wives of citizens and others, walked before her at their husbands' desire, weeping and crying that notwithstanding all she was princess. some of them were sent to the tower, but they would not retract. "things are now so critical, and the fear of war is so general, that many of the greatest merchants in london have placed themselves in communication with the emperor's ambassador, telling him, that if the emperor will declare war, the english nation will join him for the love they bear the lady mary. "you, my lord, will remember that when you were here, it was said you were come to tell the king that he was excommunicated, and to demand the hand of the princess for the dauphin. the people were so delighted that they have never ceased to pray for you. we too, when we arrived in london, were told that the people were praying for us. they thought our embassy was to the princess. they imagined her marriage with the dauphin had been determined on by the two kings, and the satisfaction was intense and universal. "they believe that, except by this marriage, they cannot possibly escape war; whereas, can it be brought about, they will have peace with the emperor and all other christian princes. they are now so disturbed and so desperate that, although at one time they would have preferred a husband for her from among themselves, that they might not have a foreign king, there now is nothing which they desire more. unless the dauphin will take her, they say she will continue disinherited; or, if she come to her rights, it can only be by battle, to the great incommodity of the country. the princess herself says publicly that the dauphin is her husband, and that she has no hope but in him. i have been told this by persons who have heard it from her own lips. "the emperor's ambassador inquired, after you came, whether we had seen her. he said he knew she was most anxious to speak with us; she thought we had permission to visit her, and she looked for good news. he told us, among other things, that she had been more strictly guarded of late, by the orders of the queen that now is, who, knowing her feeling for the dauphin, feared there might be some practice with her, or some attempt to carry her off. "the princess's ladies say that she calls herself the dauphin's wife. a time will come, she says, when god will see that she has suffered pain and tribulation sufficient; the dauphin will then demand her of the king her father, and the king her father will not be able to refuse. "the lady who was my informant heard, also, from the princess, that her governess, and the other attendants whom the queen had set to watch her, had assured her that the dauphin was married to the daughter of the emperor; but she, the princess, had answered it was not true--the dauphin could not have two wives, and they well knew that she was his wife: they told her that story, she said, to make her despair, and agree to give up her rights; but she would never part with her hopes. "you may have heard of the storm that broke out between her and her governess when we went to visit her little sister. she was carried off by force to her room, that she might not speak with us; and they could neither pacify her nor keep her still, till the gentleman who escorted us told her he had the king's commands that she was not to show herself while we were in the house. you remember the message the same gentleman brought to you from her, and the charge which was given by the queen. "could the king be brought to consent to the marriage, it could be a fair union of two realms, and to annex britain to the crown of france would be a great honour to our sovereign; the english party desire nothing better; the pope will be glad of it; the pope fears that, if war break out again, france will draw closer to england on the terms which the king of england desires; and he may thus lose the french tribute as he has lost the english. he therefore will urge the emperor to agree, and the emperor will assist gladly for the love which he bears to his cousin. "if the emperor be willing, the king of england can then be informed; and he can be made to feel that, if he will avoid war, he must not refuse his consent. the king, in fact, has no wish to disown the princess, and he knows well that the marriage with the dauphin was once agreed on. "should he be unwilling, and should his wife's persuasions stil have influence with him, he will hesitate before he will defy, for her sake, the king of france and the emperor united. his regard for the queen is less than it was, and diminishes every day. he has a new fancy,[653] as you are aware." the actual conspiracy, in the form which it had so far assumed, was rather an appeal to fanaticism than a plot which could have laid hold of the deeper mind of the country; but as an indication of the unrest which was stealing over the minds of men, it assumed an importance which it would not have received from its intrinsic character. the guilt of the principal offenders admitted of no doubt. as soon as the commissioners were satisfied that there was nothing further to be discovered, the nun, with the monks, was brought to trial before the star chamber; and conviction followed as a matter of course.[654] the unhappy girl finding herself at this conclusion, after seven years of vanity, in which she had played with popes, and queens, and princesses, and archbishops, now, when the dream was thus rudely broken, in the revulsion of feeling could see nothing in herself but a convicted impostor. we need not refuse to pity her. the misfortunes of her sickness had exposed her to temptations far beyond the strength of an ordinary woman: and the guilt which she passionately claimed for herself rested far more truly with the knavery of the christ church monks and the incredible folly of archbishop warham.[655] but the times were too stern to admit of nice distinctions. no immediate sentence was pronounced, but it was thought desirable for the satisfaction of the people that a confession should be made in public by the nun and her companions. the sunday following their trial they were placed on a raised platform at paul's cross by the side of the pulpit, and when the sermon was over they one by one delivered their "bills" to the preacher, which by him were read to the crowd.[656] after an acknowledgment of their imposture the prisoners were remanded to the tower, and their ultimate fate reserved for the consideration of parliament, which was to meet in the middle of january. the chief offenders being thus disposed of, the council resolved next that peremptory measures should be taken with respect to the princess mary.[657] her establishment was broken up, and she was sent to reside as the lady mary in the household of the princess elizabeth--a hard but not unwholesome discipline.[658] as soon as this was done, being satisfied that the leading shoot of the conspiracy was broken, and that no immediate danger was now to be feared, they proceeded leisurely to follow the clue of the nun's confession, and to extend their inquiries. the countess of salisbury was mentioned as one of the persons with whom the woman had been in correspondence. this lady was the daughter of the duke of clarence, brother of edward iv. her mother was a neville, a child of richard the kingmaker, the famous earl of warwick, and her only brother had been murdered to secure the shaking throne of henry vii. margaret plantagenet, in recompense for the lost honours of the house, was made countess of salisbury in her own right. the title descended from her grandfather, who was earl of salisbury and warwick; but the prouder title had been dropped as suggestive of dangerous associations. the earldom of warwick remained in abeyance, and the castle and the estates attached to it were forfeited to the crown. the countess was married after her brother's death to a sir richard pole, a supporter and relation[659] of the king; and when left a widow she received from henry viii. the respectful honour which was due to the most nobly born of his subjects, the only remaining plantagenet of unblemished descent. in his kindness to her children the king had attempted to obliterate the recollection of her brother's wrongs, and she had been herself selected to preside over the household of the princess mary. during the first twenty years of henry's reign the countess seems to have acknowledged his attentions with loyal regard, and if she had not forgotten her birth and her childhood, she never connected herself with the attempts which during that time were made to revive the feuds of the houses. richard de la pole, nephew of edward iv.,[660] and called while he lived "the white rose," had more than once endeavoured to excite an insurrection in the eastern counties; but lady salisbury was never suspected of holding intercourse with him; she remained aloof from political disputes, and in lofty retirement she was contented to forget her greatness for the sake of the princess mary, to whom she and her family were deeply attached. her relations with the king had thus continued undisturbed until his second marriage. as the representative of the house of york she was the object of the hopes and affections of the remnants of their party, but she had betrayed no disposition to abuse her influence, or to disturb the quiet of the nation for personal ambition of her own. if it be lawful to interpret symptoms in themselves trifling by the light of later events, it would seem as if her attitude now underwent a material change. her son reginald had already quarrelled with the king upon the divorce. he was in suspicious connection with the pope, and having been required to return home upon his allegiance, had refused obedience. his mother, and his mother's attached friend, the marchioness of exeter, we now find among those to whom the nun of kent communicated her prophecies and her plans. it does not seem that the countess thought at any time of reviving her own pretensions; it does seem that she was ready to build a throne for the princess mary out of the ruined supporters of her father's family. the power which she could wield might at any moment become formidable. she had two sons in england, lord montague and sir geoffrey pole. her cousin, the marquis of exeter, a grandson himself of edward iv.,[661] was, with the exception of the duke of norfolk, the most powerful nobleman in the realm; and he, to judge by events, was beginning to look coldly on the king.[662] we find her surrounded also by the representatives of her mother's family--lord abergavenny, who had been under suspicion when the duke of buckingham was executed, sir edward neville, afterwards executed, lord latimer, sir george and sir william neville, all of them were her near connections, all collateral heirs of the king-maker, inheriting the pride of their birth, and resentfully conscious of their fallen fortunes. the support of a party so composed would have added formidable strength to the preaching friars of the nun of kent; and as i cannot doubt that the nun was endeavouring to press her intrigues in a quarter where disaffection if created would be most dangerous, so the lady who ruled this party with a patriarchal authority had listened to her suggestions; and the repeated interviews with her which were sought by the marchioness of exeter were rendered more than suspicious by the secresy with which these interviews were conducted.[663] these circumstances explain the arrest, to which i alluded above, of sir william and sir george neville, brothers of lord latimer. they were not among "the many noblemen" to whom the commissioners referred; for their confessions remain, and contain no allusion to the nun; but they were examined at this particular time on general suspicion; and the arrest, under such circumstances, of two near relatives of lady salisbury, indicates clearly an alarm in the council, lest she might be contemplating some serious movements. at any rate, either on her account or on their own, the nevilles fell under suspicion, and while they had no crimes to reveal, their depositions, especially that of sir william neville, furnish singular evidence of the temper of the times. the confession of the latter begins with an account of the loss of certain silver spoons, for the recovery of which sir william sent to a wizard who resided in cirencester. the wizard took the opportunity of telling sir william's fortune: his wife was to die, and he himself was to marry an heiress, and be made a baron; with other prospective splendours. the wizard concluded, however, with recommending him to pay a visit to another dealer in the dark art more learned than himself, whose name was jones, at oxford. "so after that," said sir william [midsummer, 1532], "i went to oxford, intending that my brother george and i should kill a buck with sir simon harcourt, which he had promised me; and there at oxford, in the said jones's chamber, i did see certain stillatories, alembics, and other instruments of glass, and also a sceptre and other things, which he said did appertain to the conjuration of the four kings; and also an image of white metal; and in a box, a serpent's skin, as he said, and divers books and things, whereof one was a book which he said was my lord cardinal's, having pictures in it like angels. he told me he could make rings of gold, to obtain favour of great men; and said that my lord cardinal had such; and promised my said brother and me, either of us, one of them; and also he showed me a round thing like a ball of crystal. "he said that if the king's grace went over to france [the calais visit of october, 1532], his grace should marry my lady marchioness of pembroke before that his highness returned again; and that it would be dangerous to his grace, and to the most part of the noblemen that should go with him; saying also that he had written to one of the king's council to advise his highness not to go over, for if he did, it should not be for his grace's profit." the wizard next pretended that he had seen a vision of a certain room in a tower, in which a spirit had appeared with a coat of arms in his hand, and had "delivered the same to sir william neville." the arms being described as those of the warwick family, sir william, his brother, and jones rode down from oxford to warwick, where they went over the castle. the wizard professed to recognise in a turret chamber the room in which he had seen the spirit, and he prophesied that sir william should recover the earldom, the long-coveted prize of all the neville family. on their return to oxford, jones, continues sir william, said further, "that there should be a field in the north about a se'n-night before christmas, in which my lord my brother [lord latimer] should be slain; the realm should be long without a king; and much robbery would be within the realm, specially of abbeys and religious houses, and of rich men, as merchants, graziers, and others; so that, if i would, he at that time would advise me to find the means to enter into the said castle for mine own safeguard, and divers persons would resort unto me. _none of cadwallader's blood_, he told me, _should reign more than twenty-four years;_ and also that prince edward [son of henry vi. and margaret of anjou, killed at tewkesbury], had issue a son which was conveyed over sea; and there had issue a son which was yet alive, either in saxony or almayne; and that either he or the king of scots should reign next after the king's grace that now is. to all which i answered," sir william concluded, "that there is nothing which the will of god is that a man shall obtain, but that he of his goodness will put in his mind the way whereby he shall come by it; and that surely i had no mind to follow any such fashion; and that, also, the late duke of buckingham and others had cast themselves away by too much trust in prophecies, and other jeoparding of themselves, and therefore i would in no wise follow any such way. he answered, if i would not, it would be long ere i obtained it. then i said i believed that well, and if it never came, i trusted to god to live well enough."[664] sir george neville confirmed generally his brother's story, protesting that they had never intended treason, and that "at no time had he been of counsel" when any treason was thought of.[665] the wizard himself was next sent for. the prophecies about the king he denied wholly. he admitted that he had seen an angel in a dream giving sir william neville the shield of the earldom in warwick castle, and that he had accompanied the two brothers to warwick, to examine the tower. beyond that, he said that he knew nothing either of them or of their intentions. he declared himself a good subject, and he would "jeopard his life" to make the philosopher's stone for the king in twelve months if the king pleased to command him. he desired "no longer space than twelve months upon silver and twelve and a half upon gold;" to be kept in prison till he had done it; and it would be "better to the king's grace than a thousand men."[666] the result of these examinations does not appear, except it be that the nevilles were dismissed without punishment; and the story itself may be thought too trifling to have deserved a grave notice. i see in it, however, an illustration very noticeworthy of the temper which was working in the country. the suspicion of treason in the neville family may not have been confirmed, although we see them casting longing looks on the lost inheritance of warwick; but their confessions betray the visions of impending change, anarchy, and confusion, which were haunting the popular imagination. a craving after prophecies, a restless eagerness to search into the future by abnormal means, had infected all ranks from the highest to the lowest; and such symptoms, when they appear, are a sure evidence of approaching disorder, for they are an evidence of a present madness which has brought down wisdom to a common level with folly. at such times, the idlest fancy is more potent with the mind than the soundest arguments of reason. the understanding abdicates its functions; and men are given over, as if by magic, to the enchantments of insanity. phenomena of this eccentric kind always accompany periods of intellectual change. most men live and think by habit; and when habit fails them, they are like unskilful sailors who have lost the landmarks of their course, and have no compass and no celestial charts by which to steer. in the years which preceded the french revolution, cagliostro was the companion of princes--at the dissolution of paganism the practicers of curious arts, the watches and the necromancers, were the sole objects of reverence in the roman world;--and so, before the reformation, archbishops and cardinals saw an inspired prophetess in a kentish servant girl; oxford heads of colleges sought out heretics with the help of astrology; anne boleyn blessed a basin of rings, her royal fingers pouring such virtue into the metal that no disorder could resist it;[667] wolsey had a magic crystal; and cromwell, while in wolsey's household, "did haunt to the company of a wizard."[668] these things were the counterpart of a religion which taught that slips of paper, duly paid for, could secure indemnity for sin. it was well for england that the chief captain at least was proof against the epidemic--no random scandal seems ever to have whispered that such delusions had touched the mind of the king.[669] while the government were prosecuting these inquiries at home, the law at the vatican had run its course; november passed, and as no submission had arrived, the sentence of the 12th of july came into force, and the king, the queen, and the archbishop of canterbury were declared to have incurred the threatened censures. the privy council met on the 2nd of december, and it was determined in consequence that copies of the "act of appeals," and of the king's "provocation" to a general council, should be fixed without delay on every church door in england. protests were at the same time to be drawn up and sent into flanders, and to the other courts in europe, "to the intent the falsehood and injustice of the bishop of rome might appear to all the world." the defences of the country were to be looked to; and "spies" to be sent into scotland to see "what they intended there," "and whether they would confeder themselves with any outward princes." finally, it was proposed that the attempt to form an alliance with the lutheran powers should be renewed on a larger scale; that certain discreet and grave persons should be appointed to conclude "some league or amity with the princes of germany"--"that is to say, the king of poland, the king of hungary,[670] the duke of saxony, the duke of bavaria, the duke of brandenburg, the landgrave of hesse, and other potentates."[671] vaughan's mission had been merely tentative, and had failed. yet the offer of a league, offensive and defensive, the immediate and avowed object of which was a general council at which the protestants should be represented, might easily succeed where vague offers of amity had come to nothing. the formation of a protestant alliance, however, would have been equivalent to a declaration of war against catholic europe; and it was a step which could not be taken, consistently with the treaty of calais,--without first communicating with francis. henry, therefore, by the advice of the council, wrote a despatch to sir john wallop, the ambassador at paris, which was to be laid before the french court. he explained the circumstances in which he was placed, with the suggestion which the council had made to him. he gave a list of the princes with whom he had been desired by his ministers to connect himself--and the object was nothing less than a coalition of northern europe. he recapitulated the injuries which he had received from the pope, who at length was studying "to subvert the rest and peace of the realm;" "yea, and so much as in him was, utterly to destroy the same." the nobles and council, he said, for their own sake as well as for the sake of the kingdom, had entreated him to put an end, once for all, to the pope's usurpation; and to invite the protestant princes, for the universal weal of christendom, to unite in a common alliance. in his present situation he was inclined to act upon this advice. "as concerning his own realm, he had already taken such order with his nobles and subjects, as he would shortly be able to give to the pope such a buffet as he never had heretofore;" but as a german alliance was a matter of great weight and importance, "although," he concluded, "we consider it to be right expedient to set forth the same with all diligence, yet we intend nothing to do therein without making our good brother first privy thereunto. and for this cause and consideration only, you may say that we have at this time addressed these letters unto you, commanding you to declare our said purpose unto our good brother, and to require of him on our behalf his good address and best advice. of his answer we require you to advertise us with all diligence, for according thereunto we intend to attemper our proceedings. we have lately had advertisements how that our said good brother should, by the labour of divers affectionate papists, be minded to set forth something with his clergy in advancement of the pope and his desires. this we cannot believe that he will do."[672] the meaning of this letter lies upon the surface. if the european powers were determined to leave him no alternative, the king was prepared to ally himself with the lutherans. but however he might profess to desire that alliance, it was evident that he would prefer, if possible, a less extreme resource. the pope had ceased to be an object of concern to him; but he could not contemplate, without extreme unwillingness, a separation from the orderly governments who professed the catholic faith. the pope had injured him; francis had deceived him; they had tempted his patience because they knew his disposition. the limit of endurance had been reached at length; yet, on the verge of the concluding rupture, he turned once more, as if to offer a last opportunity of peace. the reply of francis was an immediate mission of the bishop of bayonne (now bishop of paris), first into england, and from england to rome, where he was to endeavour, to the best of his ability, to seam together the already gaping rent in the church with fair words--a hopeless task--the results of which, however, were unexpectedly considerable, as will be presently seen. meanwhile, on the side of flanders, the atmosphere was dubious and menacing. the refugee friars, who were reported to be well supplied with money from england, were labouring to exasperate the people, father peto especially distinguishing himself upon this service.[673] the english ambassador, sir john hacket, still remained at brussels, and the two governments were formally at peace; but when hacket required the queen-regent to forbid the publication of the brief of july in the netherlands, he was met with a positive refusal. "m. ambassador," she said, "the emperor, the king of hungary, the queen of france, the king of portugal, and i, understand what are the rights of our aunt--our duty is to her--and such letters of the pope as come hither in her favour we shall obey. your master has no right to complain either of the emperor or of myself, if we support our aunt in a just cause."[674] at the same time, formal complaints were made by charles of the personal treatment of queen catherine, and the clouds appeared to be gathering for a storm. yet here, too, there was an evident shrinking from extremities. a welsh gentleman had been at brussels to offer his services against henry, and had met with apparent coldness. sir john hacket wrote, on the 15th of december, that he was assured by well-informed persons, that so long as charles lived, he would never be the first to begin a war with england, "which would rebound to the destruction of the low countries."[675] a week later, when the queen-regent was suffering from an alarming illness, he said it was reported that, should she die, catherine or mary, if either of them was allowed to leave england, would be held "meet to have governance of the low countries."[676] this was a generous step, if the emperor seriously contemplated it. the failure of the nun of kent had perhaps taught him that there was no present prospect of a successful insurrection. in his conduct towards england, he was seemingly governing himself by the prospect which might open for a successful attack upon it. if occasion offered to strike the government in connection with an efficient catholic party in the nation itself, he would not fail to avail himself of it.[677] otherwise, he would perhaps content himself with an attitude of inactive menace; unless menaced himself by a protestant confederation. amidst these uneasy symptoms at home and abroad, parliament re-assembled on the 15th of january. it was a changed england since these men first came together on the fall of wolsey. session after session had been spent in clipping the roots of the old tree which had overshadowed them for centuries. on their present meeting they were to finish their work, and lay it prostrate for ever. negotiations were still pending with the see of rome, and this momentous session had closed before the final catastrophe. the measures which were passed in the course of it are not, therefore, to be looked upon as adopted hastily, in a spirit of retaliation, but as the consistent accomplishment of a course which had been deliberately adopted, to reverse the positions of the civil and spiritual authority within the realm, and to withdraw the realm itself from all dependence on a foreign power. the annates and firstfruits' bill had not yet received the royal assent; but the pope had refused to grant the bulls for bishops recently appointed, and he was no longer to receive payment for services which he refused to render. peter's pence were still paid, and might continue to be paid, if the pope would recollect himself; but, like the sibyl of cuma, henry destroyed some fresh privilege with each delay of justice, demanding the same price for the preservation of what remained. the secondary streams of tribute now only remained to the roman see; and communion with the english church, which it was for clement to accept or refuse. the circumstances under which the session opened were, however, grave and saddening. simultaneously with the concluding legislation on the church, the succession to the throne was to be determined in terms which might, perhaps, be accepted as a declaration of war by the emperor; and the affair of the nun of kent had rendered necessary an inquiry into the conduct of honoured members of the two houses, who were lying under the shadow of high treason. the conditions were for the first time to be plainly seen under which the reformation was to fight its way. the road which lay before it was beset not merely with external obstacles, which a strong will and a strong hand could crush, but with the phantoms of dying faiths, which haunted the hearts of all living men; the superstitions, the prejudices, the hopes, the fears, the passions, which swayed stormily and fitfully through the minds of every actor in the great drama. the uniformity of action in the parliament of 1529, during the seven years which it continued, is due to the one man who saw his way distinctly, thomas cromwell. the nation was substantially united in the divorce question, could the divorce be secured without a rupture with the european powers. it was united also on the necessity of limiting the jurisdiction of the clergy, and cutting short the powers of the consistory courts. but in questions of "opinion" there was the most sensitive jealousy; and from the combined instincts of prejudice and conservatism, the majority of the country in a count of heads would undoubtedly have been against a separation from rome. the clergy professed to approve the acts of the government, but it was for the most part with the unwilling acquiescence of men who were without courage to refuse. the king was divided against himself. nine days in ten he was the clear-headed, energetic, powerful statesman; on the tenth he was looking wistfully to the superstition which he had left, and the clear sunshine was darkened with theological clouds, which broke in lightning and persecution. thus there was danger at any moment of a reaction, unless opportunity was taken at the flood, unless the work was executed too completely to admit of reconsideration, and the nation committed to a course from which it was impossible to recede. the action of the conservatives was paralysed for the time by the want of a fixed purpose. the various parts of the movement were so skilfully linked together, that partial opposition to it was impossible; and so long as the people had to choose between the pope and the king, their loyalty would not allow them to hesitate. but very few men actively adhered to cromwell. cromwell had struck the line on which the forces of nature were truly moving--the resultant, not of the victory of either of the extreme parties, but of the joint action of their opposing forces. to him belonged the rare privilege of genius, to see what other men could not see; and therefore he was condemned to rule a generation which hated him, to do the will of god, and to perish in his success. he had no party. by the nobles he was regarded with the same mixed contempt and fear which had been felt for wolsey. the protestants, perhaps, knew what he was, but he could only purchase their toleration by himself checking their extravagance. latimer was the only person of real power on whose friendship he could calculate, and latimer was too plain spoken on dangerous questions to be useful as a political supporter. the session commenced on the 15th of january. the first step was to receive the final submission of convocation. the undignified resistance was at last over, and the clergy had promised to abstain for the future from unlicensed legislation. to secure their adherence to their engagements, an act[678] was passed to make the breach of that engagement penal; and a commission of thirty-two persons, half of whom were to be laymen, was designed for the revision of the canon law.[679] the next most important movement was to assimilate the trials for heresy with the trials for other criminal offences. i have already explained at length the manner in which the bishops abused their judicial powers. these powers were not absolutely taken away, but ecclesiastics were no longer permitted to arrest _ex officio_ and examine at their pleasure. where a charge of heresy was to be brought against a man, presentments were to be made by lawful witnesses before justices of the peace; and then, and not otherwise, he might fall under the authority of the "ordinary." secret examinations were declared illegal. the offender was to be tried in open court, and, previous to his trial, had a right to be admitted to bail, unless the bishop could show cause to the contrary to the satisfaction of two magistrates.[680] this was but a slight instalment of lenity; but it was an indication of the turning tide. limited as it was, the act operated as an effective check upon persecution till the passing of the six articles bill. turning next to the relations between england and rome, the parliament reviewed the annates act,[681] which had been left unratified in the hope that the pope might have consented to a compromise, and that "by some gentle ways the said exaction might have been redressed and reformed." the expectation had been disappointed. the pope had not condescended to reply to the communication which had been made to him, and the act had in consequence received the royal assent. an alteration had thus become necessary in the manner of presentation to vacant bishoprics. the anomalies of the existing practice have been already described. by the great charter the chapters had acquired the right of free election. a _congé d'élire_ was granted by the king on the occurrence of a vacancy, with no attempt at a nomination. the chapters were supposed to make their choice freely, and the name of the bishop-elect was forwarded to the pope, who returned the pallium and the bulls, receiving the annates in exchange. the pope's part in the matter was now terminated. no annates would be sent any longer to rome, and no bulls would be returned from rome. the appointments lay between the chapters and the crown; and it might have seemed, at first sight, as if it would have been sufficient to omit the reference to the papacy, and as if the remaining forms might continue as they were. the chapters, however, had virtually long ceased to elect freely; the crown had absorbed the entire functions of presentation, sometimes appointing foreigners,[682] sometimes allowing the great ecclesiastical ministers to nominate themselves;[683] while the rights of the chapters, though existing in theory, were not officially recognised either by the pope or by the crown. the king affected to accept the names of the prelates-elect, when returned to him from rome, as nominations by the pope; and the pope, in communicating with the chapters, presented them with their bishops as from himself.[684] the papal share in the matter was a shadow, but it was acknowledged under the forms of courtesy; the share of the chapters was wholly and absolutely ignored. the crisis of a revolution was not the moment at which their legal privileges could be safely restored to them. the problem of re-arrangement was a difficult one, and it was met in a manner peculiarly english. the practice of granting the _congé d'élire_ to the chapters on the occurrence of a vacancy, which had fallen into desuetude, was again adopted, and the church resumed the forms of liberty: but the licence to elect a bishop was to be accompanied with the name of the person whom the chapter was required to elect; and if within twelve days the person so named had not been chosen, the nomination of the crown was to become absolute, and the chapter would incur a premunire.[685] this act, which i conceive to have been more arbitrary in form than in intention, was followed by a closing attack upon the remaining "exactions" of the bishop of rome. the annates were gone. there were yet to go, "pensions, censes, peter's pence, procurations, fruits, suits for provision, delegacies and rescripts in causes of contention and appeals, jurisdictions legatine--also dispensations, licenses, faculties, grants, relaxations, writs called perinde valere, rehabilitations, abolitions," with other unnamed (the parliament being wearied of naming them) "infinite sorts of rules, briefs, and instruments of sundry natures, names, and kinds." all these were perennially open sluices, which had drained england of its wealth for centuries, returning only in showers of paper, and the commons were determined that streams so unremunerative should flow no longer. they conceived that they had been all along imposed upon, and that the "bishop of rome was to be blamed for having allured and beguiled the english nation, persuading them that he had power to dispense with human laws, uses, and customs, contrary to right and conscience." if the king so pleased, therefore, they would not be so beguiled any more. these and all similar exactions should cease; and all powers claimed by the bishop of rome within the realm should cease, and should be transferred to the crown. at the same time they would not press upon the pope too hardly; they would repeat the same conditions which they had offered with the annates. he had received these revenues as the supreme judge in the highest court in europe, and he might retain his revenues or receive compensation for them, if he dared to be just. it was for himself to resolve, and three months were allowed for a final decision. in conclusion, the commons thought it well to assert that they were separating, not from the church of christ, but only from the papacy. a judge who allowed himself to be overawed against his conscience by a secular power, could not any longer be recognised; but no thing or things contained in the act should be afterwards "interpreted or expounded, that his grace (the king), his nobles and subjects, intended by the same to decline or vary from the congregation of christ's church in anything concerning the articles of the catholic faith of christendom, or in any other things declared by the holy scripture and the word of god necessary for salvation; but only to make an ordinance, by policies necessary and convenient, to repress vice, and for the good conservation of the realm in peace, unity, and tranquillity, from ravin and spoil--ensuing much the old antient customs of the realm in that behalf."[686] the most arduous business was thus finished--the most painful remained. the nun of kent and her accomplices were to be proceeded against by act of parliament; and the bill of their attainder was presented for the first time in the house of lords, on the 18th of february. the offence of the principal conspirators was plainly high treason; their own confessions removed uncertainty; the guilt was clear--the sentence was inevitable. but the fault of those who had been listeners only was less easy of measurement, and might vary from comparative innocence to a definite breach of allegiance. the government were unwilling to press with severity on the noble lords and ladies whose names had been unexpectedly brought to light; and there were two men of high rank only, whose complicity it was thought necessary to notice. the bishop of rochester's connection with the nun had been culpably encouraging; and the responsibility of sir thomas more was held also to be very great in having countenanced, however lightly, such perilous schemers. in the bill, therefore, as it was first read, more and fisher found themselves declared guilty of misprision of treason. but the object of this measure was rather to warn than to punish, nor was there any real intention of continuing their prosecution. cromwell, under instructions from the king, had communicated privately with both of them. he had sent a message to fisher through his brother, telling him that he had only to ask for forgiveness to receive it;[687] and he had begged more through his son-in-law, mr. roper, to furnish him with an explicit account of what had passed at any time between himself and the nun,[688] with an intimation that, if honestly made, it would be accepted in his favour. these advances were met by more in the spirit in which they were offered. he heartily thanked cromwell, "reckoning himself right deeply beholden to him;"[689] and replied with a long, minute, and evidently veracious story, detailing an interview which he had held with the woman in the chapel of sion monastery. he sent at the same time a copy of a letter which he had written to her, and described various conversations with the friars who were concerned in the forgery. he did not deny that he had believed the nun to have been inspired, or that he had heard of the language which she was in the habit of using respecting the king. he protested, however, that he had himself never entertained a treasonable thought. he told cromwell that "he had done a very meritorious deed in bringing forth to light such detestable hypocrisy, whereby every other wretch might take warning, and be feared to set forth their devilish dissembled falsehoods under the manner and colour of the wonderful work of god."[690] more's offence had not been great. his acknowledgments were open and unreserved; and cromwell laid his letter before the king, adding his own intercession that the matter might be passed over. henry consented, expressing only his grief and concern that sir thomas more should have acted so unwisely.[691] he required, nevertheless, as cromwell suggested, that a formal letter should be written, with a confession of fault, and a request for forgiveness. more obeyed; he wrote, gracefully reminding the king of a promise when he resigned the chancellorship, that in any suit which he might afterwards have to his grace, either touching his honour or his profit, he should find his highness his good and gracious lord.[692] henry acknowledged his claim; his name was struck out of the bill, and the prosecution against him was dropped. fisher's conduct was very different; his fault had been far greater than more's, and promises more explicit had been held out to him of forgiveness. he replied to these promises by an elaborate and ridiculous defence--not writing to the king, as cromwell desired him, but vindicating himself as having committed no fault; although he had listened eagerly to language which was only pardonable on the assumption that it was inspired, and had encouraged a nest of fanatics by his childish credulity. the nun "had showed him not," he said, "that any prince or temporal lord should put the king in danger of his crown." he knew nothing of the intended insurrection. he believed the woman to have been a saint; he supposed that she had herself told the king all which she had told to him; and therefore he said that he had nothing for which to reproach himself.[693] he was unable to see that the exposure of the imposture had imparted a fresh character to his conduct, which he was bound to regret. knowingly or unknowingly, he had lent his countenance to a conspiracy; and so long as he refused to acknowledge his indiscretion, the government necessarily would interpret his actions in the manner least to his advantage. if he desired that his conduct should be forgotten, it was indispensable that he should change his attitude, and so cromwell warned him. "ye desire," the latter wrote, "for the passion of christ, that ye be no more quickened in this matter; for if ye be put to that strait ye will not lose your soul, but ye will speak as your conscience leadeth you; with many more words of great courage. my lord, if ye had taken my counsel sent unto you by your brother, and followed the same, submitting yourself by your letter to the king's grace for your offences in this behalf, i would have trusted that ye should never be quickened in the matter more. but now where ye take upon you to defy the whole matter as ye were in no default, i cannot so far promise you. wherefore, my lord, i would eftsoons advise you that, laying apart all such excuses as ye have alleged in your letters, which in my opinion be of small effect, ye beseech the king's grace to be your gracious lord and to remit unto you your negligence, oversight, and offence committed against his highness in this behalf; and i dare undertake that his highness shall benignly accept you into his gracious favour, all matter of displeasure past afore this time forgotten and forgiven."[694] fisher must have been a hopelessly impracticable person. instead of following more's example, and accepting well-meant advice, he persisted in the same tone, and drew up an address to the house of lords, in which he repeated the defence which he had made to cromwell. he expressed no sorrow that he had been engaged in a criminal intrigue, no pleasure that the intrigue had been discovered; and he doggedly adhered to his assertions of his own innocence.[695] there was nothing to be done except to proceed with his attainder. the bill passed three readings, and the various prisoners were summoned to the star chamber to be heard in arrest of judgment. the bishop of rochester's attendance was dispensed with on the ground of illness, and because he had made his defence in writing.[696] nothing of consequence was urged by either of the accused. the bill was most explicit in its details, going carefully through the history of the imposture, and dwelling on the separate acts of each offender. they were able to disprove no one of its clauses, and on the 12th of march it was read a last time. on the 21st it received the royal assent, and there remained only to execute the sentence. the nun herself, richard masters, and the five friars being found guilty of high treason, were to die; the bishop of rochester, father abel, queen catherine's confessor, and four more, were sentenced for misprision of treason to forfeiture of goods and imprisonment. all other persons implicated whose names did not appear, were declared pardoned at the intercession of queen anne.[697] the chief offenders suffered at tyburn on the 21st of april, meeting death calmly, as it appears; receiving a fate most necessary and most deserved,[698] yet claiming from us that partial respect which is due to all persons who will risk their lives in an unselfish cause. for the nun herself, we may feel even a less qualified regret. before her death she was permitted to speak a few words to the people, which at the distance of three centuries will not be read without emotion. "hither am i come to die," she said, "and i have not been the only cause of mine own death, which most justly i have deserved; but also i am the cause of the death of all these persons which at this time here suffer. and yet i am not so much to be blamed, considering that it was well known unto these learned men that i was a poor wench without learning; and therefore they might have easily perceived that the things which were done by me could not proceed in no such sort; but their capacities and learning could right well judge that they were altogether feigned. but because the things which i feigned were profitable unto them, therefore they much praised me, and bare me in hand that it was the holy ghost and not i that did them. and i being puffed up with their praises, fell into a pride and foolish fantasye with myself, and thought i might feign what i would, which thing hath brought me to this case, and for the which i now cry god and the king's highness most heartily mercy, and desire all you good people to pray to god to have mercy on me, and on all them that here suffer with me."[699] and now the closing seal was to be affixed to the agitation of the great question of the preceding years. i have said that throughout these years the uncertainty of the succession had been the continual anxiety of the nation. the birth of a prince or princess could alone provide an absolute security; and to beget a prince appeared to be the single feat which henry was unable to accomplish. the marriage so dearly bought had been followed as yet only by a girl; and if the king were to die, leaving two daughters circumstanced as mary and elizabeth were circumstanced, a dispute would open which the sword only could decide. to escape the certainty of civil war, therefore, it was necessary to lay down the line of inheritance by a peremptory order; to cut off resolutely all rival claims; and in legislating upon a matter so vital, and hitherto so uncertain and indeterminate, to enforce the decision with the most stringent and exacting penalties. from the heptarchy downwards english history furnished no fixed rule of inheritance, but only a series of precedents of uncertainty; and while at no previous time had the circumstances of the succession been of a nature so legitimately embarrassing, the relations of england with the pope and with foreign powers doubly enhanced the danger. but i will not use my own language on so important a subject. the preamble of the act of succession is the best interpreter of the provisions of that act. "in their most humble wise show unto your majesty your most humble and obedient subjects, the lords spiritual and temporal and the commons, in this present parliament assembled; that since it is the natural inclination of every man gladly and willingly to provide for the safety of both his title and succession, although it touch only his private cause; we therefore, most rightful and dreadful sovereign lord, reckon ourselves much more bounden to beseech and intreat your highness (although we doubt not of your princely heart and wisdom, mixed with a natural affection to the same) to foresee and provide for the most perfect surety of both you and of your most lawful successors and heirs, upon which dependeth all our joy and wealth; in whom also is united and knit the only mere true inheritance and title of this realm without any contradiction. we, your said most humble and obedient servants, call to our remembrance the great divisions which in times past hath been in this realm by reason of several titles pretended to the imperial crown of the same; which some time and for the most part ensued by occasion of ambiguity, and [by] doubts then not so perfectly declared but that men might upon froward intents expound them to every man's sinister appetite and affection after their senses; whereof hath ensued great destruction and effusion of man's blood, as well of a great number of the nobles as of other the subjects and specialty inheritors in the same. the greatest occasion thereof hath been because no perfect and substantial provision by law hath been made within this realm itself when doubts and questions have been moved; by reason whereof the bishops of rome and see apostolic have presumed in times past to invest who should please them to inherit in other men's kingdoms and dominions, which thing we your most humble subjects, both spiritual and temporal, do much abhor and detest. and sometimes other foreign princes and potentates of sundry degrees, minding rather dissension and discord to continue in the realm than charity, equity, or unity, have many times supported wrong titles, whereby they might the more easily and facilly aspire to the superiority of the same. "the continuance and sufferance of these things, deeply considered and pondered, is too dangerous and perilous to be suffered any longer; and too much contrary to unity, peace, and tranquillity, being greatly reproachable and dishonourable to the whole realm. and in consideration thereof, your said subjects, calling further to their remembrance, that the good unity, peace, and wealth of the realm, specially and principally, above all worldly things, consisteth in the surety and certainty of the procreation and posterity of your highness, in whose most royal person at this time is no manner of doubt, do therefore most humbly beseech your highness that it may be enacted, with the consent of the lords spiritual and temporal and the commons in this present parliament assembled-"1. that the marriage between your highness and the lady catherine, widow of the late prince arthur, be declared to have been from the beginning, null, the issue of it illegitimate, and the separation pronounced by the archbishop of canterbury good and valid. "2. that the marriage between your highness and your most dear and entirely beloved wife, queen anne, be established and held good, and taken for undoubtful, true, sincere, and perfect, ever hereafter."[701] the act then assumed a general character, laying down a table of prohibited degrees, within which marriage might not under any pretence be in future contracted; and demanding that any marriage which might already exist within those degrees should be at once dissolved. after this provision, it again returned to the king, and fixed the order in which his children by queen anne were to succeed. the details of the regulations were minute and elaborate, and the rule to be observed was the same as that which exists at present. first, the sons were to succeed with their heirs. if sons failed, then the daughters, with their heirs; and, in conclusion, it was resolved that any person who should maliciously do anything by writing, printing, or other external act or deed to the peril of the king, or to the prejudice of his marriage with queen anne, or to the derogation of the issue of that marriage, should be held guilty of high treason; and whoever should speak against that marriage, should be held guilty of misprision of treason--severe enactments, such as could not be justified at ordinary times, and such as, if the times had been ordinary, would not have been thought necessary--but the exigencies of the country could not tolerate an uncertainty of title in the heir to the crown; and the title could only be secured by prohibiting absolutely the discussion of dangerous questions. the mere enactment of a statute, whatever penalties were attached to the violation of it, was still, however, an insufficient safeguard. the recent investigation had revealed a spirit of disloyalty, where such a spirit had not been expected. the deeper the inquiry had penetrated, the more clearly appeared tokens, if not of conspiracy, yet of excitement, of doubt, of agitation, of alienated feeling, if not of alienated act. all the symptoms were abroad which provide disaffection with its opportunity; and in the natural confusion which attended the revolt from the papacy, the obligations of duty, both political and religious, had become indefinite and contradictory, pointing in all directions, like the magnetic needle in a thunderstorm. it was thought well, therefore, to vest a power in the crown, of trying the tempers of suspected persons, and examining them upon oath, as to their willingness to maintain the decision of parliament. this measure was a natural corollary of the statute, and depended for its justification on the extent of the danger to which the state was exposed. if a difference of opinion on the legitimacy of the king's children, or of the pope's power in england, was not dangerous, it was unjust to interfere with the natural liberty of speech or thought. if it was dangerous, and if the state had cause for supposing that opinions of the kind might spread in secret so long as no opportunity was offered for detecting their progress, to require the oath was a measure of reasonable self-defence, not permissible only, but in a high degree necessary and right. under the impression, then, that the circumstances of the country demanded extraordinary precautions, a commission was appointed, consisting of the archbishop of canterbury, the lord chancellor, the duke of norfolk, and the duke of suffolk; and these four, or any three of them, were empowered to administer, at the pleasure of the king, "to all and singular liege subjects of the realm," the following oath:-"ye shall swear to bear your faith, truth, and obedience only to the king's majesty, and to the heirs of his body, according to the limitation and rehearsal within the statute of succession; and not to any other within this realm, or foreign authority, prince, or potentate: and in case any oath be made or hath been made by you to any other person or persons, that then you do repute the same as vain and annihilate: and that to your cunning, wit, and utmost of your power, without guile, fraud, or other undue means, ye shall observe, keep, maintain, and defend this act above specified, and all the whole contents and effects thereof; and all other acts and statutes made since the beginning of this present parliament, in confirmation or for due execution of the same, or of anything therein contained. and thus ye shall do against all manner of persons, of what estate, dignity, degree, or condition soever they be; and in no wise do or attempt, or to your power suffer to be done or attempted, directly or indirectly, any thing or things, privily or apertly, to the let, hindrance, damage, or derogation thereof, by any manner of means, or for any pretence or cause, so help you god and all saints."[702] with this last resolution the house rose, having sat seventy-five days, and despatched their business swiftly. a week later, the news arrived from rome that there too all was at length over; that the cause was decided, and decided against the king. the history of the closing catastrophe is as obscure as it is strange, and the account of the manner in which it was brought about is unfortunately incomplete in many important particulars. the outline only can be apprehended, and that very imperfectly. on the receipt in paris of the letter in which henry threatened to organise a protestant confederacy, du bellay, in genuine anxiety for the welfare of christendom, had volunteered his services for a final effort. not a moment was to be lost, for the courts of rome were already busy with the great cause; but the king's evident reluctance to break with the catholic powers, gave room for hope that something might still be done; and going in person to england, the bishop had induced henry, at the last extremity, either to entrust him with representative powers, or else to allow him after all to make some kind of concession. i am unable to learn the extent to which henry yielded, but that an offer was made of some kind is evident from the form of the story.[703] the winter was very cold, but the bishop made his way to rome with the haste of good will, and arrived in time to stay judgment, which was on the point of being pronounced. it seemed, for the moment, as if he would succeed. he was permitted to make engagements on the part of henry; and that time might be allowed for communication with england, the pope agreed to delay sentence till the 23rd of march. this bishop's terms were approved by the king, and a courier was sent off with letters of confirmation; sir edward karne and dr. revett following leisurely, with a more ample commission. the stone which had been laboriously rolled to the summit of the hill was trembling on the brink, and in a moment might rebound into the plain. but this was not to be the end. some accidental cause delayed the courier; the 23rd of march came, and he had not arrived. du bellay implored a further respite. the king of england, he said, had waited six years; it was not a great thing for the papal council to wait six days. the cardinals were divided; but the spanish party were the strongest, and when the votes were taken carried the day. the die was cast, and the pope, in spite of himself, his promises, and his conscience, drove at length upon the rocks to which he had been so long drifting.[704] in deference to the opinion of the majority of the cardinals, he pronounced the original marriage to have been valid, the dispensation by which it was permitted to have been legal; and, as a natural consequence, henry, king of england, should he fail in obedience to this judgment, was declared to be excommunicate from the fellowship of the church, and to have forfeited the allegiance of his subjects. lest the censures should be discredited by a blank discharge, engagements were entered into, that within four months of the promulgation of the sentence, the emperor would invade england, and henry should be deposed.[705] the imperialists illuminated rome; cannon were fired; bonfires blazed; and great bodies of men paraded the streets with shouts of "the empire and spain."[706] already, in their eager expectation, england was a second netherlands, a captured province under the regency of catherine or mary. two days later, the courier arrived. the pope, at the entreaties of the bishop of paris, re-assembled the consistory, to consider whether the steps which had been taken should be undone. they sat debating all night, and the result was nothing. no dependence could be placed on the cardinals, du bellay said, for they spoke one way, and voted another.[707] thus all was over. in a scene of general helplessness the long drama closed, and, what we call accident, for want of some better word, cut the knot at last over which human incapacity had so vainly laboured. the bishop of paris retired from rome in despair. on his way back, he met the english commissioners at bologna, and told them that their errand was hopeless, and that they need not proceed. "when we asked him," wrote sir edward karne to the king, "the cause of such hasty process, he made answer that the imperialists at rome had strengthened themselves in such a manner, that they coacted the said bishop of rome to give sentence contrary to his own mind, and the expectation of himself and of the french king. he showed us also that the lady princess dowager sent lately, in the month of march past, letters to the bishop of rome, and also to her proctors, whereby the bishop of rome was much moved for her part. the imperials, before the sentence was given, promised, in the emperor's behalf, that he would be the executor of the sentence."[708] this is all which we are able to say of the immediate catastrophe which decided the fate of england, and through england, of the world. the deep impenetrable falsehood of the roman ecclesiastics prevents us from discovering with what intentions the game of the last few weeks or months had been played; it is sufficient for englishmen to remember that, whatever may have been the explanation of his conduct, the pope, in the concluding passage of his connection with this country, furnished the most signal justification which was ever given for the revolt from an abused authority. the supreme judge in christendom had for six years trifled with justice, out of fear of an earthly prince; he concluded these years with uniting the extreme of folly with the extreme of improbity, and pronounced a sentence, willingly or unwillingly, which he had acknowledged to be unjust. charity may possibly acquit clement of conscious duplicity. he was one of those men who waited upon fortune, and waited always without success; who gave his word as the interest of the moment suggested, trusting that it might be convenient to observe it; and who was too long accustomed to break his promises to look with any particular alarm on that contingency. it is possible, also,--for of this clement was capable--that he knew from the beginning the conclusion to which he would at last be driven; that he had engaged himself with charles to decide in catherine's favour as distinctly as he had engaged himself with francis to decide against her; and that all his tortuous scheming was intended either to weary out the patience of the king of england, or to entangle him in acknowledgments from which he would not be able to extricate himself. he was mistaken, certainly, in the temper of the english nation; he believed what the friars told him; and trusting to the promises of disaffection, insurrection, invasion--those _ignes fatui_ which for sixty years floated so delusively before the italian imagination, he imagined, perhaps, that he might trifle with henry with impunity. this only is impossible, that, if he had seriously intended to fulfil the promises which he had made to the french king, the accidental delay of a courier could have made so large a difference in his determination. it is not possible that, if he had assured himself, as he pretended, that justice was on the side against which he had declared, he would not have availed himself of any pretext to retreat from a position which ought to have been intolerable to him. the question, however, had ended, "as all things in this world do have their end." the news of the sentence arrived in england at the beginning of april, with an intimation of the engagements which had been entered upon by the imperial ambassador for an invasion. du bellay returned to paris at the same time, to report the failure of his undertaking; and francis, disappointed, angry, and alarmed, sent the duke of guise to london with promises of support if an attempt to invade was really made, and with a warning at the same time to henry to prepare for danger. troops were gathering in flanders; detachments were on their way out of italy, germany, and bohemia, to be followed by three thousand spaniards, and perhaps many more; and the object avowed for these preparations was wholly incommensurate with their magnitude.[709] for his own sake francis could not permit a successful invasion of england, unless, indeed, he himself was to take part in it; and therefore, with entire sincerity, he offered his services. the cordial understanding for which henry had hoped was at an end; but the political confederacy remained, which the interests of the two countries combined for the present to preserve unbroken. guise proposed another interview at calais between the sovereigns. the king for the moment was afraid to leave england,[710] lest the opportunity should be made use of for an insurrection; but prudence taught him, though disappointed in francis, to make the best of a connection too convenient to be sacrificed. the german league was left in abeyance till the immediate danger was passed, and till the effect of the shock in england itself had been first experienced. he gladly accepted, in lieu of it, an offer that the french fleet should guard the channel through the summer; and meanwhile, he collected himself resolutely, to abide the issue, whatever the issue was to be. the tudor spirit was at length awake in the english sovereign. he had exhausted the resources of patience; he had stooped even to indignity to avoid the conclusion which had come at last. there was nothing left but to meet defiance by defiance, and accept the position to which the pope had driven him. in quiet times occasionally wayward and capricious, henry, like elizabeth after him, reserved his noblest nature for the moment of danger, and was ever greatest when peril was most immediate. woe to those who crossed him now, for the time was grown stern, and to trifle further was to be lost. the suspended act of parliament was made law on the day (it would seem) of the arrival of the sentence. convocation, which was still sitting, hurried through a declaration that the pope had no more power in england than any other bishop.[711] five years before, if a heretic had ventured so desperate an opinion, the clergy would have shut their ears and run upon him: now they only contended with each other in precipitate obsequiousness. the houses of the observants at canterbury and greenwich, which had been implicated with the nun of kent, were suppressed, and the brethren were scattered among monasteries where they could be under surveillance. the nun and her friends were sent to execution.[712] the ordnance stores were examined, the repairs of the navy were hastened, and the garrisons were strengthened along the coast. everywhere the realm armed itself for the struggle, looking well to the joints of its harness and to the temper of its weapons. the commission appointed under the statute of succession opened its sittings to receive the oaths of allegiance. now, more than ever, was it necessary to try men's dispositions, when the pope had challenged their obedience. in words all went well: the peers swore; bishops, abbots, priors, heads of colleges swore[713] with scarcely an exception,--the nation seemed to unite in an unanimous declaration of freedom. in one quarter only, and that a very painful one, was there refusal. it was found solely among the persons who had been implicated in the late conspiracy. neither sir thomas more nor the bishop of rochester could expect that their recent conduct would exempt them from an obligation which the people generally accepted with good will. they had connected themselves, perhaps unintentionally, with a body of confessed traitors. an opportunity was offered them of giving evidence of their loyalty, and escaping from the shadow of distrust. more had been treated leniently; fisher had been treated far more than leniently. it was both fair and natural that they should be called upon to give proof that their lesson had not been learnt in vain; and, in fact, no other persons, if they had been passed over, could have been called upon to swear, for no other persons had laid themselves open to so just suspicion. their conduct so exactly tallied, that they must have agreed beforehand on the course which they would adopt; and in following the details, we need concern ourselves only with the nobler figure. the commissioners sate at the archbishop's palace at lambeth; and at the end of april, sir thomas more received a summons to appear before them.[714] he was at his house at chelsea, where for the last two years he had lived in deep retirement, making ready for evil times. those times at length were come. on the morning on which he was to present himself, he confessed and received the sacrament in chelsea church; and "whereas," says his great-grandson, "at other times, before he parted from his wife and children, they used to bring him to his boat, and he there kissing them bade them farewell, at this time he suffered none of them to follow him forth of his gate, but pulled the wicket after him, and with a heavy heart he took boat with his son roper."[715] he was leaving his home for the last time, and he knew it. he sat silent for some minutes, and then, with a sudden start, said, "i thank our lord, the field is won." lambeth palace was crowded with people who had come on the same errand with himself. more was called in early, and found cromwell present with the four commissioners, and also the abbot of westminster. the oath was read to him. it implied that he should keep the statute of succession in all its parts, and he desired to see the statute itself. he read it through, and at once replied that others might do as they pleased; he would blame no one for taking the oath; but for himself it was impossible. he would swear willingly to the part of it which secured the succession to the children of queen anne.[716] that was a matter on which parliament was competent to decide, and he had no right to make objections. if he might be allowed to take an oath to this portion of the statute in language of his own, he would do it; but as the words stood, he would "peril his soul" by using them. the lord chancellor desired him to re-consider his answer. he retired to the garden, and in his absence others were called in; among them the bishop of rochester, who refused in the same terms. more was then recalled. he was asked if he persisted in his resolution; and when he replied that he did, he was requested to state his reasons. he said that he was afraid of increasing the king's displeasure, but if he could be assured that he might explain himself safely he was ready to do so. if his objection could then be answered to his satisfaction, he would swear; in the meantime, he repeated, very explicitly, that he judged no one--he spoke only for himself. an opening seemed to be offered in these expressions which was caught at by cranmer's kind-hearted casuistry. if sir thomas more could not condemn others for taking the oath, the archbishop said, sir thomas more could not be sure that it was sin to take it; while his duty to his king and to the parliament was open and unquestioned. more hesitated for an instant, but he speedily recovered his firmness. he had considered what he ought to do, he said; his conscience was clear about it, and he could say no more than he had said already. they continued to argue with him, but without effect; he had made up his mind; the victory, as he said, had been won. cromwell was deeply affected. in his passionate regret, he exclaimed, that he had rather his only son had lost his head than that more should have refused the oath. no one knew better than cromwell that intercession would be of no further use; that he could not himself advise the king to give way. the parliament, after grave consideration, had passed a law which they held necessary to secure the peace of the country; and two persons of high rank refused obedience to it, whose example would tell in every english household. either, therefore, the act was not worth the parchment on which it was written, or the penalties of it must be enforced: no middle way, no compromise, no acquiescent reservations, could in such a case be admitted. the law must have its way. the recusants were committed for four days to the keeping of the abbot of westminster; and the council met to determine on the course to be pursued. their offence, by the act, was misprision of treason. on the other hand, they had both offered to acknowledge the princess elizabeth as the lawful heir to the throne; and the question was raised whether this offer should be accepted. it was equivalent to a demand that the form should be altered, not for them only, but for every man. if persons of their rank and notoriety were permitted to swear with a qualification, the same privilege must be conceded to all. but there was so much anxiety to avoid extremities, and so warm a regard was personally felt for sir thomas more, that this objection was not allowed to be fatal. it was thought that possibly an exception might be made, yet kept a secret from the world; and the fact that they had sworn under any form might go far to silence objectors and reconcile the better class of the disaffected.[717] this view was particularly urged by cranmer, always gentle, hoping, and illogical.[718] but, in fact, secresy was impossible. if more's discretion could have been relied upon, fisher's babbling tongue would have trumpeted his victory to all the winds. nor would the government consent to pass censure on its own conduct by evading the question whether the act was or was not just. if it was not just, it ought not to be: maintained at all; if it was just, there must be no respect of persons. the clauses to which the bishop and the ex-chancellor declined to bind themselves were those which declared illegal the marriage of the king with catherine, and the marriage legal between the king and queen anne. to refuse these was to declare mary legitimate, to declare elizabeth illegitimate, and would do more to strengthen mary's claims than could be undone by a thousand oaths. however large might be more's estimate of the power of parliament, he could have given no clear answer--and far less could fisher have given a clear answer--if they had been required to say the part which they would take, should the emperor invade the kingdom under the pope's sanction. the emperor would come to execute a sentence which in their consciences they believed to be just; how could they retain their allegiance to henry, when their convictions must be with the invading army? what ought to have been done let those say who disapprove of what was actually done. the high character of the prisoners, while it increased the desire, increased the difficulty of sparing them; and to have given way would have been a confession of a doubtful cause, which at such a time would not have been dangerous, but would have been fatal. anne boleyn is said to have urged the king to remain peremptory;[719] but the following letter of cromwell's explains the ultimate resolution of the council in a very reasonable manner. it was written to cranmer in reply to his arguments for concession. "my lord, after mine humble commendation, it may please your grace to be advertised that i have received your letter, and showed the same to the king's highness; who, perceiving that your mind and opinion is, that it were good that the bishop of rochester and master more should be sworn to the act of the king's succession, and not to the preamble of the same, thinketh that if their oaths should be taken, it were an occasion to all men to refuse the whole, or at least the like. for, in case they be sworn to the succession, and not to the preamble, it is to be thought that it might be taken not only as a confirmation of the bishop of rome's authority, but also as a reprobation of the king's second marriage. wherefore, to the intent that no such things should be brought into the heads of the people, by the example of the said bishop of rochester and master more, the king's highness in no wise willeth but that they shall be sworn as well to the preamble as to the act. wherefore his grace specially trusteth that ye will in no wise attempt to move him to the contrary; for as his grace supposeth, that manner of swearing, if it shall be suffered, may be an utter destruction to his whole cause, and also to the effect of the law made for the same."[720] thus, therefore, with much regret the council decided--and, in fact, why should they have decided otherwise? they were satisfied that they were right in requiring the oath; and their duty to the english nation obliged them to persevere. they must go their way; and those who thought them wrong must go theirs; and the great god would judge between them. it was a hard thing to suffer for an opinion; but there are times when opinions are as dangerous as acts; and liberty of conscience was a plea which could be urged with a bad grace for men who, while in power, had fed the stake with heretics. they were summoned for a last time, to return the same answer as they had returned before; and nothing remained but to pronounce against them the penalties of the statute, imprisonment at the king's pleasure, and forfeiture. the latter part of the sentence was not enforced. more's family were left in the enjoyment of his property. fisher's bishoprick was not taken from him. they were sent to the tower, where for the present we leave them. meanwhile, in accordance with the resolution taken in council on the and of december,[721] but which seems to have been suspended till the issue of the trial at rome was decided, the bishops, who had been examined severally on the nature of the papal authority, and whose answers had been embodied in the last act of parliament, were now required to instruct the clergy throughout their dioceses--and the clergy in turn to instruct the people--in the nature of the changes which had taken place. a bishop was to preach each sunday at paul's cross, on the pope's usurpation. every secular priest was directed to preach on the same subject week after week, in his parish church. abbots and priors were to teach their convents; noblemen and gentlemen their families and servants; mayors and aldermen the boroughs. in town and country, in all houses, at all dinner-tables, the conduct of the pope and the causes of the separation from rome were to be the one subject of conversation; that the whole nation might be informed accurately and faithfully of the grounds on which the government had acted. no wiser method could have been adopted. the imperial agents would be busy under the surface; and the mendicant friars, and all the missionaries of insurrection. the machinery of order was set in force to counteract the machinery of sedition. further, every bishop, in addition to the oath of allegiance, had sworn obedience to the king as supreme head of the church;[722] and this was the title under which he was to be spoken of in all churches of the realm. a royal order had been issued, "that all manner of prayers, rubrics, canons of mass books, and all other books in the churches wherein the bishop of rome was named, or his presumptuous and proud pomp and authority preferred, should utterly be abolished, eradicated, and rased out, and his name and memory should be never more, except to his contumely and reproach, remembered; but perpetually be suppressed and obscured."[723] nor were these mere idle sounds, like the bellow of unshotted cannon; but words with a sharp, prompt meaning, which the king intended to be obeyed. he had addressed his orders to the clergy, because the clergy were the officials who had possession of the pulpits from which the people were to be taught; but he knew their nature too well to trust them. they were too well schooled in the tricks of reservation; and, for the nonce, it was necessary to reverse the posture of the priest and of his flock, and to set the honest laymen to overlook their pastors. with the instructions to the bishops circulars went round to the sheriffs of the counties, containing a full account of these instructions, and an appeal to their loyalty to see that the royal orders were obeyed. "we," the king wrote to them, "seeing, esteeming, and reputing you to be of such singular and vehement zeal and affection towards the glory of almighty god, and of so faithful, loving, and obedient heart towards us, as you will accomplish, with all power, diligence, and labour, whatsoever shall be to the preferment and setting forth of god's word, have thought good, not only to signify unto you by these our letters, the particulars of the charge given by us to the bishops, but also to require and straitly charge you, upon pain of your allegiance, and as ye shall avoid our high indignation and displeasure, [that] at your uttermost peril, laying aside all vain affections, respects, and other carnal considerations, and setting only before your eyes the mirrour of the truth, the glory of god, the dignity of your sovereign lord and king, and the great concord and unity, and inestimable profit and utility, that shall by the due execution of the premises ensue to yourselves and to all other faithful and loving subjects, ye make or cause to be made diligent search and wait, whether the said bishops do truly and sincerely, without all manner of cloke, colour, or dissimulation, execute and accomplish our will and commandment, as is aforesaid. and in case ye shall hear that the said bishops, or any other ecclesiastical person, do omit and leave undone any part or parcel of the premises, or else in the execution and setting forth of the same, do coldly and feignedly use any manner of sinister addition, wrong interpretation, or painted colour, then we straitly charge and command you that you do make, undelayedly, and with all speed and diligence, declaration and advertisement to us and to our council of the said default. "and forasmuch as we upon the singular trust which we have in you, and for the special love which we suppose you bear towards us, and the weal and tranquillity of this our realm, have specially elected and chosen you among so many for this purpose, and have reputed you such men as unto whose wisdom and fidelity we might commit a matter of such great weight and importance: if ye should, contrary to our expectation and trust which we have in you, and against your duty and allegiance towards us, neglect, or omit to do with all your diligence, whatsoever shall be in your power for the due performance of our pleasure to you declared, or halt or stumble at any part or specialty of the same; be ye assured that we, like a prince of justice, will so extremely punish you for the same, that all the world beside shall take by you example, and beware contrary to their allegiance to disobey the lawful commandment of their sovereign lord and prince. "given under our signet, at our palace of westminster, the 9th day of june, 1534."[724] so henry spoke at last. there was no place any more for nice distinctions and care of tender consciences. the general, when the shot is flying, cannot qualify his orders with dainty periods. swift command and swift obedience can alone be tolerated; and martial law for those who hesitate. this chapter has brought many things to a close. before ending it we will leap over three months, to the termination of the career of the pope who has been so far our companion. not any more was the distracted clement to twist his handkerchief, or weep, or flatter, or wildly wave his arms in angry impotence; he was to lie down in his long rest, and vex the world no more. he had lived to set england free--an exploit which, in the face of so persevering an anxiety to escape a separation, required a rare genius and a combination of singular qualities. he had finished his work, and now he was allowed to depart. in him, infinite insincerity was accompanied with a grace of manner which regained confidence as rapidly as it was forfeited. desiring sincerely, so far as he could be sincere in anything, to please every one by turns, and reckless of truth to a degree in which he was without a rival in the world, he sought only to escape his difficulties by inactivity, and he trusted to provide himself with a refuge against all contingencies by waiting upon time. even when at length he was compelled to act, and to act in a distinct direction, his plausibility long enabled him to explain away his conduct; and, honest in the excess of his dishonesty, he wore his falsehood with so easy a grace that it assumed the character of truth. he was false, deceitful, treacherous; yet he had the virtue of not pretending to be virtuous. he was a real man, though but an indifferent one; and we can refuse to no one, however grave his faults, a certain ambiguous sympathy, when in his perplexities he shows us features so truly human in their weakness as those of clement vii. * * * * * notes. [1] printed in foxe, vol. iv. p. 659, townsend's edition. [2] 24 hen. viii. cap. 4. [3] bishop latimer, in a sermon at paul's cross, suggested another purpose which this act might answer. one of his audience, writing to the mayor of plymouth, after describing the exceedingly disrespectful language in which he spoke of the high church dignitaries, continues, "the king," quoth he, "made a marvellous good act of parliament that certain men should sow every of them two acres of hemp; but it were all too little were it so much more to hang the thieves that be in england."--_suppression of the monasteries_, camden society's publications, p. 38. [4] 32 hen. viii. cap. 18. [5] 25 hen. viii. cap. 18. [6] _antiquities of hengrave_, by sir t. gage. [7] see especially 2 hen. vii. capp. 16 and 19. [8] 24 hen. viii. cap. 9. [9] see especially the 4th of the 5th of elizabeth. [10] 10 ed. iii. cap. 3. [11] statutes of the realm, vol. i. (edit. 1817), pp. 227-8. [12] "the artificers and husbandmen make most account of such meat as they may soonest come by and have it quickliest ready. their food consisteth principally in beef, and such meat as the butcher selleth, that is to say, mutton, veal, lamb, pork, whereof the one findeth great store in the markets adjoining; besides souse, brawn, bacon, fruit, pies of fruit, fowls of sundry sorts, as the other wanteth it not at home by his own provision, which is at the best hand and commonly least charge. in feasting, this latter sort--i mean the husbandmen--do exceed after their manner, especially at bridals and such odd meetings, where it is incredible to tell what meat is consumed and spent."--harrison's _description of england_, p. 282. the spanish nobles who came into england with philip were astonished at the diet which they found among the poor. "these english," said one of them, "have their houses made of sticks and dirt, but they fare commonly so well as the king."--ibid. p. 313. [13] _state papers_, hen. viii. vol. ii. p. 10. [14] hall, p. 646. [15] 25 ed. iii. cap. i. [16] _statutes of the realm_, vol. i. p. 199. [17] 3 ed. iv. cap. 2. [18] 10 hen. vi. cap. 2. [19] stow's _chronicle._ [20] _statutes of philip and mary._ [21] from 1565 to 1575 there was a rapid and violent rise in the prices of all kinds of grain. wheat stood at four and five times its earlier rates; and in 1576, when harrison wrote, was entirely beyond the reach of the labouring classes. "the poor in some shires," he says, "are enforced to content themselves with rye or barley, yea, and in time of dearth many with bread made either of peas, beans, or oats, or of all together and some acorns among, of which scourge the poorest do soonest taste, sith they are least able to provide themselves of better. i will not say that this extremity is oft so well seen in time of plenty as of dearth, but if i should i could easily bring my trial. for, albeit that there be much more ground eared now almost in every place than hath been of late years, yet such a price of corn continues in each town and market, that the artificer and poor labouring man is not able to reach to it, but is driven to content himself with beans, peas, oats, tares, and lentils."--harrison, p. 283. the condition of the labourer was at this period deteriorating rapidly. the causes will be described in the progress of this history. [22] _chronicle_, p.568. [23] 33 hen. viii. cap. ii. the change in the prices of such articles commenced in the beginning of the reign of edward vi., and continued till the close of the century. a discussion upon the subject, written in 1581 by mr. edward stafford, and containing the clearest detailed account of the alteration, is printed in the _harleian miscellany_, vol. ix. p.139, etc. [24] leland, _itin._, vol. vi. p.17. in large households beef used to be salted in great quantities for winter consumption. the art of fatting cattle in the stall was imperfectly understood, and the loss of substance in the destruction of fibre by salt was less than in the falling off of flesh on the failure of fresh grass. the northumberland household book describes the storing of salted provision for the earl's establishment at michaelmas; and men now living can remember the array of salting tubs in old-fashioned country houses. so long as pigs, poultry, and other articles of food, however, remained cheap and abundant, the salt diet could not, as hume imagines, have been carried to an extent injurious to health; and fresh meat, beef as well as mutton, was undoubtedly sold in all markets the whole year round in the reign of henry viii., and sold at a uniform price, which it could not have been if there had been so much difficulty in procuring it. latimer (_letters_, p.412), writing to cromwell on christmas eve, 1538, speaks of his winter stock of "beeves" and muttons as a thing of course. [25] stafford's _discourse on the state of the realm_. it is to be understood, however, that these rates applied only to articles of ordinary consumption. capons fatted for the dinners of the london companies were sometimes provided at a shilling apiece. fresh fish was also extravagantly dear, and when two days a week were observed strictly as fasting days, it becomes a curious question to know how the supply was kept up. the inland counties were dependent entirely on ponds and rivers. london was provided either from the thames or from the coast of sussex. an officer of the fishmongers' company resided at each of the cinque ports whose business it was to buy the fish wholesale from the boats and to forward it on horseback. three hundred horses were kept for this service at rye alone. and when an adventurous fisherman, taking advantage of a fair wind, sailed up the thames with his catch and sold it first hand at london bridge, the innovation was considered dangerous, and the mayor of rye petitioned against it. salmon, sturgeon, porpoise, roach, dace, flounders, eels, etc., were caught in considerable quantities in the thames, below london bridge, and further up, pike and trout. the fishermen had great nets that stretched all across limehouse-reach four fathoms deep. fresh fish, however, remained the luxury of the rich, and the poor were left to the salt cod, ling, and herring brought in annually by the iceland fleet. fresh herrings sold for five or six a penny in the time of henry viii., and were never cheaper. fresh salmon five and six shillings apiece. roach, dace, and flounders from two to four shillings a hundred. pike and barbel varied with their length. the barbel a foot long sold for five-pence, and twopence was added for each additional inch: a pike a foot long sold for sixteen pence, and increased a penny an inch.--_guildhall mss. journals_ 12, 13, 14, 15. [26] "when the brewer buyeth a quarter of malt for two shillings, then he shall sell a gallon of the best ale for two farthings; when he buyeth a quarter malt for four shillings, the gallon shall be four farthings, and so forth... and that he sell a quart of ale upon his table for a farthing."-assize of brewers: from a ms. in balliol college, oxford. by an order of the lord mayor and council of the city of london, in september, 1529, the price of a kilderkin of single beer was fixed at a shilling, the kilderkin of double beer at two shillings; but this included the cask; and the london brewers replied with a remonstrance, saying that the casks were often destroyed or made away with, and that an allowance had to be made for bad debts. "your beseechers," they said, "have many city debtors, for many of them which have taken much beer into their houses suddenly goeth to the sanctuary, some keep their houses--some purchase the king's protection, and some, when they die, be reckoned poor, and of no value, and many of your said beseechers be for the most part against such debtors remediless and suffer great losses." they offered to supply then: customers with sixteen gallon casks of single beer for eleven pence, and the same quantity of double beer for a shilling, the cask included. and this offer was accepted. the corporation, however, returned two years after to their original order. _guildhall records_, ms. journal 13, pp. 210, 236. [27] 28 hen. viii. cap. 14. the prices assessed, being a maximum, applied to the best wines of each class. in 1531, the mayor and corporation "did straitly charge and command that all such persons as sold wines by retail within the city and liberties of the same, should from henceforth sell two gallons of the best red wine for eightpence, and not above; the gallon of the best white wine for eightpence, and not above; the pottle, quart, and pint after the same rate, upon pain of imprisonment." the quality of the wine sold was looked into from time to time, and when found tainted, or unwholesome, "according to the antient customs of the city," the heads of the vessels were broken up, and the wines in them put forth open into the kennels, in example of all other offenders. _guildhall ms._ journals 12 and 13. [28] _sermons_, p.101. [29] see harrison, p. 318. at the beginning of the century farms let for four pounds a year, which in 1576 had been raised to forty, fifty, or a hundred. the price of produce kept pace with the rent. the large farmers prospered; the poor forfeited their tenures. [30] the wages were fixed at a maximum, showing that labour was scarce, and that its natural tendency was towards a higher rate of remuneration. persons not possessed of other means of subsistence were punishable if they refused to work at the statutable rate of payment; and a clause in the act of hen. viii. directed that where the practice had been to give lower wages, lower wages should be taken. this provision was owing to a difference in the value of money in different parts of england. the price of bread at stratford, for instance, was permanently twenty-five per cent. below the price in london. (assize of bread in england: _balliol ms_.) the statute, therefore, may be taken as a guide sufficiently conclusive as to the practical scale. it is of course uncertain how far work was constant. the ascending tendency of wages is an evidence, so far as it goes, in the labourer's favour; and the proportion between the wages of the household farm servant and those of the day labourer, which furnishes a further guide, was much the same as at present. by the same statute of henry viii. the common servant of husbandry, who was boarded and lodged at his master's house, received 16s. 8d. a year in money, with 4s. for his clothes; while the wages of the out-door labourer, supposing his work constant, would have been £5 a year. among ourselves, on an average of different counties, the labourer's wages are £25 to £30 a year, supposing his work constant. the farm servant, unless in the neighbourhood of large towns, receives about £6, or from that to £8. where meat and drink was allowed it was calculated at 2d. a day, or 1s. 2d. a week. in the household of the earl of northumberland the allowance was 2-1/2d. here, again, we observe an approach to modern proportions. the estimated cost of the board and lodging of a man servant in an english gentleman's family is now about £25 a year. [31] mowers, for instance, were paid 8d. a day.--_privy purse expenses of henry viii._ [32] in 1581 the agricultural labourer, as he now exists, was only beginning to appear. "there be such in the realm," says stafford, "as live only by the labour of their hands and the profit which they can make upon the commons."--stafford's _discourse_. this novel class had been called into being by the general raising of rents, and the wholesale evictions of the smaller tenantry which followed the reformation. the progress of the causes which led to the change can be traced from the beginning of the century. harrison says he knew old men who, comparing things present with things past, spoke of two things grown to be very grievous--to wit, "the enhancing of rents, and the daily oppression of copyholders, whose lords seek to bring their poor tenants almost into plain servitude and misery, daily devising new means, and seeking up all the old, how to cut them shorter and shorter; doubling, trebling, and now and then seven times increasing their fines; driving them also for every trifle to lose and forfeit their tenures, by whom the greatest part of the realm doth stand and is maintained, to the end they may fleece them yet more: which is a lamentable hearing."--_description of england_, p.318. [33] hall, p. 581. nor was the act in fact observed even in london itself, or towards workmen employed by the government. in 1538, the corporation of london, "for certain reasonable and necessary considerations," assessed the wages of common labourers at 7d. and 8d. the day, classing them with carpenters and masons.--_guildhall mss. journal_ 14, fol. 10. labourers employed on government works in the reign of hen. viii. never received less than 6d. a day, and frequently more.--_chronicle of calais_, p. 197, etc. sixpence a day is the usual sum entered as the wages of a day's labour in the innumerable lists of accounts in the record office. and 6d. a day again was the lowest pay of the common soldier, not only on exceptional service in the field, but when regularly employed in garrison duty. those who doubt whether this was really the practice, may easily satisfy themselves by referring to the accounts of the expenses of berwick, or of dover, deal, or walmer castles, to be found in the record office in great numbers. the daily wages of the soldier are among the very best criteria for determining the average value of the unskilled labourer's work. no government gives higher wages than it is compelled to give by the market rate. [34] the wages of the day labourer in london, under this act of elizabeth, were fixed at 9d. the day, and this, after the restoration of the depreciated currency.--_guildhall mss. journal_ 18, fol. 157, etc. [35] 4 hen. vii. cap. 16. by the same parliament these provisions were extended to the rest of england. 4 hen. vii. cap. 19. [36] hall, p. 863. [37] 27 hen. viii. cap. 22. [38] there is a cause of difficulty "peculiar to england, the increase of pasture, by which sheep may be now said to devour men and unpeople not only villages but towns. for wherever it is found that the sheep yield a softer and richer wool than ordinary, there the nobility and gentry, and even those holy men the abbots, not contented with the old rents which their farms yielded, nor thinking it enough that they, living at their ease, do no good to the public, resolve to do it hurt instead of good. they stop the course of agriculture.... one shepherd can look after a flock which will stock an extent of ground that would require many hands if it were ploughed and reaped. and this likewise in many places raises the price of corn. the price of wool is also risen ... since, though sheep cannot be called a monopoly, because they are not engrossed by one person; yet they are in so few hands, and these are so rich, that as they are not prest to sell them sooner than they have a mind to it, so they never do it till they have raised the price as high as possible."--sir thomas more's _utopia_, burnet's translation, pp. 17-19. [39] i find scattered among the _state papers_ many loose memoranda, apparently of privy councillors, written on the backs of letters, or on such loose scraps as might be at hand. the following fragment on the present subject is curious. i do not recognise the hand:-"mem. that an act may be made that merchants shall employ their goods continually in the traffic of merchandise, and not in the purchasing of lands; and that craftsmen, also, shall continually use their crafts in cities and towns, and not leave the same and take farms in the country; and that no merchant shall hereafter purchase above £40 lands by the year."--_cotton ms._ titus, b. i. 160. [40] when the enclosing system was carried on with greatest activity and provoked insurrection. in expressing a sympathy with the social policy of the tudor government, i have exposed myself to a charge of opposing the received and ascertained conclusions of political economy. i disclaim entirely an intention so foolish; but i believe that the science of political economy came into being with the state of things to which alone it is applicable. it ought to be evident that principles which answer admirably when a manufacturing system capable of indefinite expansion multiplies employment at home--when the soil of england is but a fraction of its empire, and the sea is a highway to emigration--would have produced far different effects, in a condition of things which habit had petrified into form, when manufactures could not provide work for one additional hand, when the first colony was yet unthought of, and where those who were thrown out of the occupation to which they had been bred could find no other. the tenants evicted, the labourers thrown out of employ, when the tillage lands were converted into pastures, had scarcely an alternative offered them except to beg, to rob, or to starve. [41] _lansdowne ms._ no. i. fol. 26. [42] giustiniani's _letters from the court of henry viii_. [43] ibid. [44] 22 hen. viii. cap. 18. [45] under hen. vi. the household expenses were £23,000 a year--cf. _proceedings and ordinances of the privy council_, vol. vi. p. 35. the particulars of the expenses of the household of hen. viii. are in an ms. in the rolls house. they cover the entire outlay except the personal expenditure of the king, and the sum total amounts to £14,365 10s. 7d. this would leave above £5000 a year for the privy purse, not, perhaps, sufficient to cover henry's gambling extravagances in his early life. curious particulars of his excesses in this matter will be found in a publication wrongly called _the privy purse expenses of henry the eighth_. it is a diary of general payments, as much for purposes of state as for the king himself. the high play was confined for the most part to christmas or other times of festivity, when the statutes against unlawful games were dispensed with for all classes. [46] 18 hen. vi. cap. 11. [47] 4 hen. vii. cap. 12. [48] during the quarter sessions time they were allowed 4s. a day.--ric. ii. xii. 10. [49] the rudeness of the furniture in english country houses has been dwelt upon with much emphasis by hume and others. an authentic inventory of the goods and chattels in a parsonage in kent proves that there has been much exaggeration in this matter. it is from an ms. in the rolls house. _the inventory of the goods and catales of richd. master, clerk, parson of aldington, being in his parsonage on the 20th day of april, in the 25th year of the reign of our sovereign lord king henry viii._ _plate_ silver spoons, twelve. _in the hall_ two tables and two forms. item, a painted cloth hanging at the upper part of the hall. item, a green banker hung on the bench in the hall. item, a laver of laten. _in the parlour_ a hanging of old red and green saye. item, a banker of woven carpet of divers colours. item, two cushions. item, one table, two forms, one cupboard, one chair. item, two painted pictures and a picture of the names of kings of england pinned on the said hanging. _in the chamber on the north side of the said parlour_ a painted hanging. item, a bedstedyll with a feather bed, one bolster, two pillows, one blanket, one roulett of rough tapestry, a testner of green and red saye. item, two forms. item, one jack to set a basin on. _in the chamber over the parlour_ two bedsteads. item, another testner of painted cloth. item, a painted cloth. item, two forms. _at the stairs' hed beside the parson's bedchamber_ one table, two trestylls, four beehives. _in the parson's lodging-chamber_ a bedstedyll and a feather bed, two blankets, one payr of sheets, one coverlet of tapestry lined with canvas, one bolster, one pillow with a pillocote. item, one gown of violet cloth lined with red saye. item, a gown of black cloth, furred with lamb. item, two hoods of violet cloth, whereof one is lined with green sarsenet. item, one jerkyn of tawny camlet. item, a jerkyn of cloth furred with white. item, a jacket of cloth furred. item, a sheet to put in cloth. item, one press. item, a leather mail. item, one table, two forms, four chairs, two trestylls. item, a tester of painted cloth. item, a pair of hangings of green saye, with two pictures thereupon. item, one cupboard, two chests. item, a little flock bed, with a bolster and a coverlet. item, one cushion, one mantell, one towel, and, by estimation, a pound of wax candles. item, greek books covered with boards, 42. item, small books covered with boards, 33. item, books covered with leather and parchment, 38. _in the said chest in the said chamber_ three pieces of red saye and green. item, one tyke for a bolster, two tykes for pillows. item, a typpett of cloth. item, diaper napkins, 4, diaper towels, 2. item, four pairs of sheets, and one shete, two tablecloths. _in the other chest in the same chamber_ one typpett of sarsenett. item, two cotes belonging to the crosse of underbill, whereupon hang thirty-three pieces of money, rings, and other things, and three crystal stones closed in silver. _in the study_ two old boxes, a wicker hamper full of papers. _in the chamber behind the chimney_ one seam and a half of old malt. item, a trap for rats. item, a board of three yards length. _in the chamber next adjoining westwards_ one bedstedyll, one flock bed, one bolster. one form, two shelf boards, one little table, two trestylls, two awgyes, one nett, called a stalker, a well rope, five quarters of hemp. _in the buttery_ three basins of pewter, five candlesticks, one ewer of lateen, one chafing dish, two platters, one dish, one salter, three podingers [? porringer], a saltseller of pewter, seven kilderkyns, three keelers, one form, five shelves, one byn, one table, one glasse bottell. _in the priest's chamber_ one bedstedyll, one feather bed, two forms, one press. _in the woman's keeping_ two tablecloths, two pairs of sheets. _in the servant's chamber_ one painted hanging, a bedstedyll, one feather bed, a press, and a shelf. _in the kitchen_ eight bacon flitches, a little brewing lead, three brass pots, three kettles, one posnett, one frying-pan, a dripping-pan, a great pan, two trivetts, a chopping knife, a skimmer, one fire rake, a pothanger, one pothooke, one andiron, three spits, one gridiron, one firepan, a coal rake of iron, two bolts [? butts], three wooden platters, six boldishes, three forms, two stools, seven platters, two pewter dishes, four saucers, a covering of a saltseller, a podynger, seven tubbs, a caldron, two syffs, a capon cope, a mustard quern, a ladder, two pails, one beehive. _in the mill-house_ seven butts, two cheeses, an old sheet, an old brass pan, three podyngers, a pewter dish. _in the boulting-house_ one brass pan, one quern, a boulting hutch, a boulting tub, three little tubbys, two keelers, a tolvett, two boulters, one tonnell. _in the larder_ one sieve, one bacon trough, a cheese press, one little tub, eight shelves, one graper for a well. _wood_ of tall wood ten load, of ash wood a load and a half. _poultry_ nine hens, eight capons, one cock, sixteen young chickens, three old geese, seventeen goslings, four ducks. _cattle_ five young hoggs, two red kyne, one red heifer two years old, one bay gelding lame of spavins, one old grey mare having a mare colt. _in the entries_ two tubbs, one trough, one ring to bear water and towel, a chest to keep cornes. _in the same house_ five seams of lime. _in the woman's chamber_ one bedstedyll of hempen yarn, by estimation 20 lbs. _without the house_ of tyles, ----, of bricks, ----, seven planks, three rafters, one ladder. _in the gate-house_ one form, a leather sack, three bushels of wheat. _in the still beside the gate_ two old road saddles, one bridle, a horse-cloth. _in the barn next the gate_ of wheat unthrashed, by estimation, thirty quarters, of barley unthrashed, by estimation, five quarters. _in the cartlage_ one weene with two whyles, one dung-cart without whyles, two shod-whyles, two yokes, one sledge. _in the barn next the church_ of oats unthrashed, by estimation, one quarter. _in the garden-house_ of oats, by estimation, three seams four bushels. _in the court_ two racks, one ladder. [50] two hundred poor were fed daily at the house of tomas cromwell. this fact is perfectly authenticated. stowe the historian, who did not like cromwell, lived in an adjoining house, and reports it as an eye witness.--_see_ stowe's _survey of london._ [51] harrison's _description of britain_. [52] the earl and countess of northumberland breakfasted together alone at seven. the meal consisted of a quart of ale, a quart of wine, and a chine of beef: a loaf of bread is not mentioned, but we hope it may be presumed. on fast days the beef was exchanged for a dish of sprats or herrings, fresh or salt.--_northumberland household book_, quoted by hume. [53] some notice of the style of living sometimes witnessed in england in the old times may be gathered from the details of a feast given at the installation of george neville, brother of warwick the king maker, when made archbishop of york. the number of persons present including servants was about 3500. the provisions were as follow- wheat, 300 quarters. ale, 300 tuns. wine, 104 tuns. ipocras, 1 pipe. oxen, 80. wild bulls, 6. muttons, 1004. veal, 300. porkers, 300. geese, 3000. capons, 2300. pigs, 2000. peacocks, 100. cranes, 200. kids, 200. chickens, 2000. pigeons, 4000. conies, 4000. bitterns, 204. mallards and teals, 4000. heronshaws, 4000. fesants, 200. partridges, 500. woodcocks, 400. plovers, 400. curlews, 100. quails, 100. egrets, 1000 rees, 200. harts, bucks, and roes, 400 and odd. pasties of venison, cold, 4000. pasties of venison, hot, 1506. dishes of jelly, pasted, 1000. plain dishes of jelly, 4000. cold tarts, baken, 4000. cold custards, 4000. custards, hot, 2000. pikes, 300. breams, 300. seals, 8. porpoises, 4. [54] latimer's _sermons_, p. 64. [55] _statutes of the realm_, 1 ed. vi. cap. 12. [56] hooker's _life of sir peter carew_. [57] in a subsequent letter he is described as learning french, etymology, casting of accounts, playing at weapons, and other such exercises.--ellis, third series, vol. i. p. 342-3. [58] it has been objected that inasmuch as the statute book gives evidence of extensive practices of adulteration, the guild system was useless, nay, it has been even said that it was the cause of the evil. cessante causâ cessat effectus;--when the companies lost their authority, the adulteration ought to have ceased, which in the face of recent exposures will be scarcely maintained. it would be as reasonable to say that the police are useless because we have still burglars and pickpockets among us. [59] throughout the old legislation, morality went along with politics and economics, and formed the life and spirit of them. the fruiterers in the streets were prohibited from selling plums and apples, because the apprentices played dice with them for their wares, or because the temptation induced children and servants to steal money to buy. when parliament came to be held regularly in london, an order of council fixed the rates which the hotel-keeper might charge for dinners. messes were served for four at twopence per head; the bill of fare providing bread, fish, salt and fresh, two courses of meat, ale, with fire and candles. and the care of the government did not cease with their meals, and in an anxiety that neither the burgesses nor their servants should be led into sin, stringent orders were issued against street-walkers coming near their quarters.--_guildhall mss. journals_ 12 and 15. the sanitary regulations for the city are peculiarly interesting. the scavengers, constables and officers of the wards were ordered, "on pain of death," to see all streets and yards kept clear of dung and rubbish and all other filthy and corrupt things. carts went round every monday, wednesday, and saturday, to carry off the litter from the houses, and on each of those days twelve buckets of water were drawn for "every person," and used in cleaning their rooms and passages. particular pains were taken to keep the thames clean, and at the mouth of every sewer or watercourse there was a strong iron grating two feet deep.--_guildhall mss. journal_ 15. [60] and not in england alone, but throughout europe. [61] 27 hen. viii. cap. 25. [62] ibid. [63] ibid. [64] 22 hen. viii. cap. 4; 28 hen. viii. cap. 5. [65] _statut. winton._ 13 edw. i. cap. 6. [66] 12 rich. ii. cap. 6: 11 hen. iv. cap. 4. [67] ellis's _original letters_, first series, vol. i. p. 226. [68] it has been stated again and again that the policy of henry the eighth was to make the crown despotic by destroying the remnants of the feudal power of the nobility. how is such a theory to be reconciled with statutes the only object of which was the arming and training of the country population, whose natural leaders were the peers, knights, and gentlemen? we have heard too much of this random declamation. [69] 33 hen. viii. cap. 9. [70] from my experience of modern archery i found difficulty in believing that these figures were accurately given. few living men could send the lightest arrow 220 yards, even with the greatest elevation, and for effective use it must be delivered nearly point blank. a passage in holinshed's _description of britain_, however, prevents me from doubting that the words of the statute are correct. in his own time, he says that the strength of the english archers had so notoriously declined that the french soldiers were in the habit of disrespectfully turning their backs, at long range, "bidding them shoot," whereas, says holinshed, "had the archers been what they were wont to be, these fellows would have had their breeches nailed unto their buttocks." in an order for bowstaves, in the reign of henry the eighth, i find this direction: "each bowstave ought to be _three fingers thick_ and squared, and _seven feet long_: to be got up well polished and without knots."--butler to bullinger: _zurich letters_. [71] page 735, quarto edition. [72] the personages, dresses, and properties of a mystery play, acted at greenwich, by command of henry viii. _rolls house ms._ [73] hall says "collar of the _garter_ of st. michael," which, however, i venture to correct. [74] rich. ii. 12, cap. 7, 8, 9; rich. ii. 15, cap. 6. [75] _lansdowne mss._ 1, fol. 26. [76] injunctions to the monasteries: burnet's _collect._ pp. 77-8. [77] letter of thomas dorset to the mayor of plymouth: _suppression of the monasteries_, p. 36. [78] "divers of your noble predecessors, kings of this realm, have given lands to monasteries, to give a certain sum of money yearly to the poor people, whereof for the ancienty of the time they never give one penny. wherefore, if your grace will build to your poor bedemen a sure hospital that shall never fail, take from them these things.... tie the holy idle thieves to the cart to be whipped, naked, till they fall to labour, that they, by their importunate begging take not away the alms that the good charitable people would give unto us sore, impotent, miserable people, your bedemen."--fish's _supplication_: foxe, vol. iv. p. 664. [79] 27 hen. viii. cap. 25. [80] roads, harbours, embankments, fortifications at dover and at berwick, etc.--strype's _memorials_, vol. 1. p. 326 and 419. [81] it is to be remembered that the criminal law was checked on one side by the sanctuary system, on the other by the practice of benefit of clergy. habit was too strong for legislation, and these privileges continued to protect criminals long after they were abolished by statute. there is abundant evidence that the execution of justice was as lax in practice as it was severe in theory. [82] 27 ed. iii. stat. 1; 38 ed. iii. stat. 2; 16 rich. cap. 5. [83] 25 ed. iii. stat. 4; stat. 5, cap. 22; 13 rich. ii. stat. 2, cap. 2; 2 hen. iv. cap. 3; 9 hen. iv. cap. 8. [84] see p. 42. [85] _lansdowne ms._ 1, fol. 26; stow's _chron._ ed. 1630, p. 338. [86] 2 hen. iv. cap. 3; 9 hen. iv. cap. 8. [87] 2 hen. iv. cap. 15. [88] hen. vii. cap. 4. among the miscellaneous publications of the record commission, there is a complaint presented during this reign, by the gentlemen and the farmers of carnarvonshire, accusing the clergy of systematic seduction of their wives and daughters. [89] hen. iv. cap. 15. [90] morton's _register_, ms. lambeth. see vol. ii. cap. 10, of the second edition of this work for the results of morton's investigation. [91] morton's _register_; and see wilkins's _concilia_, vol. iii. pp. 618-621. [92] quibus dominus intimavit qualis infamia super illos in dictâ civitate crescit quod complures eorundem tabernas pandoxatorias, sive caupones indies exerceant ibidem expectando fere per totum diem. quare dominus consuluit et monuit eosdem quod in posterum talia dimittant, et quod dimittant suos longos crines et induantur togis non per totum apertis. [93] the expression is remarkable. they were not to dwell on the offences of their brethren coram laicis qui semper clericis sunt infesti.--wilkins, vol. iii. p. 618. [94] johannes permissione divinâ cantuar. episcop. totius angliæ primas cum in præsenti convocatione pie et salubriter consideratum fuit quod nonnulli sacerdotes et alii clerici ejusdem nostræ provinciæ in sacris ordinibus constituti honestatem clericalem in tantum abjecerint ac in comâ tonsurâque et superindumentis suis quæ in anteriori sui parte totaliter aperta existere dignoscuntur, sic sunt dissoluti et adeo insolescant quod inter eos et alios laicos et sæculares viros nulla vel modica comæ vel habituum sive vestimentorum distinctio esse videatur quo fiet in brevi ut a multis verisimiliter formidatur quod sicut populus ita et sacerdos erit, et nisi celeriori remedio tantæ lasciviæ ecclesiasticarum personarum quanto ocyus obviemus et clericorum mores hujusmodi maturius compescamus, _ecclesia anglicana quæ superioribus diebus vitâ famâ et compositis moribus floruisse dignoscitur nostris temporibus quod deus avertat, præcipitanter ruet_; desiring, therefore, to find some remedy for these disorders, lest the blood of those committed to him should be required at his hands, the archbishop decrees and ordains,-ne aliquis sacerdos vel clericus in sacris ordinibus constitutus togam gerat nisi clausam a parte anteriori et non totaliter apertam neque utatur ense nec sicâ nec zonâ aut marcipio deaurato vel auri ornatum habente. incedent etiam omnes et singuli presbyteri et clerici ejusdem nostræ provinciæ coronas et tonsuras gerentes aures patentes ostendendo juxta canonicas sanctiones.--wilkins, vol. iii. p. 619. [95] see warham's _register_, ms. lambeth. [96] 21 hen. viii. cap. 13. [97] roy's _satire against the clergy_, written about 1528, is so plain-spoken, and goes so directly to the point of the matter, that it is difficult to find a presentable extract. the following lines on the bishops are among the most moderate in the poem:- "what are the bishops divines- yea, they can best skill of wines better than of divinity; lawyers are they of experience, and in cases against conscience they are parfet by practice. to forge excommunications, for tythes and decimations is their continual exercise. as for preaching they take no care, they would rather see a course at a hare; rather than to make a sermon to follow the chase of wild deer, passing the time with jolly cheer. among them all is common to play at the cards and dice; some of them are nothing nice both at hazard and momchance; they drink in golden bowls the blood of poor simple souls perishing for lack of sustenance. their hungry cures they never teach, nor will suffer none other to preach," etc. [98] latimer's _sermons_, pp. 70, 71. [99] a peculiarly hateful form of clerical impost, the priests claiming the last dress worn in life by persons brought to them for burial. [100] fitz james to wolsey, foxe, vol. iv. p. 196. [101] _supplication of the beggars_; foxe, vol. iv. p. 661. the glimpses into the condition of the monasteries which had been obtained in the imperfect visitation of morton, bear out the pamphleteer too completely. see chapter x. of this work, second edition. [102] foxe, vol. iv. p. 658. [103] 13 ric. ii. stat. ii. c. 2; 2 hen. iv. c. 3; 9 hen. iv. c. 8. lingard is mistaken in saying that the crown had power to dispense with these statutes. a dispensing power was indeed granted by the 12th of the 7th of ric. ii. but by the 2nd of the 13th of the same reign, the king is expressly and by name placed under the same prohibitions as all other persons. [104] hall, p. 784. [105] 25 hen. viii. c. 22. [106] 28 hen. viii. c. 24. speech of sir ralph sadler in parliament, _sadler papers_, vol. iii. p. 323. [107] nor was the theory distinctly admitted, or the claim of the house of york would have been unquestionable. [108] 25 hen. viii. c. 22, draft of the dispensation to be granted to henry viii. _rolls house ms._ it has been asserted by a writer in the _tablet_ that there is no instance in the whole of english history where the ambiguity of the marriage law led to a dispute of title. this was not the opinion of those who remembered the wars of the fifteenth century. "recens in quorundam vestrorum animis adhuc est illius cruenti temporis memoria," said henry viii. in a speech in council, "quod a ricardo tertio cum avi nostri materni edwardi quarti statum in controversiam vocâsset ejusque heredes regno atque vitâ privâsset illatum est."-wilkins's _concilia_, vol. iii. p. 714. richard claimed the crown on the ground that a precontract rendered his brother's marriage invalid, and henry vii. tacitly allowed the same doubt to continue. the language of the 22nd of the 25th of hen. viii. is so clear as to require no additional elucidation; but another distinct evidence of the belief of the time upon the subject is in one of the papers laid before pope clement. "constat, in ipso regno quam plurima gravissima bella sæpe exorta, confingentes ex justis et legitimis nuptiis quorundam angliæ regum procreatos illegitimos fore propter aliquod consangunitatis vel affinitatis confictum impedimentum et propterea inhabiles esse ad regni successionem."--_rolls house ms._; wilkins's _concilia_, vol. iii. p. 707. [109] 28 hen. viii. c. 24. [110] _appendix 2 to the third report of the deputy-keeper of the public records_, p. 241. [111] _sadler papers_, vol. iii. p. 323. [112] 28 hen. viii. c. 24. [113] _four years at the court of henry the eighth_, vol. ii. pp. 315-16. [114] sir charles brandon, created duke of suffolk, and married to mary tudor, widow of louis xii. [115] 28 hen. viii. c. 24. [116] the treaty was in progress from dec. 24, 1526, to march 2, 1527 [lord herbert, pp. 80, 81], and during this time the difficulty was raised. the earliest intimation which i find of an intended divorce was in june, 1527, at which time wolsey was privately consulting the bishops.--_state papers_ vol. i. p. 189. [117] it was for some time delayed; and the papal agent was instructed to inform ferdinand that a marriage which was at variance a jure et laudabilibus moribus could not be permitted nisi maturo consilio et necessitatis causâ.--minute of a brief of julius the second, dated march 13, 1504, _rolls house ms_. [118] lord herbert, p. 114. [119] lord herbert, p. 117, kennett's edition. the act itself is printed in burnet's _collectanea_, vol. iv. (nares' edition) pp. 5, 6. it is dated june 27, 1505. dr. lingard endeavours to explain away the renunciation as a form. the language of moryson, however, leaves no doubt either of its causes or its meaning. "non multo post sponsalia contrahuntur," he says, "henrico plus minus tredecim annos jam nato. sed rerum non recte inceptarum successus infelicior homines non prorsus oscitantes plerumque docet quid recte gestum quid perperam, quid factum superi volunt quid infectum. nimirum henricus septimus nullâ ægritudinis prospecta causâ repente in deteriorem valetudinem prolapsus est, nec unquam potuit affectum corpus pristinum statum recuperare. uxor in aliud ex alio malum regina omnium laudatissimia non multo post morbo periit. quid mirum si rex tot irati numinis indiciis admonitus coeperit cogitare rem male illis succedere qui vellent hoc nomine cum dei legibus litem instituere ut diutius cum homine amicitiam gerere possent. quid deinceps egit? quid aliud quam quod decuit christianissimum regem? filium ad se accersiri jubet, accersitur. adest, adsunt et multi nobilissimi homines. rex filium regno natum hortatur ut secum una cum doctissimis ac optimis viris cogitavit nefarium esse putare leges dei leges dei non esse cum papa volet. non ita longâ oratione usus filium patri obsequentissimum a sententiâ nullo negotio abduxit. sponsalia contracta infirmantur, pontificiæque auctoritatis beneficio palam renunciatum est. adest publicus tabellio--fit instrumentum. rerum gestarum testes rogati sigilla apponunt. postremo filius patri fidem se illam uxorem nunquam ducturum."--_apomaxis_ ricardi morysini. printed by berthelet, 1537. [120] see lingard, sixth edition, vol. iv. p. 164. [121] hall, p. 507. [122] he married catherine, june 3, 1509. early in the spring of 1510 she miscarried.--_four years at the court of henry viii._ vol. i. p. 83. jan. 1, 1511. a prince was born, who died feb. 22.--hall. nov. 1513. another prince was born, who died immediately.--lingard, vol. iv, p. 290. dec. 1514. badoer, the venetian ambassador, wrote that the queen had been delivered of a still-born male child, to the great grief of the whole nation. may 3, 1515. the queen was supposed to be pregnant. if the supposition was right, she must have miscarried.--_four years at the court of henry viii._ vol. i. p. 81. feb. 18, 1516. the princess mary was born. july 3, 1518. "the queen declared herself quick with child." (pace to wolsey: _state papers_, vol. i. p. 2,) and again miscarried. these misfortunes we are able to trace accidentally through casual letters, and it is probable that these were not all. henry's own words upon the subject are very striking:-"all such issue male as i have received of the queen died incontinent after they were born, so that i doubt the punishment of god in that behalf. thus being troubled in waves of a scrupulous conscience, and partly in despair of any issue male by her, it drove me at last to consider the estate of this realm, and the danger it stood in for lack of issue male to succeed me in this imperial dignity."--cavendish, p. 220. [123] "if a man shall take his brother's wife it is an unclean thing. he hath uncovered his brother's nakedness. they shall be childless."--_leviticus_ xx. 21. it ought to be remembered, that if the present law of england be right, the party in favour of the divorce was right. [124] _letters of the bishop of bayonne_, legrand, vol. iii. [125] legates to the pope, printed in burnet's _collectanea_, p. 40. [126] _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 117. [127] _letters of the bishop of bayonne_, legrand, vol. iii.; hall, 669. [128] they were shut up in the castle of st. angelo. [129] _state papers_, vol. vii. pp. 18, 19. [130] the fullest account of wolsey's intentions on church reform will be found in a letter addressed to him by fox, the old blind bishop of winchester, in 1528. the letter is printed in strype's _memorials eccles._ vol. i. appendix 10. [131] _letters of the bishop of bayonne_, legrand, vol. iii. it is not uncommon to find splendid imaginations of this kind haunting statesmen of the 16th century; and the recapture of constantinople always formed a feature in the picture. _a plan for the reformation of ireland_, drawn up in 1515, contains the following curious passage: "the prophecy is, that the king of england shall put this land of ireland into such order that the wars of the land, whereof groweth the vices of the same, shall cease for ever; and after that god shall give such grace and fortune to the same king that he shall with the army of england and of ireland subdue the realm of france to his obeysance for ever, and shall rescue the greeks, and recover the great city of constantinople, and shall vanquish the turks and win the holy cross and the holy land, and shall die emperor of rome, and eternal blisse shall be his end."--_state papers_, vol. ii. pp. 30, 31. [132] knight to henry: _state papers_, vol. vii. pp. 2, 3. [133] wolsey to cassalis: ibid. p. 26. [134] the dispensing power of the popes was not formally limited. according to the roman lawyers, a faculty lay with them of granting extraordinary dispensations in cases where dispensations would not be usually admissible--which faculty was to be used, however, dummodo causa cogat urgentissima ne regnum aliquod funditus pereat; the pope's business being to decide on the question of urgency.--sir gregory cassalis to henry viii., dec. 26, 1532. _rolls house ms._ [135] knight and cassalis to wolsey: burnet's _collect._ p. 12. [136] strype's _memorials_, vol. i., appendix p. 66. [137] sir f. bryan and peter vannes to henry; _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 144. [138] strype's _memorials_, appendix, vol. i. p. 100. [139] ibid. appendix, vol. i. pp. 105-6; burnet's _collectanea_, p. 13. [140] wolsey to the pope, burnet's _collectanea_, p. 16: vereor quod tamen nequeo tacere, ne regia majestas, humano divinoque jure quod habet ex omni christianitate suis his actionibus adjunctum freta, postquam viderit sedis apostolicæ gratiam et christi in terris vicarii clementiam desperatam cæsaris intuitu, in cujus manu neutiquam est tam sanctos conatus reprimere, ea tunc moliatur, ea suæ causæ perquirat remedia, quæ non solum huic regno sed etiam aliis christianis principibus occasionem subministrarent sedis apostolicæ auctoritatem et jurisdictionem imminuendi et vilipendendi. [141] burnet's _collectanea_, p. 20. wolsey to john cassalis: "if his holyness, which god forbid, shall shew himself unwilling to listen to the king's demands, to me assuredly it will be but grief to live longer, for the innumerable evils which i foresee will then follow. one only sure remedy remains to prevent the worst calamities. if that be neglected, there is nothing before us but universal and inevitable ruin." [142] gardiner and fox to wolsey; strype's _memorials_, vol. i. appendix, p. 92. [143] his holiness being yet in captivity, as he esteemed himself to be, so long as the almayns and spaniards continue in italy, he thought if he should grant this commission that he should have the emperour his perpetual enemy without any hope of reconciliation. notwithstanding he was content rather to put himself in evident ruin, and utter undoing, than the king or your grace shall suspect any point of ingratitude in him; heartily desiring with sighs and tears that the king and your grace which have been always fast and good to him, will not now suddenly precipitate him for ever: which should be done if immediately on receiving the commission your grace should begin process. he intendeth to save all upright thus. if m. de lautrec would set forwards, which he saith daily that he will do, but yet he doth not, at his coming the pope's holiness may have good colour to say, "he was required of the commission by the ambassador of england, and denying the same, he was, eftsoons, required by m. de lautrec to grant the said commission, inasmuch as it was but a letter of justice." and by this colour he would cover the matter so that it might appear unto the emperour that the pope did it not as he that would gladly do displeasure unto the emperour, but as an indifferent judge, that could not nor might deny justice, specially being required by such personages; and immediately he would despatch a commission bearing date after the time that m. de lautrec had been with him or was nigh unto him. the pope most instantly beseecheth your grace to be a mean that the king's highness may accept this in a good part, and that he will take patience for this little time, which, as it is supposed, will be but short.--knight to wolsey and the king, jan. 1, 1527-8: burnet _collections_, 12, 13. [144] such at least was the ultimate conclusion of a curious discussion. when the french herald declared war, the english herald accompanied him into the emperor's presence, and when his companion had concluded, followed up his words with an intimation that unless the french demands were complied with, england would unite to enforce them. the emperor replied to francis with defiance. to the english herald he expressed a hope that peace on that side would still be maintained. for the moment the two countries were uncertain whether they were at war or not. the spanish ambassador in london did not know, and the court could not tell him. the english ambassador in spain did not leave his post, but he was placed under surveillance. an embargo on spanish and english property was laid respectively in the ports of the two kingdoms; and the merchants and residents were placed under arrest. alarmed by the outcry in london, the king hastily concluded a truce with the regent of the netherlands, the language of which implied a state of war; but when peace was concluded between france and spain, england appeared only as a contracting party, not as a principal, and in 1542 it was decided that the antecedent treaties between england and the empire continued in force.--see lord herbert; holinshed; _state papers_, vols. vii. viii. and ix.; with the treaties in rymer, vol. vi. part 2. [145] gardiner to the king: burnet's _collectanea_, p. 426. [146] duke of suffolk to henry the eighth: _state papers_, vol. vii, p. 183. [147] duke of suffolk to henry viii.: _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 183. [148] hall, p. 744. [149] when the clothiers of essex, kent, wiltshire, suffolk, and other shires which are clothmaking, brought cloths to london to be sold, as they were wont, few merchants or none bought any cloth at all. when the clothiers lacked sale, then they put from them their spinners, carders, tuckers, and such others that lived by clothworking, which caused the people greatly to murmur, and specially in suffolk, for if the duke of norfolk had not wisely appeased them, no doubt but they had fallen to some rioting. when the king's council was advertised of the inconvenience, the cardinal sent for a great number of the merchants of london, and to them said, "sirs, the king is informed that you use not yourselves like merchants, but like graziers and artificers; for where the clothiers do daily bring cloths to the market for your ease, to their great cost, and then be ready to sell them, you of your wilfulness will not buy them, as you have been accustomed to do. what manner of men be you?" said the cardinal. "i tell you that the king straitly commandeth you to buy their cloths as beforetime you have been accustomed to do, upon pain of his high displeasure."--hall, p. 746. [150] legrand, vol. iii. p. 157. by manners and customs he was referring clearly to his intended reformation of the church. see the letter of fox, bishop of winchester (strype's _memorials_, vol. ii. p. 25), in which wolsey's intentions are dwelt upon at length. [151] ibid. pp. 136, 7. [152] _state papers_, vol. vii. pp. 96, 7. [153] wolsey to cassalis: ibid. p. 100. [154] state papers, vol. vii. pp. 106, 7 [155] ibid. p. 113. [156] ibid. vii. p. 113. [157] take the veil. [158] instruction to the ambassadours at rome: _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 136. [159] _letters of the bishop of bayanne_, legrand, vol. iii. [160] legrand, vol. iii. 231. [161] instrucion para gonzalo fernandez que se envoie a ireland al conde de desmond, 1529.--ms. archives at brussels.--_the pilgrim_, note 1, p. 169. [162] henrici regis octavi de repudiandâ dominâ catherinâ oratio idibus novembris habita 1528. veneranda et chara nobis præsulum procerum atque consiliariorum cohors quos communis reipublicæ atque regni nostri administrandi cura conjunxit. haud vos latet divinâ nos providentiâ viginti jam ferme annis hanc nostram patriam tantâ felicitate rexisse ut in illâ ab hostilibus incursionibus tuta semper interea fuerit et nos in his bellis quæ suscepimus victores semper evasimus; et quanquam in eo gloriâri jure possumus majorem tranquillitatem opes et honores prioribus huc usque ductis socculis, nunquam subditis a majoribus parentibusque nostris angliâ regibus quam a nobis provenisse, tamen quando cum hâc gloriâ in mentem una venit ac concurrit mortis cogitatio, veremur ne nobis sine prole legitimâ decedentibus majorem ex morte nostrâ patiamini calamitatem quam ex vitâ fructum ac emolumentum percepistis. recens enim in quorundam vestrorum animis adhuc est illius cruenti temporis memoria quod a ricardo tertio cum avi nostri materni edwardi quarti statum in controversiam vocasset ejusque heredes regno atque vitâ privâsset illatum est. tum ex historiis notæ sunt illæ diræ strages quæ a clarissimis angliæ gentibus eboracensi atque lancastrensi, dum inter se de regno et imperio multis ævis contenderent, populo evenerunt. ac illæ ex justis nuptiis inter henricum septimum et dominam elizabetham clarissimos nostros parentes contractis in nobis inde legitimâ natâ sobole sopitæ tandem desierunt. si vero quod absit, regalis ex nostris nuptiis stirps quæ jure deinceps regnare possit non nascatur, hoc regnum civilibus atque intestinis se versabit tumultibus aut in exterorum dominationem atque potestatem veniet. nam quanquam formâ atque venustate singulari, quæ magno nobis solatio fuit filiam dominam mariam ex nobilissimâ foeminâ dominâ catherinâ procreavimus, tamen a piis atque eruditis theologis nuper accepimus quia eam quæ arturi fratris nostri conjux ante fuerat uxorem duximus nostras nuptias jure divino esse vetitas, partumque inde editum non posse censeri legitimum. id quod eo vehementius nos angit et excruciat, quod cum superiori anno legatos ad conciliandas inter aureliensem ducem et filiam nostram mariam nuptias ad franciscum gallorum regem misissemus a quodam ejus consiliario responsum est, "antequam de hujusmodi nuptiis agatum inquirendum esse prius an maria fuerit filia nostra legitima; constat enim 'inquit,' quod exdominâ catherinâ fratris sui viduâ cujusmodi nuptiæ jure divino interdictæ sunt suscepta est." quæ oratio quanto metu ac horrore animum nostrum turbaverit quia res ipsa æternæ tam animi quam corporis salutis periculum in se continet, et quam perplexis cogitationibus conscientiam occupat, vos quibus et capitis aut fortunæ ac multo magis animarum jactura immineret, remedium nisi adhibere velitis, ignorare non posse arbitror. hæc una res--quod deo teste et in regis oraculo affirmamus--nos impulit ut per legatos doctissimorum per totum orbem christianum theologorum sententias exquireremus et romani pontificis legatum verum atque æquum judicium de tantâ causâ laturum ut tranquillâ deinceps et intergâ conscientiâ in conjugio licito vivere possimus accerseremus. in quo si ex sacris litteris hoc quo viginti jam fere annis gavisi sumus matrimonium jure divino permissum esse manifeste liquidoque constabit, non modo ob conscientiæ tranquillitatem, verum etiam ob amabiles mores virtutesque quibus regina prædita et ornata est, nihil optatius nihilque jucundius accidere nobis potest. nam præterquam quod regali atque nobili genere prognata est, tantâ præterea comitate et obsequio conjugali tum cæteris animi morumque ornamentis quæ nobilitatem illustrant omnes foeminas his viginti annis sic mihi anteire visa est ut si a conjugio liber essem ac solutus, si jure divino liceret, hanc solam præ cæteris foeminis stabili mihi jure ac foedere matrimoniali conjungerem. si vero in hoc judicio matrimonium nostrum jure divino prohibitum, ideoque ab initio nullum irritumque fuisse pronuncietur, infelix hic meus casus multis lacrimis lugendus ac deplorandus erit. non modo quod a tam illustris et amabilis mulieris consuetudine et consortio divertendum sit, sed multo magis quod specie ad similitudinem veri conjugii decepti in amplexibus plusquam fornicariis tam multos annos trivimus nullâ legitimâ prognatâ nobis sobole quæ nobis mortuis hujus inclyti regni hereditatem capessat. hæ nostræ curæ istæque solicitudines sunt quæ mentem atque conscientiam nostram dies noctesque torquent et excurciant, quibus auferendis et profligandis remedium ex hâc legatione et judicio opportunum quærimus. ideoque vos quorum virtuti atque fidei multum attribuimus rogamus ut certum atque genuinum nostrum de hâc re sensum quem ex nostro sermone percepistis populo declaretis: eumque excitetis ut nobiscum una oraret ut ad conscientiæ nostræ pacem atque tranquillitatem in hoc judicio veritas multis jam annis tenebris involuta tandem patefiat.--wilkins's _concilia_, vol. iii. p. 714. [163] hall, _letters of the bishop of bayonne_, legrand, vol. iii. [164] legrand, vol. iii. [165] ibid. vol. iii. pp. 232, 3. [166] _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 120; ibid. p. 186. [167] burnet's _collectanea_, p. 41. [168] _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 193. [169] the emperor could as little trust clement as the english, and to the last moment could not tell how he would act. "il me semble," wrote inigo di mendoza to charles on the 17th of june, 1529,--"il me semble que sa sainteté differe autant qu'il peut ce qu' auparavant il avoit promis, et je crains qu'il n'ait ordonné aux legatz ce qui jusques à present avoit resté en suspens qu'ils procedent par la première commission. ce qui faisant votre majesté peut tenir la reine autant que condamné."--_ms. archives at brussels._ the sort of influence to which the see of rome was amenable appears in another letter to the emperor, written from rome itself on the 4th of october. the pope and cardinals, it is to be remembered, were claiming to be considered the supreme court of appeal in christendom. "si je ne m'abuse tous ou la pluspart du saint college sont plus affectionnez à vostre dite majesté que à autre prince chrestien: de vous escrire, sire, particulièrement toutes leurs responses seroit chose trop longue. tant y a que elles sont telles que votre majesté a raison doubt grandement se contenter d'icelles. "... seulement diray derechief à vostre majesté, et me souvient l'avoir dict plusieurs fois, qu'il est en vostre majesté gaigner et entretenir perpetuellement ce college en vostre devotion en distribuant seulement entre les principaulx d'eulx en pensions et benefices la somme de vingt mille ducas, l'ung mille, l'autre deulx ou trois mille. et est cecy chose, sire, que plus vous touche que à autre prince chrestien pour les affaires que vostre majesté a journellement à despescher en ceste court."--m. de præt to charles v. august 5th, 1529. ms. ibid. [170] legrand, vol. iii. p. 377. [171] ibid. vol. iii. p. 374. [172] ibid. vol. iii. p. 355. [173] ibid. [174] memorandum relating to the society of christian brethren. _rolls house ms._ [175] dalaber's _narrative_, printed in foxe, vol. iv. seeley's ed. [176] all authorities agree in the early account of henry, and his letters provide abundant proof that it is not exaggerated. the following description of him in the despatches of the venetian ambassador shows the effect which he produced on strangers in 1515:-"assuredly, most serene prince, from what we have seen of him, and in conformity, moreover, with the report made to us by others, this most serene king is not only very expert in arms and of great valour and most excellent in his personal endowments, but is likewise so gifted and adorned with mental accomplishments of every sort, that we believe him to have few equals in the world. he speaks english, french, latin, understands italian well; plays almost on every instrument; sings and composes fairly; is prudent, and sage, and free from every vice."--_four years at the court of henry viii._ vol. i. p. 76. four years later, the same writer adds,-"the king speaks good french, latin, and spanish; is very religious; hears three masses a day when he hunts, and sometimes five on other days; he hears the office every day in the queen's chamber--that is to say, vespers and complins."--ibid. vol. ii. p. 312. william thomas, who must have seen him, says, "of personage he was one of the goodliest men that lived in his time; being high of stature, in manner more than a man, and proportionable in all his members unto that height; of countenance he was most amiable; courteous and benign in gesture unto all persons and specially unto strangers; seldom or never offended with anything; and of so constant a nature in himself that i believe few can say that ever he changed his cheer for any novelty how contrary or sudden so ever it were. prudent he was in council and forecasting; most liberal in rewarding his faithful servants, and even unto his enemies, as it behoveth a prince to be. he was learned in all sciences, and had the gift of many tongues. he was a perfect theologian, a good philosopher, and a strong man at arms, a jeweller, a perfect builder as well of fortresses as of pleasant palaces, and from one to another there was no necessary kind of knowledge, from a king's degree to a carter's, but he had an honest sight in it."--_the pilgrim_ p. 78. [177] exposition of the commandments, set forth by royal authority, 1536. this treatise was drawn up by the bishops, and submitted to, and revised by, the king. [178] sagudino's _summary. four years at the court of henry viii._ vol. ii. p. 75. [179] "the truth is, when i married my wife, i had but fifty pounds to live on for me and my wife so long as my father lived, and yet she brought me forth every year a child."--earl of wiltshire to cromwell: ellis, third series, vol. iii. pp. 22, 3. [180] burnet, vol. i. p. 69. [181] thomas allen to the earl of shrewsbury: lodge's _illustrations_, vol. i. p. 20. [182] earl of northumberland to cromwell: printed by lord herbert and by burnet. [183] 28 hen. viii. cap. 7. [184] since these words were written, i have discovered among the archives of simancas what may perhaps be some clue to the mystery, in an epitome of a letter written to charles v. from london in may, 1536:--"his majesty has letters from england of the 11th of may, with certain news that the paramour of the king of england, who called herself queen, has been thrown into the tower of london for adultery. the partner of her guilt was an organist of the privy chamber, who is in the tower as well. an officer of the king's wardrobe has been arrested also for the same offence with her, and one of her brothers for having been privy to her offences without revealing them. they say, too, that if the adultery had not been discovered, the king was determined to put her away, having been informed by competent witnesses that she was married and had consummated her marriage nine years before, with the earl of northumberland." [185] ellis, third series, vol. ii. p. 131. [186] wyatt's memorials, printed in singer's cavendish, p. 420. [187] ellis, third series, vol. ii. p. 132. [188] ellis, first series, vol. i. p. 135. "my lord, in my most humblest wise that my poor heart can think, i do thank your grace for your kind letter, and for your rich and goodly present; the which i shall never be able to deserve without your great help; of the which i have hitherto had so great plenty, that all the days of my life i am most bound of all creatures, next to the king's grace, to love and serve your grace. of the which i beseech you never to doubt that ever i shall vary from this thought as long as any breath is in my body." [189] cavendish _life of wolsey,_ p. 316. singer's edition. [190] cavendish, pp. 364, 5. [191] _letters of the bishop of bayonne_, legrand, vol. iii. pp. 368, 378, etc. [192] see hale's _criminal causes from the records of the consistory court of london._ [193] petition of the commons, infra, p. 191, etc. [194] reply of the ordinaries to the petition of the commons, infra, p. 202, etc. [195] petition of the commons. 23 hen. viii. c. 9. [196] hale's _criminal causes,_ p.4. [197] an act that no person committing murder, felony, or treason should be admitted to his clergy under the degree of sub-deacon. [198] in may, 1528, the evil had become so intolerable, that wolsey drew the pope's attention to it. priests, he said, both secular and regular, were in the habit of committing atrocious crimes, for which, if not in orders, they would have been promptly executed; and the laity were scandalised to see such persons not only not degraded, but escaping with complete impunity. clement something altered the law of degradation in consequence of this representation, but quite inadequately.--rymer, vol. vi. part 2, p. 96. [199] thomas cowper et ejus uxor margarita pronubæ horribiles, et instigant mulieres ad fornicandum cum quibuscunque laicis, religiosis, fratribus minoribus, et nisi fornicant in domo suâ ipsi diffamabunt nisi voluerint dare eis ad voluntatem eorum; et vir est pronuba uxori, et vult relinquere eam apud fratres minores pro peccatis habendis.--hale, _criminal causes,_ p. 9. joanna cutting communis pronuba at præsertim inter presbyteros fratres monachos et canonicos et etiam inter thomam peise et quandam agnetam, etc.--hale, _criminal causes,_ p. 28. see also ibid. pp. 15, 22, 23, 39, etc. in the first instance the parties accused "made their purgation" and were dismissed. the exquisite corruption of the courts, instead of inviting evidence and sifting accusations, allowed accused persons to support their own pleas of not guilty by producing four witnesses, not to disprove the charges, but to swear that they believed the charges untrue. this was called "purgation." clergy, it seems, were sometimes allowed to purge themselves simply on their own word.--hale, p. 22; and see the preamble of the 1st of the 23rd of henry viii. [200] complaints of iniquities arising from confession were laid before parliament as early as 1394. "auricularis confessio quæ dicitur tam necessaria ad salvationem hominis, cum fictâ potestate absolutionis exaltat superbiam sacerdotum, et dat illis opportunitatem secretarum sermocinationum quas nos nolumus dicere, quia domini et dominæ attestantur quod pro timore confessorum suorum non audent dicere veritatem; et in tempore confessionis est opportunum tempus procationis id est of wowing et aliarum secretarum conventionum ad peccata mortalia. ipsi dicunt quod sunt commissarii dei ad judicandum de omni peccato perdonandum et mundandum quemcunque eis placuerint. dicunt quod habent claves coeli et inferni et possunt excommunicare et benedicere ligare et solvere in voluntatem eorum; in tantum quod pro bussello vel 12 denariis volunt vendere benedictionem coeli per chartam et clausulam de warrantiâ sigillitâ sigillo communi. ista conclusio sic est in usu quod non eget probatione aliquâ."--extract from a petition presented to parliament: wilkins, vol. iii. p. 221. this remarkable paper ends with the following lines:- "plangunt anglorum gentes crimen sodomorum paulus fert horum sunt idola causa malorum surgunt ingrati giezitæ simone nati nomine prælati hoc defensare parati qui reges estis populis quicunque præstis qualiter his gestis gladios prohibere potestis." see also hale, p. 42, where an abominable instance is mentioned, and a still worse in the _suppression of the monasteries,_ pp. 45-50. [201] hale, p. 12. [202] ibid. pp. 75, 83; _suppression of the monasteries,_ p. 47. [203] ibid. p. 80. [204] ibid. p. 83. [205] i have been taunted with my inability to produce more evidence. for the present i will mention two additional instances only, and perhaps i shall not be invited to swell the list further. 1. in the state paper office is a report to cromwell by adam bekenshaw, one of his diocesan visitors, in which i find this passage:-"there be knights and divers gentlemen in the diocese of chester who do keep concubines and do yearly compound with the officials for a small sum without monition to leave their naughty living." 2. in another report i find also the following:-"the names of such persons as be permitted to live in adultery and fornication for money:- "the vicar of ledbury. the vicar of brasmyll. the vicar of stow. the vicar of cloune. the parson of wentnor. the parson of rusbury. the parson of plowden. the dean of pountsbury. the parson of stratton. sir matthew of montgomery. sir ---of lauvange. sir john brayle. sir morris of clone. sir adam of clone. sir pierce of norbury. sir gryffon ap egmond. sir john orkeley. sir john of mynton. sir john reynolds. sir morris of knighton, priest. hugh davis. cadwallader ap gern. edward ap meyrick. with many others of the diocese of hereford." the originals of both these documents are in the state paper office. there are copies in the bodleian library.--_ms. tanner,_ 105. [206] skelton gives us a specimen of the popular criticisms:- "thus i, colin clout, as i go about, and wondering as i walk, i hear the people talk: men say for silver and gold mitres are bought and sold: a straw for goddys curse, what are they the worse? "what care the clergy though gill sweat, or jack of the noke? the poor people they yoke with sumners and citacions, and excommunications. about churches and markets the bishop on his carpets at home soft doth sit. this is a fearful fit, to hear the people jangle. how wearily they wrangle! but doctor bullatus "parum litteratus, dominus doctoratus at the broad gate-house. doctor daupatus and bachelor bacheleratus, drunken as a mouse at the ale-house, taketh his pillion and his cap at the good ale-tap, for lack of good wine. as wise as robin swine, under a notary's sign, was made a divine; as wise as waltham's calf, must preach in goddys half; in the pulpit solemnly; more meet in a pillory; for by st. hilary he can nothing smatter of logic nor school matter. "such temporal war and bate as now is made of late against holy church estate, or to mountain good quarrels; the laymen call them barrels full of gluttony and of hypocrisy, that counterfeits and paints as they were very saints. "by sweet st. marke, this is a wondrous warke, that the people talk this. somewhat there is amiss. the devil cannot stop their mouths, but they will talk of such uncouths all that ever they ken against spiritual men." i am unable to quote more than a few lines from roy's _satire_. at the close of a long paragraph of details an advocate of the clergy ventures to say that the bad among them are a minority. his friend answers:- "make the company great or small, among a thousand find thou shall scant one chaste of body or mind." [207] answer of the bishops to the commons' petition: _rolls house ms._ [208] joanna leman notatur officio quod non venit ad ecclesiam parochialem; et dicit se nolle accipere panem benedictum a manibus rectoris; et vocavit eum "horsyn preste."--hale, p. 99. [209] hale, p. 63. [210] ibid. p. 98. [211] ibid. p. 38. [212] ibid. p. 67. [213] ibid. p. 100. [214] cavendish, _life of wolsey_, p. 251. [215] hall, p. 764. [216] ibid. p. 764. [217] _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 361. [218] 6 hen. viii. cap. 16. [219] the session lasted six weeks only, and several of the subjects of the petition were disposed of in the course of it, as we shall see. [220] the ms. from which i have transcribed this copy is itself imperfect, as will be seen in the "reply of the bishops," which supplies several omitted articles. see p. 137, et seq. it is in the rolls house. [221] the penny, as i have shown, equalled, in terms of a poor man's necessities, a shilling. see chap. i. [222] see instance's in hale: p, 62, _omnium sanctorum in muro_.--m. gulielmus edward curatus notatur officio quod recusat ministrare sacramenta ecelesiastica ægrotantibus nisi prius habitis pecuniis pro suo labore: p. 64, _st. mary magdalen_.--curatus notatur officio prbpter quod recusavit solemnizare matrrimonium quousque habet pro hujusmodi solemnizatione, _3s. 8d._; and see pp. 52, 75. [223] i give many instances of this practice in my sixth chapter. it was a direct breach of the statute of henry iv., which insists on all examinations for heresy being conducted in open court. "the diocesan and his commissaries," says that act, "shall openly and judicially proceed against persons arrested."--2 hen. iv. c. 15. [224] again breaking the statute of hen. iv., which limited the period of imprisonment previous to public trial to three months.--2 hen. iv. c. 15. [225] to be disposed of at smithfield. abjuration was allowed once. for a second offence there was no forgiveness. [226] petition of the commons. _rolls house ms._ [227] see strype, _eccles. memorials_, vol. i. p. 191-2,--who is very eloquent in his outcries upon his subject. [228] _answer of the bishops_, p. 204, etc. [229] explanations are not easy; but the following passage may suggest the meaning of the house of commons:--"the holy father prior of maiden bradley hath but six children, and but one daughter married yet of the goods of the monastery; trusting shortly to marry the rest."--dr. leyton to cromwell: _suppression of the monasteries_, p. 58. [230] reply of the bishops, infra. [231] cavendish, _life of wolsey_, p. 390. more's _life of more_, p. 109. [232] populus diu oblatrans. fox to wolsey. strype, _eccl. mem._ vol. i. appendix, p. 27. [233] rymer, vol. vi. part 2, p. 119. [234] the answer of the ordinaries to the supplication of the worshipful the commons of the lower house of parliament offered to our sovereign lord the king's most noble grace.--_rolls house ms._ [235] the terms of the several articles of complaint are repeated verbally from the petition. i condense them to spare recapitulation. [236] 2 hen. iv. cap. 15; 2 hen. v. cap. 7. [237] an act that no person shall be cited out of the diocese in which he dwells, except in certain cases. it received the royal assent two years later. see 23 hen. viii. cap. 9. [238] 21 hen. viii. cap. 5. an act concerning fines and sums of money to be taken by the ministers of bishops and other ordinaries of holy church for the probate of testaments. [239] hale, _precedents_, p. 86. [240] ibid. [241] 21 hen. viii. cap. 6. an act concerning the taking of mortuaries, or demanding, receiving, or claiming the same. in scotland the usual mortuary was, a cow and the uppermost cloth or counterpane on the bed in which the death took place. a bishop reprimanding a suspected clergyman for his leaning toward the reformation, said to him:-"my joy, dean thomas, i am informed that ye preach the epistle and gospel every sunday to your parishioners, and that ye take not the cow nor the upmost cloth from your parishioners; which thing is very prejudicial to the churchmen. and therefore, dean thomas, i would ye took your cow and upmost cloth, or else it is too much to preach every sunday, for in so doing ye may make the people think we should preach likewise."--calderwood, vol. i. p. 126. the bishop had to burn dean thomas at last, being unable to work conviction into him in these matters. [242] 21 hen. viii. cap. 13. an act that no spiritual person shall take farms; or buy and sell for lucre and profit; or keep tan-houses or breweries. and for pluralities of benefices and for residence. [243] hall, p. 767. [244] ibid. 766 [245] ibid. 767. [246] ibid. 766. [247] ibid. 768. [248] so reluctant was he, that at one time he had resolved, rather than compromise the unity of christendom, to give way. when the disposition of the court of rome was no longer doubtful, "his difficultatibus permotus, cum in hoc statu res essent, dixerunt qui ejus verba exceperunt, post profundam secum de universo negotio deliberationem et mentis agitationem, tandem in hæc verba prorupisse, se primum tentâsse illud divortium persuasum ecclesiam romanam hoc idem probaturum--quod si ita ilia abhorreret ab illâ sententiâ ut nullo modo permittendum censeret se nolle cum eâ contendere neque amplius in illo negotio progredi." pole, on whose authority we receive these words, says that they were heard with almost unanimous satisfaction at the council board. the moment of hesitation was, it is almost certain, at the crisis which preceded or attended wolsey's fall. it endured but for three days, and was dispelled by the influence of cromwell, who tempted both the king and parliament into their fatal revolt.--poli _apologia ad carolum quintum_. [249] legrand, vol. iii. p. 446. the censures were threatened in the first brief, but the menace was withdrawn under the impression that it was not needed. [250] ibid. the second brief is dated march 7, and declares that the king, if he proceeds, shall incur ipso facto the greater excommunication; that the kingdom will fall under an interdict. [251] cranmer was born in 1489, and was thus forty years old when he first emerged into eminence. [252] _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 226. [253] je croy qu'il ne feist en sa vie ceremonie qui luy touchast si prés du coeur, ne dont je pense qu'il luy doive advenir moins du bien. car aucunes fois qu'il pensoit qu'on ne le regardast, il faisoit de si grands soupirs que pour pesante que fust sa chappe, il la faisoit bransler à bon escient.--_lettre de m. de gramont, evêque de tarbès._ legrand, vol. iii. p. 386. [254] ellis, _third series_, vol. ii. p. 98. "in the letters showed us by m. de buclans from the emperor, of the which mention was made in ciphers, it was written in terms that the french king would offer unto your grace the papalite of france vel patriarchate, for the french men would no more obey the church of rome."--lee to wolsey. [255] a ce qu'il m'en a declaré des fois plus de trois en secret, il seroit content que le dit mariage fust ja faict, ou par dispense du legat d'angleterre ou autrement; mais que ce ne fust par son autorité, in aussi diminuant sa puissance, quant aux dispenses, et limitation de droict divin.--_dechiffrement de lettres de m. de tarbès._--legrand, vol. iii. p. 408. [256] legrand, vol. iii. p. 408. [257] _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 230. [258] the bishop of tarbès to the king of france. legrand, vol. iii. p. 401. [259] _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 234. [260] ibid. p. 235. [261] we demand a service of you which it is your duty to concede; and your first thought is lest you should offend the emperor. we do not blame _him_. that in such a matter he should be influenced by natural affection is intelligible and laudable. but for that very reason we decline to submit to so partial a judgment.--henry viii. to the pope: burnet's _collectanea_, p. 431. [262] legrand, vol. iii. p. 394. [263] _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 317. [264] for croke's mission, see burnet, vol. i. p. 144 e. [265] _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 241. [266] friar pallavicino to the bishop of bath. _rolls house ms._ [267] croke and omnibow to the king. _rolls house ms._ [268] generalis magister nostri ordinis mandavit omnibus suæ religionis professoribus, ut nullus audeat de auctoritate pontificis quicquam loqui. denique orator cæsareus in talia verba prorupit, quibus facile cognovi ut me a pontifice vocari studeat et tunc timendum esset saluti meæ. father omnibow to henry viii. _rolls house ms._ [269] burnet's _collect._ p. 50. burnet labours to prove that on henry's side there was no bribery, and that the emperor was the only offender; an examination of many ms. letters from croke and other agents in italy leads me to believe that, although the emperor only had recourse to intimidation, because he alone was able to practise it, the bribery was equally shared between both parties. [270] legrand, vol. iii. p. 458. the grand master to the king of france:--de l'autre part, adventure il n'est moins a craindre, que le roy d'angleterre, irrité de trop longues dissimulations, trouvast moyen de parvenir a ses intentions du consentement de l'empereur, et que par l'advenement d'un tiers _se fissent ami, herode et pilate_. [271] ibid. vol. iii. p. 467, etc. [272] letter from the king of france to the president of the parliament of paris. _rolls house ms._ [273] letter from reginald pole to henry viii. _rolls house ms._ [274] pole to henry viii. _rolls house ms._ [275] burnet, _collectanea_, p. 429. [276] _state papers_, vol. i. p. 377. [277] burnet's _collectanea_, p. 436; _state papers_, vol. i. p. 378. [278] it is not good to stir a hornet's nest. [279] burnet's _collectanea_, p. 431. [280] ibid. p. 48. [281] preface to latimer's _sermons_. parker society's edition, p. 3. [282] "king harry loved a man," was an english proverb to the close of the century. see sir robert naunton's _fragmenta regalia_, london, 1641, p. 14. [283] sir george throgmorton, who distinguished himself by his opposition to the reformation in the house of commons. [284] burnet's _collect_, p. 429. [285] _a glasse of truth._ [286] ibid. p. 144. [287] 35 ed. i.; 25 ed. iii. stat. 4; stat. 5, cap. 22; 27 ed. iii. stat. 1; 13 ric. ii. stat. 2, cap. 2; 16 ric. ii. cap. 5; 9 hen. iv. cap. 8. [288] cavendish, p. 276. gardiner has left some noticeable remarks on this subject. "whether," he says, "a king may command against a common law or an act of parliament, there is never a judge or other man in the realm ought to know more by experience of that the laws have said than i. "first, my lord cardinal, that obtained his legacy by our late sovereign lord's requirements at rome, yet, because it was against the laws of the realm, the judges concluded the offence of premunire, which matter i bare away, and took it for a law of the realm, because the lawyers said so, but my reason digested it not. the lawyers, for confirmation of their doings, brought in the case of lord tiptoft. an earl he was, and learned in the civil laws, who being chancellor, because in execution of the king's commandment he offended the laws of the realm, suffered on tower hill. they brought in examples of many judges that had fines set on their heads in like cases for transgression of laws by the king's commandment, and this i learned in that case. "since that time being of the council, when many proclamations were devised against the carriers out of corn, when it came to punish the offender, the judges would answer it might not be by the law, because the act of parliament gave liberty, wheat being under a price. whereupon at last followed the act of proclamations, in the passing whereof were many large words spoken." after mentioning other cases, he goes on:-"i reasoned once in the parliament house, where there was free speech without danger, and the lord audely, to satisfy me, because i was in some secret estimation, as he knew, 'thou art a good fellow, bishop,' quoth he; 'look at the act of supremacy, and there the king's doings be restrained to spiritual jurisdiction; and in another act no spiritual law shall have place contrary to a common law, or an act of parliament. and this were not,' quoth he, 'you bishops would enter in with the king, and by means of his supremacy order the laws as ye listed. but we will provide,' quoth he, 'that the premunire shall never go off your heads.' this i bare away then, and held my peace."--gardiner to the protector somerset: _ms. harleian_, 417. [289] 13 ric. ii. stat. 2, cap. 2. et si le roi envoie par lettre on en autre maniere a la courte du rome al excitacion dascune person, parount que la contrarie de cest estatut soit fait touchant ascune dignité de sainte eglise, si celuy qui fait tiel excitacion soit prelate de sainte eglise, paie au roy le value de ses temporalitees dun an. the petition of parliament which occasioned the statute is even more emphatic: perveuz tout foitz que par nulle traite ou composition a faire entre le seint pere le pape et notre seigneur le roy que riens soit fait a contraire en prejudice de cest estatute a faire. et si ascune seigneur espirituel ou temporel ou ascune persone quiconque de qu'elle condition q'il soit, enforme, ensence ou excite le roi ou ses heirs, l'anientiser, adnuller ou repeller cest estatut a faire, et de ceo soit atteint par due proces du loy que le seigneur espirituel eit la peyne sus dite, etc.--_rolls of parliament_, ric. ii. 13. [290] even further, as chancellor the particular duty had been assigned to him of watching over the observance of the act. et le chancellor que pur le temps serra a quelle heure que pleint a luy ou a conseill le roy soit fait d'ascunes des articles sus ditz par ascune persone que pleindre soy voudra granta briefs sur le cas ou commissions a faire au covenables persones, d'oier et terminer les ditz articles sur peyne de perdre son office et jamais estre mys en office le roy et perdre mille livres a lever a l'oeps le roy si de ce soit atteint par du proces.--_rolls of parliament_, ric. ii. 13. [291] burnet, vol. iii. p. 77. see a summary of the acts of this convocation in a sermon of latimer's preached before the two houses in 1536. latimer's _sermons_, p. 45. [292] the king, considering what good might come of reading of the new testament and following the same; and what evil might come of the reading of the same if it were evil translated, and not followed; came into the star chamber the five-and-twentieth day of may; and then communed with his council and the prelates concerning the cause. and after long debating, it was alleged that the translations of tyndal and joy were not truly translated, and also that in them were prologues and prefaces that sounded unto heresy, and railed against the bishops uncharitably. wherefore all such books were prohibited, and commandment given by the king to the bishops, that they, calling to them the best learned men of the universities, should cause a new translation to be made, so that the people should not be ignorant of the law of god.--hall, p. 771. and see warham's _register_ for the years 1529-1531. ms. lambeth. [293] 22 hen. viii. cap. 15. [294] burnet, vol. iii. p. 78. [295] _state papers_, vol. vii. 457. [296] memoranda relating to the clergy: _rolls house ms._ [297] burnet, vol. iii. p. 80. [298] the king's highness, having always tender eyes with mercy and pity and compassion towards his spiritual subjects, minding of his high goodness and great benignity so always to impart the same unto them, as justice being duly administered, all rigour be excluded; and the great benevolent minds of his said subjects [having been] largely and many times approved towards his highness, and specially in their convocation and synod now presently being in the chapter house of westminster, his highness, of his said benignity and high liberality, in consideration that the said convocation has given and granted unto him a subsidy of one hundred thousand pounds, is content to grant his general pardon to the clergy and the province of canterbury, for all offences against the statute and premunire.--22 hen. viii. cap. 15. [299] burnet, vol. 1. p. 185. [300] an instance is reported in the chronicle of the grey friars ten years previously. the punishment was the same as that which was statutably enacted in the case of rouse. [301] hall, p. 781. [302] most shocking when the _wrong persons_ were made the victims; and because clerical officials were altogether incapable of detecting the _right persons_, the memory of the practice has become abhorrent to all just men. i suppose, however, that, if the _right persons_ could have been detected, even the stake itself would not have been too tremendous a penalty for the destroying of human souls. [303] 22 hen. viii. cap. 10. [304] see a very curious pamphlet on this subject, by sir francis palgrave. it is called _the confessions of richard bishop, robert seymour, and sir edward neville, before the privy council, touching prophecie, necromancy, and treasure-trove_. [305] miscellaneous depositions on the state of the country: _rolls house ms._ [306] see the preamble of the bill against conjurations, witchcraft, sorceries, and enchantments.--33 hen. viii. cap. 8. also "the bill touching prophecies upon arms and badges."--33 hen. viii. cap. 14. a similar edict expelled the gipsies from germany. at the diet of spires, june 10, 1544. statutum est ne vagabundum hominum genus quos vulgo saracenos vocant per germaniam oberrare sinatur _usu enim compertum est eos exploratores et proditores esse.--state papers_, vol. ix. p. 705. [307] ellis, first series, vol. ii. p. 101. [308] bulla pro johanne scot, qui sine cibo et potu per centum et sex dies vixerat.--rymer, vol. vi. part 2, p. 176. [309] buchanan, _history of scotland_, vol. ii. p. 156. [310] _letter of archbishop cranmer._--ellis, second series, vol. ii. p. 314. [311] _statutes of the realm._ 25 hen. viii. cap. 12. [312] extracts from a narrative containing an account of elizabeth barton: _rolls house ms._ [313] _statutes of the realm._ [314] _rolls house ms._ [315] ibid. [316] _suppression of the monasteries_, p. 19. [317] ibid. [318] proceedings connected with elizabeth barton: _rolls house ms._ [319] 25 hen. viii. cap. 12. [320] ibid. [321] ibid. [322] _cranmer's letter._ ellis, third series, vol. iii. p. 315. [323] more to cromwell: burnet's _collectanea_, p. 350. [324] 25 hen. viii. cap. 12. [325] confessions of elizabeth barton: _rolls house ms._ sir thomas more gave her a double ducat to pray for him and his. burnet's _collectanea_, p. 352. moryson, in his _apomaxis_, declares that she had a regular understanding with the confessors at the priory. when penitents came to confess, they were detained while a priest conveyed what they had acknowledged to the nun; and when afterwards they were admitted to her presence, she amazed them with repeating their own confessions. [326] the said elizabeth subtilly and craftily conceiving the opinion and mind of the said edward bocking, willing to please him, revealed and showed unto the said edward that god was highly displeased with our said sovereign lord the king for this matter; and in case he desisted not from his proceeding in the said divorce and separation, but pursued the same and married again, that then within one month after such marriage, he should no longer be king of this realm; and in the reputation of almighty god he should not be a king one day nor one hour, and that he should die a villain's death. saying further, that there was a root with three branches, and till they were plucked up it should never be merry in england: interpreting the root to be the late lord cardinal, and the first branch to be the king our sovereign lord, the second the duke of norfolk, and the third the duke of suffolk.--25 hen. viii. cap. 12. [327] revelations of elizabeth barton: _rolls house ms._ in the epitome of the book of her revelations it is stated that there was a story in it "of an angel that appeared, and bade the nun go unto the king, that infidel prince of england, and say that i command him to amend his life, and that he leave three things which he loveth and pondereth upon, _i.e._, that he take none of the pope's right nor patrimony from him; the second that he destroy all these new folks of opinion and the works of their new learning; the third, that if he married and took anne to wife, the vengeance of god should plague him; and as she sayth she shewed this unto the king."--paper on the nun of kent: _ms. cotton, cleopatra_, e 4. [328] ellis, third series, vol. ii. p. 137. warham had promised to marry henry to anne boleyn. the nun frightened him into a refusal by a pretended message from an angel.--_ms._ ibid. [329] the nun hath practised with two of the pope's ambassadors within this realm, and hath sent to the pope that if he did not do his duty in reformation of kings, god would destroy him at a certain day which he had appointed. by reason whereof it is supposed that the pope hath showed himself so double and so deceivable to the king's grace in his great cause of marriage as he hath done, contrary to all truth, justice, and equity. as likewise the late cardinal of england, and the archbishop of canterbury, being very well-minded to further and set at an end the marriage which the king's grace now enjoyeth, according to their spiritual duty, were prevented by the false revelations of the said nun. and that the said bishop of canterbury was so minded may be proved by divers which knew then his towardness.--narrative of the proceedings of elizabeth barton: _rolls house ms._ [330] note of the revelations of elizabeth barton: _rolls house ms._ [331] hall, p. 780. [332] rymer, vol. vi. p. 160. we are left to collateral evidence to fix the place of this petition, the official transcriber having contented himself with the substance, and omitted the date. the original, as appears from the pope's reply (lord herbert, p. 145), bore the date of july 13; and unless a mistake was made in transcribing the papal brief, this was july, 1530. i have ventured to assume a mistake, and to place the petition in the following year, because the judgment of the universities, to which it refers, was not completed till the winter of 1530; they were not read in parliament till march 30, 1531; and it seems unlikely that a petition of so great moment would have been presented on an incomplete case, or before the additional support of the house of commons had been secured. i am far from satisfied, however, that i am right in making the change. the petition must have been drawn up (though it need not have been presented) in 1530; since it bears the signature of wolsey, who died in the november of that year. [333] mademoiselle de boleyn est venue; et l'a le roy logée en fort beau logis; et qu'il a faict bien accoustrer tout auprés du sien. et luy est la cour faicte ordinairement tous les jours plus grosse que de long temps elle ne fut faicte a la royne. je crois bien qu'on veult accoutumer par les petie ce peuple à l'endurer, afin que quand ivendra à donner les grands coups, il ne les trouve si estrange. toutefois il demeure tous jours endurcy, et croy bien qu'il feroit plus qu'il ne faict si plus il avoit de puissance; mais grand ordre se donne par tout.--bishop of bayonne to the grand master: legrand, vol. iii. p. 231. [334] hall, p. 781. [335] it seems to have been his favourite place of retirement. the gardens and fishponds were peculiarly elaborate and beautiful.--sir john russell to cromwell: _ms. state paper office._ [336] also it is a proverb of old date--"the pride of france, the treason of england, and the war of ireland, shall never have end." _state papers_, vol. ii. p. 11 [337] there was a secret ambassador with the scots king from the emperour, who had long communicated with the king alone in his privy chamber. and after the ambassador's departure the king, coming out into his outer chamber, said to his chancellor and the earl bothwell, "my lords, how much are we bounden unto the emperour that in the matter concerning our style, which so long he hath set about for our honour, that shall be by him discussed on easter day, and that we may lawfully write ourself prince of england and duke of york." to which the chancellor said, "i pray god the pope confirm the same." the scots king answered, "let the emperour alone."--earl of northumberland to henry viii.: _state papers_, vol. iv. p. 599. [338] hall, p. 783. [339] "the bishop was brought in desperation of his life."--_rolls house ms._, second series, 532. this paper confirms hall's account in every point. [340] hall, p. 796. [341] burnet, vol. iii. p. 115. [342] warham was however fined £300 for it.--hall, 796. a letter of richard tracy, son of the dead man, is in the _ms. state paper office_, first series, vol. iv. he says the king's majesty had committed the investigation of the matter to cromwell. [343] latimer's _sermons_, p. 46. [344] cap. iii. [345] 23 hen. viii. cap. 1. [346] 23 hen. viii. cap. 9. [347] be it further enacted that no archbishop or bishop, official, commissary, or any other minister, having spiritual jurisdiction, shall ask, demand, or receive of any of the king's subjects any sum or sums of money for the seal of any citizen, but only threepence sterling.--23 hen. viii. cap. 9. [348] 23 hen. viii. cap. 10.--by a separate clause all covenants to defraud the purposes of this act were declared void, and the act itself was to be interpreted "as beneficially as might be, to the destruction and utter avoiding of such uses, intents, and purposes." [349] annates or firstfruits were first suffered to be taken within the realm for the only defence of christian people against infidels; and now they be claimed and demanded as mere duty only for lucre, against all right and conscience.--23 hen. viii. cap. 20. [350] 23 hen. viii. cap. 20. [351] it hath happened many times by occasion of death unto archbishops or bishops newly promoted within two or three years after their consecration, that their friends by whom they have been holpen to make payment have been utterly undone and impoverished.--23 henry viii. cap. 20. [352] _m. de la pomeroy to cardinal tournon._ "london, march 23, 1531-2. "my lord,--i sent two letters to your lordship on the 20th of this month. since that day parliament has been prorogued, and will not meet again till after easter. "it has been determined that the pope's holiness shall receive no more annates, and the collectors' office is to be abolished. everything is turning against the holy see, but the king has shown no little skill; the lords and commons have left the final decision of the question at his personal pleasure, and the pope is to understand that, if he will do nothing for the king, the king has the means of making him suffer. the clergy in convocation have consented to nothing, nor will they, till they know the pleasure of their master the holy father; but the other estates being agreed, the refusal of the clergy is treated as of no consequence. "many other rights and privileges of the church are abolished also, too numerous to mention."--ms. bibliot. impér. paris. [353] strype, _eccles. mem._, vol. i. part 2, p. 158. [354] ibid. [355] sir george throgmorton, sir william essex, sir john giffard, sir marmaduke constable, with many others, spoke and voted in opposition to the government. they had a sort of club at the queen's head by temple bar, where they held discussions in secret, "and when we did commence," said throgmorton, "we did bid the servants of the house go out, and likewise our own servants, because we thought it not convenient that they should hear us speak of such matters."--throgmorton to the king: _ms. state paper office._ [356] 23 hen. viii. cap. 20. [357] printed in strype, _eccles. mem._, vol. i. p. 201. strype, knowing nothing of the first answer, and perceiving in the second an allusion to one preceding, has supposed that this answer followed the third and last, and was in fact a retractation of it. all obscurity is removed when the three replies are arranged in their legitimate order. [358] strype, _eccles. mem._, vol. i. p. 199, etc. [359] 23 hen. viii. cap. 20. [360] stow, p. 562. [361] "in connection with the annates act, the question of appeals to rome had been discussed in the present session. sir george throgmorton had spoken on the papal side, and in his subsequent confession he mentioned a remarkable interview which he had had with more. "after i had reasoned to the bill of appeals," he said, "sir thomas more, then being chancellor, sent for me to come and speak with him in the parliament chamber. and when i came to him he was in a little chamber within the parliament chamber, where, as i remember, stood an altar, or a thing like unto an altar, whereupon he did lean and, as i do think, the same time the bishop of bath was talking with him. and then he said this to me, i am very glad to hear the good report that goeth of you, and that ye be so good a catholic man as ye be. and if ye do continue in the same way that ye begin, and be not afraid to say your conscience, ye shall deserve great reward of god, and thanks of the king's grace at length, and much worship to yourself."--throgmorton to the king: _ms. state paper office_. [362] in part of it he speaks in his own person. vide supra, cap. 3. [363] burnet's _collectanea_, p. 435. [364] note of the revelations of elizabeth barton: _rolls house ms._ [365] it has been thought that the tudor princes and their ministers carried out the spy system to an iniquitous extent,--that it was the great instrument of their machiavellian policy, introduced by cromwell, and afterwards developed by cecil and walsingham. that both cromwell and walsingham availed themselves of secret information, is unquestionable,--as i think it is also unquestionable that they would have betrayed the interests of their country if they had neglected to do so. nothing, in fact, except their skill in fighting treason with its own weapons, saved england from a repetition of the wars of the roses, envenomed with the additional fury of religious fanaticism. but the agents of cromwell, at least, were all volunteers;--their services were rather checked than encouraged; and when i am told, by high authority, that in those times an accusation was equivalent to a sentence of death, i am compelled to lay so sweeping a charge of injustice by the side of a document which forces me to demur to it. "in the reign of the tudors," says a very eminent writer, "the committal, arraignment, conviction, and execution of any state prisoner, accused or _suspected, or under suspicion of being suspected_ of high treason, were only the regular terms in the series of judicial proceedings." this is scarcely to be reconciled with the 10th of the 37th of hen. viii., which shows no desire to welcome accusations, or exaggerated readiness to listen to them. "whereas," says that act, "divers malicious and evil disposed persons of their perverse, cruel, and malicious intents, minding the utter undoing of some persons to whom they have and do bear malice, hatred, and evil will, have of late most devilishly practised and devised divers writings, wherein hath been comprised that the same persons to whom they bear malice should speak traitorous words against the king's majesty, his crown and dignity, or commit divers heinous and detestable treasons against the king's highness, where, in very deed, the persons so accused never spake nor committed any such offence; by reason whereof divers of the king's true, faithful, and loving subjects have been put in fear and dread of their lives and of the loss and forfeiture of their lands and chattels--for reformation hereof, be it enacted, that if any person or persons, of what estate, degree, or condition he or they shall be, shall at any time hereafter devise, make, or write, or cause to be made any manner of writing comprising that any person has spoken, committed, or done any offence or offences which now by the laws of this realm be made treason, or that hereafter shall be made treason, and do not subscribe, or cause to be subscribed, his true name to the said writing, and within twelve days next after ensuing do not personally come before the king or his council, and affirm the contents of the said writings to be true, and do as much as in him shall be for the approvement of the same, that then all and every person or persons offending as aforesaid, shall be deemed and adjudged a felon or felons; and being lawfully convicted of such offence, after the laws of the realm, shall suffer pains of death and loss and forfeiture of lands, goods, and chattels, without benefit of clergy or privilege of sanctuary to be admitted or allowed in that behalf." [366] accusation brought by robert wodehouse, prior of whitby, against the abbot, for slanderous words against anne boleyn: _rolls house ms._ [367] deposition of robert legate concerning the language of the monks of furness: _rolls house ms._ [368] ellis, third series, vol. ii. p. 254. [369] father forest hath laboured divers manner of ways to expulse father laurence out of the convent, and his chief cause is, because he knoweth that father laurence will preach the king's matter whensoever it shall please his grace to command him.--ibid. p. 250. [370] ibid. p. 251. [371] lyst to cromwell. ibid. p. 255. strype, _eccles. memor._, vol. i. appendix, no. 47. [372] stow's _annals_, p. 562. this expression passed into a proverb, although the words were first spoken by a poor friar; they were the last which the good sir humfrey gilbert was heard to utter before his ship went down. [373] vaughan to cromwell: _state papers,_ vol. vii. p. 489-90. "i learn that this book was first drawn by the bishop of rochester, and so being drawn, was by the said bishop afterwards delivered in england to two spaniards, being secular and laymen. they receiving his first draught, either by themselves or some other spaniards, altered and perfinished the same into the form that it now is; peto and one friar elstowe of canterbury, being the only men that have and do take upon themselves to be conveyers of the same books into england, and conveyers of all other things into and out of england. if privy search be made, and shortly, peradventure in the house of the same bishop shall be found his first copy. master more hath sent oftentimes and lately books unto peto, in antwerp--as his book of the confutation of tyndal, and of frith's opinion of the sacrament, with divers other books. i can no further learn of more's practices, but if you consider this well, you may perchance espy his craft. peto laboureth busylier than a bee in the setting forth of this book. he never ceaseth running to and from the court here. the king never had in his realm traitors like his friars--[vaughan wrote "clergy." the word in the original is dashed through, and "friars" is substituted, whether by cromwell or by himself in an afterthought, i do not know]--and so i have always said, and yet do. let his grace look well about him, for they seek to devour him. they have blinded his grace." [374] ellis, third series, vol. ii. p. 262, etc. [375] the wishes of the french court had been expressed emphatically to clement in the preceding january. original copies of the two following letters are in the bibliothèque impérial at paris:-_the cardinal of lorraine to cardinal ---at rome._ "paris, jan. 8, 1531-2. "right reverend father and lord in christ.--after our most humble commendations--the king of england complains loudly that his cause is not remanded into his own country; he says that it cannot be equitably dealt with at rome, where he cannot be present. he himself, the queen, and the other witnesses, are not to be dragged into italy to give their evidence; and the suits of the sovereigns of england and france have always hitherto been determined in their respective countries. "nevertheless, by no entreaty can we prevail on the pope to nominate impartial judges who will decide the question in england. "the king's personal indignation is not the only evil which has to be feared. when these proceedings are known among the people, there will, perhaps, be a revolt, and the apostolic see may receive an injury which will not afterwards be easily remedied. "i have explained these things more at length to his holiness, as my duty requires. your affection towards him, my lord, i am assured is no less than mine. i beseech you, therefore, use your best endeavours with his holiness, that the king of england may no longer have occasion to exclaim against him. in so doing you will gratify the most christian king, and you will follow the course most honourable to yourself and most favourable to the quiet of christendom. "from abbeville." _francis the first to pope clement the seventh._ "paris, jan. 10, 1531-2. "most holy father,--you are not ignorant what our good brother and ally the king of england demands at your hands. he requires that the cognisance of his marriage be remanded to his own realm, and that he be no further pressed to pursue the process at rome. the place is inconvenient from its distance, and there are other good and reasonable objections which he assures us that he has urged upon your holiness's consideration. "most holy father, we have written several times to you, especially of late from st. cloud, and afterwards from chantilly, in our good brother's behalf; and we have further entreated you, through our ambassador residing at your court, to put an end to this business as nearly according to the wishes of our said good brother as is compatible with the honour of almighty god. we have made this request of you as well for the affection and close alliance which exist between ourselves and our brother, as for the filial love and duty with which we both in common regard your holiness. "seeing, nevertheless, most holy father, that the affair in question is still far from settlement, and knowing our good brother to be displeased and dissatisfied, we fear that some great scandal and inconvenience may arise at last which may cause the diminution of your holiness's authority. there is no longer that ready obedience to the holy see in england which was offered to your predecessors; and yet your holiness persists in citing my good brother the king of england to plead his cause before you in rome. surely it is not without cause that he calls such treatment of him unreasonable. we have ourselves examined into the law in this matter, and we are assured that your holiness's claim is unjust and contrary to the privilege of kings. for a sovereign to leave his realm and plead as a suitor in rome, is a thing wholly impossible,[377] and therefore, holy father, we have thought good to address you once more in this matter. bear with us, we entreat you. consider our words, and recall to your memory what by letter and through our ministers we have urged upon you. look promptly to our brother's matter, and so act that your holiness may be seen to value and esteem our friendship. what you do for him, or what you do against him, we shall take it as done to ourselves. "holy father, we will pray the son of god to pardon and long preserve your holiness to rule and govern our holy mother the church.--francis." [376] _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 428. legrand, vol. iii. [377] chose beaucoup plus impossible que possible. [378] lord herbert, p. 160. rymer, vol. vi. part ii. p. 171. [379] francis seems to have desired that the intention of the interview should be kept secret. henry found this impossible. "monseigneur," wrote the bishop of paris to the grand master, "quant à tenir la chose secrette comme vous le demandez, il est mal aisé; combien que ce roy fust bien de cest advis, sinon qu'il le treuve impossible; car a cause de ces provisions et choses, qu'il fault faire en ce royaulme, incontinent sera sceu a londres, et de la par tout le monde. pourquoy ne faictes vostre compte qu'on le puisse tenir secret. "monseigneur, je sçay veritablement et de bon lieu que le plus grant plaisir que le roy pourroit faire au roy son frere et a madame anne, c'est que le dit seigneur m'escripre que je requiere le roy son dit frere qu'il veuille mener la dicte dame anne avec luy a callais pour la veoir et pour la festoyer, afin qu'ils ne demeurrent ensembles sans compagnie de dames, pour ce que les bonnes cheres en sont tous jours meilleures: mais il fauldroit que en pareil le roy menast la royne de navarre à boulogne, pour festoyer le roy d'angleterre. "quant à la royne pour rien ce roy ne vouldroit qu'elle vint: il häit cest habillement à l'espagnolle, tant qu'il luy semble veoir un diable. il desireroit qu'il pleust au roy mener à boulogne, messeigneurs ses enfans pour les veoir. "surtout je vous prie que vous ostez de la court deux sortes de gens, ceulx qui sont imperiaulx, s'aucuns en y a, et ceux qui ont la reputation d'estre mocqueurs et gaudisseurs, car c'est bien la chose en ce monde autant häie de ceste nation."--bishop of paris to the grand master: legrand, vol. iii. pp. 555, 556. [380] sir gregory cassalis to henry viii.: burnet's _collectanea_, p. 433. valde existimabam necessarium cum hoc principe (_i.e._, francis) agere ut duobus cardinalibus daret in mandatis ut ante omnes cardinalis de monte meminissent, eique pensionem annuam saltem trium millium aureorum ex quadraginta millibus quæ mihi dixerat velle in cardinales distribuere, assignaret. et rex quidem hæc etiam scribi ad duos cardinales jussit secretario vitandri. quicum ego postmodo super iis pensionibus sermonem habui, cognovique sic in animo regem habere ut duo cardinales cum romæ fuerint, videant, qui potissimum digni hâc regiâ sint liberalitate; in eosque quum quid in regno galliæ ecclesiasticum vacare contigerit ex meritis uniuscujusque pensiones conferantur. tunc autem nihil in promptu haberi quod cardinali de monte dari possit--verum regio nomine illi de futuro esse promittendum quod mihi certe summopere displicuit; et secretario vitandri non reticui ostendens pollicitationes hujusmodi centies jam cardinali de monte factas fuisse; et modo si iterum fiant nihil effecturas nisi ut illius viri quasi ulcera pertractent; id quod vitandris verum esse fatebatur pollicitusque est se, quum rex a venatu rediisset velle ei suadere ut cardinalem de monte aliquâ presenti pensione prosequatur; quâ quidem tibi nihil conducibilius aut opportunius fieri possit. [381] _state papers_, vol. iv. p. 612. [382] ibid, p. 616. [383] the _state papers_ contain a piteous picture of this business, the hereditary feuds of centuries bursting out on the first symptoms of ill-will between the two governments, with fire and devastation.--_state papers_, vol. iv. p. 620-644. [384] if the said earl of angus do make unto us oath of allegiance, and recognises us as supreme lord of scotland, and as his prince and sovereign, we then, the said earl doing the premises, by these presents bind ourself to pay yearly to the said earl the sum of one thousand pounds sterling.--henry viii. to the earl of angus: _state papers_, vol. iv. p. 613. [385] a letter of queen catherine to the emperor, written on the occasion of this visit, will be read with interest:-"high and mighty lord,--although your majesty is occupied with your own affairs and with your preparations against the turk, i cannot, nevertheless, refrain from troubling you with mine, which perhaps in substance and in the sight of god are of equal importance. your majesty knows well, that god hears those who do him service, and no greater service can be done than to procure an end in this business. it does not concern only ourselves--it concerns equally all who fear god. none can measure the woes which will fall on christendom, if his holiness will not act in it and act promptly. the signs are all around us in new printed books full of lies and dishonesty--in the resolution to proceed with the cause here in england--in the interview of these two princes, where the king, my lord, is covering himself with infamy through the companion which he takes with him. the country is full of terror and scandal; and evil may be looked for if nothing be done, and inasmuch as our only hope is in god's mercy, and in the favour of your majesty, for the discharge of my conscience, i must let you know the strait in which i am placed. "i implore your highness for the service of god, that you urge his holiness to be prompt in bringing the cause to a conclusion. the longer the delay the harder the remedy will be. "the particulars of what is passing here are so shocking, so outrageous against almighty god, they touch so nearly the honour of my lord and husband, that for the love i bear him, and for the good that i desire for him, i would not have your highness know of them from me. your ambassador will inform you of all."--queen catherine to charles v. september 18.--ms. simancas. the emperor, who was at mantua, was disturbed at the meeting at boulogne, on political grounds as well as personal. on the 24th of october he wrote to his sister, at brussels. _charles the fifth to the regent mary._ mantua, october 16, 1532. i found your packets on arriving here, with the ambassadors' letters from france and england. the ambassadors will themselves have informed you of the intended conference of the kings. the results will make themselves felt ere long. we must be on our guard, and i highly approve of your precautions for the protection of the frontiers. as to the report that the king of england means to take the opportunity of the meeting to marry anne boleyn, i can hardly believe that he will be so blind as to do so, or that the king of france will lend himself to the other's sensuality. at all events, however, i have written to my ministers at rome, and i have instructed them to lay a complaint before the pope, that, while the process is yet pending, in contempt of the authority of the church, the king of england is scandalously bringing over the said anne with him, as if she were his wife. his holiness and the apostolic see will be the more inclined to do us justice, and to provide as the case shall require. should the king indeed venture the marriage--as i cannot think he will--i have desired his holiness not only not to sanction such conduct openly, but not to pass it by in silence. i have demanded that severe and fitting sentence be passed at once on an act so wicked and so derogatory to the apostolic see.--_the pilgrim_, p. 89. [386] there can be little doubt of this. he was the child of the only intrigue of henry viii. of which any credible evidence exists. his mother was elizabeth, daughter of sir john blunt, an accomplished and most interesting person; and the offspring of the connection, one boy only, was brought up with the care and the state of a prince. henry fitzroy, as he was called, was born in 1519, and when six years old was created earl of nottingham and duke of richmond and somerset, the title of the king's father. in 1527, before the commencement of the disturbance on the divorce, henry endeavoured to negotiate a marriage for him with a princess of the imperial blood; and in the first overtures gave an intimation which could not be mistaken, of his intention, if possible, to place him in the line of the succession. after speaking of the desire which was felt by the king of england for some connection in marriage of the houses of england and spain, the ambassadors charged with the negotiation were to say to charles, that-"his highness can be content to bestow the duke of richmond and somerset (who is near of his blood, and of excellent qualities, and is already furnished to keep the state of a great prince, _and yet may be easily by the king's means exalted to higher things_) to some noble princess of his near blood."--ellis, third series, vol. ii. p. 121. he was a gallant, high-spirited boy. a letter is extant from him to wolsey, written when he was nine years old, begging the cardinal to intercede with the king, "for an harness to exercise myself in arms according to my erudition in the commentaries of cæsar."--ibid. p. 119. he was brought up with lord surrey, who has left a beautiful account of their boyhood at windsor--their tournaments, their hunts, their young loves, and passionate friendship. richmond married surrey's sister, but died the year after, when only seventeen; and surrey revisiting windsor, recalls his image among the scenes which they had enjoyed together, in the most interesting of all his poems. he speaks of the secret grove, which oft we made resound of pleasant plaint and of our ladies' praise; recording oft what grace each one had found, what hope of speed, what dread of long delays. the wild forest; the clothed holts with green; with reins availed, and swift y-breathed horse, with cry of hounds, and merry blasts between, where we did chase the fearful hart of force. the void walls eke that harboured us each night, wherewith, alas! reviveth in my breast the sweet accord, such sleeps as yet delight the pleasant dream, the quiet bed of rest; the secret thought imparted with such trust. the wanton talk, the divers change of play, the friendship sworn, each promise kept so just, wherewith we past the winter nights away. [387] compare lord herbert with a paper of instructions to lord rochfort on his mission to paris: _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 427, etc.; and a remonstrance of francis i. to henry viii.: legrand, vol. iii. p. 571, etc. it would be curious to know whether francis ever actually wrote to the pope a letter of which henry sent him a draft. if he did, there are expressions contained in it which amount to a threat of separation. in case the pope was obstinate francis was to say, "lors force seroit de pourvoir audict affaire, par autres voyes et façons, qui peut etre, ne vous seroint gueres agreable."--_state papers_, vol. vii. p. 436. [388] a nostre derniere entrevue sur la fraternelle et familiere communication que nous eusmes ensemble de noz affaires venant aux nostres, luy declarasmes comme a tord et injustment nous estions affligez, dilayez, et fort ingratemeut manniez et troublez, en nostre dicte grande et pesante matiere de marriage par la particuliere affection de l'empereur et du pape. lesquelz sembloient par leurs longues retardations de nostre dicte matiere ne sercher autre chose, sinon par longue attente et laps de temps, nous frustrer malicieusement du propoz, qui plus nous induict a poursuivir et mettre avant la dicte matiere; c'est davoir masculine succession et posterite en laquelle nous etablirons (dieu voulant) le quiet repoz et tranquillite de notre royaulme et dominion. son fraternel, plain, et entier advis (et a bref dire le meilleur qui pourroit estre) fut tel; il nous conseilla de ne dilayer ne protractor le temps plus longuement, mais en toute celerite proceder effectuellement a laccomplisment et consummation de nostre marriage.--henry viii. to rochfort: _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 428-9. [389] the extent of francis's engagements, as henry represents them, was this:--he had promised qu'en icelle nostre dicte cause jamais ne nous abandonneroit quelque chose que sen ensuyst; ainsi de tout son pouvoir l'establiroit, supporteroit, aideroit et maintiendroit notre bon droict, et le droict de la posterite et succession qui sen pourroit ensuyr; et a tous ceulz qui y vouldroyent mettre trouble, empeschement, encombrance, ou y procurer deshonneur, vitupere, ou infraction, il seroit enemy et adversaire de tout son pouvoir, de quelconque estat qu'il soit, fust pape ou empereur,--avecque plusieurs autres consolatives paroles. this he wished francis to commit to paper. car autant de fois, que les verrions, he says, qui seroit tous les jours, nous ne pourrions, si non les liscent, imaginer et reduire a notre souvenance la bonne grace facunde et geste, dont il les nous prononçait, et estimer estre comme face a face, parlans avecque luy.--_state papers_, vol. vii. p. 437. evidently language of so wide a kind might admit of many interpretations. [390] legrand, vol. iii. p. 571, etc. [391] note of the revelations of eliz. barton: _rolls house ms. suppression of the monasteries_, p. 17. the intention was really perhaps what the nun said. an agent of the government at brussels, who was watching the conference, reported on the 12th of november:--"the king of england did really cross with the intention of marrying; but, happily for the emperor, the ceremony is postponed. of other secrets, my informant has learned thus much. they have resolved to demand as the portion of the queen of france, artois, tournay, and part of burgundy. they have also sent two cardinals to rome to require the pope to relinquish the tenths, which they have begun to levy for themselves. if his holiness refuse, the king of england will simply appropriate them throughout his dominions. captain ---heard this from the king's proctor at rome, who has been with him at calais, and from an italian named jeronymo, whom the lady anne has roughly handled for managing her business badly. she trusted that she would have been married in september. "the proctor told her the pope delayed sentence for fear of the emperor. the two kings, when they heard this, despatched the cardinals to quicken his movements; and the demand for the tenths is thought to have been invented to frighten him. "they are afraid that the emperor may force his holiness into giving sentence before the cardinals arrive. jeronymo has been therefore sent forward by post to give him notice of their approach, and to require him to make no decision till they have spoken with him."--_the pilgrim_, p. 89. [392] 25 hen. viii. cap. 12. [393] revelations of eliz. barton: _rolls house ms._ [394] _state papers_, vol. vii. pp. 435, 468. [395] letter from ----, containing an account of an interview with his holiness: _rolls house ms._ [396] this proposal was originally the king's (see chapter 2), but it had been dropped because one of the conditions of it had been catherine's "entrance into religion." the pope, however, had not lost sight of the alternative, as one of which, in case of extremity, he might avail himself; and, in 1530, in a short interval of relaxation, he had definitely offered the king a dispensation to have two wives, at the instigation, curiously, of the imperialists. the following letter was written on that occasion to the king by sir gregory cassalis:-serenissime et potentissime domine rex, domine mi supreme humillimâ commendatione premissâ, salutem et felicitatem. superioribus diebus pontifex secreto, veluti rem quam magni faceret, mihi proposuit conditionem hujusmodi; concedi posse vestræ majestati, ut duas uxores habeat; cui dixi nolle me provinciam suscipere eâ de re scribendi, ob eam causam quod ignorarem an inde vestræ conscientiæ satisfieri posset quam vestra majestas imprimis exonerare cupit. cur autem sic responderem, illud in causâ fuit, quod ex certo loco, unde quæ cæsariani moliantur aucupari soleo exploratum certumque habebam cæsarianos illud ipsum quærere et procurare. quem vero ad finem id quærant pro certo exprimere non ausim. id certe totum vestræ prudentiæ considerandum relinquo. et quamvis dixerim pontifici, nihil me de eo scripturum, nolui tamen majestati vestræ hoc reticere; quæ sciat omni me industriâ laborâsse in iis quæ nobis mandat exequendis et cum anconitano qui me familiariter uti solet, omnia sum conatus. de omnibus autem me ad communes literas rejicio. optime valeat vestra majestas.--romæ die xviii. septembris, 1530. clarissimi vestrai majestatis, humillimus servus, gregorius cassalis, --lord herbert, p. 140. [397] _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 394, etc. [398] the obtaining the opinion in writing of the late cardinal of ancona, and submitting it to the emperor. this minister, the most aged as well as the most influential member of the conclave, had latterly been supposed to be inclined to advise a conciliatory policy towards england; and his judgment was of so much weight that it was thought likely that the emperor would have been unable to resist the publication of it, if it was given against him. at the critical moment of the bologna interview this cardinal unfortunately died: he had left his sentiments, however, in the hands of his nephew, the cardinal of ravenna, who, knowing the value of his legacy, was disposed to make a market of it. it was a knavish piece of business. the english ambassadors offered 3000 ducats; charles bid them out of the field with a promise of church benefices to the extent of 6000 ducats; he did not know precisely the terms of the judgment, or even on which side it inclined, but in either case the purchase was of equal importance to him, either to produce it or to suppress it. the french and english ambassadors then combined, and bid again with church benefices in the two countries, of equal value with those offered by charles, with a promise of the next english bishopric which fell vacant, and the original 3000 ducats as an initiatory fee. there was a difficulty in the transaction, for the cardinal would not part with the paper till he had received the ducats, and the ambassadors would not pay the ducats till they had possession of the paper. the italian, however, proved an overmatch for his antagonists. he got his money, and the judgment was not produced after all.--_state papers_, vol. vii. pp. 397-8, 464. burnet, vol. iii. p. 108. [399] bennet to henry viii.: _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 402. [400] sir gregory cassalis to the king: _rolls house m.s._, endorsed by henry, litteræ in pontificis dicta declaratoriæ quæ maxime causam nostram probant. [401] there was a tradition (it cannot be called more), that no englishman could be compelled against his will to plead at a foreign tribunal. "ne angli extra angliam litigare cogantur." [402] henry viii. to the ambassadors with the pope: _rolls house m.s._ [403] ibid. [404] so at least the english government was at last convinced, as appears in the circular to the clergy, printed in burnet's _collectanea_, p. 447, etc. i try to believe, however, that the pope's conduct was rather weak than treacherous. [405] so at least cranmer says; but he was not present, nor was he at the time informed that it was to take place.--ellis, first series, vol. ii. p. 32. the belief, however, generally was, that the marriage took place in november; and though cranmer's evidence is very strong, his language is too vague to be decisive. [406] individual interests have to yield necessarily and justly to the interests of a nation, provided the conduct or the sacrifice which the nation requires is not sinful. that there would have been any sin on queen catherine's part if she had consented to a separation from the king, was never pretended; and although it is a difficult and delicate matter to decide how far unwilling persons may be compelled to do what they ought to have done without compulsion, yet the will of a single man or woman cannot be allowed to constitute itself an irremovable obstacle to a great national good. [407] it is printed by lord herbert, and in legrand, vol. iii. [408] legrand, vol. iii. p. 558, etc. [409] ye may show unto his holiness that ye have heard from a friend of yours in flanders lately, that there hath been set up certain writings from the see apostolic, in derogation both of justice and of the affection lately showed by his holiness unto us; which thing ye may say ye can hardly believe to be true, but that ye reckon them rather to be counterfeited. for if it should be true, it is a thing too far out of the way, specially considering that you and other our ambassadors be there, and have heard nothing of the matter. we send a copy of these writings unto you, which copy we will in no wise that ye shall show to any person which might think that ye had any knowledge from us nor any of our council, marvelling greatly if the same hath proceeded indeed from the pope; [and] willing you expressly not to show that ye had it of us.--_state papers_, vol. vii. p. 421. [410] _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 454. [411] sir john wallop to henry: _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 422. [412] francis represented himself to henry as having refused with a species of bravado. "he told me," says sir john wallop, "that he had announced previously that he would consent to no such interview, unless your highness were also comprised in the same; and if it were so condescended that your highness and he should be then together, yet you two should go after such a sort and with such power that you would not care whether the pope and emperor would have peace or else _coups de baston_."--wallop to henry, from paris, feb. 22. but this was scarcely a complete account of the transaction; it was an account only of so much of it as the french king was pleased to communicate. the emperor was urgent for a council. the pope, feeling the difficulty either of excluding or admitting the protestant representatives, was afraid of consenting to it, and equally afraid of refusing. the meeting proposed to francis was for the discussion of this difficulty; and francis, in return, proposed that the great powers, henry included, should hold an interview, and arrange beforehand the conclusions at which the council should arrive. this naïve suggestion was waived by charles, apparently on grounds of religion. lord herbert, kennet's edit. p. 167. [413] the emperor's answer touching this interview is come, and is, in effect, that if the pope shall judge the said interview to be for the wealth and quietness of christendom, he will not be seen to dissuade his holiness from the same; but he desired him to remember what he showed to his holiness when he was with the same, at what time his holiness offered himself for the commonwealth to go to any place to speak with the french king.--bennet to henry viii.; _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 464. [414] the estrapade was an infernal machine introduced by francis into paris for the better correction of heresy. the offender was slung by a chain over a fire, and by means of a crane was dipped up and down into the flame, the torture being thus prolonged for an indefinite time. francis was occasionally present in person at these exhibitions, the executioner waiting his arrival before commencing the spectacle. [415] 24 hen. viii. cap. 13. [416] 24 hen. viii. cap. 12 [417] _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 441. [418] d'inteville to francis the first: ms. bibliothèque impérial, paris--_pilgrim_, p. 92. [419] 24 hen. viii. cap. 12. [420] he had been selected as warham's successor; and had been consecrated on the 30th of march, 1533. on the occasion of the ceremony when the usual oath to the pope was presented to him, he took it with a declaration that his first duty and first obedience was to the crown and laws of his own country. it is idle trifling, to build up, as too many writers have attempted to do, a charge of insincerity upon an action which was forced upon him by the existing relation between england and rome. the act of appeals was the law of the land. the separation from communion with the papacy was a contingency which there was still a hope might be avoided. such a protest as cranmer made was therefore the easiest solution of the difficulty. see it in strype's _cranmer_, appendix, p. 683. [421] burnet, vol. iii. pp. 122-3 [422] bennet to henry viii.: _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 402. sir gregory cassalis to the same: _rolls house ms._ [423] burnet, vol. iii. p. 123. [424] ibid. vol. i. p. 210. [425] see _state papers_, vol. i. pp. 415, 420, etc. [426] burnet's _collectanea_, p. 22. it is very singular that in the original bull of julius, the expression is "forsan consummavissetis;" while in the brief, which, if it was genuine, was written the same day, and which, if forged, was forged by catherine's friends, there is no forsan. the fact is stated absolutely. [427] lord herbert, p. 163. burnet. vol. iii. p. 123. [428] _state papers_, vol. i. pp. 390. 391. [429] ye therefore duly recognising that it becometh you not, being our subject, to enterprise any part of your said office in so weighty and great a cause pertaining to us being your prince and sovereign, without our licence obtained so to do; and therefore in your most humble wise ye supplicate us to grant unto you our licence to proceed.--_state papers_, vol. i. p. 392. [430] _state papers_, vol. i. p. 392. [431] cromwell to the king on his committal to the tower: burnet, _collectanea_, p. 500. [432] so at least she called him a few days later.--_state papers_, vol. i. p. 420. we have no details of her words when she was summoned; but only a general account of them.--_state papers_, vol. i. p. 394-5. [433] the words of the sentence may be interesting:--"in the name of god, amen. we, thomas, by divine permission archbishop of canterbury, primate of all england, and legate of the apostolic see, in a certain cause of inquiry of and concerning the validity of the marriage contracted and consummated between the most potent and most illustrious prince, our sovereign lord, henry viii., by the grace of god king of england and france, defender of the faith, and lord of ireland, and the most serene princess, catherine, daughter of his most catholic majesty, ferdinand, king of spain, of glorious memory, we proceeding according to law and justice in the said cause which has been brought judicially before us in virtue of our office, and which for some time has lain under examination, as it still is, being not yet finally determined and decided; having first seen all the articles and pleas which have been exhibited and set forth of her part, together with the answers made thereto on the part of the most illustrious and powerful prince, henry viii.; having likewise seen and diligently inspected the informations and depositions of many noblemen and other witnesses of unsuspected veracity exhibited in the said cause; having also seen and in like manner carefully considered not only the censures and decrees of the most famous universities of almost the whole christian world, but likewise the opinions and determinations both of the most eminent divines and civilians, as also the resolutions and conclusions of the clergy of both provinces of england in convocation assembled, and many other wholesome instructions and doctrines which have been given in and laid before us concerning the said marriage; having further seen and in like manner inspected all the treaties and leagues of peace and amity on this account entered upon and concluded between henry vii., of immortal fame, late king of england, and the said ferdinand, of glorious memory, late king of spain; having besides seen and most carefully weighed all and every of the acts, debates, letters, processes, instruments, writs, arguments, and all other things which have passed and been transacted in the said cause at any time; in all which thus seen and inspected, our most exact care in examining, and our most mature deliberation in weighing them hath by us been used, and all other things have been observed by us, which of right in this matter were to be observed; furthermore, the said most illustrious prince, henry viii., in the forementioned cause, by his proper proctor having appeared before us, but the said most serene lady catherine in contempt absenting herself (whose absence we pray that the divine presence may compensate) [cujus absentia divinâ repleatur præsentiâ. lord herbert translates it, "whose absence may the divine presence attend," missing, i think, the point of the archbishop's parenthesis] by and with the advice of the most learned in the law, and of persons of most eminent skill in divinity whom we have consulted in the premises, we have found it our duty to proceed to give our final decree and sentence in the said cause, which, accordingly, we do in this manner. "because by acts, warrants, deductions, propositions, exhibitions, allegations, proofs and confessions, articles drawn up, answers of witnesses, depositions, informations, instruments, arguments, letters, writs, censures, determinations of professors, opinions, councils, assertions, affirmations, treaties, and leagues of peace, processes, and other matters in the said cause, as is above mentioned, before us laid, had, done, exhibited, and respectively produced, as also from the same and sundry other reasons, causes, and considerations, manifold arguments, and various kinds of proof of the greatest evidence, strength, and validity, of which in the said cause we have fully and clearly informed ourselves, we find, and with undeniable evidence and plainness see that the marriage contracted and consummated, as is aforesaid, between the said most illustrious prince, henry viii., and the most serene lady catherine, was and is null and invalid, and that it was contracted and consummated contrary to the law of god: therefore, we, thomas, archbishop, primate, and legate aforesaid, having first called upon the name of christ for direction herein, and having god altogether before our eyes, do pronounce sentence, and declare for the invalidity of the said marriage, decreeing that the said pretended marriage always was and still is null and invalid; that it was contracted and consummated contrary to the will and law of god, that it is of no force or obligation, but that it always wanted, and still wants, the strength and sanction of law; and therefore we sentence that it is not lawful for the said most illustrious prince, henry viii., and the said most serene lady catherine, to remain in the said pretended marriage; and we do separate and divorce them one from the other, inasmuch as they contracted and consummated the said pretended marriage de facto, and not de jure; and that they so separated and divorced are absolutely free from all marriage bond with regard to the foresaid pretended marriage, we pronounce, and declare by this our definitive sentence and final decree, which we now give, and by the tenour of these present writings do publish. may 23rd, 1533."--burnet's _collectanea_, p. 68, and lord herbert. [434] hall. [435] ibid. [436] ibid. p. 801. hall was most likely an eye-witness, and may be thoroughly trusted in these descriptions. whenever we are able to test him, which sometimes happens, by independent contemporary accounts, he proves faithful in the most minute particulars. [437] foxe, vol. v. p. iii. [438] northumberland to henry viii.: _state papers_, vol. iv. pp. 598-9. [439] hawkins to henry viii.: ibid. vol. vii. p. 488. [440] burnet. vol. iii. p. 115. [441] _state papers_, vol. i. p. 398. [442] papers relating to the nun of kent: _rolls house ms._ [443] ellis, first series, vol. ii. p. 43. [444] _cotton m.s._ otho x, p. 199. _state papers_, vol. i. p. 397. [445] _state papers_, vol. i. p. 403. [446] cromwell had endeavoured to save frith, or at least had been interested for him. sir edmund walsingham, writing to him about the prisoners in the tower, says:--"two of them wear irons, and frith weareth none. although he lacketh irons, he lacketh not wit nor pleasant tongue. his learning passeth my judgment. sir, as ye said, it were great pity to lose him if he may be reconciled."--walsingham to cromwell: _m.s. state paper office_, second series, vol. xlvi. [447] ellis, first series, vol. ii. p. 40. [448] "the natural body and blood of our saviour christ are in heaven, and not here, it being against the truth of christ's natural body to be at one time in more places than one." the argument and the words in which it is expressed were frith's.--see foxe, vol. v. p. 6. [449] the origin of the word lollards has been always a disputed question. i conceive it to be from lolium. they were the "tares" in the corn of catholicism. [450] 35 ed. i.; statutes of carlisle, cap. 1-4. [451] ibid. [452] 25 ed. iii. stat. 4. a clause in the preamble of this act bears a significantly erastian complexion: _come seinte eglise estoit founde en estat de prelacie deins le royaulme dengleterre par le dit roi et ses progenitours, et countes, barons, et nobles de ce royaulme et lours ancestres, pour eux et le poeple enfourmer de la lei dieu._ if the church of england was held to have been, founded not by the successors of the apostles, but by the king and the nobles, the claim of henry viii. to the supremacy was precisely in the spirit of the constitution. [453] 38 ed. iii. stat. 2; 3 ric. ii. cap. 3; 12 ric. ii. cap. 15; 13 ric. ii. stat. 2. the first of these acts contains a paragraph which shifts the blame from the popes themselves to the officials of the roman courts. the statute is said to have been enacted en eide et confort du pape qui moult sovent a estee trublez par tieles et semblables clamours et impetracions, et qui y meist voluntiers covenable remedie, si sa seyntetee estoit sur ces choses enfournee. i had regarded this passage as a fiction of courtesy like that of the long parliament who levied troops in the name of charles i. the suspicious omission of the clause, however, in the translation of the statutes which was made in the later years of henry viii. justifies an interpretation more favourable to the intentions of the popes. [454] the abbots and bishops decently protested. their protest was read in parliament, and entered on the rolls. _rot. parl._ iii. [264] quoted by lingard, who has given a full account of these transactions. [455] 13 ric. ii. stat. 2. [456] see 16 ric. ii. cap. 5. [457] this it will be remembered was the course which was afterwards followed by the parliament under henry viii. before abolishing the payment of first-fruits. [458] lingard says, that "there were rumours that if the prelates executed the decree of the king's courts, they would be excommunicated."--vol. iii. p. 172. the language of the act of parliament, 16 ric. ii. cap. 5, is explicit that the sentence was pronounced. [459] 16 ric. ii. cap. 5. [460] ibid. [461] ibid. [462] lewis, _life of wycliffe_. [463] if such _scientia media_ might be allowed to man, which is beneath certainty and above conjecture, such should i call our persuasion that he was born in durham.--fuller's _worthies_, vol. i. p. 479. [464] _the last age of the church_ was written in 1356. see lewis, p. 3. [465] leland. [466] lewis, p. 287. [467] 1 ric. ii. cap. 13. [468] walsingham, 206-7, apud lingard. it is to be observed, however, that wycliffe himself limited his arguments strictly to the property of the clergy. see milman's _history of latin christianity_, vol. v. p. 508. [469] walsingham, p. 275, apud lingard. [470] 5 ric. ii. cap. 5. [471] wilkins, _concilia_, iii. 160-167. [472] _de heretico comburendo._ 2 hen. iv. cap. 15. [473] stow, 330, 338. [474] _rot. parl._ iv. 24, 108, apud lingard; rymer, ix. 89, 119, 129, 170, 193; milman, vol. v. p. 520-535. [475] 2 hen. v. stat. 1, cap. 7. [476] there is no better test of the popular opinion of a man than the character assigned to him on the stage; and till the close of the sixteenth century sir john oldcastle remained the profligate buffoon of english comedy. whether in life he bore the character so assigned to him, i am unable to say. the popularity of henry v., and the splendour of his french wars, served no doubt to colour all who had opposed him with a blacker shade than they deserved: but it is almost certain that shakspeare, though not intending falstaff as a portrait of oldcastle, thought of him as he was designing the character; and it is altogether certain that by the london public falstaff was supposed to represent oldcastle. we can hardly suppose that such an expression as "my old lad of the castle," should be accidental; and in the epilogue to the second part of _henry the fourth_, when promising to reintroduce falstaff once more, shakspeare says, "where for anything i know he shall die of the sweat, for oldcastle died a martyr, and this is not the man." he had, therefore, certainly been supposed to _be the man_, and falstaff represented the english conception of the character of the lollard hero. i should add, however, that dean milman, who has examined the records which remain to throw light on the character of this remarkable person with elaborate care and ability, concludes emphatically in his favour. [477] two curious letters of henry vi. upon the lollards, written in 1431, are printed in the _archæologia_, vol. xxiii. p. 339, etc. "as god knoweth," he says of them, "never would they be subject to his laws nor to man's, but would be loose and free to rob, reve, and dispoil, slay and destroy all men of thrift and worship, as they proposed to have done in our father's days; and of lads and lurdains would make lords." [478] proceedings of an organised society in london called the christian brethren, supported by voluntary contributions, for the dispersion of tracts against the doctrines of the church: _rolls house ms._ [479] hale's _precedents_. the london and lincoln registers, in foxe, vol. iv.; and the ms. registers of archbishops morton and warham, at lambeth. [480] knox's _history of the reformation in scotland_. [481] also we object to you that divers times, and specially in robert durdant's house, of iver court, near unto staines, you erroneously and damnably read in a great book of heresy, all [one] night, certain chapters of the evangelists, in english, containing in them divers erroneous and damnable opinions and conclusions of heresy, in the presence of divers suspected persons.--articles objected against richard butler--london register: foxe, vol. iv. p. 178. [482] foxe, vol. iv. p. 176. [483] michelet, _life of luther_, p. 71. [484] ibid. [485] ibid. p. 41. [486] wood's _athenæ oxonienses_. [487] foxe, vol. iv. p. 618. [488] the suspicious eyes of the bishops discovered tyndal's visit, and the result which was to be expected from it. on dec. 2nd, 1525, edward lee, afterwards archbishop of york, then king's almoner, and on a mission into spain, wrote from bordeaux to warn henry. the letter is instructive: "please your highness to understand that i am certainly informed as i passed in this country, that an englishman, your subject, at the solicitation and instance of luther, with whom he is, hath translated the new testament into english; and within few days intendeth to return with the same imprinted into england. i need not to advertise your grace what infection and danger may ensue hereby if it be not withstanded. this is the next way to fulfil your realm with lutherians. for all luther's perverse opinions be grounded upon bare words of scripture, not well taken, ne understanded, which your grace hath opened in sundry places of your royal book. all our forefathers, governors of the church of england, hath with all diligence forbid and eschewed publication of english bibles, as appeareth in constitutions provincial of the church of england. nowe, sure, as god hath endued your grace with christian courage to sett forth the standard against these philistines and to vanquish them, so i doubt not but that he will assist your grace to prosecute and perform the same--that is, to undertread them that they shall not now lift up their heads; which they endeavour by means of english bibles. they know what hurt such books hath done in your realm in times past."--edward lee to henry viii.: ellis, third series, vol. ii. p. 71. [489] answer of the bishops: _rolls house ms._ see cap. 3. [490] answer of the bishops, vol. i. cap. 3. [491] see, particularly, _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 302. [492] proceedings of the christian brethren: _rolls house ms._ [493] see the letter of bishop fox to wolsey: strype's _memorials_, vol. i. appendix. [494] particulars of persons who had dispersed anabaptist and lutheran tracts: _rolls house ms._ [495] dr. taylor to wolsey: _rolls house ms._ clark to wolsey: _state papers_, vol. vii. pp. 80, 81. [496] ellis, third series, vol. ii. p. 189. [497] memoirs of latimer prefixed to _sermons_, pp. 3, 4; and see strype's _memorials_, vol. i. [498] foxe, vol. v. p. 416. [499] tunstall, bishop of london, has had the credit hitherto of this ingenious folly, the effect of which, as sir thomas more warned him, could only be to supply tyndal with money.--hall, 762, 763. the following letter from the bishop of norwich to warham shows that tunstall was only acting in canonical obedience to the resolution of his metropolitan:-"in right humble manner i commend me unto your good lordship, doing the same to understand that i lately received your letters, dated at your manor of lambeth, the 26th day of the month of may, by the which i do perceive that your grace hath lately gotten into your hands all the books of the new testament, translated into english, and printed beyond the sea; as well those with the glosses joined unto them as those without the glosses. "surely, in myn opinion, you have done therein a gracious and a blessed deed; and god, i doubt not, shall highly reward you therefore. and when, in your said letters, ye write that, insomuch as this matter and the danger thereof, if remedy had not been provided, should not only have touched you, but all the bishops within your province; and that it is no reason that the holle charge and cost thereof should rest only in you; but that they and every of them, for their part, should advance and contribute certain sums of money towards the same: i for my part will be contented to advance in this behalf, and to make payment thereof unto your servant, master william potkyn. "pleaseth it you to understand, i am well contented to give and advance in this behalf ten marks, and shall cause the same to be delivered shortly; the which sum i think sufficient for my part, if every bishop within your province make like contribution, after the rate and substance of their benefices. nevertheless, if your grace think this sum not sufficient for my part in this matter, your further pleasure known, i shall be as glad to conform myself thereunto in this, or any other matter concerning the church, as any your subject within your province; as knows almighty god, who long preserve you. at hoxne in suffolk, the 14th day of june, 1527. your humble obedience and bedeman, "r. norwicen." [500] foxe, vol. iv. [501] the papal bull, and the king's licence to proceed upon it, are printed in _rymer_, vol. vi. part ii. pp. 8 and 17. the latter is explicit on wolsey's personal liberality in establishing this foundation. ultro et ex propriâ liberalitate et munificentiâ, nec sine gravissimo suo sumptu et impensis, collegium fundare conatur. [502] would god my lord his grace had never been motioned to call any cambridge man to his most towardly college. it were a gracious deed if they were tried and purged and restored unto their mother from whence they came, if they be worthy to come thither again. we were clear without blot or suspicion till they came, and some of them, as master dean hath known a long time, hath had a shrewd name.--dr. london to archbishop warham: _rolls house ms._ [503] dr. london to warham: _rolls house ms._ [504] dalaber's _narrative._ [505] clark seems to have taken pupils in the long vacation. dalaber at least read with him all one summer in the country.--dr. london to warham: _rolls house ms._ [506] the vicar of bristol to the master of lincoln college, oxford: _rolls house ms._ [507] dr. london to warham: _rolls house ms._ [508] radley himself was one of the singers at christchurch: london to warham. _ms._ [509] dr. london to warham: _rolls house ms._ [510] on the site of the present worcester college. it lay beyond the walls of the town, and was then some distance from it across the fields. [511] christchurch, where dalaber occasionally sung in the quire. vide infra. [512] some part of which let us read with him. "i send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves; be ye therefore wise as serpents and harmless as doves. but beware of men, for they will deliver you up to the councils, and they will scourge you in their synagogues; and ye shall be brought before governors and kings for my sake, for a testimony against them and the gentiles. but when they deliver you up, take no thought how or what ye shall speak, for it shall be given you in that same hour what ye shall speak; for it is not ye that speak, but the spirit of your father which speaketh in you. and the brother shall deliver up the brother to death; and the father the child; and the children shall rise up against their parents, and cause them to be put to death. and ye shall be hated of all men for my name's sake: but he that endureth to the end shall be saved. whosoever shall confess me before men, him will i confess also before my father which is in heaven. whosoever shall deny me before men, him will i also deny before my father which is in heaven. think not that i am come to send peace on earth; i came not to send peace, but a sword. for i am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law. and a man's foes shall be they of his own household. he that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me. he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. he that taketh not his cross and followeth after me is not worthy of me. he that findeth his life shall lose it, and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it." [513] rector of lincoln. [514] warden of new college. [515] the last prayer. [516] dr. maitland, who has an indifferent opinion of the early protestants, especially on the point of veracity, brings forward this assertion of dalaber as an illustration of what he considers their recklessness. it seems obvious, however, that a falsehood of this kind is something different in kind from what we commonly mean by unveracity, and has no affinity with it. i do not see my way to a conclusion; but i am satisfied that dr. maitland's strictures are unjust. if garret was taken, he was in danger of a cruel death, and his escape could only be made possible by throwing the bloodhounds off the scent. a refusal to answer would not have been sufficient; and the general laws by which our conduct is ordinarily to be directed, cannot be made so universal in their application as to meet all contingencies. it is a law that we may not strike or kill other men, but occasions rise in which we may innocently do both. i may kill a man in defence of my own life or my friend's life, or even of my friend's property; and surely the circumstances which dispense with obedience to one law may dispense equally with obedience to another. _if_ i may kill a man to prevent him from robbing my friend, why may i not deceive a man to save my friend from being barbarously murdered? it is possible that the highest morality would forbid me to do either. i am unable to see why, if the first be permissible, the second should be a crime. rahab of jericho did the same thing which dalaber did, and on that very ground was placed in the catalogue of saints. [517] a cell in the tower, the nature of which we need not inquire into. [518] foxe, vol. v. p. 421. [519] dr. london to the bishop of lincoln: _rolls house ms._ [520] ibid. [521] dr. forman, rector of all hallows, who had himself been in trouble for heterodoxy. [522] dr. london to the bishop of lincoln, feb. 20, 1528: _rolls house ms._ [523] now cokethorpe park, three miles from stanton harcourt, and about twelve from oxford. the village has disappeared. [524] vicar of all saints, bristol, to the rector of lincoln: _rolls house ms._ [525] the vicar of all saints to the rector of lincoln: _rolls house ms._ [526] dr. london to the bishop of lincoln: _rolls house ms._ [527] long extracts from it are printed in foxe, vol. iv. [528] another of the brethren, afterwards bishop of st. david's, and one of the marian victims. [529] bishop of lincoln to wolsey, march 5, 1527-8: _rolls house ms._: and see ellis, third series, vol. ii. p. 77. [530] ellis, third series, vol. ii. p. 77. [531] with some others he "was cast into a prison where the saltfish lay, through the stink whereof the most part of them were infected; and the said clark, being a tender young man, died in the same prison."--foxe, vol. iv. p. 615. [532] london to warham: _rolls house ms._ [533] petition of the commons, vol. i. cap. 3. [534] ibid. and, as we saw in the bishops' reply, they considered their practice in these respects wholly defensible.--see _reply of the bishops_, cap. 3. [535] petition of the commons, cap. 3. [536] hen. v. stat. 1. [537] he had been "troublesome to heretics," he said, and he had "done it with a little ambition;" for "he so hated this kind of men, that he would fie the sorest enemy that they could have, if they would not repent."--more's _life of more_, p. 211. [538] see foxe:, vol. iv. pp. 689, 698, 705. [539] 2 hen. v. stat. 1. [540] john stokesley. [541] petition of thomas philips to the house of commons: _rolls house ms._ [542] ibid. [543] foxe, vol. v. pp. 29, 30. [544] the circumstances are curious. philips begged that he might have the benefit of the king's writ of corpus cum causâ, and be brought to the bar of the house of commons, where the bishop of london should be subpoenaed to meet him. [petition of thomas philips: _rolls house ms._] the commons did not venture on so strong a measure; but a digest of the petition was sent to the upper house, that the bishop might have an opportunity of reply. the lords refused to receive or consider the case: they replied that it was too "frivolous an affair" for so grave an assembly, and that they could not discuss it. [_lords' journals_, vol. i. p. 66.] a deputation of the commons then waited privately upon the bishop, and being of course anxious to ascertain whether philips had given a true version of what had passed, they begged him to give some written explanation of his conduct, which might be read in the commons' house. [_lords' journals_, vol. i. p. 71.] the request was reasonable, and we cannot doubt that, if explanation had been possible, the bishop would not have failed to offer it; but he preferred to shield himself behind the judgment of the lords. the lords, he said, had decided that the matter was too frivolous for their own consideration; and without their permission, he might not set a precedent of responsibility to the commons by answering their questions. this conduct met with the unanimous approval of the peers. [_lords' journals_, vol. i. p. 71. omnes proceres tam spirituales quam temporales unâ, voce dicebant, quod non consentaneum fuit aliquem procerum prædictorum alicui in eo loco responsurum.] the demand for explanation was treated as a breach of privilege, and the bishop was allowed to remain silent. but the time was passed for conduct of this kind to be allowed to triumph. if the bishop could not or would not justify himself, his victim might at least be released from unjust imprisonment. the case was referred to the king: and by the king and the house of commons philips was set at liberty. [545] petition of john field: _rolls house ms._ [546] jan. 1529-30. [547] illegal. see 2 hen. v. stat. 1. [548] seventh sermon before king edward. first sermon before the duchess of suffolk. [549] foxe, vol. iv. p. 649. [550] articles against james bainham: foxe, vol. iv. p. 703. [551] foxe, vol. iv. p. 702. [552] ibid. vol. iv. p. 705. [553] ibid. vol. iv. p. 694. [554] hall, p. 806; and see foxe, vol iv. p. 705. [555] instructions given by the bishop of salisbury: burnet's _collectanea_, p. 493. [556] from a letter of robert gardiner: foxe, vol. iv. p. 706. [557] latimer's _sermons_, p. 101. [558] latimer speaks of sons and daughters.--ibid. p. 101. [559] ibid. [560] where the cornish rebels came to an end in 1497.--bacon's _history of henry the seventh_. [561] latimer's _sermons_, p. 197. [562] on which occasion, old relations perhaps shook their heads, and made objection to the expense. some such feeling is indicated in the following glimpse behind the veil of latimer's private history:-"i was once called to one of my kinsfolk," he says ("it was at that time when i had taken my degree at cambridge); i was called, i say, to one of my kinsfolk which was very sick, and died immediately after my coming. now, there was an old cousin of mine, which, after the man was dead, gave me a wax candle in my hand, and commanded me to make certain crosses over him that was dead; for she thought the devil should run away by and bye. now, i took the candle, but i could not cross him as she would have me to do; for i had never seen it before. she, perceiving i could not do it, with great anger took the candle out of my hand, saying, 'it is pity that thy father spendeth so much money upon thee;' and so she took the candle, and crossed and blessed him; so that he was sure enough."--latimer's _sermons_, p. 499. [563] "i was as obstinate a papist as any was in england, insomuch that, when i should be made bachelor of divinity, my whole oration went against philip melancthon and his opinions."--latimer's _sermons_, p. 334. [564] _jewel of joy_, p. 224, et seq.: parker society's edition. latimer's _sermons_, p. 3. [565] latimer's _remains_, pp. 27-31. [566] ibid. pp. 308-9. [567] latimer to sir edward baynton: _letters_, p. 329. [568] _letters_, p. 323. [569] he thought of going abroad. "i have trust that god will help me," he wrote to a friend; "if i had not, i think the ocean sea should have divided my lord of london and me by this day."--_remains_, p. 334. [570] latimer to sir edward baynton. [571] see latimer's two letters to sir edward baynton: _remains_, pp. 322-351. [572] "as ye say, the matter is weighty, and ought substantially to be looked upon, even as weighty as my life is worth; but how to look substantially upon it otherwise know not i, than to pray my lord god, day and night, that, as he hath emboldened me to preach his truth, so he will strengthen me to suffer for it. "i pray you pardon me that i write no more distinctly, for my head is [so] out of frame, that it would be too painful for me to write it again. if i be not prevented shortly, i intend to make merry with my parishioners, this christmas, for all the sorrow, _lest perchance i never return to them again_; and i have heard say that a doe is as good in winter as a buck in summer."--latimer to sir edward baynton, p. 334. [573] latimer's _remains_, p. 334. [574] ibid. p. 350. [575] "i pray you, in god's name, what did you, so great fathers, so many, so long season, so oft assembled together? what went you about? what would ye have brought to pass? two things taken away--the one that ye (which i heard) burned a dead man,--the other, that ye (which i felt) went about to burn one being alive. take away these two noble acts, and there is nothing else left that ye went about that i know," etc., etc.--sermon preached before the convocation: latimer's _sermons_, p. 46. [576] "my affair had some bounds assigned to it by him who sent for me up, but is now protracted by intricate and wily examinations, as if it would never find a period; while sometimes one person, sometimes another, ask me questions, without limit and without end."--latimer to the archbishop of canterbury: _remains_, p. 352. [577] _remains_, p. 222. [578] _sermons_, p. 294. [579] the process lasted through january, february, and march. [580] _sermons_, p. 294. [581] he subscribed all except two--one apparently on the power of the pope, the other i am unable to conjecture. compare the articles themselves--printed in latimer's _remains_, p. 466--with the sermon before the convocation.--_sermons_, p. 46; and burnet, vol. iii. p. 116. [582] nicholas glossop to cromwell: ellis, third series, vol. ii. p. 237. [583] where he was known among the english of the day as master frisky-all. [584] see foxe. vol. v. p. 392. [585] eustace chappuys to chancellor granvelle: _ms. archiv. brussels: pilgrim_, p. 106. [586] see cromwell's will in an appendix to this chapter. this document, lately found in the rolls house, furnishes a clue at last to the connections of the cromwell family. [587] are we to believe foxe's story that cromwell was with the duke of bourbon at the storming of rome in may, 1527? see foxe, vol. v. p. 365. he was with wolsey in january, 1527. see ellis, third series, vol. ii. p. 117. and he was again with him early in 1528. is it likely that he was in italy on such an occasion in the interval? foxe speaks of it as one of the random exploits of cromwell's youth, which is obviously untrue; and the natural impression which we gather is, that he was confusing the expedition of the duke of bourbon with some earlier campaign. on the other hand foxe's authority was cranmer, who was likely to know the truth; and it is not impossible that, in the critical state of italian politics, the english government might have desired to have some confidential agent in the duke of bourbon's camp. cromwell, with his knowledge of italy and italian, and his adventurous ability, was a likely man to have been sent on such an employment; and the story gains additional probability from another legend about him, that he once saved the life of sir john russell, in some secret affair at bologna. see foxe, vol. v. p. 367. now, although sir john russell had been in italy several times before (he was at the battle of pavia, and had been employed in various diplomatic missions), and cromwell might thus have rendered him the service in question on an earlier occasion, yet he certainly was in the papal states, on a most secret and dangerous mission, in the months preceding the capture of rome. _state papers_, vol. vi. p. 560, etc. the probabilities may pass for what they are worth till further discovery. [588] a damp, unfurnished house belonging to wolsey, where he was ordered to remain till the government had determined upon their course towards him. see cavendish. [589] cavendish, pp. 269-70. [590] ibid. p. 276. [591] chappuys says, that a quarrel with sir john wallop first introduced cromwell to henry. cromwell, "not knowing how else to defend himself, contrived with presents and entreaties to obtain an audience of the king, whom he promised to make the richest sovereign that ever reigned in england."--chappuys to granvelle: _the pilgrim_, p. 107. [592] or willyams. the words are used indifferently. [593] the clause enclosed between brackets is struck through. [594] struck through. [595] mary, widow of louis of hungary, sister of the emperor, and regent of the netherlands. [596] she was much affected when the first intimation of the marriage reached her. "i am informed of a secret friend of mine," wrote sir john hacket, "that when the queen here had read the letters which she received of late out of england, the tears came to her eyes with very sad countenance. but indeed this day when i spake to her she showed me not such countenance, but told me that she was not well pleased. "at her setting forward to ride at hunting, her grace asked me if i had heard of late any tidings out of england. i told her grace, as it is true, that i had none. she gave me a look as that she should marvel thereof, and said to me, 'jay des nouvelles qui ne me semblent point trop bonnes,' and told me touching the king's highness's marriage. to the which i answered her grace and said, 'madame, je ne me doute point syl est faict, et quand le veult prendre et entendre de bonne part et au sain chemyn, sans porter faveur parentelle que ung le trouvera tout lente et bien raysonnable par layde de dieu et de bonne conscience.' her grace said to me again, 'monsieur l'ambassadeur, c'est dieu qui le scait que je vouldroye que le tout allysse bien, mais ne scaye comment l'empereur et le roy mon frere entendront l'affaire car il touche a eulx tant que a moy.' i answered and said, 'madame, il me semble estre assuree que l'empereur et le roy vostre frere qui sont deux prinssys tres prudens et sayges, quant ilz auront considere indifferentement tout l'affaire qu ilz ne le deveroyent prendre que de bonne part.' and hereunto her grace made me answer, saying, 'da quant de le prendre de bonne part ce la, ne sayge m. l'ambassadeur.'"--hacket to the duke of norfolk: _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 452. [597] _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 457. [598] sir gregory cassalis to the duke of norfolk. ad pontificem accessi et mei sermonis illa summa fuit, vellet id præstare ut serenissimum regem nostrum certiorem facere possemus, in suâ causâ nihil innovatum iri. hic ille, sicut solet, respondit, nescire se quo pacto possit cæsarianis obsistere,--_state papers_, vol. vii. p. 461. [599] bennet to henry: _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 462. [600] ibid. [601] letter undated, but written about the middle of june: _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 474 [602] of the archbishop of york, not of canterbury: which provokes a question. conjectures are of little value in history, but inasmuch as there must have been some grave reason for the substitution, a suggestion of a possible reason may not be wholly out of place. the appeal in itself was strictly legal; and it was of the highest importance to avoid any illegality of form. cranmer, by transgressing the inhibition which clement had issued in the winter, might be construed by the papal party to have virtually incurred the censures threatened, and an escape might thus have been furnished from the difficulty in which the appeal placed them. [603] publico ecclesiæ judicio. [604] rymer, vol. vi. part 2, p. 188. [605] the french king did write unto cardinal tournon (not, however, of his own will, but under pressure from the duke of norfolk), very instantly, that he should desire the pope, in the said french king's name, that his holyness would not innovate anything against your highness any wise till the congress: adding, withal, that if his holyness, notwithstanding his said desire, would proceed, he could not less do, considering the great and indissoluble amity betwixt your highnesses, notorious to all the world, but take and recognise such proceeding for a fresh injury.--bennet to henry viii.: _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 468. [606] ibid. p. 469. [607] ibid. p. 469. [608] ibid. p. 470. [609] ibid. p. 467, note, and p. 470. [610] burnet, vol. i. p. 221. [611] we only desire and pray you to endeavour yourselves in the execution of that your charge--easting utterly away and banishing from you such fear and timorousness, or rather despair, as by your said letters we perceive ye have conceived--reducing to your memories in the lieu and stead thereof, as a thing continually lying before your eyes and incessantly sounded in your ears, the justice of our cause, which cannot at length be shadowed, but shall shine and shew itself to the confusion of our adversaries. and we having, as is said, truth for us, with the help and assistance of god, author of the same, shall at all times be able to maintain you.--henry viii. to bonner: _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 485. [612] bonner to cromwell: ibid. vol. vii. p. 481. [613] the proclamation ordering that catherine should be called not queen, but princess dowager. [614] catherine de medici. [615] henry viii. to the duke of norfolk: _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 493. [616] sir john racket, writing from ghent on the 6th of september, describes as the general impression that the pope's "trust was to assure his alliance on both sides." "he trusts to bring about that his majesty the french king and he shall become and remain in good, fast, and sure alliance together; and so ensuring that they three (the pope, francis, and charles v.) shall be able to reform and set good order in the rest of christendom. but whether his unhappiness's--i mean his holiness's--intention, is set for the welfare and utility of christendom, or for his own insincerity and singular purpose, i remit that to god and to them that know more of the world than i do."--hacket to cromwell: _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 506. [617] john the magnanimous, son of john the steadfast, and nephew of the elector frederick, luther's first protector. [618] _state papers_, vol. vii. pp. 499-501. [619] princeps elector ducit se imparem ut regiæ celsitudinis vel aliorum regum oratores eâ lege in aulâ suâ degerent; vereturque ne ob id apud cæsaream majestatem unicum ejus dominum et alios male audiret, possetque sinistre tale institutum interpretari.--reply of the elector: _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 503. [620] vaughan to cromwell: _state papers_, vol vii. p. 509. [621] i consider the man, with other two--that is to say, the landgrave von hesse and the duke of lunenberg--to be the chief and principal defenders and maintainers of the lutheran sect: who considering the same with no small difficulty to be defended, as well against the emperor and the bishops of germany, his nigh and shrewd neighbours, as against the most opinion of all christian men, feareth to raise any other new matter whereby they should take a larger and peradventure a better occasion to revenge the same. the king's highness seeketh to have intelligence with them, as they conjecture to have them confederate with him; yea, and that against the emperor, if he would anything pretend against the king.--here is the thing which i think feareth the duke.--vaughan to cromwell: _state papers_, vol. vii. pp. 509-10. [622] hall, p. 805. [623] _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 512. [624] the duke of albany, during the minority of james v., had headed the party in scotland most opposed to the english. he expelled the queen-mother, margaret, sister of henry; he seized the persons of the two young princes, whom he shut up in stirling, where the younger brother died under suspicion of foul play (_despatches of_ giustiniani, vol. i. p. 157); and subsequently, in his genius for intrigue, he gained over the queen dowager herself in a manner which touched her honour.--lord thomas dacre to queen margaret: ellis, second series, vol. i. p. 279. [625] ex his tamen, qui hæc a pontifice, audierunt, intelligo regem vehementissime instare, ut vestræ majestatis expectatione satisfiat pontifex.--peter vannes to henry viii.: _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 518. [626] _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 520. [627] hoc dico quod video inter regem et pontificem conjunctissime et amicissime hic agi.--vannes to cromwell: ibid. [628] vannes to cromwell: ibid. pp. 522-3. [629] burnet, _collectanea_, p. 436. [630] letter of the king of france: legrand, vol. iii. reply of henry: foxe, vol. v. p. 110. [631] commission of the bishop of paris: legrand, vol. iii; burnet, vol. iii. p. 128; foxe, vol. v. p. 106-111. the commission of the bishop of bayonne is not explicit on the extent to which the pope had bound himself with respect to the sentence. yet either in some other despatch, or verbally through the bishop, francis certainly informed henry that the pope had promised that sentence should be given in his favour. we shall find henry assuming this in his reply; and the archbishop of york declared to catherine that the pope "said at marseilles, that if his grace would send a proxy thither he would give sentence for his highness against her, because that he knew his cause to be good and just."--_state papers_, vol. i. p. 421. [632] ms. bibl. impér. paris.--_the pilgrim_, pp. 97, 98. cf. foxe, vol. v. p. 110. [633] i hear of a number of gelders which be lately reared; and the opinion of the people here is that they shall go into england. all men there speak evil of england, and threaten it in their foolish manner.--vaughan to cromwell: _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 511. [634] rymer, vol. vi. part 2, p. 189. [635] parties were so divided in england that lookers-on who reported any one sentiment as general there, reported in fact by their own wishes and sympathies. d'inteville, the french ambassador, a strong catholic, declares the feeling to have been against the revolt. chastillon, on the other hand, writing at the same time from the same place (for he had returned from france, and was present with d'inteville at the last interview), says, "the king has made up his mind to a complete separation from rome; and the lords and the majority of the people go along with him."--chastillon to the bishop of paris: _the pilgrim_, p. 99. [636] strype, _eccles. memor._, vol. i. p. 224. [637] instructions to the earls of oxford, essex, and sussex, to remonstrate with the lady mary: _rolls house ms._ [638] ibid. [639] on the 15th of november, queen catherine wrote to the emperor, and after congratulating him on his successes against the turks, she continued, "and as our lord in his mercy has worked so great a good for christendom by your highness's hands, so has he enlightened also his holiness; and i and all this realm have now a sure hope that, with the grace of god, his holiness will slay this second turk, this affair between the king my lord and me. second turk, i call it, from the misfortunes which, through his holiness's long delay, have grown out of it, and are now so vast and of so ill example that i know not whether this or the turk be the worst. sorry am i to have been compelled to importune your majesty so often in this matter, for sure i am you do not need my pressing. but i see delay to be so calamitous, my own life is so unquiet and so painful, and the opportunity to make an end now so convenient, that it seems as if god of his goodness had brought his holiness and your majesty together to bring about so great a good. i am forced to be importunate, and i implore your highness for the passion of our lord jesus christ, that in return for the signal benefits which god each day is heaping on you, you will accomplish for me this great blessing, and bring his holiness to a decision. let him remember what he promised you at bologna. the truth here is known, and he will thus destroy the hopes of those who persuade the king my lord that he will never pass judgment."--queen catherine to charles v.: _ms. simancas_, november 15, 1533. [640] letter to the king, giving an account of certain friars observants who had been about the princess dowager: _rolls house ms._ [641] we remember the northern prophecy, "in england shall be slain the decorate rose in his mother's belly," which the monks of furness interpreted as meaning that "the king's grace should die by the hands of priests."--vol. i. cap. 4. [642] statutes of the realm, 25 henry viii. cap. 12. state papers relating to elizabeth barton: _rolls house ms._ prior of christ church, canterbury, to cromwell: _suppression of the monasteries_, p. 20. [643] thus cromwell writes to fisher: "my lord, [the outward evidences that she was speaking truth] moved you not to give credence to her, but only the very matter whereupon she made her false prophecies, to which matter ye were so affected--as ye be noted to be on all matters which ye once enter into--that nothing could come amiss that made for that purpose."--_suppression of the monasteries_, p. 30. [644] papers relating to the nun of kent: _rolls house ms._ [645] ibid. [646] ibid. [647] 25 hen. viii. cap. 12. [648] papers relating to the nun of kent: _rolls house ms._ 25 hen. viii. cap. 12. the "many" nobles are not more particularly designated in the official papers. it was not desirable to mention names when the offence was to be passed over. [649] report of the commissioners--papers relating to the nun of kent: _rolls house ms._ [650] goold, says the act of the nun's attainder, travelled to bugden, "to animate the said lady princess to make commotion in the realm against our sovereign lord; surmitting that the said nun should hear by revelation of god that the said lady catherine should prosper and do well, and that her issue, the lady mary, should prosper and reign in the realm."--25 henry viii. cap. 13. [651] report of the proceedings of the nun of kent: _rolls house ms._ [652] ms. bibliot. impér., paris. the letter is undated. it was apparently written in the autumn of 1533. [653] il a des nouvelles amours. in a paper at simancas, containing nuevas de inglaterra, written about this time, is a similar account of the dislike of anne and her family, as well as of the king's altered feelings towards her. dicano anchora che la anna è mal voluta degli si. di inghilterra si per la sua superbia, si anche per l'insolentia e mali portamenti che fanno nel regno li fratelli e parenti di anna; e che per questo il re non la porta la affezione que soleva per che il re festeggia una altra donna della quale se mostra esser inamorato, e molti si. di inghilterra lo ajutano nel seguir el predito amor per deviar questo re dalla pratica di anna. [654] hall. [655] "i, dame elizabeth barton," she said, "do confess that i, most miserable and wretched person, have been the original of all this mischief, and by my falsehood i have deceived all these persons (the monks who were her accomplices), and many more; whereby i have most grievously offended almighty god, and my most noble sovereign the king's grace. wherefore i humbly, and with heart most sorrowful, desire you to pray to almighty god for my miserable sins, and make supplication for me to my sovereign for his gracious mercy and pardon."--confession of elizabeth barton: _rolls house ms._ [656] papers relating to elizabeth barton: ibid. [657] _state papers_, vol. i. p. 415. [658] a curious trait in mary's character may be mentioned in connection with this transfer. she had a voracious appetite; and in elizabeth's household expenses an extra charge was made necessary of £26 a year for the meat breakfasts and meat suppers "served into the lady mary's chamber."--statement of the expenses of the household of the princess elizabeth: _rolls house ms._ [659] he is called _frater consobrinus_. see fuller's _worthies_, vol. iii. p. 128. [660] he was killed at the battle of pavia. [661] courtenay, earl of devonshire, married catherine, daughter of edward. [662] believe me, my lord, there are some here, and those of the greatest in the land, who will be indignant if the pope confirm the sentence against the late queen.--d'inteville to montmorency: _the pilgrim_, p. 97. [663] she once rode to canterbury, disguised as a servant, with only a young girl for a companion.--depositions of sir geoffrey pole: _rolls house ms._ [664] confession of sir william neville: _rolls house ms._ [665] confession of sir george neville: ibid. [666] confession of the oxford wizard: ibid. [667] queen anne boleyn to gardiner: burnet's _collectanea_, p. 355. office for the consecration of cramp rings: ibid. [668] so at least the oxford wizard said that sir william neville had told him.--confession of the wizard: _rolls house ms._ but the authority is not good. [669] henry alone never listened seriously to the nun of kent. [670] john of transylvania, the rival of ferdinand. his designation by the title of king in an english state paper was a menace that, if driven to extremities, henry would support him against the empire. [671] acts of council: _state papers_, vol. i. pp. 414-15. [672] henry viii. to sir john wallop: _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 524. [673] stephen vaughan to cromwell: _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 517. vaughan describes peto with shakespearian raciness. "peto is an ipocrite knave, as the most part of his brethren be; a wolf; a tiger clad in a sheep's skin. it is a perilous knave--a raiser of sedition--an evil reporter of the king's highness--a prophecyer of mischief--a fellow i would wish to be in the king's hands, and to be shamefully punished. would god i could get him by any policy--i will work what i can. be sure he shall do nothing, nor pretend to do nothing, in these parts, that i will not find means to cause the king's highness to know. i have laid a bait for him. he is not able to wear the clokys and cucullys that be sent him out of england, they be so many." [674] hacket to henry viii.: _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 528. [675] ibid. p. 530. [676] hacket to cromwell: _state papers_, vol. vii. p. 531. [677] so at least henry supposed, if we may judge by the resolutions of the council "for the fortification of all the frontiers of the realm, as well upon the coasts of the sea as the frontiers foreanenst scotland." the fortresses and havens were to be "fortefyed and munited;" and money to be sent to york to be in readiness "if any business should happen."--ibid. vol. i. p. 411. [678] 25 hen. viii. cap. 19. [679] a design which unfortunately was not put in effect. in the hurry of the time it was allowed to drop. [680] 25 henry viii. cap. 14. [681] 23 henry viii. cap. 20. [682] at this very time campeggio was bishop of salisbury, and ghinucci, who had been acting for henry at rome, was bishop of worcester. the act by which they were deprived speaks of these two appointments as _nominations_ by the king.--25 henry viii. cap. 27. [683] wolsey held three bishoprics and one archbishopric, besides the abbey of st. albans. [684] thus when wolsey was presented, in 1514, to the see of lincoln, leo x. writes to his beloved son thomas wolsey how that in his great care for the interests of the church, "nos hodie ecclesiæ lincolniensi, te in episcopum et pastorem præficere intendimus." he then informs the chapter of lincoln of the appointment; and the king, in granting the temporalities, continues the fiction without seeming to recognise it:--"cum dominus summus pontifex nuper vacante ecclesiâ cathedrali personam fidelis clerici nostri thomæ wolsey, in ipsius ecclesiæ episcopum præfecerit, nos," etc.--see the acts in rymer, vol. vi. part 1, pp. 55-7. [685] 25 henry viii. cap. 20. the pre-existing, unrealities with respect to the election of bishops explain the unreality of the new arrangement, and divest it of the character of wanton tyranny with which it appeared _primâ facie_ to press upon the chapters. the history of this statute is curious, and perhaps explains the intentions with which it was originally passed. it was repealed by the 2nd of the 1st of edward vi. on the ground that the liberty of election was merely nominal, and that the chapters ought to be relieved of responsibility when they had no power of choice. direct nomination by the crown was substituted for the _congé d'élire_, and remained the practice till the reaction under mary, when the indefinite system was resumed which had existed before the reformation. on the accession of elizabeth, the statute of 25 henry viii. was again enacted. the more complicated process of henry was preferred to the more simple one of edward, and we are naturally led to ask the reason of so singular a preference. i cannot but think that it was this. the council of regency under edward vi. treated the church as an institution of the state, while henry and elizabeth endeavoured (under difficulties) to regard it under its more catholic aspect of an organic body. so long as the reformation was in progress, it was necessary to prevent the intrusion upon the bench of bishops of romanising tendencies, and the deans and chapters were therefore protected by a strong hand from their own possible mistakes. but the form of liberty was conceded to them, not, i hope, to place deliberately a body of clergymen in a degrading position, but in the belief that at no distant time the church might be allowed without danger to resume some degree of self-government. [686] 25 henry viii. cap. 21. [687] i sent you no heavy words, but words of great comfort; willing your brother to shew you how benign and merciful the prince was; and that i thought it expedient for you to write unto his highness, and to recognise your offence and to desire his pardon, which his grace would not deny you how in your age and sickness.--cromwell to fisher: _suppression of the monasteries_, p. 27. [688] sir thomas more to cromwell: burnet's _collectanea_, p. 350. [689] ibid. [690] ibid. [691] more to cromwell: strype's _memorials_, vol. i. appendix, p. 195. [692] more to the king: ellis, first series, vol. ii. p. 47. [693] cromwell to fisher: _suppression of the monasteries_, p. 27, et seq. [694] _suppression of the monasteries_, p. 27, et seq. [695] john fisher to the lords in parliament: ellis, third series, vol. ii. p. 289. [696] _lords' journals_, p. 72. [697] 25 hen. viii. cap. 12. [698] in a tract written by a dr. moryson in defence of the government, three years later, i find evidence that a distinction was made among the prisoners, and that dr. bocking was executed with peculiar cruelty. "solus in crucem actus est bockingus," are moryson's words, though i feel uncertain of the nature of the punishment which he meant to designate. "crucifixion" was unknown to the english law; and an event so peculiar as the "crucifixion" of a monk would hardly have escaped the notice of the contemporary chroniclers. in a careful diary kept by a london merchant during these years, which is in ms. in the library of balliol college, oxford, the whole party are said to have been hanged.--see, however, _morysini apomaxis_, printed by berthelet, 1537. [699] hall, p. 814.] the inferior confederates were committed to their prisons with the exception only of fisher, who, though sentenced, found mercy thrust upon him, till by fresh provocation the miserable old man forced himself upon his fate.[700 [700] lord herbert says he was pardoned; i do not find, however, on what authority: but he was certainly not imprisoned, nor was the sentence of forfeiture enforced against him. [701] this is the substance of the provisions, which are, of course, much abridged. [702] _lords' journals_, vol. i. p. 82. an act was also passed in this session "against the usurped power of the bishop of rome." we trace it in its progress through the house of lords. (_lords' journals_, parliament of 1533-4.) it received the royal assent (ibid.), and is subsequently alluded to in the both of the 28th of henry viii., as well as in a royal proclamation dated june, 1534; and yet it is not on the roll, nor do i anywhere find traces of it. it is not to be confounded with the act against payment of peter's pence, for in the _lords' journals_ the two acts are separately mentioned. it received the royal assent on the 30th of march, while that against peter's pence was suspended till the 7th of april. it contained, also, an indirect assertion that the king was head of the english church, according to the title which had been given him by convocation. (king's proclamation: foxe, vol. v. p. 69.) for some cause or other, the act at the last moment must have been withdrawn. [703] see burnet, vol. i. pp. 220-1: vol. iii p. 135; and lord herbert. du bellay's brother, the author of the memoirs, says that the king, at the bishop's entreaty, promised that if the pope would delay sentence, and send "judges to hear the matter, he would himself forbear to do what he proposed to do"--that is, separate wholly from the see of rome. if this is true, the sending "judges" must allude to the "sending them to cambray," which had been proposed at marseilles. [704] see the letter of the bishop of bayonne, dated march 23, in legrand. a paraphrase is given by burnet, vol. iii. p. 132. [705] promisistis predecessori meo quod si sententiam contra regem angliæ tulisset, cæsar illum infra quatuor menses erat invasurus, et regno expulsurus.--_state papers_, vol. vii. p. 579. [706] letter of du bellay in legrand. [707] ibid. [708] sir edward karne and dr. revett to henry viii.: _state papers_, vol. vii. pp. 553-4. [709] state papers, vol. vii. p. 560, et seq. [710] his highness, considering the time and the malice of the emperour, cannot conveniently pass out of the realm--since he leaveth behind him another daughter and a mother, with their friends, maligning his enterprises in this behalf--who bearing no small grudge against his most entirely beloved queen anne, and his young daughter the princess, might perchance in his absence take occasion to excogitate and practise with their said friends matters of no small peril to his royal person, realm, and subjects.--_state papers_, vol. vii. p. 559. [711] lord herbert. [712] i mentioned their execution in connection with their sentence; but it did not take place till the 20th of april, a month after their attainder: and delay of this kind was very unusual in cases of high treason. i have little doubt that their final sentence was in fact pronounced by the pope. [713] the oaths of a great many are in rymer, vol. vi. part 2, p. 195, et seq. [714] his great-grandson's history of him (_life of sir thomas more,_, by cresacre more, written about 1620, published 1627, with a dedication to henrietta maria) is incorrect in so many instances that i follow it with hesitation; but the account of the present matter is derived from mr. roper, more's son-in-law, who accompanied him to lambeth, and it is incidentally confirmed in various details by more himself. [715] more's _life of more_, p. 232. [716] more held extreme republican opinions on the tenure of kings, holding that they might be deposed by act of parliament. [717] more's _life of more_, p. 237. [718] burnet, vol. i. p. 255. [719] more's _life of more_, p. 237. [720] cromwell to the archbishop of canterbury: _rolls house ms._ [721] _state papers_, vol. i. p. 411, et seq. [722] royal proclamation, june, 1534. [723] ibid. [724] foxe, vol. v. p. 70. 