CLOSE OF THE REIGN OF HENRY VIII.
(1546-JANUARY, 1547.)
[Sidenote: THE NEW COURT.]
Weighty consequences followed the miscarriage of the conspiracy formed
against the queen. It had been aimed at the queen and the Reformation;
but it turned against Roman Catholicism and its leaders. The proverb
was again fulfilled,--'Whoso diggeth a pit shall fall therein.' The
wind changed; Romanism suffered an eclipse, it was no longer illumined
by the sun of royalty. The first to fall into disgrace with Henry VIII.
was, as we have seen, Wriothesley. The king displayed his coolness
in various ways. The chancellor, disquieted and alarmed for his own
pecuniary interests, was annoyed to see preparations for establishing
a new Court of Augmentations, by which his privileges and emoluments
would be lessened. He earnestly entreated the king that it might not be
established in his time. 'I shall have cause,' he wrote, on October 16,
'to be sorry in my heart during my life, if the favor of my gracious
master shall so fail, that partly in respect of his poor servant he do
not somewhat of his clemency temper it. Thus I make an end, praying God
long to preserve his Majesty.'[464] In spite of all his efforts, he
lost the royal favor, and the new court which he so much dreaded was
erected.
A still heavier blow fell upon Gardiner. After the reconciliation
between Henry and Catherine, he was obliged to abstain from making his
appearance at the court.[465] On December 2, he wrote to the king:
'I am so bold to molest your Majesty with these very letters, which
be only to desire your Highness, of your accustomed goodness and
clemency, to be my good and gracious lord, and to continue such opinion
of me as I have ever trusted and, by manifold benefits, certainly
known your Majesty to have had of me ... declare mine inward rejoice
of your Highness' favor, and that I would not willingly offend your
Majesty for no worldly thing.' This man, at other times so strong, now
saw before him nothing but disgrace and became excessively fearful.
He might be overtaken by a long series of penalties. Who could tell
whether Henry, like Ahasuerus of old, would not inflict upon the
accuser the fate which he had designed for the accused? The bishop,
restless, wrote to Paget, secretary of state: 'I hear no specialty
of the king's majesty's miscontentment in this matter of lands, but
confusedly that my doings should not be well taken.'[466] No answer to
either of these two letters is extant. Towards the end of December,
the king excluded Gardiner from the number of his executors and from
the council of regency under his successor, Edward; and this involved
a heavy loss of honor, money, and influence. Henry felt that for the
guardianship of his son and of his realm, he must make his choice
between Cranmer and Gardiner. Cranmer was selected. It was in vain that
Sir Antony Browne appealed to him, and requested him to reinstate the
bishop of Winchester in this office. 'If he be left among you,' said
the king, 'he would only sow trouble and division. Don't speak of it.'
The conspiracy against the queen was not the sole, although it was the
determining, cause of Gardiner's disgrace.[467]
This, however, was but the beginning of the storm. The first lord of
the realm and his family were about to be attacked. If Henry no longer
struck to the right, he struck to the left; but he dealt his blows
without intermission; in one thing he was ever consistent, cruelty.
[Sidenote: PARTIES AT THE COURT.]
In addition to the suffering caused by his disease, the king was
oppressed by anxiety at the thought of the ambition and rebellion which
might snatch the crown from his son and create disturbances in the
kingdom after his death. The court was at this time divided into two
parties. One of these was headed by the duke of Norfolk, who, owing
to his position as chief of the ancient family of the Howards, allied
even to the blood royal, was next to the king the most influential
man in England. He had long been lord treasurer, and had rendered
signal services to the crown. Opposed to this party was that of the
Seymours, who had not hitherto played any great part, but who now, as
uncles to the young prince, found themselves continually advancing in
esteem and authority. Norfolk was the chief of the Catholic party;
and a great number of evangelical Christians had been burnt while
he was at the head of the government. His son, the earl of Surrey,
was likewise attached to the doctrines of the Middle Ages, and was
even suspected of having associated in Italy with Cardinal Pole. The
Seymours, on the other hand, had always shown themselves friendly to
the Reformation; and while Norfolk supported Gardiner, they supported
Cranmer. It appeared inevitable that, after the king's death, war would
break out between these chiefs, and what would happen then? The more
Henry's strength declined, the more numerous became the partisans of
the Seymours. The sun was rising for the uncles of the young prince,
and was setting for Norfolk. The duke, perceiving this, made advances
to the Seymours. He would have liked his son to marry the daughter of
the earl of Hertford, and his daughter, widow of the duke of Richmond,
the natural son of the king, to marry Sir Thomas Seymour. But neither
Surrey nor the duchess were disposed to the match. There was therefore
nothing to expect but a vigorous conflict; and the king chose that
the victory of the one party and the defeat of the other should be
determined in his lifetime and through his intervention. To which
of the two parties would the king give the preference? He had always
leaned for support upon Norfolk, and the religious views of this old
servant were his own. Would he separate from him at this critical
moment? After having from the first resisted the Reformation, would he,
on the brink of the grave, give it the victory? The past had belonged
to Roman Catholicism; should the future belong to the Gospel? Should
his death belie his whole life? The infamous conspiracy formed against
the queen by the Catholic party would not have been enough to induce
the king to adopt so strange a resolution. A circumstance of another
kind occurred to determine his course.
At the beginning of December, 1546, Sir Richard Southwell, who was
afterwards a member of the privy council under Queen Mary, gave the
king a warning that the powerful family of the Howards would expose
his son to great danger. Before the birth of Edward, Norfolk had been
designated as one of the claimants of the crown. His eldest son was a
young man of great intelligence, high spirit and indomitable courage,
and excelled in military exercises. To these qualifications he added
the polish of a courtier, fine taste and an ardent love for the fine
arts; his contemporaries were charmed by his poems; and he was looked
upon as the flower of the English nobility. These brilliant endowments
formed a snare for him. 'His head,' people said to the king, 'is filled
with ambitious projects.' He had borne the arms of Edward the Confessor
in the first quarter, which the king alone had the right to do; if,
it was added, he has refused the hand of the daughter of the earl of
Hertford, it is because he aspires to that of the princess Mary; and
if he should marry her after the death of the king, prince Edward will
lose the crown.
The king ordered his chancellor to investigate the charges against
the duke of Norfolk and his son, the earl of Surrey; and Wriothesley
ere long presented to him a paper, in the form of questions, in his
(Wriothesley's) own handwriting. The king read it attentively, pen in
hand, hardly able to repress his anger, and underlined with a trembling
hand those passages which appeared to him the most important. The
following sentences are specimens of what he read:--
'If a man coming _of the collateral line to the heir of the crown_, who
ought not to bear the arms of England but on the second quarter ... _do
presume_ ... to bear them in the first quarter, ... _how this man's
intent is to be judged_....
'If a man compassing _with himself to govern the realm do actually
go about to rule the king_, and should for that purpose advise his
daughter or sister to become his harlot, thinking thereby to bring it
to pass ... what this importeth.
'If a man say these words,--If the king die, who should have the rule
of the prince but my father or I? what it importeth.'[468]
[Sidenote: THE ARREST.]
On Saturday, December 12, the duke and the earl were separately
arrested and taken to the Tower, one by land, the other by the river,
neither of them being aware that the other was suffering the same fate.
The king had often shown himself very hasty in a matter of this kind;
but in this case he was more so than usual. He had not long to live,
and he desired that these two great lords should go before him to the
grave. The same evening the king sent Sir Richard Southwell, Sir John
Gate, and Wymound Carew to Kenninghall, in Norfolk, a principal seat of
the family, about eighty miles from London. They travelled as swiftly
as they could, and arrived at the mansion by daybreak on Tuesday. They
had orders to examine the members of the family, and to affix seals to
the effects.
The Howard family, unhappily for itself, was deeply divided. The
duchess of Norfolk, daughter of the duke of Buckingham, an irritable
and passionate woman, had been separated from her husband since 1553,
and apparently not without reason. She said of one of the ladies who
were in attendance on her, Elizabeth Holland,--'This woman is the cause
of all my unhappiness.' There was a certain coolness between the earl
of Surrey and his sister, the duchess of Richmond, probably because
the latter leaned to the side of the Reformation. Surrey had also had
a quarrel with his father, and he was hardly yet reconciled to him. A
house divided against itself will not stand. The members of the family,
therefore, accused each other; the duchess, it may be believed, did not
spare her husband, and the duke called his son a fool. When Sir Richard
Southwell and his two companions arrived at Kenninghall on Tuesday
morning, they caused all the doors to be securely closed so that no one
might escape; and after having taken some evidence of the almoner, they
requested to see the duchess of Richmond, the only member of the family
then at the mansion, and Mistress Elizabeth Holland, who passed for
the duke's favorite. These ladies had only just risen from their beds,
and were not ready to make their appearance. However, when they heard
that the king's envoys requested to see them, they betook themselves as
quickly as possible to the dining-room. Sir John Gate and his friends
informed them that the duke and the earl had just been committed to the
Tower. The duchess, deeply moved at this startling news, trembled and
almost fainted away.[469] She gradually recovered herself, and kneeling
down humbled herself as though she were in the king's presence. She
said: 'Although nature constrains me sore to love my father, whom I
have ever thought to be a true and faithful subject, and also to
desire the well-doing of his son, my natural brother, whom I note to be
a rash man, yet for my part I would nor will hide or conceal any thing
from his Majesty's knowledge, specially if it be of weight.' The king's
agent searched the house of the duchess of Richmond, inspected her
cabinets and her coffers, but they found nothing tending to compromise
her. They found no jewels, for she had parted with her own to pay her
debts. Next, they visited Elizabeth Holland's room, where they found
much gold, many pearls, rings and precious stones; and of these they
sent a list to the king. They laid aside the books and manuscripts of
the duke; and the next day by their direction the duchess of Richmond
and Mistress Holland set out for London, where they were to be examined.
[Sidenote: DIVISIONS OF THE HOWARDS.]
Mistress Holland was examined first. She deposed that the duke had said
to her 'that the king was sickly, and could not long endure; and the
realm like to be in an ill case through diversity of opinions.' The
duchess of Richmond deposed 'that the duke her father would have had
her marry Sir Thomas Seymour, brother to the earl of Hertford, which
her brother also desired, wishing her withal to endear herself so into
the king's favor, as she might the better rule here as others had done;
and that she refused.'[470] This deposition appears to corroborate one
of the charges brought against Norfolk by the chancellor. Nevertheless,
the supposition that a father, from ambitious motives, could urge his
daughter to consent to incestuous intercourse is so revolting, that one
can hardly help asking whether there really was any thing more in the
case than an exercise of the natural influence of a daughter-in-law
over her father-in-law. The duchess corroborated the accusation
touching the royal arms borne by Surrey, his hatred of the Seymours,
and the ill which he meditated doing them after the king's death; and
she added that he had urged her not to carry too far the reading of the
Holy Scriptures.
Various other depositions having been taken, the duke and his son were
declared guilty of high treason (January 7). On the 13th, Surrey was
tried before a jury at Guildhall. He defended himself with much spirit;
but he was condemned to death; and this young nobleman, only thirty
years of age, the idol of his countrymen, was executed on Tower Hill,
January 21.[471] Public feeling was shocked by this act of cruelty,
and every one extolled the high qualities of the earl. His sister, the
duchess of Richmond, took charge of his five children, and admirably
fulfilled her duty as their aunt.[472]
[Sidenote: NORFOLK'S APPEAL TO THE KING.]
The king was now dangerously ill, but he showed no signs of tenderness.
People said that he had never hated nor ruined any one by halves; and
he was determined, after the death of the eldest son, to sacrifice the
father. Norfolk was very much surprised to find himself a prisoner
in the Tower, to which he had consigned so many prisoners. He wrote
to the lords to let him have some books, for he said that unless
he could read he fell asleep. He asked also for a confessor, as he
was desirous of receiving his Creator; and for permission to hear
mass and to walk outside his apartment in the daytime. At the age of
seventy-three, after having taken the lead in the most cruel measures
of the reign of Henry VIII., from the death of Anne Boleyn to the death
of Anne Askew, he now found that the day of terror was approaching
for himself. His heart was agitated and fear chilled him. He knew the
king too well to have any hope that the great and numerous services
which he had rendered to him would avail to arrest the sword already
suspended over his head. Meanwhile the prospect of death alarmed him;
and in his distress he wrote from his prison in the Tower to his royal
master:--'Most gracious and merciful sovereign lord, I, your most
humble subject, prostrate at your foot, do most humbly beseech you to
be my good and gracious lord.... In all my life I never thought one
untrue thought against you or your succession, nor can no more judge or
cast in my mind what should be laid to my charge than the child that
was born this night.... I know not that I have offended any man...
unless it were such as are angry with me for being quick against such
as have been accused for sacramentaries.' And fancying that he detected
the secret motive of his trial, he added: 'Let me recover your gracious
favor, with taking of me all the lands and goods I have, or as much
thereof as pleaseth your Highness.'[473]
The charges brought against Norfolk and Surrey were mere pretexts. No
notice having been taken of the letter just cited, the old man, who was
anxious by any means to save his life, determined to humble himself
still further. On January 12, nine days before the death of Surrey,
in the hope of satisfying the king, he made, in the presence of the
members of the privy council, the following confession:--'I, Thomas,
duke of Norfolk, do confess and acknowledge myself... to have offended
the king's most excellent majesty, in the disclosing... of his privy
and secret counsel... to the great peril of his Highness.... That I
have concealed high treason, in keeping secret the false and traitorous
act... committed by my son... against the king's majesty... in the
putting and using the arms of Edward the Confessor,... in his scutcheon
or arms.... Also, that to the peril, slander, and disinherison of the
king's majesty and his noble son, Prince Edward, I have... borne in
the first quarter of my arms... the arms of England.... Although I be
not worthy to have... the king's clemency and mercy to be extended to
me,... yet with a most sorrowful and repentant heart do beseech his
Highness to have mercy, pity, and compassion on me.'[474]
All was fruitless; Norfolk must die like the best servants and friends
of the king, like Fisher, Sir Thomas More, and Cromwell. But the duke
could not be condemned with so little formality as Surrey. The king,
therefore, assembled the parliament; a bill was presented to the House
of Lords, and the three readings were hurried through on January 18,
19, 20. The bill, sent down to the Commons, was passed by them, and was
sent back on the 24th. Although it was customary to reserve the final
step to the close of the session, the king, who was in haste, gave his
assent on Thursday the 27th, and the execution of Norfolk was fixed for
the morning of the next day. All the preparations for this last act
were made during the night; and but a few moments were to intervene
before this once powerful man was to be led to the scaffold.
Two victims were now awaiting the remorseless scythe of destiny. Death
was approaching at the same time the threshold of the palace and that
of the prison. Two men who had filled the world with their renown, who
during their lifetime had been closely united, and were the foremost
personages of the realm, were about to pass the inexorable gates and to
be bound with those bonds which God alone can burst. The only question
was which of the two would be the first to receive the final stroke.
The general expectation was, no doubt, that Norfolk would be the first,
for the executioner was already sharpening the axe which was to smite
him.
[Sidenote: LAST HOURS OF HENRY VIII.]
While the duke, still full of vigorous life, was awaiting in his
dungeon the cruel death which he had striven so much to avert, Henry
VIII. was prostrate on his sick bed at Whitehall. Although every thing
showed that his last hour was at hand, his physicians did not venture
to inform him of it; as it was against the law for any one to speak
of the death of the king. One might have said that he was determined
to have himself declared immortal by act of parliament. At length,
however, Sir Antony Denny, who hardly ever left him, took courage and,
approaching the bedside of the dying monarch, cautiously told him that
all hope, humanly speaking, was lost, and entreated him to prepare for
death. The king, conscious of his failing strength, accused himself of
various offences, but added that the grace of God could forgive him all
his sins. It has been asserted that he did really repent of his errors.
'Several English gentlemen,' says Thevet, 'assured me that he was truly
repentant, and among other things, on account of the injury and crime
committed against the said queen (Anne Boleyn).'[475] This is not
certain; but we know that Denny, glad to hear him speak of his sins,
asked him whether he did not wish to see some ecclesiastic. 'If I see
any one,' said Henry, 'it must be Archbishop Cranmer.' 'Shall I send
for him?' said Denny. The king replied: 'I will first take a little
sleep, and then, as I feel myself, I will advise upon the matter.' An
hour or two later the king awoke, and finding that he was now weaker,
he asked for Cranmer. The archbishop was at Croydon; and when he
arrived the dying man was unable to speak, and was almost unconscious.
However, when he saw the primate, he stretched out his hand, but could
not utter a word. The archbishop exhorted him to put all his trust in
Christ and to implore his mercy. 'Give some token with your eyes or
hand,' he said, 'that you trust in the Lord.' The king wrung Cranmer's
hand as hard as he could, and soon after breathed his last. He died at
two o'clock in the morning, Friday, January 28, 1547.[476]
By Henry's death Norfolk's life was saved. The new government declined
to begin the new reign by putting to death the foremost peer of
England. Norfolk lived for eight years longer. He spent, indeed, the
greater part of it in prison; but for more than a year he was at
liberty, and died at last at Kenninghall.
Henry died at the age of fifty-six years. It is no easy task to sketch
the character of a prince whose principal feature was inconsistency.
Moreover, as Lord Herbert of Cherbury said, his history is his best
portrait. The epoch in which he lived was that of a resurrection of the
human mind. Literature and the arts, political liberty, and evangelical
faith were now coming forth from the tomb and returning to life. The
human mind, since the outburst of bright light which then illumined it,
has sometimes given itself up, it must be confessed, to strange errors;
but it has never again fallen into its old sleep. There were some
kings, such as Henry VIII. and Francis I., who took an interest in the
revival of letters; but the greater number were alarmed at the revival
of freedom and of faith, and instead of welcoming tried to stifle
them. Some authors, and particularly Fox, have asserted that if death
had not prevented him, Henry VIII. would have so securely established
the Reformation as not to leave a single mass in the kingdom. This is
nothing more than a hypothesis, and it appears to us a very doubtful
one. The king had made his will two years before his death, when he was
setting out for the war with France. In it, his chief object was to
regulate the order of succession and the composition of the council of
regency; but at the same time it contains positive signs of scholastic
Catholicism. In this document the king says: 'We do instantly desire
and require the blessed Virgin Mary His mother, with all the holy
company of heaven, continually to pray for us and with us while we live
in this world, and in time of passing out of the same.'
[Sidenote: HIS WILL.]
Moreover, he ordained that the dean and canons of the chapel royal,
Windsor, and their successors forever, should have two priests to say
masses at the altar.[477] The will was rewritten on December 13, 1546;
and the members of the Privy Council signed it as witnesses. But the
only change which the king introduced was the omission of Gardiner's
name among the members of the council of regency. The passages
respecting the Virgin and masses for his soul were retained.
Henry had brought into the world with him remarkable capacities, and
these had been improved by education. He has been praised for his
application to the business of the State, for his wonderful cleverness,
his rare eloquence, his high courage. He has been looked upon as a
Mæcenas, and pronounced a great prince. His abilities certainly give
him a place above the average of kings. He regularly attended the
council, corresponded with his ambassadors, and took much pains. In
politics he had some clear views; he caused the Bible to be printed;
but the moral sentiment is shocked when he is held up as a model.
The two most conspicuous features of his character were pride and
sensuality; and by these vices he was driven to most blameworthy
actions, and even to crimes. Pride led him to make himself head of
the church, to claim the right to regulate the faith of his subjects,
and to punish cruelly those who had the audacity to hold any other
opinions on matters of religion than his own. The Reformation, of
which he is assumed to be the author, was hardly a pseudo-reform; we
might rather see in it another species of _de_formation. Claiming
autocracy in matters of faith, he naturally claimed the same in matters
of state. All the duties of his subjects were summed up by him in the
one word _obedience_; and those who refused to bow the head to his
despotic rule were almost sure to lose it. He was covetous, prodigal,
capricious, suspicious; not only was he fickle in his friendships,
but on many occasions he did not hesitate to take his victims from
amongst his best friends. His treatment of his wives, and especially
of Anne Boleyn, condemns him as a man; his bloody persecutions of the
evangelicals condemn him as a Christian; the scandalous servility which
he endeavored, and not unsuccessfully, to engraft in the nobles, the
bishops, the house of commons and the people, condemn him as a king.