CHAPTER I.

Transcriber's note:

Obvious printer errors have been corrected. Hyphenation has been

rationalised. Inconsistent spelling (including accents and capitals) has

been retained.

Small capitals have been replaced by full capitals. Italics are

indicated by _underscores_.

Running headers, at the top of each right-hand page, have been converted

into Sidenotes and moved in front of the paragraphs to which they refer.

HISTORY

OF THE

REFORMATION IN EUROPE

IN THE TIME OF CALVIN.

BY

J. H. MERLE D'AUBIGNÉ, D.D.

AUTHOR OF THE 'HISTORY OF THE REFORMATION OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY,' ETC.

'Les choses de petite duree ont coutume de devenir fanees, quand elles

ont passe leur temps.

'Au regne de Christ, il n'y a que le nouvel homme qui soit florissant,

qui ait de la vigueur, et dont il faille faire cas.'

CALVIN.

VOL. V.

ENGLAND, GENEVA, FERRARA.

NEW YORK:

ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS,

No. 530 BROADWAY.

1876.

ST. JOHNLAND STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY,

SUFFOLK COUNTY, N. Y.

PREFACE.

This is the tenth volume of the _History of the Reformation of the

Sixteenth Century_, and the fifth of the Second Series. The first series

described the history of that great epoch from its commencement down to

the Confession of Augsburg (1530). The second will include the years

intervening between that period and the triumph of the Reformation in

various parts of Europe. It is not always easy to fix the latter limit,

which varies according to locality.

Nevertheless, a rule laid down by the author in his first volume

sensibly limits the work he has undertaken. 'The history of one of the

greatest revolutions that has ever been accomplished in human affairs,

and not the history of a mere party, is the object of the present

undertaking. The history of the Reformation is distinct from that of

Protestantism.' One or two volumes coming, God willing, after this one

will bring it to a conclusion. The author divided the history into two

series for the convenience of the public, but he does not separate them.

Together they form a single work.

The course that he will probably pursue in future will better express

the unity of the great event which has made the sixteenth century

famous. Streams at first flow apart; they afterwards unite with each

other in succession and form a single river. There comes a moment when

the waters undergo the law of concentration: the same phenomenon is

manifested in a history like ours. After following up successively the

facts of the Reformation in Germany, German Switzerland, France,

England, Western Switzerland and elsewhere, we shall concentrate our

narrative a little, and present the progress of the great transformation

in a single picture.

New countries and new men will come before us. In our next volume we

shall travel through Scotland, Denmark, Sweden, Hungary, and other parts

of Europe, retracing the great features of their religious history. We

shall even return to Luther and Melanchthon, whose society is at once so

healthy and so pleasant; and also see Calvin at his work in Geneva.

One circumstance, besides that already indicated, warns the author to

restrict his labor, and might suddenly interrupt it. Time is growing

short for him, and he cannot complete his work without the aid of Him

who is the master of our days.

This volume begins with England. A faithful history of the Reformation

is now perhaps more necessary to that country than to any other. The

general opinion on the Continent, excepting that of the blind partisans

of popery, is that the cause of Reform is won, and that there is no need

to defend it. Strange to say this is not entirely true with regard to

England—a country so dear to the friends of truth and liberty. Nay, even

among Anglican ministers, a party has been formed enthusiastic in behalf

of rites, sacerdotal vestments, and superstitious Roman doctrines, and

violent in their attacks upon the Reformation. The excesses in which

some of its members have indulged are unprecedented. One of them has

instituted a comparison between the Reformers and the leaders during the

Reign of Terror—Danton, Marat, and Robespierre, for instance—and

declares the superiority of the latter.[1] 'The Reformation,' says this

Anglican priest in another place, 'was not a Pentecost; I regard it as a

Deluge, an act of divine vengeance.' In the presence of such opinions

and of others which, though less marked, are not less fatal, the history

of the Reformation may furnish some wholesome lessons.

The history of England is succeeded in this volume by a narrative of the

events which led to the triumph of the Reformation in Geneva. That

history ought to interest the Protestants of every country, the little

city having afterwards played so considerable a part in the propagation

of evangelical truth and in the struggles of Protestantism with Popery.

For the purpose of his narrative, the author has continued to consult

the most authentic sources: original documents, letters written by the

persons of whom this history speaks or by their contemporaries, and the

chronicles, annals, and books published at that epoch. He has made use

of such collections of documents as have been printed; frequently he has

had recourse to MSS. of the period which have not yet been published.

We live in a literary age when criticism sways the sceptre. Criticism is

good and necessary: it purifies history and clears the paths to the

palace of truth. But if dogmatic epochs have their excesses, critical

epochs have theirs also. It was said a long while ago that 'those who

run too hastily after truth shoot beyond it.' The men who desire to

renovate history are like those who desire to renovate cities. The

latter begin by pulling down a few ugly houses which disfigure the

neighborhood and impede the traffic; but at last they lay their hands on

solid and useful edifices, buildings whose destruction is regretted by

every one. Wise men will, in critical ages, take moderation and equity

for their rule. These have often been wanting in recent days. There is a

criticism called by the Germans _hypercriticism_, which not only denies

what is false, but even what is true. The Holy Scriptures have been the

special object of its attack. It has denied the authenticity of the

writings of St. John, St. Paul, Isaiah and other sacred writers, and the

truth of many of the facts which they record. If the sacred books have

not been spared by this criticism, writings purely human, the facts of

history, have not escaped unassailed. There have been numerous instances

of this in Germany and elsewhere.

Several facts which belong to the history of the Reformation of France

and French Switzerland have been recently called in question both in

reviews and pamphlets. The author has felt it his duty to prove the

historical reality of his statements, not only in the Preface to the

French edition of this volume, but in the February Number of the _Revue

Chrétienne_ (1869) published in Paris by M. Meyrueis. He has not thought

it necessary to give these details in the English edition, because the

statements which called them forth are unknown in England. It will be

sufficient to indicate the principal points which have been denied with

too much precipitancy, and the correctness of which the author has

proved by the soundest demonstration.

The first fact relates to Le Fèvre of Etaples. The author stated in his

History that that theologian, the writer of a remarkable translation of

the Holy Scriptures into French, had taught the great doctrine of the

Reformation—justification by faith through grace—as early as 1512, that

is to say, four or five years before Luther. This having been disputed,

the author proved it by the existence of Le Fèvre's _Commentary on the

Epistles of St. Paul_ published in 1512, in which that doctrine is

distinctly taught, and which is preserved in the _Bibliothèque

Impériale_ at Paris. He added other proofs derived from the writings of

Farel and Beza, as also from the learned critic Richard Simon, Bayle, &c.

The second fact concerns William Farel. The author said in his History

that this Reformer, the most zealous evangelist of that period, had

imbibed the evangelical doctrines at Paris from the lessons of his

master, Le Fèvre of Etaples, and that he was converted between 1512 and

1514—before the beginning of the Reformation properly so called. That

point having been denied, the author proved it by the positive

declarations of Le Fèvre and Farel. The latter says pointedly: 'This

took place in the time of Louis the Twelfth.' Now Louis XII. died in

1515.

The third fact relates to Thomas ab Hofen, the friend of Zwingle, and

deputy from Berne to Geneva in 1527. The author wrote in his History

that this layman was, properly speaking, the first who labored to spread

the Gospel in Geneva. As that statement had been impugned, the author

proved it by the German and Latin letters of Zwingle and of Ab Hofen

himself.

The fourth fact concerns Robert Olivetan, Calvin's cousin, and author of

the first translation of the Bible into French. It has been doubted

whether he was tutor in the family of a Genevese councillor in 1532, and

whether he 'evangelized' at that time in Geneva. The author proved his

statement by the positive testimony of the reformer Froment, in his

_Actes et Gestes de Genève_, and by extracts from the official records

of the Genevese Council. He has demonstrated that Olivetan preceded in

Geneva as a preacher of the Gospel, not only Calvin but Farel and

Froment.

Lastly, the fifth fact relates to Calvin. A Genevese writer denied a few

years back that Calvin, when returning from Italy, passed through Aosta,

where there exists, however, a monument erected to commemorate his

flight. The author hopes he has proved that the universal opinion, which

makes the Reformer pass through that city, is well founded, and that the

contrary opinion has no weight.

This last point is discussed in the Preface to the French edition of

this volume: the four others are examined at length in an article

entitled _Critique d'une Critique_, published in the _Revue Chrétienne_

of Paris.

There are individuals who, when they meet with facts in a history that

have not been previously discussed in an archæological dissertation, or

with circumstances that had hitherto been unknown, immediately imagine

that such facts have no foundation. This is a curious aberration. If an

historian writes—not according to second-hand authorities, but after

original materials—it is quite natural that he should come upon things

that have not been noticed before. This has happened to the author of

the _History of the_ _Reformation_. True history, no doubt, possesses

coloring and life; but it describes such events only as are founded on

the firm basis of truth.

There are writers at this day who carry their archæological

predilections further still and would like to substitute chronicles for

history, giving us a body without a soul. But authors of distinguished

merit have protested against such an error.

A great critic, M. Sainte Beuve, says: 'There is one kind of history

founded on documentary evidence, state papers, diplomatic transactions,

and the correspondence of ambassadors; and there is another kind with

quite a different aspect—moral history, written by the actors and the

eye-witnesses.'

An eminent man (Le Comte d'Haussonville) who by his last work, _L'Eglise

Romaine et le premier Empire_, has taken an honorable position among

historians, indorses this judgment. 'M. Sainte Beuve is right,' he says;

'the latter kind of history is the best, by which I mean the most

instructive, the most profitable, the only one which serves to unseal

the eyes, open the understanding, combat deplorable credulity, and avoid

disagreeable mystifications. What concerns us, is to know men, "by

lifting the curtain which hides them," according to the happy expression

of Saint-Simon.'

Another celebrated writer has said: 'Real history appears only when the

historian begins to distinguish, across the gulf of time, the living and

acting man—the man endued with passions, the creature of habit—with

voice and physiognomy, with gestures and dress, distinct and complete,

like the one from whom we have just parted in the street. Language,

Legislation, Catechisms, are abstract things; the complete thing is the

man acting, the visible corporeal man, who walks, fights, toils, hates,

and loves.

'Why is not history studied more closely? In it men would find human

life, domestic life with its varied and dramatic scenes; the human heart

with its fiercest as well as its tenderest passions, and moreover a

sovereign charm—the charm of reality.'

Lastly, we read in the studies of M. Daunou, one of the most accredited

masters of historical composition, that 'history which is naturally

_picturesque_ and _dramatic_ has become in modern times _dull_ and

_cold_, and no longer presents those living images of men and things

which ancient genius loved to trace.'

History had freed herself from the restraint which the Middle Ages had

imposed on her, to prevent her from speaking naturally and with life, as

men speak; and perhaps the lessons of the illustrious academician and

peer of France, whom we have just quoted, may have contributed to this

change. But for some time observers have been asking whether there is

not reason to fear a return of the Middle Ages; whether men are not

again attempting to fasten a gag on history. One might at times be led

to say that archæologists are of opinion that history might be

suppressed as a matter of luxury, a useless ornament, and be replaced by

documents, diplomas, and extracts from registers strung together.

Is it just that an historian should have the antiquaries crying out

against him from every side, because, while keeping faithfully to

documents, he draws something from them that has life or light? Is it

just that when a character feels, moves, and speaks, rejoices or

grieves, the Areopagus should declare him to be a fictitious being who

could never have existed, and a pure product of the imagination? You

believe that our ancestors were people like ourselves, with hearts that

beat with passion and grief.—By no means; they were icy shades like

those wandering on the banks of the Styx. Hitherto men had said: This

being feels and moves, therefore he lives; but according to the new

school, life is a fable. Nothing is authentic but what is wearisome. A

man and a history are not looked upon as real living beings, unless they

are colorless, stark, and cold.

Of this we have had many instances. One time we incurred this reproach:

Your imagination, we were told, invents features which give animation to

the subject, but about which you could know nothing. The following

passage was quoted: 'When Fryth the reformer,' wrote the critic, 'was

taken as a prisoner on foot to the episcopal court at Croydon, you say

that "he had a calm and cheerful look, and the rest of the journey was

accomplished in pious and agreeable conversation." How could you know

that?' the objector went on. 'Were you of the party to see the

appearance of his face?' We immediately took down the eighth volume of

Foxe's _Acts and Monuments_, the appendix to which contains an account

of Fryth's journey written by an eye-witness. We opened the book and

found these words: 'And so with a cheerful and merry countenance, he

went with them, spending the time in pleasant and godly communication.'

What we were charged with having invented, was an almost literal

transcript of a document more than three hundred years old.

If archæology were to be substituted for history, we do not think the

public would be overpleased with the authors of the transformation. The

investigations of palæographers are not the edifice, but the materials

prepared for its construction. History is above archæology, as the house

is above its foundations. The building raised by the architect is the

end. In it men find a pleasant dwelling-place, sheltered from the

inclemency of the seasons. But it is a good thing to excavate, to dig

out fragments of rock from the bosom of the earth; it is advantageous,

when you build, to have stones, and good stones too. The historian who

sets little store by archæology betrays a superficial mind; the

archæologist who sets little store by history betrays a mind whose

cultivation is still incomplete. But we need not fear this movement; it

has no chance of success. Real history will never perish.

We insert this protest in the present volume, not because of anything

that may concern us personally; but as this history has been favorably

received, we feel bound to prove that we have always followed the most

respectable authorities, and although liable to error, we have

conscientiously endeavored to give a truthful narrative—true in its

facts and in the spirit by which it is animated.

* * * * *

When will debates and contests cease? Happily there is something in the

world which the attacks of men can neither batter down nor even shake,

and which is sufficient to give peace to the soul. The holy words which

the prophets of God have written will exist for ever, because the Light

of Life is in them, and because from age to age many hearts, longing for

the highest blessings, have found, and still find, in them everlasting

life. They delight us, not only on account of their divine origin, but

because they fully satisfy all the wants of our existence. We say to

this heavenly and living truth, which the divine words reveal to us: I

was naked and thou didst clothe me. I was thirsty, and thou didst give

me to drink. I was hungry, and thou gavest me meat. How is it that so

many men, perishing with thirst, do not come to these waters? Writers of

great power in pagan antiquity, such as Celsus, Porphyry, and Julian,

attacked Christianity in the early ages, employing the same idle

objections as are still used in our days. They knew not that it

contained an imperishable strength. For eighteen hundred years it has

withstood all attacks, and since our glorious Reformation it has

received a new impulse. The nations who cover the most distant seas with

their ships have scattered everywhere the seed of God. Their footsteps

have reached to the ends of the world, and the crouching nations rise up

at their approach. Perhaps unbelief was never more common in Europe

among the lower strata of society; but at the same time believers were

never so numerous throughout the world. _It is a great multitude which

no man can number._

And even were infidelity and atheism to increase more and more, that

should not lead us to forsake Thee, thou Saviour of the world! If

earthly wisdom gives its votaries a light which scorches and wastes the

soul, Thou givest a light which uplifts, vivifies, and delights. In the

midst of struggles Thou implantest peace in our hearts. In the depths of

sorrows Thou givest a powerful and living consolation. At the approach

of that death which is the terror of men, Thou fillest our souls with

the firm and lively hope of reaching, by the path of Thy cross, life

with Thee in the glorious and invisible world. To whom should we go, O

Christ? Thou hast the words of eternal life, and we have believed and

have known, that Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.

GENEVA: _March, 1869_.

[1] _The Guardian_ for 20th May, 1868.

CONTENTS

OF

THE FIFTH VOLUME.

BOOK VIII.

ENGLAND BREAKS WITH ROME.

CHAPTER I.

A CONSPIRACY AGAINST THE REFORMATION.

(MARCH AND APRIL 1534.)

A Critical Time—The King condemned at Rome—Two Days too late—The

English Envoys and the Bishop of Paris—Miscalculations of the English

Envoys—Henry's Book against the Pope—The People and the Clergy against

the Pope—Reaction of Ultramontanism—An epileptic Girl—The Nun of

Kent—Scene in a Chapel—Oracles and Miracles—Political Enterprise—The

Nun before the King—Her Partisans increase in Number—Attempts to bring

over Sir Thomas More—The Conspiracy—New Allies—The Nun and the

Conspirators are arrested—Contrition of Sir Thomas More—Condemnation of

the Criminals—Death of the Maid of Kent

PAGE 1

CHAPTER II.

HENRY VIII. SEPARATES ENGLAND FROM THE PAPACY.

(CHRISTMAS 1533 TO JUNE 1534.)

The King's Proceedings against Catherine—The Monks and the Priests

renounce the Pope—Preparation of Charles V. against Henry—Henry

prepares to resist him—The Two Chiefs of the Anti-Roman Party—The

Orator of the Reformation—The King abolishes the Authority of the

Pope—The Sheriffs ordered to see the Proclamation carried out—The

Church, a Department of the State—Authority in the Church—Form which

the Church might have assumed—Various Systems

18

CHAPTER III.

BEGINNING OF DANGER FOR THE QUEEN AND FOR TYNDALE

(1534 TO AUGUST 1535.)

Tyndale translates the Old Testament at Antwerp—His Charity and

Zeal—Joye pretends to correct his Version—Tyndale's noble Protest—Anne

protects the Friends of the Gospel—Her Message in Harman's

Favor—Discontent of the King—Plot against Tyndale—Snares laid for

him—Stratagem—Attempt at Bribery—Recourse to the Imperial

Government—Tyndale's House surrounded—The Traitor—Tyndale's Arrest—His

Imprisonment in the Castle of Vilvorde—The Life of the Reformers:

Apologies for the Reformation

28

CHAPTER IV.

THE KING-PONTIFF AGAINST THE ROMAN-CATHOLICS AND THE PAPACY.

(1534 AND 1535.)

Opposition of certain Priests—Mental Restrictions—Fanatical Monks and

timid Monks—Agitation of Sir Thomas More—More and Fisher refuse to take

the Oath—They are taken to the Tower—The Carthusians required to

swear—Paul III. desires to bring back England—Henry rejects the

Papacy—Severe Laws concerning his Primacy—The King, not the Head of the

Church

42

CHAPTER V.

LIGHT FROM BOTH SIDES.

(1534 AND 1535.)

Frankness and Misery of Sir Thomas More—Confusion in England—Character

of Cranmer—Cranmer's Work—The Bible shall be translated into

English—Cranmer's Joy—Failure of the Translation by the Bishops—Popish

and seditious Preachers—The King orders the Carthusians to reject the

Pope—The Carthusians resolve to die—Threats of Revolt—Incompatibility

of Popery and Liberty—The Carthusians are condemned—Execution of the

Three Priors—Henry strikes on all sides

51

CHAPTER VI.

DEATH OF BISHOP FISHER AND SIR THOMAS MORE.

(MAY TO SEPTEMBER 1535.)

Fisher raised to the Cardinalate at Rome; condemned to Death at

London—Piety of his Last Moments—His Christian Death—More before the

Court of King's Bench—He is sentenced to Death—Taken back to the

Tower—Meeting with his Daughter—General Emotion—More's

Mortifications—Morning of 6th July—His Last Words—His Death—Sensation

produced by these two Executions—Effects on the Continent—Fanatical

Bull against Henry VIII.—Henry justifies himself at Rome—His Excuses

not valid

64

CHAPTER VII.

VISITATION OF THE MONASTERIES: THEIR SCANDALS AND SUPPRESSION.

(SEPTEMBER 1535 TO 1536.)

State of the Monasteries—Gluttonous Living—General Disgust—Cranmer's

Advice to the King—Children of Darkness caught in a Net—General

Visitation ordered—The Laity reappear—The Commissioners—The

Universities—Cranmer on Rome—The Visitation begins—Corruption of Morals

in the Monasteries—Immorality in the Abbey of Langdon—Robberies,

Debaucheries, Frauds—The Holy Bottle at Hales—The Fraud at

Boxley—Coining False Money—Cruelties—The Visitors besieged at

Norton—The Nunneries—Apologists and Detractors—Many Monks and Nuns set

free—Report of the Commissioners—Deliberations of the Council—Effect of

the Report upon Parliament—Three hundred and seventy-six Monasteries

abolished—Real Religious Houses—Latimer and Cranmer—Covetousness of the

Nobility—Bad use of the Conventual Property—Testimony of the Monks—The

Measure accomplished—Terror and Despair—New Institutions—National

Prosperity—Social and Political Developments—Transformation of Society

78

CHAPTER VIII.

UNION OF THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND WITH THE PROTESTANTS OF GERMANY.

(1534 TO 1535.)

Henry VIII. makes advances to Melanchthon—The Reformer rejects

them—Luther and the Elector incline to Henry—The Errors of

Intolerance—A New English Embassy to Germany—The Alliance is

signed—Cranmer saves Mary—Conference with Catherine—Catherine's

Firmness, Asceticism, and Illness—Preparations of Charles V. against

England—Catherine's Will, her Farewell, and Death—Anne Boleyn's

Feelings on hearing of her Death—England and Germany seek to

unite—Theological Discussion at Wittemberg—Will Luther concede

anything?—A Master and Slaves at the Court of England

105

CHAPTER IX.

ACCUSATION OF ANNE BOLEYN.

(1535 TO MAY 1536.)

Error concerning the Beginning of the Reformation—Anne Boleyn's Virtues

and Good Works—Her Relations with Cranmer and Latimer—With Tyndale and

Parker—Parker's Christian Character—Anne Boleyn's Character—The Truth

about Queen Anne—Her Enemies—Henry attracted by Jane Seymour—Queen

Anne's Manners—Her Anguish—Her stillborn Son—Her Sadness and

Anxiety—Anne's Zeal for the Reformation—Discontent of the

Ultramontanists—Anne's Dangers increase—Her Anxiety for her

Daughter—The Four Articles of the Indictment—Character of

Henry VIII.—Commission of Inquiry—Brereton and Smeaton arrested—The

Tournament at Greenwich—The King makes a Scene—Anne before Norfolk and

the Council—Anne Boleyn in the Tower—Her Piety and Innocence—Her

Sorrow—Critical Position of Cranmer—His Letter to the King—False Policy

of Cranmer—Harsh Surveillance of the Queen—Peace and Agitation in her

Heart—Extraordinary Transport

119

CHAPTER X.

ANNE FORGIVES HER ENEMIES AND IS PUT TO DEATH.

MAY 1536.)

The Judge acknowledges Anne's Innocence—Her Enemies and her

Renunciation of the World—Dignity of her Answer—Anne's Letter to the

King—Its Effect upon Henry—Northumberland's Declaration—The

Jury—Condemnation of Norris—The Queen and her Brother before the

Peers—Anne's Dignity—Effect produced in the City—Sentence of

Death—Anne's Farewell Address to the Peers—Lord Rocheford condemned—The

four Gentlemen beheaded—Henry annuls his Marriage with Anne—Joy and

Hope of the Pope—Anne's Self-reproach—Asks Pardon of Princess

Mary—Anne's Communion—Miracles of the Priests—Anne's last Message to

Henry—Preparations upon the Tower Green—A noble Pardon—Emotion caused

by that Christian Act—Death of Anne—Her Memory—The Royal Hunting

Party—Henry marries Jane Seymour—Effect of Anne's Death on the

Continent—What Share had Rome in it?

147

CHAPTER XI.

REFORMING MOVEMENT AFTER ANNE'S DEATH; CATHOLIC

AND SCHOLASTIC REACTION.

(SUMMER 1536.)

Position of the two Parties—The Pope desires to unite with England—Two

men in Henry VIII.—Pole determines to write to the King—Priests are

Fathers, Kings are Sons—Henry rules like the Turk—Pole has orders to

curse Henry—Sentiments of the King—Mary pays dear for her

Reconciliation with the King—Ratification of Parliament—Order to

renounce the Pope—Language of the Worldlings and the

Christians—Convocation of the Clergy—Latimer's Reforming

Sermon—Necessity of the Reformation—The Lay Element reappears—The

Clergy denounce sixty-seven _mala dogmata_—The Prolocutor's Charge

before the Bishops—The two Armies front to front—A Scotchman in the

Convocation—What Cranmer thought essential—Fox extols the

Reformation—The Word of God the Source of Life—Alesius is

excluded—Necessity of a Convocation

171

CHAPTER XII.

A MOVEMENT OF SCHOLASTIC CATHOLICISM INAUGURATED BY

THE KING. EVANGELICAL REACTION.

(AUTUMN 1536.)

Henry plays the part of a Pope—Dogmas of the new Head of the

Church—Articles about Religion—Baptism, Presence, Penance, Images,

Prayers to Saints, Ceremonies, Purgatory—Different Opinions—The

Articles accepted—Cranmer's Precautions to prevent Mischief—Cromwell

Vicegerent—Coverdale's Bible—Evangelical Reaction—Various

Testimonies—Persecutions—The foundations of Faith

191

CHAPTER XIII.

INSURRECTION OF THE NORTH OF ENGLAND TO RESTORE THE

PAPACY AND DESTROY THE REFORMATION.

(OCTOBER 1536.)

Agitation in the Northern Counties—Ferment throughout the

Country—Revolt in Lincolnshire—Twenty thousand Insurgents—The King's

Threats—The Pilgrimage of Grace—Sermon of Latimer—Aske's Address—The

Nobility—The Earl of Northumberland—Henry's Alarm—Panic in

London—Brutality of the Rebels—The Lancaster Herald before the Rebel

Chiefs—The Insurgent Army marches on London—The Royal

Proclamation—Propositions of the Rebels—They disperse—Subsequent

Revolts and Repressions

201

CHAPTER XIV.

DEATH OF THE GREAT REFORMER OF ENGLAND.

(FROM 1535 TO OCTOBER 1536.)

Tyndale's Characteristic—Imprisonment at Vilvorde—His Labors—Rogers

comes to his help—Tyndale's Legacy—The Bible about to appear—A Light

that shines before Men— Intercession with the King on behalf of

Tyndale—Activity of Poyntz to save him—Poyntz attacked by

Philips—Tyndale's Firmness—All things combine against Tyndale—His great

Offence—Tyndale's Words—Tyndale degraded—Led to Punishment—He dies

praying for the King—Petition for the Circulation of the whole

Bible—The King consents—Consequences of the Act—How the Bible was

received—Inward Power of Scripture

213

BOOK IX.

REFORMATION OF GENEVA BY FAREL'S MINISTRY, AND ARRIVAL OF CALVIN IN

THAT CITY AFTER HIS SOJOURN IN ITALY.

CHAPTER I.

PROGRESS, STRUGGLES, AND MARTYRS OF THE REFORMATION IN GENEVA.

(JANUARY TO JUNE 1535.)

Is Liberty a Blessing?—The Swiss abandon Geneva—New Election of

Magistrates friendly to the Reformation—The Reformed party increases—A

Monk offers to preach the Gospel—Opposition at St. Germain—The Council

determines to let the Monk preach—Riot in the Church—Easter Communion—A

Knight of Rhodes preaches the Gospel—The Brigands of Peney—Gaudet's

cruel Punishment—The Martyr's Constancy—The Genevese attack the

Castle—Retreat and Courage

230

CHAPTER II.

POISONING OF THE REFORMERS. CONVERSION OF THE HEAD OF THE FRANCISCANS.

(SPRING 1535.)

Plot to get rid of Farel, Viret, and Froment—Antonia gained by the

Priests—Her Experience—Steals the Poison—Prepares the Poisoned Soup—Her

Terror and Flight—She is caught and brought back—Sensation in

Geneva—Condemnation of the Criminal—Her Visions—Consequence of the

Crime—Two Enfranchisements necessary—Conversion of Jacques Bernard,

Superior of the Franciscans—He preaches throughout Lent—What the

Charters of the Church declare—Jacques Bernard asks for a Public

Discussion

243

CHAPTER III.

PREPARATIONS FOR A PUBLIC DISPUTATION IN GENEVA.

(FROM APRIL TO WHITSUNTIDE, 1535.)

Five Positive and Five Negative Propositions—The Council authorizes

Jacques Bernard to support them—Publicity established by the

Reformation—Catholicism answers by a Procession—The Nuns alone show

Courage—Celebrated Theologians invited—Caroli comes unasked—His

Character—His Motives for visiting Geneva—Conversation between Farel

and Caroli—Farel censures him—The Magistrate's part in the

Discussion—Commissioners belonging to the two Parties

254

CHAPTER IV.

THE GREAT PUBLIC DEBATE ON THE FOUNDATIONS OF THE EVANGELICAL FAITH.

(JUNE 1535.)

Struggle between the Head of the Franciscans and the Head of the

Dominicans—The Ten Propositions sent to Furbity—Caroli acknowledges the

Necessity of Grace—Caroli invites Furbity to the Disputation—Caroli

stops short about the Mass—He recovers and speaks with Eloquence—Viret,

Caroli, and Farel—The Victory remains with the Reformation

264

CHAPTER V.

TRIUMPH OF THE WORD OF GOD, BOTH WRITTEN AND SPOKEN.

(JUNE TO AUGUST 1535.)

First Bible of the Reformation—The Printer and the

Impression—Olivetan's Appeal to the Church—Conversions after the

Disputation—Delays of the Council—Great Misery in Geneva—The Reformed

demand the free Preaching of the Gospel—Farel preaches at the

Magdalen—Forbidden by the Council—Farel preaches in various

Churches—The Cathedral of St. Pierre—The False Worship and the

True—Farel's Sermon at St. Pierre's—Two Systems with regard to

the State

271

CHAPTER VI.

IMAGES AND THE MASS ABOLISHED.

(8TH TO 11TH AUGUST 1535.)

Chants of the Priests—The Children's Games in the Cathedral—Destruction

of Images—What must be thought of it?—The Host—Discovery of the

Huguenots—Indignation of the Genevese—Three Bands march against the

Idols—The Frauds at St. Gervais—The Miracles of St. Dominic—Farel's

Reprimand—The Reformation grows stronger—Grief of the Priests—Firmness

of the Reformed—Farel before the Great Council—Suppression of the

Mass—The Clergy are not the Church—Sadness and Murmurs—Jesus Christ

substituted for Ceremonies—The Tenth of August 1535

283

CHAPTER VII.

PRIESTS, MONKS, NUNS, AND VICAR-GENERAL DEPART.

(AUGUST TO DECEMBER 1535.)

The Monks are dumb—The Priests haughtily refuse to speak—Flight of

Papal Adherents—Who shall pay the Cost of the War?—The Abolition of

Mass announced to the Pope—Farel preaches to the Nuns—How they receive

his Sermon—Conversion of a Nun—Claudine and Blaisine desire to

enlighten the Sisters—Departure of the Nuns—Their Journey and Arrival

at Annecy—Disorders and Flight of the Vicar-general—Opprobrium of the

Priests, Zeal of some of their body—Establishment of a general

Hospital—Foundation of Schools—Priests summoned to defend their

Faith—Roman-catholicism comes to an End—Doctrine of Christ preached

298

CHAPTER VIII.

AN ENERGETIC CITIZEN CALLS SWITZERLAND TO HELP

GENEVA AND THE REFORMATION.

(SEPTEMBER AND OCTOBER 1535.)

Preparations for attacking Geneva—The coming Tempest—The Emperor's

Plans—Terror and Refuge—Berne drawn opposite ways—Noble Answer of the

Genevese to the Duke—Discord between Baudichon and Michael Sept—La

Maisonneuve appointed Captain-general—The Danger increases—Claude

Savoye turns towards the Jura—Wildermuth promises Help—Ehrard and the

Heroine of Nidau—The Neuchâtelers answer to the Summons—Opposition of

the Governor—An Auxiliary Force of Volunteers—Hesitation of the

Neuchâtelers—Struggle and Prayer—The Force diminished by one-half

313

CHAPTER IX.

WAR AND THE BATTLE OF GINGINS.

(11TH AND 12TH OCTOBER 1535.)

Wildermuth's projected Route—Forced to change his Course—The Volunteers

climb the Jura—Inclement and laborious March—Hunger—The Abbey—The Lake

of Les Rousses—They reach St. Cerques—The three Guides—Message to

Claude Savoye—Claude departs for Coppet—The Swiss descend the Jura—They

approach Nyon—Led into a Snare—The Betrayal—Battle of Gingins—Two

heroic Women—Slaughter of Priests—Second Battle and Second

Victory—Thanksgivings on the Field—Song of the Bernese

Soldiers—Preparations for resisting a Third Attack

327

CHAPTER X.

DIPLOMACY OR THE CASTLE OF COPPET.

(OCTOBER 12TH 1535.)

War and Diplomacy—Statesmen in the Castle of Coppet—De Lullin, the

Bernese, and Savoye—The Conference—The Governor plays with the

Ambassadors—De Lullin's Schemes—All start to stop the Advance of the

Swiss—What the Governor saw on the Road—The Ambassadors stop the

Swiss—The news of the Victory reaches Geneva—Baudichon departs with

five hundred Men—Terror of the fugitive Savoyards—Treacherous

Negotiations—The Bernese order the Swiss to retire—They hesitate but

yield at last—The Bernese made Prisoners—Baudichon's Approach causes

alarm at Coppet—Fraud of the Diplomatists—The Three Genevese Delegates

arrested and sent to Chillon—Baudichon allows himself to be

deceived—The Swiss are tricked—Indignation at Geneva—The Genevese seize

three Hostages—Storming of St. Jean

339

CHAPTER XI.

MOVEMENTS FOR THE ATTACK AND DEFENCE OF GENEVA. FAITH AND HEROISM.

(FROM THE BEGINNING OF NOVEMBER 1535 TO THE END OF JANUARY 1536.)

Geneva blockaded—Combat and Prayer—Succor comes from France—Scheme of

Francis I.—Geneva coins Money—Berne pleads for Geneva at

Aosta—Conference in the City of Aosta—The Genevese refuse a

Truce—Baudichon's Success at Berne—Defeat of French Auxiliaries in the

Jura—Farel's Exhortation to the Council—Francis I. desires to become

the Protector of Geneva—Attack of the third of January—Jesse's heroic

defence of Notre Dame—What is the true Remedy?—The War of Cologny

357

CHAPTER XII.

EXTREME PERIL.

(JANUARY TO FEBRUARY 1536.)

The Duke's new Plans—Giangiacomo de Medici—Has the Command of the

Genevese Campaign—Ordered to destroy the City—Berne decides to help

Geneva—The Proclamation—Nägueli made Commander-in-Chief—His

Orders—Haller blesses the Army—The Troops march out with Songs—Song of

the Bernese—Misery in Geneva—Capture of Versoix by the Genevese—Changes

in the Policy of Europe—Combinations of Princes—Francis I. determines

to attack Savoy—The Bishop of Lausanne opposes the Swiss—The two Armies

meet at Morges—Medici's heart fails him—Embarks his Army and

escapes—General break-up—Power of Moral Force—The Lords of the Country

too frightened to take up Arms—Spare the People, destroy the

Castles—Francis and Margaret of Gingins—The Vicar-General De Gingins

hidden at Divonne—Nägueli divides his Army into three Corps—Entrance of

the Swiss into Geneva—The Bernese War-song—The Genevese give God the

glory

369

CHAPTER XIII.

DESTRUCTION OF THE CASTLES—JOY IN GENEVA—LIBERATION OF BONIVARD.

(FROM FEBRUARY TO THE END OF MARCH 1536.)

Interview between Berne and Geneva—Burning of the Castles—A Circle of

Fire—Destruction of Peney—Spirit of Peace in Geneva—Election of

Syndics—Advance of the Army—The Soldiers deliberate—The French in

Savoy—Seize the Duke's States—Last Years of his Life—Geneva rises as

the Duke declines—Pretensions of the Bernese: Firmness of the

Genevans—Conquest of Vaud—Bonivard at Chillon—Geneva and Berne resolve

to liberate him—Attack upon the Castle—The Garrison runs

away—Liberation of Bonivard—An Altar of the Gospel and of Liberty

390

CHAPTER XIV.

THE PEOPLE OF GENEVA DESIRE TO LIVE ACCORDING TO THE GOSPEL.

(MARCH TO JUNE 1536.)

The City and the Country evangelized—The Council in an Episcopal

Capacity—The State and the Church—Difficulties—Religion of

Neighborhood—A Month granted to the Priests—Furbity set at

Liberty—Morals in Geneva—Reason of Opposition to the Ministers—Farel

calls for a Public Confession of Faith—Source of Genevese

Liberty—Dangers of an Appeal to the Whole Body of Citizens—The Meeting

of the Twenty-first of May—The Question put to the People—A Bulwark

against the Pope—Memorial Inscription—Return of Genevan

Refugees—Toleration—Transformation—Easter—Want of good Preachers—Where

is the Chosen Man of God?

403

CHAPTER XV.

CALVIN AT FERRARA.

(WINTER AND SPRING.)

The Court of Ferrara—Arrival of two Frenchmen—Their joyful Reception by

Princess Renée—Men of Letters at Ferrara—Long Conversations between

Renée and Calvin—A new Director of Princes—Calvin's last Letters—The

Countess of Marennes—Meetings in the Chapel of the Court—Calvin's

Hearers—Anne de Beauregard—Her early Death—Marot's Epitaph—Soubise—His

Zeal—Bevilacqua and Titian—The Word stifled by the World—François the

Chaplain—Conversations with Calvin—Calvin lends him a Copy of the

_Institutes_—Mass—The 'Helen' of the Church—The Chaplain's

Agitation—Calvin's Letter to the Duchess about the Chaplain—Calvin

justifies Germany—Calvin writes to Duchemin—How to escape the

Pollutions of Babylon—Roussel made a Bishop—Calvin's Letter to him—His

energetic Appeal—Lesson to be drawn from these Letters—Calvin's

Influence in Italy—His Danger

420

CHAPTER XVI.

FLIGHT OF CALVIN.

(SPRING, 1536.)

The Inquisition alarmed—The French ordered to leave Ferrara—Marot's

Lines to the Queen of Navarre—Calvin arrested—Hurried away to

Bologna—Stopped and rescued on the Road—His

Flight—Castelvetro—Traditions of Carigliano and Saluzzo—The City of

Aosta—Beginning of the Gospel—Violent Opposition—Zeal of Bishop Gazzini

and the Guardian of the Franciscans—Assembly of the States—Was Calvin

at Aosta at that time?—Passes through Aosta twice—Calvin's

Farm—Calvin's Bridge and Window—The Monument in Aosta—Calvin returns to

France—Visit to Noyon—Prepares to return to Basle—His Object and Desire

442

CHAPTER XVII.

CALVIN'S ARRIVAL AT GENEVA.

(SUMMER, 1536.)

A Traveller arrives at Geneva—Meeting with Du Tillet—Interview with

Farel—Farel invites him to settle at Geneva—Calvin's Objections—His

Timidity—Farel's Ardor—The Imprecation—The Thunderbolt—Calvin yields to

the Call of God—His Journey to Basle—His Sermons at St. Pierre's—His

Place in the Church—A wrong Step—The Spot on the Robe—How it may be

excused—The Rule of Conscience—God's Honor more precious than

Life—Religious and Political Liberty united—Hidden Errors—Formation of

a living and united Church—Order of the Council—The Centre and the Head

456

HISTORY

OF THE

REFORMATION IN EUROPE

IN THE TIME OF CALVIN.

BOOK VIII.

ENGLAND BREAKS WITH ROME.

CHAPTER I.

A CONSPIRACY AGAINST THE REFORMATION.

(MARCH AND APRIL, 1534.)

The parliament of 1534 had greatly advanced the cause of the

Reformation. The voices of the most enlightened men of England had been

heard in it with still greater power than in 1529; and accordingly an

historian,[2] referring to the meeting of 1534, speaks of it as 'that

great session.' Those enlightened men, however, formed but a small

minority, and among them were many who, from a want of independence,

never voted on the side of liberty but when the king authorized them.

The epoch was a critical one for the nation. It might as easily fall

back to the pope, as advance towards the Gospel. Hesitating between the

Middle Ages and modern times, it had to choose either life or death.

Would it make a vigorous effort and reach those bracing heights, like

travellers scaling the rugged sides of the Alps? England appeared too

weak for so daring a flight. The mass of the people seemed chained by

time-worn prejudices to the errors and practices of Rome. The king no

doubt had political views which raised him above his age; but a slave to

his passions, and the docile disciple of scholasticism, he detested a

real Reformation and real liberty. The clergy were superstitious,

selfish, and excitable; and the advisers of the crown knew no other rule

than the will of their master. By none of these powers, therefore, could

a transformation be accomplished. The safety of England came from that

sovereign hand, that mysterious power, which was already stirring the

western world. The nation began to feel its energetic impulse. A strange

breeze seemed to be filling the sails and driving the bark of the state

towards the harbor, notwithstanding the numerous shoals that lay around

it.

The thought which at that time mainly engrossed the minds of the most

intelligent men of England—men like Cranmer, Cromwell, and their

friends—was the necessity of throwing off the papal authority. They

believed that it was necessary to root out the foreign and unwholesome

weed, which had spread over the soil of Britain, and tear it up so

thoroughly that it could never grow again. Parliament had declared that

all the powers exercised by the bishop of Rome in England must cease and

be transferred to the crown; and that no one, not even the king, should

apply to Rome for any dispensation whatsoever. A prelate had preached

every Sunday at St. Paul's Cross that the pope was not the head of the

Church. On the other hand, the pontiff, who was reckoning on Henry's

promised explanations and satisfactory propositions, seeing that the

messenger whom he expected from London did not arrive, had solemnly

condemned that prince on the 23rd March, 1534.[3] But immediately

startled at his own boldness, Clement asked himself with agony how he

could repair this wrong and appease the king. He saw it was impossible,

and in the bitterness of his heart exclaimed: 'Alas! England is lost to

us!'

[Sidenote: THE KING CONDEMNED AT ROME.]

Two days after the famous consistory in which Henry's condemnation had

been pronounced, an English courier entered Rome, still in a state of

agitation and trouble, and went straight to the papal palace. 'What is

his business?' people said; 'and what can give him such boldness? The

Englishman was bringing to the ministers of the Vatican the

long-expected act by which the King of England declared himself prepared

to enter into an arrangement with the pope, provided the cardinals of

the imperial faction were excluded.[4] The messenger at the same time

announced that Sir Edward Carne and Revett, two envoys from Henry VIII.,

would soon arrive to conclude the business.[5] Cardinal Farnese, who

erelong succeeded Clement under the title of Paul III., and the more

moderate prelates of the sacred college, waited upon the pope at once,

and begged him to summon the consistory without delay. It was just what

Clement desired; but the imperialists, more furious than ever, insisted

on the confirmation of the sentence condemning Henry, and spared no

means to ensure success. Monks went about repeating certain stories

which their English brethren sent them, and which they furthermore

exaggerated. They asserted that the English people were about to rise in

a body against the king and throw themselves at the feet of the holy

father. The pope ratified the sentence, and the consistory, taking one

more step, ordered the emperor to carry it out.

It has been said that a delay of two days was the cause of the

Reformation of England. That is a mistake. The Reformation came from the

Holy Scriptures, from God, from His mighty grace, and not from princes,

their passions, or delays. Even had the pontifical court at last

conceded to Henry the divorce he asked for, that prince would probably

not have renounced the rights he had acquired, and which made him sole

and true monarch of England. Had he done so, it is doubtful whether he

was strong enough to check the Reformation. The people were in motion.

Christian truth had reappeared among them: neither pontifical agitations

nor concessions could stop the rapid current that was carrying them to

the pure and living waters of the Gospel.

[Sidenote: DISMAY OF THE ENGLISH ENVOYS.]

However, Sir Edward Carne and William Revett, Henry's envoys, arrived in

Italy full of hope, and pledged themselves (as they wrote to the king)

to reconcile England and the papacy 'in conformity to his Highness's

purpose.'[6] Having learnt on reaching Bologna, that the bishop of

Paris, who was instructed to support them, was in that city, they

hurried to him to learn the exact state of affairs. The bishop was one

of those enlightened catholics who believed that the extreme

ultramontane party was exposing the papacy to great danger, and who

would have prevented schism in the Church, by giving some satisfaction

to Germany and England. Hence the envoys from Henry VIII. found the

prelate dejected and embarrassed. 'All is over,' he told them. 'The pope

has pronounced sentence against his Majesty.' Carne and Revett were

thunderstruck; the burden was too heavy for them.[7] 'All our hopes have

vanished in a moment,' they said. Du Bellay assured them that he had

spared no pains likely to prevent so precipitate and imprudent an act on

the part of a pope.[8] 'But the imperialists,' he said, 'moved heaven

and earth, and constrained Clement VII. to deliver a sentence in

opposition to his own convictions.' The ambassador of Francis I. added

that there was still one gleam of hope. 'Raincé, secretary to the French

embassy at Rome, with an oath, wished himself at perdition,'[9] said Du

Bellay rather coarsely, 'if our holy father does not patch up all that

has been damaged.' The Englishmen desired to go to the pope forthwith,

in order to prevent the execution of the sentence. 'Do nothing of the

kind,' said the French bishop. 'Do not go to Rome on any pretext

whatsoever.'[10]

Perhaps Du Bellay wanted first to know what his master thought of the

matter. Carne, undecided what to do, despatched a messenger to

Henry VIII. to ask for orders; and then, ten days later, wishing to do

something, he appealed from the bishop of Rome ill-informed to the

bishop of Rome better informed.[11]

[Sidenote: PEOPLE AND CLERGY AGAINST ROME.]

When the King of England received his ambassador's message, he could

hardly restrain his anger. At the very moment when he had made a

concession, which appeared to him the height of condescension, Rome

treated him with contempt and sacrificed him to Charles V. Even the

nation was aroused. The pope, it was said, commissions a foreign prince

to execute his decrees; soldiers newly raised in Germany, and brimful of

insults and threats, are preparing to land in Great Britain![12]

National pride arrayed the people on the King's side. Henry no longer

hesitated; his offended honor demanded reparation: a complete rupture

alone could satisfy it. He wrote a treatise entitled: 'On the power of

Christian kings over their Churches, against the tyranny and horrible

impiety of the pope.'[13] This book against the pope, and the very

different one that he had formerly written against Luther, are the two

claims of this prince to theological renown. Consulting merely his own

interests, he threw himself now on one side, now on the other. Many

writers supported him. 'The pope,' said Dr. Samsons, dean of the Chapel

Royal, 'has no more power in England than the Archbishop of Canterbury

in Rome. It was only by tacit consent that the pope crept into the

kingdom, but we intend to drive him out now by express consent.'[14] The

two houses of parliament were almost unanimously of that opinion. The

privy council proposed to call upon the lord mayor to see that

anti-Romish doctrines were taught in every house in London. Lastly, the

people showed their opposition after their fashion, indulging in games

and masquerades, in which a cardinal at one time, the pope at another,

were represented. To call a man a 'papist' or 'a priest of the pope' was

one of the greatest insults.[15] Even the clergy declared against Rome.

On the 31st March the lower house of convocation discussed whether the

Roman pontiff had in England, according to Scripture, a higher

jurisdiction than any other foreign bishop.[16] Thirty-three voted in

the negative, only four in the affirmative. The king immediately

forwarded the same question to all the ecclesiastical corporations of

the kingdom. The friends of the Gospel were filled with joy. The pope

had made a great mistake when, imitating the style of ancient Rome, he

had hurled the bolts of the Vatican, as Jupiter had in days of old

launched the thunders of the Capitol. A great revolution seemed to be

working itself out unopposed in this island, so long the slave of the

Roman pontiffs. There was just at this time nothing to be feared from

without: Charles V. was overwhelmed with business; the King of Scotland

was on better terms with his uncle of England, and Francis I. was

preparing for a friendly interview with Henry VIII.[17] And yet the

danger had never been greater; but the mine was discovered in March

1534, before the match could be applied to it.

A dangerous political and clerical conspiracy had been for some time

silently organizing in the convents. It was possible, no doubt, to find

here and there in the cloisters monks who were learned, pious, and

loyal; but the greater number were ignorant and fanatic, and terribly

alarmed at the dangers which threatened their order. Their arrogance,

grossness, and loose manners irritated the most enlightened part of the

nation; their wealth, endowments, and luxury aroused the envy of the

nobility. A religious and social transformation was taking place at this

memorable epoch, and the monks foresaw that they would be the first

victims of the revolution. Accordingly they were resolved to fight to

the uttermost, _pro aris et focis_, for their altars and homes. But who

was to take the first step in the perilous enterprise—who to give the

signal?

As in the days of the Maid of Orleans, it was a young woman who grasped

the trumpet and sounded the charge. But if the first was a heroine, the

other was an ecstatic—nay, a fanatic.

[Sidenote: ELIZABETH BARTON'S MIRACLES.]

There lived in the village of Aldington in Kent a young woman of

singular appearance. Although of an age which is usually distinguished

by a fresh and clear complexion, her face was sallow and her eyes

haggard. All of a sudden she would be seized with a trembling of the

whole body; she lost the use of her limbs and of her understanding,

uttered strange and incoherent phrases, and fell at last stiff and

lifeless to the ground. She was, moreover, exemplary in her conduct. The

people declared her state to be miraculous, and Master, the rector of

the parish, a cunning and grasping priest, noticing these epileptic

attacks, resolved to take advantage of them to acquire money and

reputation. He suggested to the poor sufferer that the extraordinary

words she uttered proceeded from the inspiration of Heaven, and declared

that she would be guilty if she kept secret this wonderful work of God.

A monk of Canterbury, named Bocking, joined the priest with the

intention of turning the girl's disease to the profit of the Romish

party. They represented to Elizabeth Barton—such was the name of the

Kentish maiden—that the cause of religion was exposed to great danger in

England; that it was intended to turnout the monks and priests; but that

God, whose hand defends His Church by the humblest instruments, had

raised her up in these inauspicious days to uphold that holy ark, which

king, ministers, and parliament desired to throw down. Such language

pleased the girl: on the faith of the priests, she regarded her attacks

as divine transports; a feeling of pride came over her; she accepted the

part assigned her. On a sudden her imagination kindled, she announced

that she had held communications with saints and angels, even with Satan

himself. Was this sheer imposture or enthusiasm? There was, perhaps, a

little of both; but in her eyes, the end justified the means. When

speaking, she affected strange turns, unintelligible figures, poetical

language, and clothed her visions in rude rhymes, which made the

educated smile, but helped to circulate her oracles among the people.

Erelong she set herself unscrupulously above the truth, and inspired by

a feverish energy, did not fear to excite the people to bloodshed.

There was somewhere out in the fields in one part of the parish, a

wretched old chapel that had been long deserted, and where a coarse

image of the Virgin still remained. Master determined to make it the

scene of a lucrative pilgrimage. He suggested the notion to Elizabeth

Barton, and erelong she gave out that the Virgin would cure her of her

disorder in that holy consecrated edifice. She was carried thither with

a certain pomp, and placed devoutly before the image. Then a crisis came

upon her. Her tongue hung out of her mouth, her eyes seemed starting

from their sockets, and a hoarse sepulchral voice was heard speaking of

the terrors of hell; and then, by a singular transformation, a sweet and

insinuating voice described the joys of paradise.[18] At last the

ecstasy ended, Elizabeth came to herself, declared that she was

perfectly cured, and announced that God had ordered her to become a nun

and to take Bocking as her confessor. The prophecy of the Kentish maiden

touching her own disease being thus verified, her reputation increased.

Elizabeth Barton's accomplices imagined that the new prophetess required

a wider stage than the fields of Aldington, and hoped that, once

established in the ecclesiastical metropolis of England, she would see

her followers increase throughout the kingdom. Immediately after her

cure, the ventriloquist entered the convent of the Holy Sepulchre at

Canterbury, to which Bocking belonged. Once in this primatial city, her

oracles and her miracles were multiplied. Sometimes in the middle of the

night, the door of her cell opened miraculously: it was a call from God,

inviting her to the chapel to converse with Him. Sometimes a letter in

golden characters was brought to her by an angel from heaven.[19] The

monks kept a record of these wonders, these oracles; and selecting some

of them, Master laid the miraculous collection, this bible of the

fanatics, before Archbishop Warham. The prelate, who appeared to believe

in the nun's inspiration, presented the document to the king, who handed

it to Sir Thomas More, and ordered the words of the Kentish maiden to be

carefully taken down and communicated to him. In this Henry VIII. showed

probably more curiosity and distrust than credulity.

Elizabeth and her advisers were deceived, and thought they might enter

into a new phase, in which they hoped to reap the reward of their

imposture. The Aldington girl passed from a purely religious to a

political mission. 'Unhappily,' says an ultramontane writer, 'she

quitted heaven for earth, and busied herself with worldly things.'[20]

This is what her advisers were aiming at. All, and especially Friar

Bocking, who contemplated restoring the authority of the papacy—even

were it necessary to their end to take the king's life—began to denounce

in her presence Henry's tolerance of heresy and the new marriage he

desired to contract. Elizabeth eagerly joined this factious opposition.

'If Henry marries Anne Boleyn,' she told Bishop Fisher, 'in seven

months' time there will be no king in England.' The circle of her

influence at once grew wider. The Romish party united with her. Abel,

Queen Catherine's agent, entered into the conspiracy; twice Elizabeth

Barton appeared before the pope's legates; Fisher supported her, and Sir

Thomas More, one of the most cultivated men of his day, though at first

little impressed in her favor, admitted afterwards the truth of her

foolish and guilty revelations.

[Sidenote: THE NUN BEFORE HENRY.]

One thing was yet wanting, and that was very essential in the eyes of

the supporters of the movement: Elizabeth must appear before Henry VIII.

as Elijah appeared before Ahab: they expected great results from such an

interview. At length they obtained permission, and the Kentish maiden

prepared herself for it by exercises which over excited her. When

brought into the presence of the prince, she was at first silent and

motionless, but in a moment her eyes brightened and seemed to flash

fire; her mouth was drawn aside and stretched,[21] while from her

trembling lips there fell a string of incoherent phrases. 'Satan is

tormenting me for the sins of my people,' she exclaimed, 'but our

blessed Lady shall deliver me by her mighty hand.... O times! O

manners!... Abominable heresies, impious innovations!... King of

England, beware that you touch not the power of the holy Father.... Root

out the new doctrines.... Burn all over your kingdom the New Testament

in the vulgar tongue. Henry, forsake Anne Boleyn and take back your wife

Catherine.... If you neglect these things, you shall not be king longer

than a month, and in God's eyes you will not be so even for an hour. You

shall die the death of a villain, and Mary, the daughter of Catherine,

shall wear your crown.'[22]

This noisy scene produced no effect on the king. Henry, though prompt to

punish, would not reply to Elizabeth's nonsense, and was content to

shrug his shoulders. But the fanatical young woman was not discouraged:

if the king could not be converted, the people must be roused. She

repeated her threats in the convents, castles, and villages of Kent, the

theatre of her frequent excursions. She varied them according to

circumstances. The king must fall: but at one time she announced it

would be by the hands of his subjects; at another, of the priests; and

at a third, by the judgment of God. One point alone was unchanged in her

utterances: Henry Tudor must perish. Erelong, like a prophetess lifted

above the ordinary ministers of God, she reprimanded even the sovereign

pontiff himself. She thought him too timid, and taking him to task,[23]

declared that if he did not bring Henry's plans to naught, 'the great

stroke of God which then hung over his head' would inevitably fall upon

him.[24]

This boldness added to the number of her partisans. Monks, nuns, and

priests, knights, gentlemen, and scholars, were carried away by her.

Young folks especially and men of no culture eagerly embraced this mad

cause. There were also men of distinction who did not fear to become her

defenders. Bishop Fisher was gained over: he believed himself certain of

the young woman's piety. Being a man of melancholy temperament and

mystic tendency, a lover of the marvellous, he thought that the soul of

Elizabeth might well have a supernatural intercourse with the Infinite

Being. He said in the House of Lords: 'How could I anticipate deceit in

a nun, to whose holiness so many priests bore witness?' The Roman

catholics triumphed. A prophetess had risen up in England, like Deborah

in Israel.

One eminent and large-hearted catholic, Sir Thomas More, had however

some doubts; and the monks who were Elizabeth's advisers set every

engine at work to win him over. During the Christmas of 1532, Father

Risby, a Franciscan of Canterbury, arrived at Chelsea to pass the night

there. After supper, he said: 'What a holy woman this nun of Kent is! It

is wonderful to see all that God is doing through her.'—'I thank God for

it,' coldly answered More.—'By her mediation she saved the cardinal's

soul,' added the monk. The conversation went no farther. Some time later

a fresh attempt was made: Father Rich, a Franciscan of Richmond, came

and told More the story of the letter written in letters of gold and

brought by an angel. 'Well, father,' said the chancellor, 'I believe the

nun of Kent to be a virtuous woman, and that God is working great things

by her;[25] but stories like that you have told me are not part of our

_Credo_, and before repeating them, one should be very sure about them.'

However, as the clergy generally countenanced Elizabeth, More could not

bear the idea of forming a sect apart, and went to see the prophetess at

Sion monastery. She told him a silly story of the devil turned into a

bird.[26] More was satisfied to give her a double ducat and commend

himself to her prayers. The chancellor, like other noble intellects

among the catholics, was prepared to admit certain superstitions; but he

would have had the nun keep in her religious sphere; he feared to see

her touch upon politics. 'Do not speak of the affairs of princes,' he

said to her. 'The relations which the late Duke of Buckingham had with a

holy monk were in great part the cause of his death.' More had been

Chancellor of England, and perhaps feared the duke's fate.

[Sidenote: A CONSPIRACY FORMED.]

Elizabeth Barton did not profit by this lesson. She again declared that,

according to the revelations from God, no one should deprive the

Princess Mary of the rights she derived through her birth, and predicted

her early accession. Father Goold immediately carried the news to

Catherine. The nun and her advisers, who chided the pope only through

their zeal for the papacy, had communications with the nuncio; they

thought it necessary for him to join the conspiracy. They agreed upon

the course to be adopted: at a given time, monks were to mingle with the

people and excite a seditious movement.[27] Elizabeth and her

accomplices called together such as were to be the instruments of their

criminal design. 'God has chosen you,' said the nun to these friars, 'to

restore the power of the Roman pontiff in England.' The monks prepared

for this meritorious work by devout practices: they wore sackcloth next

their skin, they fastened iron chains round their bodies, fasted,

watched, and made long prayers. They were seriously intent on disturbing

the social order and banishing the Word of God.

The violent Henry VIII.—easy-tempered for once in his life—persisted in

his indifference. The seven months named by the prophetess had gone by,

and the dagger with which she had threatened him had not touched him. He

was in good health, had the approbation of parliament, saw the nation

prosper under his government, and possessed the wife he had so

passionately desired. Everything appeared to succeed with him, which

disconcerted the fanatics. To encourage them Elizabeth said: 'Do not be

deceived. Henry is no longer really king, and his subjects are already

released from every obligation towards him. But he is like King John,

who, though rejected by God, seemed still to be a king in the eyes of

the world.'[28]

The conspirators intrigued more than ever: not content with Catherine's

alliance, they opened a communication with Margaret Plantagenet,

Countess of Salisbury, niece of Edward IV., and with her children the

representatives of the party of the White Rose. Hitherto this lady had

refrained from politics; but her son Reginald Pole, having united with

the pope and quarrelled with Henry VIII., they prevailed upon her to

carry over to the Princess Mary, whose household she directed, the

forces of the party of which she was the head.

[Sidenote: THE CONSPIRATORS ARRESTED.]

The conspirators believed themselves sure of victory; but at the very

moment when they imagined themselves on the point of restoring the

papacy in England, their whole scheme suddenly fell to the ground. The

country was in danger: the state must interfere. Cranmer and Cromwell

were the first to discover the approaching storm. Canterbury, the

primate's archiepiscopal city, was the centre of the criminal practices

of the Kentish girl. One day the prioress of the Holy Sepulchre received

the following note from Cranmer: 'Come to my palace next Friday; bring

your nun with you. Do not fail.'[29] The two women duly came;

Elizabeth's head was so turned that she saw in everything that happened

the opportunity of a new triumph. This time she was deceived. The

prelate questioned her; she obstinately maintained the truth of her

revelations, but did not convince the archbishop, who had her taken to

Cromwell, by whom she was sent to the Tower with five other nuns of her

party. At first Elizabeth proudly stuck to her character of prophetess;

but imprisonment, the searching questions of the judges, and the grief

she felt on seeing her falsehoods discovered, made her give way at last.

The unhappy creature, a blind tool of the priests, was not entirely

wanting in proper feeling. She began to understand her offence and to

repent of it: she confessed everything. 'I never had a vision in all my

life,' she declared;[30] 'whatever I said was of my own imagination; I

invented it to please the people about me and to attract the homage of

the world.' The disorder, which had weakened her head, had much to do

with her aberrations. Master, Bocking, Goold, Deering, and others

guiltier than her, appeared before the Star Chamber. Elizabeth's

confession rendered their denials impossible, and they acknowledged

having attempted to get up an insurrection with a view of

re-establishing the papacy. They were condemned to make a public

disavowal of their impostures, and the following Sunday at St. Paul's

was appointed for that purpose. The bishop of Bangor preached; the nun

and her accomplices, who were exposed on a platform in front of him,

confessed their crimes before the people, and were then led back to the

Tower.[31]

Personages far more illustrious than these were involved. Besides an

epileptic girl and a few monks, the names of Fisher and of More were in

the indictment. Cromwell urged both the bishop and the statesman to

petition the king for pardon, assuring them they would obtain it. 'Good

Master Cromwell,' exclaimed Sir Thomas More, who was much excited and

ashamed of his credulity, 'my poor heart is pierced at the idea that his

Majesty should think me guilty. I confess that I did believe the nun to

be inspired; but I put away far from me every thought of treason. For

the future, neither monk nor nun shall have power to make me faithless

to my God and my king.' Cranmer, Cromwell, and the chancellor prevailed

on Henry VIII. to strike More's name out of the bill. The illustrious

scholar escaped the capital punishment with which he was threatened. His

daughter, Margaret Roper, came in a transport of joy to tell him the

news: 'In faith, Meg,' said More with a smile, '_quod differtur non

aufertur_, what is put off is not put away.'[32]

The case of the bishop of Rochester was more serious: he had been in

close communication with all those knaves, and the honest but proud and

superstitious churchman would not acknowledge any fault. Cromwell, who

desired to save the old man, conjured him to give up all idea of

defending himself; but Fisher obstinately wrote to the House of Lords

that he had seen no deception in the nun. The name of the king's old

tutor was left, therefore, in the bill of attainder.[33]

[Sidenote: THE CRIMINALS CONVICTED.]

The bill was introduced into the House of Lords on the 21st February,

and received the royal assent on the 21st March. The prisoners were

brought together in the Star Chamber to hear their sentence. Their

friends had still some hope; but the Bull which the pope had issued

against Henry VIII. on the 23rd of March, endangering the order of

succession, made indulgence difficult. The king and his ministers felt

it their duty to anticipate, by a severe example, the rebellion which

the partisans of the pontiff were fomenting in the kingdom. Sentence of

death was pronounced upon all the criminals.

During this time the unfortunate Elizabeth saw all the evils she had

caused rise up before her eyes: she was grieved and agitated, she was

angry with herself and trembled at the idea of the temporal and eternal

penalties she had deserved. Death was about to end this drama of

fanaticism. On the 20th April the false prophetess was carried to Tyburn

with her accomplices, in the midst of a great crowd of people. On

reaching the scaffold, she said: 'I am the cause not only of my own

death, which I have richly deserved, but of the death of all those who

are going to suffer with me. Alas! I was a poor wretch without

learning,[34] but the praises of the priests about me turned my brain,

and I thought I might say anything that came into my head. Now I cry to

God and implore the king's pardon.' These were her last words. She

fell—she and her accomplices—under the stroke of the law.

These were the means to which fervent disciples of Rome had recourse to

combat the Reformation in England. Such weapons recoil against those who

employ them. The blindest partisans of the Church of the popes continued

to look upon this woman as a prophetess, and her name was in great favor

during the reign of Mary. But the most enlightened Roman catholics are

now careful not to defend the imposture.[35] The fanatical episode was

not without its use: it made the people understand what these pretended

visions and false miracles were, through which the religious orders had

acquired so much influence; and so far contributed to the suppression of

the monasteries within whose walls such a miserable deception had been

concocted.

[2] Burnet.

[3] Supra, vol. iv, bk. vi. ch. xxi.

[4] Pallavicini, _Concil. Trid._ lib. i. Herbert, p. 397. Burnet, i. p.

131. Collyer, ii. p. 80.

[5] Carne and Revett to Henry.—_State Papers_, vii. p. 553.

[6] Carne and Revett to Henry.—_State Papers_, vii. p. 553.

[7] 'It was to our heaviness.' Carne and Revett to Henry.—_State

Papers_, vii. p. 553.

[8] Du Bellay to the King. Le Grand, _Preuves du divorce_, p. 634.

[9] 'Se donne au diable.'—_Ibid._

[10] _State Papers_, vii. p. 553.

[11] Carne and Revett to Henry VIII.—_State Papers_, p. 555.

[12] Vaughan to Cromwell.—_Ibid_. vii. p. 511.

[13] 'De potestate christianorum regum in suis Ecclesiis, contra

pontificis tyrannidem et horribilem impietatem.'—Strype, _Records_, i.

p. 230.

[14] Strype, _Records_, i. p. 178.

[15] Raumer, _Briefe_, ii. p. 63.

[16] 'An Romanus pontifex habeat aliquam majorem jurisdictionem.'—

Wilkins, _Concilia_, iii. p. 769.

[17] Henry VIII. to Francis I.—_State Papers_, vii. p. 562.

[18] 'A voice speaking within her belly.'—Cranmer, _Letters and

Remains_, p. 273.

[19] Cranmer, _Letters and Remains_, pp. 65, 274.

[20] Audin, in his History of Henry VIII.

[21] 'Draw her mouth away toward the one ear.'—Cranmer, _Letters and

Remains_, p. 65.

[22] Fisher's Letter to the House of Lords.—Collyers, vi. p. 87. Strype,

Sanders, Hall, &c.

[23] Bishop Bale, _Works_, p. 640.

[24] Cranmer, _Letters and Remains_, p. 273.

[25] More to Cromwell.—Burnet, _Records_, ii. p. 262.

[26] 'Suddenly changed into such a strange ugly-fashioned bird.'—More to

Cromwell. Burnet, _Records_, ii. p. 260.

[27] 'Much perilous sedition and also treason.'—Cranmer to Archdeacon

Hawkins, _Letters and Remains_, p. 274. A manuscript in the Record

Office contains various details.

[28] 'Henricum non amplius esse regem.'—Sanders, p. 74.

[29] Cranmer, _Letters and Remains_, p. 252.

[30] _Ibid_. p. 274.

[31] Cranmer, _Letters and Remains_, p. 274.

[32] More's _Life_, p. 230.

[33] Letter from Cromwell to Fisher.

[34] Hall, p. 814. Burnet, p. 280 (edit. 1816.)

[35] The Roman catholic historian Lingard acknowledges the deception.

CHAPTER II.

HENRY VIII. SEPARATES ENGLAND FROM THE PAPACY.

(CHRISTMAS 1533 TO JUNE 1534.)

The maid of Kent having been executed, her partisans rallied round

another woman, who represented the Romish system in its highest

features, as Elizabeth Barton had represented it in its more vulgar

phase. After the nun came the queen.

[Sidenote: QUEEN CATHERINE'S FIRMNESS.]

Catherine had always claimed the honors due to the Queen of England, and

her attendants yielded them to her. 'We made oath to her as queen,' they

said, 'and the king cannot discharge our consciences.' Whenever Lord

Mountjoy, royal commissioner to the daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella,

called her '_princess_,' she raised her head haughtily and said to him:

'You shall answer for this before God.'[36] 'Ah!' exclaimed Mountjoy,

fretted by the vexations of his office, 'I would a thousand times rather

serve the king in the most dangerous cause!' Mary having also received

an injunction to drop her title of princess, made answer: 'I shall

believe no such order, unless I see his Majesty's signature.' The most

notable partisans of Roman catholicism, and even the ambassador of

Charles V., paid the queen frequent visits. Henry became uneasy, and

shortly before Christmas 1533 he took measures to remove her from her

friends. Catherine opposed everything. Suffolk wrote to the king: 'I

have never seen such an obstinate woman.' But there was a man quite as

obstinate, and that was Henry.

His most cherished desires had not been satisfied: he had no son. Should

he chance to die, he would leave two daughters, Mary and Elizabeth; the

former supported by the partisans of the old times, the latter by those

of the new. Civil war would probably decide to whom the crown should

belong. It was necessary to prevent such a misfortune. The Lords and

Commons, therefore, petitioned the king, no doubt at his instigation,

that his marriage with Lady Catherine should be declared null, and her

child illegitimate; that his marriage with Queen Anne should be

recognized as valid, and the children issuing from it alone entitled to

succeed. All classes of people immediately took the statutory oath; even

the monks bowed their heads. They said: 'Bound to render to our king

Henry VIII. and to him alone after Jesus Christ,[37] fidelity and

worship, we promise inviolable obedience to our said lord as well as to

our most serene Queen Anne, his wife, and to their children; and we

profess perpetual respect for the holy and chaste marriage which they

have legitimately contracted.'[38] This forced testimony, borne to Anne

by the monastic orders, is one of the numerous monuments of the

despotism of Henry VIII. and of the moral weakness of the monks.

But in this oath of allegiance the king had meditated a more important

object—to banish the papacy from England. The monks bound themselves not

only to recognize the prescribed order of succession, but further to

substitute the primacy of the king for that of the pope. 'We affirm,'

they said, 'that King Henry is the head of the Anglican Church, that the

Roman bishop, falsely styled pope and sovereign pontiff, has no more

authority than any other bishop; and we promise to preach Christ simply

and openly according to the rule of Scripture and of the orthodox and

catholic doctors.' A sign, a word from the State was sufficient to make

the papal army pass from the camp of Rome to the camp of the king.

The 'famous question,'[39] that of the Romish jurisdiction, was also put

before the two universities. On the 2nd May Cambridge declared, that

'all its doctors having carefully examined the Holy Scriptures, had not

discovered the primacy of the pope in them.' The clergy of the province

of York, led by the archbishop Edward Lee, a churchman full of talent,

activity, and vanity, stoutly resisted at first; but eventually the

prelate wrote to the king on the 2nd June that 'according to the

unanimous opinion of his clergy, the pope in conformity with the Holy

Scriptures had no more authority in England than any other foreign

ecclesiastic.'[40] Henry, not content with the proclamations of his

council and the declarations of parliament, required for his separation

from Rome the suffrage of the Church; and the Church, probably more from

weakness than conviction, gave it. However, without reckoning the

members of the clergy who, like the primate, wanted no pope, there were

many bishops who, at heart, were not sorry to be liberated from the

perpetual encroachments of the Roman court.

[Sidenote: RESISTANCE AGAINST INVASION.]

A rumor from the continent suddenly disquieted the king among all his

easy triumphs; a more formidable enemy than those monks and bishops was

rising against him. It was reported that the emperor was not only

recruiting soldiers in Flanders, but was forwarding considerable numbers

from Bohemia, Germany, Italy, and Spain for the invasion of England.[41]

Francis I. could not permit this kingdom, so close to his own, to be

occupied by the armies of Charles V. his constant enemy; he determined

therefore to have an interview with Henry, and to that intent sent over

the Seigneur De la Guiche, his chamberlain and counsellor.[42] Henry

replied that it would be difficult to leave England just at a time when

pope and emperor spoke of invading him; the more so as he must leave his

'most dearly beloved queen' (Anne Boleyn) and his young daughter, the

Princess Elizabeth; as well as another daughter and her mother, the aunt

of Charles V., whose partisans were conspiring against him. 'Ask my good

brother the king,' said Henry to De la Guiche, 'to collect a fleet of

ships, galleys, and barks to prevent the emperor's landing. And in case

that prince should invade either France or England, let us agree that

the one who is not called upon to defend his own kingdom shall march

into Charles's territories.' However, Henry consented to go as far as

Calais.[43]

There was another invasion which, in Henry's eyes, was much more to be

dreaded. That king—a greater king perhaps than is ordinarily

supposed—maintained that no prince, whether his name was Charles or

Clement, had any business to meddle with his kingdom. The act of the

23rd March, by which the pope had condemned him, had terminated his long

endurance: Clement VII. had declared war against him and Henry VIII.

accepted it. A man, though he be ordinarily the slave of his passions,

has sometimes impulses which belong to great characters. Henry

determined to finish with the pope as the pope had finished with him. He

will declare himself master in his own island; dauntlessly he will brave

Rome and the imperial power ready to assail him. Erelong the fire which

consumed him appeared to kindle his subjects. The political party, at

the head of which were Suffolk and Gardiner, was ready to give up the

papacy, even while maintaining the dogmas of catholicism. The

evangelical party desired to go farther, and drive the catholic

doctrines out of England. These two hostile sections united their forces

against the common enemy.

At the head of the evangelicals, who were eventually to prevail under

the son of Henry VIII., were two men of great intelligence, destined to

be powerful instruments in the enfranchisement of England. Cranmer, the

ecclesiastical leader of the party, gave way too easily to the royal

pressure; but being a moderate theologian, a conscientious Christian, a

skilful administrator, and indefatigable worker, he carefully studied

the Scriptures, the Fathers, and even the Schoolmen; he took note of

their sayings, and strengthened by their opinions, continued the work of

the Reformation with calmness and perseverance. Beside him stood

Cromwell, the lay leader of protestant feeling. Gifted in certain

respects with a generous character, he loved to benefit those who had

helped him in adversity; but too attentive to his own interests, he

profited by the Reformation to increase his riches and honors. Inferior

to Cranmer in moral qualities, he had a surer and a wider glance than

the primate; he saw clearly the end for which he must strive and the

means necessary to be employed, and combined much activity with his

talents. These leaders were strongly supported. A certain number of

ministers and lay members of the Church desired an evangelical reform in

England. Latimer, a popular orator, was the tribune commissioned to

scatter through the nation the principles whose triumph Cranmer and

Cromwell sought. He preached throughout the whole extent of the province

of Canterbury; but if his bold language enlightened the well-disposed,

it irritated the priests and monks. His great reputation led to his

being invited to preach before the king and queen. Cranmer, fearing his

incisive language and sarcastic tone, begged him to say nothing in the

pulpit that would indicate any soreness about his late disgrace. 'In

your sermon let not any sparkle or suspicion of grudge appear to remain

in you.[44] If you attack with the Word of God any sin or superstition,

do it without passion.' Latimer preached, and Anne Boleyn was so charmed

by his evangelical simplicity, Christian eloquence, and apostolic zeal,

that she made him her chaplain. Latimer takes his place by the side of

Cranmer among the reformers of the English Church.

[Sidenote: THE PAPAL AUTHORITY ABOLISHED.]

The evangelical and the political parties being thus agreed to support

the prince, Henry determined to strike the decisive blow. On the 9th

June, 1534, about three months after he had been condemned at Rome, he

signed at Westminster the proclamation 'for the abolishing of the

usurped power of the pope.'[45] The king declared: 'That having been

acknowledged next after God, supreme head of the Church of England, he

abolished the authority of the bishop of Rome throughout his realm, and

commanded all bishops to preach and have preached, every Sunday and holy

day, the sweet and sincere Word of the Lord; to teach that the

jurisdiction of the Church belongs to him alone, and to blot out of all

canons, liturgies, and other works the name of the bishop of Rome and

his pompous titles, so that his name and memory be never more remembered

in the kingdom of England, except to his contumely and reproach.[46] By

so doing you will advance the honor of God Almighty, manifest the

imperial majesty of your sovereign lord, and procure for the people

unity, tranquillity, and prosperity.'

[Sidenote: THE CHURCH, A STATE-DEPARTMENT.]

Would these orders be executed? If there remained in any university,

convent, parish, or even in any wretched presbytery, a breviary in which

the name of the _pope_ was written; if on the altar of any poor country

church a missal was found with these four letters unerased—it was a

crime. If every weed be not plucked up, thought the king's counsellors,

the garden will soon be entirely overrun. The obstinacy of the clergy,

their stratagems, their pious frauds were a mystery to nobody. Henry was

persuaded, and his counsellors still more so, that the bishops would

make no opposition; they resolved therefore to direct the sheriffs to

see that the king's orders were strictly carried out. 'We command you,'

said that prince, 'under pain of our high indignation, to put aside all

human respect, to place God's glory solely before you, and, at the risk

of exposing yourselves to the greatest perils, to make and order

diligent search to be made.[47] Inform yourselves whether in every part

of your county the bishop executes our commands without veil or

dissimulation. And in case you should observe that he neglects some

portion, or carries out our orders coldly, or presents this measure in a

bad light, we command you strictly to inform us and our council with all

haste.

'If you hesitate or falter in the commission we give you, rest assured

that being a prince who loves justice, we will punish you with such

severity that all our subjects will take care for the future not to

disobey our commands.'

Everybody could see that Henry was in earnest, and immediately after

this energetic proclamation, those who were backward hastened to make

their submission. The dean and chapter of St. Paul's made their protest

against the pope on the 20th June. On the 27th the University of Oxford,

in an act where they described the king as 'that most wise Solomon,'

declared unanimously that it was contrary to the Word of God to

acknowledge any superiority whatsoever in the bishop of Rome. A great

number of churches and monasteries set their seals to similar

declarations.[48]

Such was the first pastoral of the prince who claimed now to govern the

Church. He seemed desirous of making it a mere department of the State.

Henry allowed the bishops to remain, but he employed the functionaries

of police and justice to overlook their episcopate; and that office was

imposed upon them in such terms that they must necessarily look sharp

after the transgressors. First and foremost the king wanted his own way

in his family, in the State, and in the Church. The latter was to him as

a ship which he had just captured: the captain was driven out, but for

fear lest he should return, he threw overboard all who he thought might

betray him. With haughty head and naked sword Henry VIII. entered the

new realm which he had conquered. He was far from resembling Him whom

the prophets had announced: _Behold thy king cometh unto thee, meek and

lowly_.

[Sidenote: FORM THE CHURCH SHOULD TAKE.]

The power in the Church having been taken from the pope, to whom should

it have been committed?

Scripture calls the Christian people a holy nation, a royal

priesthood;[49] words which show that, after God, the authority belongs

to them. And, in fact, the first act of the Church, the election of an

apostle in the place of Judas, was performed by the brethren assembled

in one place.[50] When it became necessary to appoint deacons, the

twelve apostles once more summoned 'the multitude of the disciples.'[51]

And later still, the evangelists, the delegates of the flocks, were

selected by the voice of the churches.[52]

It is a principle of reason, that authority, where a corporate body is

concerned, resides in the totality of its members. This principle of

reason is also that of the Word of God.

When the Church became more numerous it was called upon to delegate (at

least partially) a power that it could no longer exercise wholly of

itself. In the apostolic age the Christians, called to form this

delegation, adopted the forms with which they were familiar. After the

pattern of the council of elders, which existed in the Jewish

synagogues, and of the assembly of decurions, which exercised municipal

functions in the cities of the pagans,[53] the Christian Church had in

every town a council, composed of men of irreproachable life, vigilant,

prudent, apt to teach,[54] but distinct from those who were called

doctors, evangelists, or ministers of the Word.[55] Still the Christians

never entertained the idea of giving themselves a universal chief, after

the image of the emperor. Jesus Christ and his Word were amply

sufficient. It was not until many centuries later that this

anti-Christian institution appeared in history.

The authority, which in England had been taken away from the pope,

should return in accordance with scriptural principles to the members of

the Church; and if, following the example of the primitive Christians,

they had adopted the forms existing in their own country in the

sixteenth century, they would have placed as directors of the

Church—Christ remaining their sole king—one or two houses or assemblies,

authorized to provide for the ecclesiastical administration, the

maintenance of a pure faith, and the spiritual prosperity of that vast

body. These assemblies would have been composed, as in the primitive

times, of a majority of Christian laymen, with the addition of

ministers; and both would have been elected by believers whose faith was

in conformity with that of the Church.[56]

But was there at that time in England a sufficient number of enlightened

Christians to become members of these assemblies, and even to hold the

elections which were to appoint them? It is doubtful. They were not to

be found even in Germany. 'I have nobody to put in them,' said Luther;

'but if the thing becomes feasible, I shall not be wanting in my

duty.'[57]

This form of government not being possible in England then, according to

the Reformer's expression, two other forms offered themselves. If the

first were adopted, the authority would be remitted to the clergy; but

that would have been to perpetuate the doctrines and rites of popery and

to lead back infallibly to the domination of Rome. The most dangerous

government for the Church is the government of priests: they commonly

rob it of liberty, spontaneousness, evangelical faith, and life.

There remained no alternative then but to confide the supreme authority

in the Church to the State; and this is what was generally done in the

sixteenth century. But men of the greatest experience in these matters

have agreed that the government of the religious society by the civil

power can only be a temporary expedient, and have universally proclaimed

the great principle, 'that the essence of all society is to be governed

by itself.'[58] To deny this axiom would be utterly contrary not only to

liberty, but, further still, contrary to justice.

We must not forget when we speak of the relations between Church and

State, that there are three different systems:—the government of the

Church by the State; the union of the Church, governing itself, with the

State; and their complete separation. There is no reason for pronouncing

here upon the relative value of the two last systems.

[36] 'Which we should answer to afore God.'—_State Papers_, i. p. 403.

[37] 'Cui uni et soli, post Jesum Christum.'—Rymer, _Acta_, p. 192.

[38] 'Erga castum sanctumque matrimonium.'—_Ibid._

[39] 'In quæstione illa famosa de Romani pontificis potestate.'—Wilkins,

_Concilia_, iii. p. 771.

[40] 'Nemine eorum discrepante.'—Wilkins, _Concilia_, p. 782.

[41] 'But of Boheme, Italy, and Almayn, as also out of Spain, to invade

his realm.'—Certain Articles. _State Papers_, vii. p. 560.

[42] It has been supposed that this was the Duke of Guise (Froude,

_History of England_); but a devoted papist, such as Guise, would not

have been concerned in a negotiation opposed to the orders of the pope.

The _State Papers_ (vii. p. 562) and the index affixed to the seventh

volume both say _Guiche_ or _Guysche_.

[43] _State Papers_, vii. pp. 559-564.

[44] Latimer: _Remains_, p. 366.

[45] Wilkins, _Concilia_, iii. p. 772.

[46] 'And his name and memory to be never more remembered except to his

contumely and reproach.'—Wilkins, _Concilia_, p. 773.

[47] 'Make diligent search and wait.'—King's proclamation. Foxe, _Acts

and Monuments_, v. p. 70. _Wait_ properly signifies _ambuscade_.

[48] 'Sigilla de cera rubea.'—See for the pattern and the signatures,

Rymer, _Acta_, vii. pp. 185-209.

[49] 1 Peter ii. 9.

[50] Acts i. 15.

[51] Acts vi. 2.

[52] 2 Cor. viii. 19.

[53] _Digesta_, lib. I. tit. ii.; _De decurione_, No. 2.

[54] 1 Timothy iii.; Titus i.

[55] Ephesians iv. 11; vi. 21; Colossians i. 7; 1 Timothy iv. 6.

[56] The Thirty-nine Articles.

[57] Luther, _De missa Germanica_.

[58] Grotius, _De imperatoris summa potestate circa sacra_.

CHAPTER III.

BEGINNING OF DANGER FOR THE QUEEN AND FOR TYNDALE.

(1534 TO AUGUST 1535.)

Two persons were at this time specially dreaded by the Roman party: one

was at the summit of the grandeurs of the world, the other at the summit

of the grandeurs of faith—the queen and Tyndale. The hour of trial was

approaching for both of them.

There existed another reformation than that of which the sheriffs were

to be the agents; there were other reformers than Henry VIII. One man,

desirous of reviving the Church of Christ in England, had made the

translation of the Holy Scriptures the work of his life. Tyndale had

been forced to leave his country; but he had left it only to prepare a

seed which, borne on the wings of the wind, was to change the

wildernesses of Great Britain into a fruitful garden.

[Sidenote: TYNDALE AT ANTWERP.]

The retired teacher from the vale of the Severn had settled in 1534 as

near as possible to England—at Antwerp, whence ships departed frequently

for British harbors. The English merchants, of whom there were many in

that city, welcomed him with fraternal cordiality. Among them was a

friend of the Gospel, Mr. Thomas Poyntz, whose brother filled an office

in the king's household. This warm-hearted Christian had received

Tyndale into his house, and the latter was unremittingly occupied in

translating the Old Testament, when an English ship brought the news of

the martyrdom of Fryth, his faithful colleague. Tyndale shed many tears,

and could not make up his mind to continue his work alone. But the

reflection that Fryth had glorified Jesus Christ in his prison, aroused

him: he felt it his duty to glorify God in his exile. The loss of his

friend made his Saviour still more precious to him, and in Jesus he

found comfort for his mind. 'I have lost my brother,' he said, 'but in

Christ, all Christians and even all the angels are father and mother,

sister and brother, and God himself takes care of me. O Christ, my

Redeemer and my shield! thy blood, thy death, all that Thou art and all

that Thou hast done—Thou thyself art mine!'[59]

[Sidenote: TYNDALE'S CHARITY AND ZEAL.]

Tyndale, strengthened by faith, redoubled his zeal in his Master's

service. That indefatigable man was not content to study the Scriptures

with eagerness: he desired to combine with learning the charity that

worketh. The English merchants of Antwerp, having given him a

considerable sum of money, he consecrated it to the poor; but he was not

content with mere giving. Besides Sunday he reserved two days in the

week, which he called his 'days of recreation.' On Monday he visited the

most out of the way streets of Antwerp, hunting in garrets for the poor

English refugees who had been driven from their country on account of

the Gospel; he taught them to bear Christ's burden, and carefully tended

their sick. On Saturday, he went out of the city, visiting the villages

and solitary houses, and 'seeking out every hole and corner.'[60] Should

he happen to meet some hard-working father burdened with children, or

some aged or infirm man, he hastened to share his substance with the

poor creatures. 'We ought to be for our neighbor,' he said, 'what Christ

has been for us.' This is what Tyndale called his 'pastime.'[61] On

Sunday morning he went to a merchant's house where a large room had been

prepared for evangelical worship, and read and explained the Scriptures

with so much sweetness and unction and in such a practical spirit that

the congregation (it was said) fancied they were listening to John the

Evangelist.[62] During the remainder of the week the laborious doctor

gave himself entirely to his translation. He was not one of those who

remain idle in the hope that grace may abound. 'If we are justified by

faith,' he said, 'it is in order that we may do Christian works.'

There came good news from London to console him for the death of Fryth.

In every direction people were asking for the New Testament; several

Flemish printers began to reprint it, saying: 'If Tyndale should print

2000 copies, and we as many, they would be few enough for all England.'

Four new editions of the sacred book issued from the Antwerp presses in

1534.

There was at that time living in the city a man little fitted to be

Tyndale's associate. George Joye, a fellow of Cambridge, was one of

those active but superficial persons, with little learning and less

judgment, who are never afraid to launch out into works beyond their

powers. Joye, who had left England in 1527, noticing the consideration

which Tyndale's labors brought to their author, and being also desirous

of acquiring glory for himself, began, though he knew neither Hebrew nor

Greek, to correct Tyndale's New Testament according to the Vulgate and

his own imagination. One day when Tyndale had refused to adopt one of

his extravagant corrections, Joye was touched to the quick: 'I am not

afraid to cope with him in this matter,' he said, 'for all his high

learning in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin.'[63] Tyndale knew more than these.

'He is master of seven languages,' said Busche, Reuchlin's disciple:

'Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Italian, Spanish, English, French, and so

thoroughly, that whichever he is speaking one might believe it to be his

mother tongue.'[64]

In the month of August Joye's translation appeared at Antwerp: he had

advertised it as 'clearer and more faithful.' Tyndale glanced over the

leaves of the work that had been so praised by its author, and was vexed

to find himself so unskilfully 'corrected.' He pointed out some of

Joye's errors, and made this touching and solemn declaration: 'I protest

in the presence of God and Jesus Christ, and before the whole assembly

of believers, that I have never written anything through envy, to

circulate any error, or to attract followers to me. I have never had any

other desire than to lead my brethren to the knowledge of Christ. And if

in what I have written or translated there should be anything opposed to

God's word, I beg all men to reject it as I reject it myself, before

Christ and his assembly.'

It was in November 1534 that Tyndale made this noble protest.

While Joye was waging this petty war against Tyndale, every ship that

came from London to Antwerp brought the cheering news that the great war

seemed to be dying out in England, and that the king and those around

him were drawing towards protestantism. A change had been worked in

Anne's mind analogous to that which had been wrought in her position.

She had been ambitious and worldly, but from the moment she ascended the

throne, her character had expanded; she had become queen, she wished to

be the mother of her people, especially of those who trod in the paths

of Holy Scripture. In the first transports of his affection, Henry had

desired to share all the honors of sovereignty with her, and she had

taken this high position more seriously than Henry had intended. When he

saw her whom he had placed by his side imagine that she had any power,

the selfish and jealous monarch knit his brows: this was the beginning

of the storm that drove Anne Boleyn from the throne to the scaffold. She

ventured to order Cromwell to indemnify the merchants who had suffered

loss for having introduced the New Testament into England. 'If a day

passes,' people said, 'without her having an opportunity of doing a

service to a friend of the Gospel, she is accustomed to say with Titus,

"I have lost a day."' Harman, a merchant of Antwerp and a man of

courage, who had helped Tyndale to publish the Gospel in English, had

been kept seven months in prison by Wolsey and Hacket.[65] Although set

at liberty, he was still deprived of his privileges and compelled to

suspend business. He came over to England, but instead of applying

either to the lord chancellor or to Cromwell for the restoration of his

rights, he went straight to the queen. Anne, who was then at Greenwich

palace, was touched by his piety and sufferings, and probably without

taking council of the king, she dictated the following message to the

prime minister, which we think worth quoting at full.

BY THE QUEEN.

_Anne the Queen._—Trusty and right well-beloved, we greet you well. And

whereas we be credibly informed that the bearer hereof, Richard Harman,

merchant and citizen of Antwerp in Brabant, was in the time of the late

lord cardinal put and expelled from his freedom and fellowship of and in

the English house there, for nothing else, as he affirmeth like a good

Christian man,[66] but only for that, that he did, both with his goods

and policy to his great hurt and hindrance in this world, help to the

setting forth of the New Testament in English. We therefore desire and

instantly pray you, that with all speed and favor convenient, you will

cause this good and honest merchant, being my Lord's true, faithful, and

loving subject, to be restored to his pristine freedom, liberty, and

fellowship aforesaid. And the sooner at this our request: and at your

good pleasure to hear him in such things as he hath to make further

relation unto you in this behalf.

Given under our signet at my Lord's manor of Greenwich, the xiv. day of

May.

To our trusty and well-beloved Thomas Cromwell, principal secretary to

his Majesty, the king my lord.

This intervention of the queen in favor of a persecuted evangelical was

much talked about. Some ascribed her conduct to the interests of her own

cause, others to humanity: most of the friends of the Reformation

regarded it as a proof that Anne was gained over to their convictions,

and Tyndale manifested his gratitude to the queen by presenting her with

a handsome copy of his New Testament.

[Sidenote: DISPLEASURE OF THE KING.]

What gave such joy to Tyndale annoyed the king greatly. Such a private

order as this coming from the queen singularly displeased a monarch

whose will it was that no business should be discussed except in his

council. There was also in this order, at least in Henry's eyes, a still

greater evil. The evangelical reformation, which Henry had so stoutly

combated and which he detested to the last, was making great progress in

England. On the 4th of July, 1533, Fryth, the friend of Harman and

Tyndale, was burnt at Smithfield, as being one of its followers; and ten

months later, on the 14th of May, 1534, Harman, the friend of Tyndale

and Fryth, had been declared 'a good Christian' by the queen. Anne dared

profess herself the friend of those whom the king hated. Did she design

to make a revolution—to oppose the opinions of her lord the king? That

letter did not remain without effect: it was reported that the friends

of the Word of God, taking advantage of these favorable dispositions,

were printing at Antwerp six separate editions of the New Testament, and

were introducing them into England.

[Sidenote: SNARES LAID FOR TYNDALE.]

It was not only the king who was irritated, the anger of the Romish

party was greater still; but as they dared not strike the queen, they

looked about for another victim. Neither Bishop Fisher, Sir Thomas More,

nor Henry VIII. appear to have had any part in this new crime. Gardiner,

now bishop of Winchester, gave a force to the episcopal body of which it

had long been deprived; and several prelates, 'incensed and inflamed in

their minds,' says a document,[67] called to remembrance that the best

means of drying up the waters of a river is to cut off its springs. It

was from Tyndale that all those writings proceeded—those Gospels which,

in their opinion, were leading England astray. The moment seemed

favorable for getting rid of him: he was actually in the states of

Charles V., that great enemy of the Reformation. Gardiner and his allies

determined to send into the Low Countries two persons with instructions

to keep an eye upon the reformer, to take him unawares, and have him put

to death. For this purpose they selected a very clever monk of Stratford

Abbey and a zealous young papist, who had the look of a gentleman, and

who (they hoped) would soon gain Tyndale's heart by his amiability.

It was about the end of the year 1534, while the reformer was still

living at Antwerp in the house of Thomas Poyntz, when one day, dining

with another merchant, he observed among the guests a tall young man of

good appearance whom he did not know. 'He is a fellow-countryman,' said

the master of the house, 'Mr. Harry Philips, a person of very agreeable

manners.'[68] Tyndale drew near the stranger and was charmed with his

conversation. After dinner, just as they were about to separate, he

observed another person near Philips, whose countenance from being less

open pleaded little in his favor. It was 'Gabriel, his servant,' he was

told. Tyndale invited Philips to come and see him: the young layman

accepted the invitation, and the candid reformer was so taken with him,

that he could not pass a day without him—inviting him at one time to

dinner, at another to supper. At length Philips became so necessary to

him that he prevailed upon him, with Poyntz's consent, to come and live

in the same house with him. For some time they had lost sight of

Gabriel, and on Tyndale's asking what had become of him, he was informed

that he had gone to Louvain, the centre of Roman clericalism in Belgium.

When Tyndale and Philips were once lodged beneath the same roof, their

intimacy increased: Tyndale had no secrets from his fellow-countryman.

The latter spent hours in the library of the hellenist, who showed him

his books and manuscripts, and conversed with him about his past and

future labors, and the means that he possessed for circulating the New

Testament throughout England. The translator of the Bible, all candor

and simplicity, supposing no evil, thinking nothing but good of his

neighbor, unbosomed himself to him like a child.

Philips, less of a gentleman than he appeared, was the son of a

tax-gatherer in Devonshire; and the pretended domestic, a disguised

monk, was that crafty and vicious churchman, who had been brought from

Stratford and given to the so-called gentleman—apparently as a servant,

but really as his counsellor and master. Neither Wolsey, More, nor

Hacket had succeeded in getting hold of Tyndale; but Gardiner, a man of

innate malice and indirect measures, familiar with all holes and

corners, all circumstances and persons, knew how to go to work without

noise, to watch his prey in silence, and fall upon it at the very moment

when he was least expected. Two things were required in order to catch

Tyndale: a bait to attract him, and a bird of prey to seize him. Philips

was the bait, and the monk Gabriel Dunne the bird of prey. The

noble-hearted Poyntz, a man of greater experience than the reformer, had

been for some time watching with inquisitive eye the new guest

introduced into his house. It was of no use for Philips to try to be

agreeable, there was something in him which displeased the worthy

merchant.[69] 'Master Tyndale,' he said one day to the reformer, 'when

did you make that person's acquaintance?'—'Oh! he's a very worthy

fellow,' replied the doctor, 'well-educated and a thorough gentleman.'

Poyntz said no more.

Meanwhile the monk had returned from Louvain, where he had gone to

consult with some leaders of the ultramontane party. If he and his

companion could gain Mr. Poyntz, it would be easy to lay hold of

Tyndale. They thought it would be sufficient to show the merchant that

they had money, imagining that every man was to be bought. One day

Philips said to Poyntz: 'I am a stranger here, and should feel much

obliged if you would show me Antwerp.' They went out together. Philips

thought the moment had come to let Poyntz know that he was well supplied

with gold, and even had some to give to others. 'I want to make several

purchases,' he said, 'and you would greatly oblige me by directing me. I

want the best goods. I have plenty of money,' he added.[70] He then took

a step farther, and sounded his man to try whether he would aid him in

his designs. As Poyntz did not seem to understand him, Philips went no

farther.

[Sidenote: IMPERIAL GOVERNMENT CONSULTED.]

As stratagem did not succeed, it was necessary to resort to force.

Philips by Gabriel's advice set out for Brussels in order to prepare the

blow that was to strike Tyndale. The emperor and his ministers had never

been so irritated against England and the Reformation. The troops of

Charles V. were in motion, and people expected to hear every moment that

war had broken out between the emperor and the king.[71] On arriving at

Brussels the young Englishman appeared at court and waited on the

government: he declared that he was a Roman catholic disgusted with the

religious reforms in England and devoted to the cause of Catherine. He

explained to the ministers of Charles V. that they had in the Low

Countries the man who was poisoning the kingdom; and that if they put

Tyndale to death, they would save the papacy in England. The emperor's

ministers, delighted to see Englishmen making common cause with them

against Henry VIII., conceded to Gardiner's delegate all that he asked.

Philips, sparing no expense to attain his end,[72] returned to Antwerp,

accompanied by the imperial prosecutor and other officers of the

emperor.

It was important to arrest Tyndale without having recourse to the city

authorities, and even without their knowledge. Had not the hanseatic

judges the strange audacity to declare, in Harman's case, that they

could not condemn a man without positive proof? The monk, who probably

had not gone to Brussels, undertook to reconnoitre the ground. One day,

when Poyntz was sitting at his door,[73] Gabriel went up to him and

said: 'Is Master Tyndale at home? My master desires to call upon him.'

They entered into conversation. Everything seemed to favor the monk's

designs: he learnt that in three or four days Poyntz would be going to

Bar-le-Duc, where he would remain about six weeks. It was just what

Gabriel wanted, for he dreaded the piercing eye of the English merchant.

[Sidenote: TREACHERY OF PHILIPS.]

Shortly after this, Philips arrived in Antwerp with the prosecutor and

his officers. The former went immediately to Poyntz's house, where he

found only the wife at home. 'Does Master Tyndale dine at home to-day?'

he said. 'I have a great desire to dine with him. Have you anything good

to give us?' 'What we can get in the market,' she replied

laconically.[74] 'Good, good,' said the perfidious papist as he turned

away.

The new Judas hurried to meet the officers, and agreed with them upon

the course to be adopted. When the dinner-hour drew near, he said: 'Come

along, I will deliver him to you.' The imperial prosecutor and his

followers, with Philips and the monk, proceeded towards Poyntz's house,

carefully noting everything and taking the necessary measures not to

attract observation. The entrance to the house was by a long narrow

passage. Philips placed some of the agents a little way down the street;

others, near the entrance of the alley. 'I shall come out with Tyndale,'

he told the agents; 'and the man I point out with my finger, is the one

you will seize.' With these words Philips entered the house; it was

about noon.

The creature was exceedingly fond of money; he had received a great deal

from the priests in England for the payment of his mission; but he

thought it would be only right to plunder his victim, before giving him

up to death. Finding Tyndale at home, he said to him, after a few

compliments: 'I must tell you my misfortune. This morning I lost my

purse between here and Mechlin,[75] and I am penniless. Could you lend

me some money?' Tyndale, simple and inexperienced in the tricks of the

world,[76] went to fetch the required sum, which was equivalent to

thirty pounds sterling. The delighted Philips put the gold carefully in

his pocket, and then thought only of betraying his kind-hearted friend.

'Well, Master Tyndale,' he said, 'we are going to dine together.' 'No,'

replied the doctor, 'I am going to dine out to-day; come along with me,

I will answer for it that you will be welcome.' Philips joyfully

consented; promptitude of execution was one element of success in his

business. The two friends prepared to start. The alley by which they had

to go out was (as we have said) so narrow that two persons could not

walk abreast. Tyndale, wishing to do the honors to Philips, desired him

to go first. 'I will never consent,' replied the latter, pretending to

be very polite.[77] 'I know the respect due to you—it is for you to lead

the way.' Then taking the doctor respectfully by the hand, he led him

into the passage. Tyndale, who was of middle height, went first, while

Philips, who was very tall, came behind him. He had placed two agents at

the entrance, who were sitting at each side of the alley. Hearing

footsteps they looked up and saw the innocent Tyndale approaching them

without suspicion, and over his shoulders the head of Philips. He was a

lamb led to slaughter by the man who was about to sell him. The officers

of justice, frequently so hardhearted, experienced a feeling of

compassion at the sight.[78] But the traitor, raising himself behind the

reformer, who was about to enter the street, placed his forefinger over

Tyndale's head, according to the signal which had been agreed upon, and

gave the men a significant look, as if to say to them, 'This is he!' The

men at once laid hands upon Tyndale who, in his holy simplicity, did not

at first understand what they intended doing. He soon found it out; for

they ordered him to move on, the officers following him, and he was thus

taken before the imperial prosecutor. The latter who was at dinner

invited Tyndale to sit down with him. Then ordering his servants to

watch him carefully, the magistrate set off for Poyntz's house. He

seized the papers, books, and all that had belonged to the reformer; and

returning home, placed him with the booty in a carriage, and departed.

The night came on, and after a drive of about three hours they arrived

in front of the strong castle of Vilvorde, built in 1375 by duke

Wenceslaus, situated two or three leagues from Brussels on the banks of

the Senne, surrounded on all sides by water and flanked by seven towers.

The drawbridge was lowered, and Tyndale was delivered into the hands of

the governor, who put him into a safe place. The reformer of England was

not to leave Vilvorde, as Luther left the Wartburg. This occurred, as it

would appear, in August 1535.[79]

[Sidenote: TYNDALE IMPRISONED.]

The object of his mission once attained, Philips, fearing the

indignation of the English merchants, escaped to Louvain. Sitting in

taverns or at the tables of monks, professors, and prelates—sometimes

even at the court of Brussels, he would boast of his exploit, and

desiring to win the favor of the imperialists would call Henry VIII. a

tyrant and a robber of the State.[80]

The English merchants of Antwerp, being reasonably offended, immediately

called upon the governor of the English factory to take measures in

favor of their countryman; but the governor refused. Tyndale, deprived

of all hope, sought consolation in God. 'Oh! what a happy thing it is to

suffer for righteousness' sake,' he said.[81] 'If I am afflicted on

earth with Christ, I have joy in the hope that I shall be glorified with

Him in heaven. Trials are a most wholesome medicine, and I will endure

them with patience. My enemies destine me for the stake, but I am as

innocent as a new-born child of the crimes of which they accuse me. My

God will not forsake me. O Christ, thy blood saves me, as if it had been

mine own that was shed upon the cross. God, as great as He is, is mine

with all that He hath.'[82]

Tyndale in his prison at Vilvorde was happier than Philips at court. If

we carefully study the history of the reformers, we recognize at once

that they were not simply masters of a pure doctrine, but also men of

lofty souls, Christians of great morality and exalted spirituality. We

cannot say as much of their adversaries; what a contrast here between

the traitor and his victim! The calumnies and insults of the enemies of

protestantism will deceive nobody. If it is sufficient to read the Bible

with a sincere heart in order to believe it; it is sufficient also to

know the lives of the reformers in order to honor them.

[59] Tyndale, _Treatises_, pp. 18, 110. (Parker Society.)

[60] Tyndale, _Treatises_, p. lxi. (Parker Society.)

[61] 'Thus he spent his two days of pastime, as he called them.'—_Ibid._

[62] 'Much like to the writings of St. John the Evangelist.'—_Ibid._

[63] Anderson, _Bible Ann._ p. 397.

[64] 'Ut quamcunque loquatur, in ea natum putes.'—Schelhorn, _Amœnitates

Litterariæ_, iv. p. 431.

[65] See _History of the Reformation of the Sixteenth Century_, vol. v.

book xx. chap. iv.

[66] The words 'like a good Christian man' are not given in the Strype

_Memorials_, i. p. 431. They have been erased in the original, probably

by some Roman catholic. Cotton MSS., Cleop. E. 5. fol. 330.

[67] 'The bishops incensed and inflamed in their minds.'—Foxe, _Acts_,

v. p. 121.

[68] 'A comely fellow, like a gentleman.'—Foxe, _Acts_, v. p. 121.

[69] 'Having no great confidence in the fellow.'—Foxe, _Acts_ v. p. 122.

[70] 'For, said he, I have money enough.'—Foxe, _Acts_, v. p. 122.

[71] 'There should have been war between the emperor and the

king.'—_Ibid._

[72] 'Which was not done with small charges and expenses.'—_Ibid._

[73] 'Poyntz sitting at his door.'—Foxe, _Acts_, v. p. 23.

[74] 'What good meat shall we have?' 'Such as the market will

give.'—_Ibid._

[75] Foxe, _Acts_, v. p. 23.

[76] 'For in the wily subtleties of this world he was simple and

inexpert.'—_Ibid._, p. 127.

[77] 'For that he pretended to show a great humanity.'—_Ibid._

[78] 'They pitied to see his simplicity.'—Foxe, _Acts_, v. p. 127.

[79] A letter from Poyntz to his brother John, in which he gives an

account of Tyndale's imprisonment, and which is preserved among the

Cotton MSS., is dated 15th August 1535.

[80] 'Tyrannum ac expilatorem reipublicæ.'—Cotton MSS., Galba B. x. 81.

[81] Tyndale, _Treatises_, ii. p. 28. (Parker Society.)

[82] Foxe, _Acts_, i. p. 19.

CHAPTER IV.

THE KING-PONTIFF AGAINST THE ROMAN-CATHOLICS AND THE PAPACY.

(1534 AND 1535.)

[Sidenote: INSTRUCTIONS TO THE CLERGY.]

While the Roman papacy was triumphing in the Low Countries, a lay papacy

was being established in England. Henry VIII. gave his orders like a

sovereign bishop, _summus episcopus_, and the majority of the priests

obeyed him. They believed that such an extraordinary state of things

would be but of short duration, and thought that it was not worth the

trouble of dying in battle against what would perish of itself. They

muttered with their lips what the king ordered them, and waited for the

coming deliverance.

Every preacher was bound to preach once at least against the usurpations

of the papacy; to explain on that occasion the engagements made by the

pope with the king of England, the duplicity shown by Clement, and the

obligation by which the monarch was bound to thwart so much falsehood

and trickery. The ministers of the Church were ordered to proclaim the

Word of Christ purely, but to say nothing about the adoration of saints,

the marriage of priests, justification by works and other doctrines

rejected by the reformers, which the king intended to preserve. The

secular clergy generally obeyed.

There were however numerous exceptions, particularly in the north of

England, and the execution of Henry's orders gave rise to scenes more or

less riotous. Generally speaking, the partisans of Rome did not merit a

very lively interest; but we must give due credit to those who ventured

to resist a formidable power in obedience to conscientious principles.

There were here and there a few signs of opposition. On the 24th of

August Father Ricot, when preaching at Sion Monastery, called the king,

according to his orders, 'the head of the Church;' but added immediately

after, that he who had given the order was alone responsible before God,

and that he 'ought to take steps for the discharge of his conscience.'

The other monks went farther still: as soon as they heard Henry's new

title proclaimed, there was a movement among them. Father Lache, who far

from resembling his name was inflexible even to impudence, got up; eight

other monks rose with him and left the chapel 'contrary to the rule of

their religion' and to the great scandal of all the audience.[83] These

nine friars, boldly quitting the church one after another, were the

living protest of the monks of England. That their desire was not to

acknowledge Jesus Christ alone as head, is intelligible: they wanted to

maintain the dominion of the pope in the Church, and in the State also.

The king pope would have none of these freaks of independence. Bedell,

who had received Cromwell's order to inspect this convent, proposed to

send the nine monks to prison, 'to the terrible example of their

adherents.'[84]

The priests, finding that they must act with prudence, avoided a

repetition of such outbreaks and began secretly to school their

penitents in the confessional, bidding them employ mental reservations,

in order to conciliate everything. They set the example themselves: 'I

have abjured the pope _in the outward man_, but not _in the inward

man_,' said one of them to some of his parishioners.[85] The confessor

at Sion Monastery had proclaimed the king's new title and even preached

upon it; yet when one of his penitents showed much uneasiness because he

had heard Latimer say that the pope himself could not pardon sin: 'Do

not be afraid,' said the confessor; 'the pope is assuredly the head of

the Church. True, king and parliament have turned him out of office here

in England; but that will not last long. The world will change again,

you will see, and that too before long.'—'But we have made oath to the

king as head of the Church,' said some persons to a priest. 'What

matters!' replied he. 'An oath that is not very strictly made may be

broken the same way.'

These mental reservations, however, made many ecclesiastics and laymen

too feel uneasy. They longed for deliverance: they were on the look out;

they turned their eyes successively towards Ireland which had risen for

the pope, and towards the Low Countries, whence an imperial fleet was to

sail for the subjugation of England. Men grew excited. In the convents

there were fanatical and visionary monks who, maddened by the abuses of

power under which they suffered, and fired by persecution, dreamt of

nothing but reaction and vengeance, and expressed their cruel wishes in

daring language. One of them named Maitland, belonging to the Dominican

convent in London, exclaimed presumptuously, as if he were a prophet:

'Soon I shall behold a scaffold erected.... On that scaffold will pass

in turn the heads of all those who profess the new doctrine, and Cranmer

will be one of them.... The king will die a violent and shameful death,

and the queen will be burnt.' Being addicted to the black art, Maitland

pretended to read the future by the help of Satanic beings. All were not

so bold: there were the timid and fearful. Several monks of Sion House,

despairing of the papacy, were making preparations to escape and hide

themselves in some wilderness or foreign cloister. 'If we succeed,' they

said, 'we shall be heard of no more, and nobody will know where we are.'

This being told to Bedell, Cromwell's agent, he was content to say: 'Let

them go; the loss will not be great.' Roman-catholicism was, however, to

find more honorable champions.

[Sidenote: MORE REFUSES TO TAKE THE OATH.]

Two men, a layman and a bishop, celebrated throughout Christendom,

Fisher and Sir Thomas More, were about to present an opposition to the

king which probably he had not expected. Since More had fathomed the

king's intentions, and resigned the office of chancellor, he often

passed whole nights without sleep, shuddering at the future which

threatened him, and watering his bed with tears. He feared that he was

not firm enough to brave death. 'O God!' he exclaimed during his

agitated vigils, 'come and help me. I am so weak I could not endure a

fillip.'[86] His children wept, his wife stormed against her husband's

enemies, and he himself employed a singular mode of preparing his family

for the fate that awaited him. One day, when they were all at table, a

serjeant entered the room and summoned him to appear before the king's

commissioners. 'Be of good cheer,' said More; 'the time is not yet come.

I paid this man in order to prepare you for the calamity that hangs over

you.' It was not long delayed.

Shortly after the condemnation of Elizabeth Barton the nun, Sir Thomas

More, Fisher, and many other influential men were summoned to the

archbishop's palace to take the oath prescribed in the Act of

Succession. More confessed, received the sacrament, and forbidding his

wife and children to accompany him, as was their custom, to the boat

which was to carry him to Lambeth, he proceeded in great emotion towards

the place where his future would be decided. His startled family watched

him depart. The ex-chancellor taking his seat in the boat along with his

son-in-law William Roper, endeavored to restrain his tears and struggled

but without success against his sorrow. At length his face became more

serene, and turning to Roper, he whispered in his ear, 'I thank our

Lord, my son; the field is won.'[87] On his arrival at Lambeth palace,

where bishop Fisher and a great number of ecclesiastics assembled, More,

who was the only layman, was introduced first. The chancellor read the

form to him: it stated in the preamble that the troubles of England, the

oceans of blood that had been shed in it and many other afflictions,

originated in the usurped power of the popes; that the king was the head

of the Anglican Church, and that the bishop of Rome possessed no

authority out of his own diocese. 'I cannot subscribe that form,' said

More, 'without exposing my soul to everlasting damnation. I am ready to

give my adhesion to the Act of Succession which is a political act—but

without the preamble.' 'You are the first man who has refused,' said the

chancellor. 'Think upon it.' A great number of bishops, doctors, and

priests who were successively introduced, took the required oath. But

More remained firm, and so did bishop Fisher.[88]

Cranmer, who earnestly desired to save these two conscientious men,

asked Cromwell to accept the oath they proposed,[89] and the latter

consulted the king upon it. 'They must give way,' exclaimed Henry, 'or I

will make an example of them that shall frighten others.' As the king

was inexorable, they were attainted by act of parliament for refusing to

take the required oath, and sent to the Tower. This was in December

1534.[90]

The family of Sir Thomas More was plunged in affliction. His daughter

Margaret having obtained permission to see him, hurried to the Tower,

penetrated to his cell, and incapable of speaking, fell weeping into his

arms. 'Daughter,' said More, restraining himself with an effort, 'let us

kneel down.' He repeated the seven penitential Psalms, and then rising

up, said: 'Dear Meg, those who have put me here think they have done me

a high displeasure, but God treats me as He treats his best

friends.'[91] Margaret, who thought of nothing but to save her father,

exclaimed: 'Take the oath! death is hanging over your head.' 'Nothing

will happen to me but what pleases God,' replied Sir Thomas More. His

daughter left the Tower overwhelmed with grief. His wife, who also went

to see him, chancellor Audley, the dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk,

Cromwell, and other of the king's counsellors were not more successful

than Margaret. Bishop Fisher met similar solicitations with a similar

refusal.

[Sidenote: RESISTANCE OF THE CARTHUSIANS.]

As the king's government did not wish to hurry on the trial of these

illustrious men, they turned from the chiefs to the followers. The

Carthusians of London were in great odor of sanctity; they never spoke

except at certain times, ate no meat, and affirmed that God had visited

them in visions and miracles. Their house was not free from disorders,

but many of the monks took their vocation seriously. When the royal

commissioners visited them to tender the oath of succession, Prior

Haughton, a man of small stature but agreeable appearance and noble

carriage, appeared before them. The commissioners required him to

acknowledge Henry's second marriage to be lawful; Haughton at first

sought a loophole, and answered that the king might be divorced and

married without him or his monks having anything to say to it. 'It is

the king's command,' answered the commissioners, 'that you and your

brethren acknowledge by oath the lawfulness of his union. Call the monks

together.'[92] The Carthusians appeared, and all refused to take the

oath. The prior and proctor were consequently sent to the Tower. The

bishop of London used all his influence to make them change their

opinions, and succeeded in persuading them that they might take the

oath, by making several reservations. They therefore returned to the

Charter House and prevailed upon their brethren to do as they had done.

Immediately all was confusion in the monastery. Several monks in deep

distress could not tell which course to follow; others, more decided,

exclaimed that they would not yield at any price. 'They are minded to

offer themselves in sacrifice to the great idol of Rome,' wrote Bedell

to Cromwell.[93] At last, when the soldiers appeared to take the rebels

to the Tower, the terrified monks lost heart, and took the oath to the

new marriage of Henry VIII. 'so far as it was lawful.' The bitter cup

was removed, but not for long.

Whilst England was separating from Rome, Clement VII. was dying of

vexation.[94] The hatred felt by the Romans towards him[95] was only

equalled by the joy they experienced at the election of his successor.

Alexander Farnese, the choice of the French party, was a man of the

world, desirous of putting down the protestants, recovering England,

reforming the Church, and above all enriching his own family. When Da

Casale, Henry's envoy, presented his homage: 'There is nothing in the

world,' said Paul III. to him, 'that I have more at heart than to

satisfy your master.' It was too late.

[Sidenote: HENRY REJECTS THE PAPACY.]

Clement's behavior had produced an evil influence on the character of

the Tudor king. The services rendered by this prince to the papacy had

been overlooked, his long patience had not been rewarded: he fancied

himself despised and deceived. His pride was irritated, his temper grew

fiercer, his violence for some time restrained, broke out, and unable to

reach the pope, he revenged himself on the papacy. Until now, he had

scarcely been worse than most of the sovereigns of Christendom: from

this moment, when he proclaimed himself head of the Church, he became

harsh, and cared for nothing but gratifying his evil inclinations, his

despotic humors, his blood-thirsty cruelty. As a _prince_, he had at

times shown a few amiable qualities; as a _pope_, he was nothing but a

tyrant.

Henry VIII. observing the agitation his pretensions caused in England,

and wishing to strengthen his new authority, had caused several bills

concerning the Church to be brought into the parliament, which met on

the 3rd of November, 1534. The ministers who had drafted them, far from

being protestants, were zealous partisans of scholastic orthodoxy. It

was the cunning Gardiner, a furious Catholic; the duke of Norfolk who

assisted in the king's movements against Rome, only to prevent him from

falling into the arms of the reformers; and the politic Cromwell, who,

despite his zeal against the pope, declared at his death, possibly

giving a particular meaning to the words, that he died in the catholic

faith.[96]

The first act passed by parliament was the ratification of the king's

new title, already officially recognized by the clergy. Henry's

ministers knew how to make the law strict and rigorous. 'It is enacted,'

so ran the act, 'that our lord the king be acknowledged sole and supreme

head on earth of the Church of England; that he shall possess not only

the honors, jurisdictions, and profits attached to that dignity, but

also full authority to put down all heresies and enormities, whatever be

the customs and the laws that may be opposed to it.'[97] Shortly after,

on the 1st of February, parliament still more imperious, enacted that

'whoever should do anything tending to deprive the king or his heirs of

any of their titles, or should call him heretic, schismatic, usurper,

&c., should be guilty of high treason.'[98]

[Sidenote: THE KING, NOT HEAD OF THE CHURCH.]

Thus Henry VIII. united the two swords in his hand.—'A Mohammedan

union,' says a modern historian.[99] This writer might have contented

himself with calling it 'a papal union.' Whether a pope claims to be

king, or a king claims to be pope, it comes to nearly the same thing. At

the time when the Reformation was emancipating the long-enslaved Church,

a new master was given it, and what a master! The consciences of

Christians revolted against this order of things. One day—it was some

time later—Cranmer was asked: 'Who is the supreme head of the Church of

England?'—'Christ,' was the reply, 'as He is of the universal

Church.'—'But did you not recognize the king as supreme head of the

Church?'—'We recognized him as head of _all the people of England_,'

answered Cranmer, 'of _churchmen_ as well as of _laymen_.'[100]—'What!

not of the Church?' 'No! _Supreme head of the Church_ never had any

other meaning than what I tell you.' This is explicit. If the title

given Henry only signified that he was king of the clergy as well as of

the laity, and that the former were under the jurisdiction of the royal

courts as well as the latter, in all matters of common law, there can be

nothing fairer. But how was it that Cranmer did not find as much courage

in Henry's lifetime to speak according to his conscience, as when

examined in 1555 by Brokes, the papal sub-delegate? An interpretative

document drawn up by the government at almost the same time as the act

of parliament, corroborates however the explanation made by Cranmer; it

said: 'The title of supreme head of the Church gives the king no new

authority: it does not signify that he can assume any spiritual

power.'[101] This document declares that the words _reform abuses and

heresies_, indicate the authority which the king possesses to suppress

the powers which the bishop of Rome or other bishops have usurped in his

realm. 'We heartily detest,' said Fulke, master of Pembroke Hall,

Cambridge, 'the notion that the king can do what he likes in matters of

religion.'[102] Even Elizabeth refused the title of head of the

Church.[103] Probably these are facts which are not generally known.

[83] Bedell to Cromwell.—_State Papers_, i. p. 423.

[84] _Ibid._ p. 424.

[85] Father Forest of Greenwich. Bedell to Cromwell, MS. in Record

Office.

[86] More's _Life_, p. 218.

[87] More's _Life_, p. 218.

[88] 17th April, 1534. Cranmer's _Letters and Remains_, p. 286.

[89] Letter from Cranmer to Cromwell.—_Ibid._

[90] _State Papers_, i. p. 432.

[91] More's _Life_, p. 239.

[92] Strype, _Records_, i. p. 300.

[93] _State Papers_, i. p. 422.

[94] 'Fu questo dolore et affanno, che lo condusse alla morte.'—Soriano.

[95] 'Quem omnes mortales acerbissimo odio prosequebantur.'—_State

Papers_, vii. p. 573.

[96] 'I die in the catholic faith, not doubting.'—Foxe, _Acts_, v. p.

402.

[97] Acts of Supremacy: 26 Henry VIII. ch. 1. See Herbert, p. 408.

[98] _Ibid._ ch. 13.

[99] Friedrich von Raumer: _Geschichte Europas_, ii. p. 29.

[100] 'Of all the people of England, as well ecclesiastical or

temporal.—Cranmer, _Letters and Remains_, p. 224.

[101] 'Not that he should take any spiritual power from spiritual

ministers.'—_Heads of arguments concerning the power of the pope and the

royal supremacy._—MS. in Record Office.—Froude, ii. p. 326.

[102] Fulke's _Defence_, p. 489.

[103] Jewell's _Works_, iv. p. 1144.

CHAPTER V.

LIGHT FROM BOTH SIDES.

(1534-1535.)

In England it was reserved for Catholics as well as for evangelicals to

give the world, amid great misery, remarkable examples of Christian

virtues. Latimer and others preached the truth courageously; martyrs

like Bilney, Tewkesbury, and Fryth had laid down their lives for the

Gospel. Now in the other party, laymen, monks, and priests, with

unquestionably a less enlightened piety, were about to furnish proofs of

their sincerity. There were Roman martyrs also. Two armies were in

presence; many fell on both sides; but there was a sensible difference

between this spiritual war and the wars of nations. Those who bit the

dust did not fall under the weapons of a hostile army; there was a third

power, the king-pope, who took his station between the two lines, and

dealt his blows now to the right, now to the left. Leaders of the

pontifical army were to be smitten in the struggle in which so many

evangelicals had already fallen.

[Sidenote: MORE'S WRETCHED CONDITION.]

Sir Thomas More, while in prison, strove to banish afflicting thoughts

by writing a history of Christ's passion. One day when he came to these

words of the Gospel: _Then came they and laid hands on Jesus, and took

Him_, the door opened, and Kingston, the governor of the Tower,

accompanied by Rich, the attorney-general, appeared. 'Sir Thomas,' said

Rich, 'if an act of parliament ordered all Englishmen to acknowledge me

as their king, would you acknowledge me?'—'Yes, sir.'[104]—'And if an

act of parliament ordered all Englishmen to recognize me as

pope?'—'Parliament has no authority to do it,' answered More. Sir Thomas

held that an act of parliament was sufficient to dethrone a king of

England: it is to a great grandson of More's that we are indebted for

this opinion, which a grand-nephew of Cromwell put in practice a hundred

years later. Was Henry VIII. exasperated because More disposed so freely

of his crown? It is possible, but be that as it may, the harshness of

his imprisonment was increased. Suffering preceded martyrdom. The

illustrious scholar was forced to pick up little scraps of paper on

which to write a few scattered thoughts with a coal.[105] This was not

the worst. 'I have neither shirt nor sute,'[106] he wrote to the chief

secretary of state, 'nor yet other clothes that are necessary for me to

wear, but that be ragged and rent too shamefully. Notwithstanding, I

might easily suffer that if that would keep my body warm. And now in my

age my stomach may not away but with a few kind of meats; which, if I

want, I decay forthwith, and fall into crases and diseases of my body,

and cannot keep myself in health.... I beseech you be a good master unto

me in my necessity, and let me have such things as are necessary for me

in mine age. Restore me to my liberty out of this cold and painful

imprisonment. Let me have some priest to hear my confession against this

holy time, and some books to say my devotions more effectually. The Lord

send you a merry Christmas.

'At the Tower, 23rd December.'

It is a relief to hope that this scandalous neglect proceeded from

heedlessness and not from cruelty. His requests were granted.

While these sad scenes were enacted in the Tower, there was great

confusion in all England, where the most opposite parties were in

commotion. When the traditional yoke was broken, every man raised up his

own banner. The friends of More and Fisher wished to restore the papacy

of the Roman bishop; Henry VIII., Cromwell, and the court thought how to

establish the supremacy of the king; finally, Cranmer and a few men of

the same stamp, endeavored to steer between these quicksands, and

aspired to introduce the reign of Holy Scripture under the banner of

royalty. This contest between forces so different, complicated too by

the passions of the sovereign, was a terrible drama destined to wind up

not in a single catastrophe, but in many. Illustrious victims, taken

indiscriminately from all parties, were to fall beneath the oft-repeated

blows and be buried in one common grave.

The prudent Cranmer lived in painful anxiety. Surrounded by enemies who

watched every step, he feared to destroy the cause of truth, by

undertaking reforms as extensive as those on the continent. The natural

timidity of his character, the compromises he thought it his duty to

make with regard to the hierarchy, his fear of Henry VIII., his

moderation, gentleness, and plasticity of character and in some respects

of principle, prevented his applying to the work with the decision of a

Luther, a Calvin, or a Knox. Tyndale, if he had possessed the influence

that was his due, would have accomplished a reform similar to that of

those great leaders. To have had him for a reformer would, in

Wickliffe's native land, have been the source of great prosperity; but

such a thing was impossible: his country gave him—not a professor's

chair but exile. Cranmer moved forward slowly: he modified an

evangelical movement by a clerical concession. When he had taken a step

forward, he stopped suddenly, and apparently drew back; not from

cowardice, but because his extreme prudence so urged him. The boldness

of a Farel or a Knox is in our opinion far more noble; and yet this

extreme moderation saved Cranmer and protestantism with him. Near a

throne like that of Henry's, it was only a man of extreme precaution who

could have retained his position in the see of Canterbury. If Cranmer

should come into collision with the Tudor's sceptre, he will find that

it is a sword. God gives to every people and to every epoch the man

necessary to it. Cranmer was this man for England, at the time of her

separation from the papacy. Notwithstanding his compromises, he never

abandoned the great principles of the Reformation; notwithstanding his

concessions, he took advantage of every opportunity to encourage those

who shared his faith to march towards a better future. The primate of

England held a torch in his hand which had not the brilliancy of that

borne by Luther and Calvin, but the tempest that blew upon it for

fifteen or twenty years could not extinguish it. Sometimes he was seized

with terror: as he heard the lion roar, he bent his head, kept in the

background, and concealed the truth in his bosom; but again he rose and

again held out to the Church the light he had saved from the fury of the

tyrant. He was a reed and not an oak—a reed that bent too easily, but

through this very weakness he was able to do what an oak with all its

strength would never have accomplished. The truth triumphed.

[Sidenote: TRANSLATION OF THE SCRIPTURES.]

At this time Cranmer thought himself in a position to take a step—the

most important step of all: he undertook to give the Bible to the laity.

When the convocation of clergy and parliament had assembled, he made a

proposition that the Holy Scriptures should be translated into English

by certain honorable and learned men, and be circulated among the

people.[107] To present Holy Scripture as the supreme rule instead of

the pope, was a bold act that decided the evangelical reformation.

Stokesley, Gardiner, and the other bishops of the catholic party cried

out against such a monstrous design: 'The teaching of the Church is

sufficient,' they said; 'we must prohibit Tyndale's Testament and the

heretical books which come to us from beyond the sea.' The archbishop

saw that he could only carry his point by giving up something: he

consented to a compromise. Convocation resolved on the 19th of December,

1534, to lay Cranmer's proposal before the king, but with the addition

that the Scriptures translated into the vulgar tongue should only be

circulated among the king's subjects in proportion to their knowledge,

and that all who possessed suspected books should be bound to give them

up to the royal commissioners: others might have called this resolution

a defeat, Cranmer looked upon it as a victory. The Scriptures would no

longer be admitted stealthily into the kingdom, like contraband goods:

they would appear in broad daylight with the royal sanction. This was

something.

Henry granted the petition of Convocation, but hastened to profit by it.

His great fixed idea was to destroy the Roman papacy in England, not

because of its errors, but because he felt that it robbed princes of the

affection and often of the obedience of their subjects. 'If I grant my

bishops what they ask for,' he said, 'in my turn I ask them to make oath

never to permit any jurisdiction to be restored to the Roman bishop in

my kingdom; never to call him _pope_, universal _bishop_, or most holy

lord, but only bishop of Rome, colleague and brother, according to the

ancient custom of the oldest bishops.'[108] All the prelates were eager

to obey the king; but the archbishop of York, secretly devoted to the

Roman Church, added, to acquit his conscience, 'that he took the oath in

order to preserve the unity of the faith and of the Catholic

Church.'[109]

Cranmer was filled with joy by the victory he had won. 'If we possess

the Holy Scriptures,' he said, 'we have at hand a remedy for every

disease. Beset as we are with tribulations and temptations, where can we

find arms to overcome them? In Scripture. It is the balm that will heal

our wounds, and will be a more precious jewel in our houses than either

gold or silver.'[110] He therefore turned his mind at once to the

realization of the plan he had so much at heart. Taking for groundwork

an existing translation (doubtless that by Tyndale), he divided the New

Testament into ten portions, had each transcribed separately, and

transmitted them to the most learned of the bishops, praying that they

might be returned to him with their remarks. He even thought it his duty

not to omit such decided catholics as Stokesley and Gardiner.

[Sidenote: SEDITIOUS PRIESTS AND PREACHERS.]

The day appointed for the return and examination of these various

portions having arrived (June 1553), Cranmer set to work, and found that

the _Acts of the Apostles_ were wanting: they had fallen to the lot of

the bishop of London. When the primate's secretary went to ask for the

manuscript, Stokesley replied in a very bad humor: 'I do not understand

my lord of Canterbury. By giving the people the Holy Scriptures, he will

plunge them into heresy. I certainly will not give an hour to such a

task. Here, take the book back to my lord.' When the secretary delivered

his message, Thomas Lawness, one of Cranmer's friends, said with a

smile: 'My lord of London will not take the trouble to examine the

Scriptures, persuaded that there is nothing for him in the Testament of

Jesus Christ.' Many of the portions returned by the other bishops were

pitiable. The archbishop saw that he must find colleagues better

disposed.

Cranmer had soon to discharge another function. As popery and rebellion

were openly preached in the dioceses of Winchester and London,[111] the

metropolitan announced his intention to visit them. The two bishops

cried out vehemently, and Gardiner hurried to the king: 'Your Grace,' he

said, 'here is a new pope!' All who had anything to fear began to

reproach the primate with aspiring to honors and dominion. 'God forgive

me,' he said with simplicity, 'if there is any title in the world I care

for more than _the paring of an apple_.[112] Neither paper, parchment,

lead, nor wax, but the very Christian conversation of the people, are

the letters and seals of our office.' The king supported Cranmer,

knowing that certain of the clergy preached submission to the pope. The

visitation took place. Even in London priests were found who had taken

the oath prescribed by Henry VIII., and who yet 'made a god of the Roman

pontiff,[113] setting his power and his laws above those of our Lord.'

'I command you,' said the king, 'to lay hold of all who circulate those

pernicious doctrines.'

Francis I. watched these severities from afar. He feared they would

render an alliance between France and England impossible. He therefore

sent Bryon, high-admiral of France, to London, to reconcile the king

with the pope, to strengthen the bonds that united the two countries,

and at the same time, he prevailed upon Paul III. to withdraw the decree

of Clement VII. against Henry VIII.[114] But success did not crown his

efforts: the king of England had no great confidence in the sincerity of

the pope or of the French king. He was well pleased to be no longer

confronted by a foreign authority in his own dominions, and thought that

his people would never give up the Reformation. Instead of being

reconciled with the Roman pontiff, he found it more convenient to

imitate the pope, and to break out against those subjects who refused to

recognize him, the king, as head of the Church.

[Sidenote: RESOLUTION OF THE CARTHUSIANS.]

He first attacked the Carthusians, the most respectable of the religious

orders in England, and whom he considered as the most dangerous. Where

there was the most goodness, there was also the most strength; and that

strength gave umbrage to the despotic Tudor king.

Monastic life, abominable in its abuses, was, even in principle,

contrary to the Gospel. But we must confess that there was a certain

harmony between the wants of society in the Middle Ages and conventual

establishments. Many and various motives drove into the cloisters the

men that filled them; and if some were condemnable, there were others

whose value deserves to be appreciated. It was these earnest monks who,

even while defending the royalty of the pope, rejected most

energetically the papacy of the king: this was enough to draw down upon

them the royal vengeance. One day a messenger from the court brought to

the Charter-House of London an order to reject the Roman authority. The

monks, summoned by their prior, remained silent when they heard the

message, and their features alone betrayed the trouble of their

minds.[115] 'My heart is full of sorrow,' said Prior Haughton. 'What are

we to do? If we resist the king, our house will be shut up, and you

young men will be cast into the midst of the world, so that after

commencing here in the spirit you will end there in the flesh. But, on

the other hand, how can we obey? Alas! I am helpless to save those whom

God has entrusted to my care!' At these words the Carthusians 'fell all

a-weeping;'[116] and then taking courage from the presence of danger

they said: 'We will perish together in our integrity; and heaven and

earth shall cry out against the injustice that oppresses us.'—'Would to

God it might be so,' exclaimed the Superior; 'but this is what they will

do. They will put me to death—me and the oldest of us—and they will turn

the younger ones into the world, which will teach them its wicked works.

I am ready to give up my life to save you; but if one death does not

satisfy the king, then let us all die!'—'Yes, we will all die,' answered

the brethren.—'And now let us make preparation by a general confession,'

said the prior, 'so that the Lord may find us ready.'

Next morning the chapel-doors opened and all the monks marched in. Their

serious looks, their pale countenances, their fixed eyes seemed to

betoken men who were awaiting their last moments. The prior went into

the pulpit and read the sixtieth Psalm: '_O God, thou hast cast us

off._' On coming to the end, he said: 'My brethren, we must die in

charity. Let us pardon another.' At these words Haughton came down from

the pulpit, and knelt in succession before every brother, saying: 'O my

brother, I beg your forgiveness of all my offences!' The other monks,

each in his turn, made this last confession.

Two days afterwards they celebrated the mass of the Holy Ghost.

Immediately after the elevation, the monks fancied they heard 'a small

hissing wind.'[117] Their hearts were filled with a tender affection:

they believed that the Holy Ghost was descending upon them, and the

prior, touched by this surprising grace, burst into tears. Enthusiasm

mingled extraordinary fantasies with their pious emotions.

The king had evidently not much to fear in this quarter. His crown was

threatened by more formidable enemies. In various parts, especially in

Lincolnshire and Yorkshire,[118] there were daring partisans of the

papacy to be found who endeavored to stir up the people to revolt; and

thousands of Englishmen in the North were ready to help them by force of

arms. At the same time Ireland wished to transport her soldiers across

St. George's Channel and hurl the king from his throne. The decision

with which Fisher, Sir Thomas More, and the Carthusians resisted Henry

had not immediate insurrection for its object, but it encouraged the

multitude to revolt. The government thinking, therefore, that it was

time to strike, sent the Carthusians an absolute order to acknowledge

the royal supremacy.

[Sidenote: ROME AND LIBERTY INCOMPATIBLE.]

At this time there was in reality no liberty on one side or the other.

Rome, by not granting it, was consistent with herself; but not so the

protestantism that denies it. The Reformation, acknowledging no other

sovereign Lord and Teacher than God, must of necessity leave the

conscience to that Supreme Master, man having nothing to do with it. But

the Roman Church, acknowledging a man as its head, and honoring the pope

as the representative of God on earth, claims authority over the soul.

Men may say in vain that they are in harmony with God and His Word: that

is not the question. The great business is to be in accord with the

pope. That old man, throned in the Vatican on the traditions of the

School and the bulls of his predecessors, is their judge: they are bound

to follow exactly his line, without wavering either to the right or the

left. If they reject an article, a jot of a papal constitution, they

must be cast away. Such a system, the enemy of every liberty, even of

the most legitimate, rose in the sixteenth century like a high wall to

separate Rome and the new generation. It threatened to destroy in the

future that power which had triumphed in the past.

After the festival of Easter 1535, the heads of two other Carthusian

houses—Robert Laurence, prior of Belleval, and Augustine Webster, prior

of Axholm—arrived in London in obedience to an order they had received,

and, in company with Prior Haughton, waited upon Cromwell. As they

refused to acknowledge the royal supremacy, they were sent to the Tower.

A week later, they consented to take the oath, adding: 'So far as God's

law permits.'—'No restrictions,' answered Cromwell. On the 29th of April

they were placed on their trial, when they said: 'We will never believe

anything contrary to the law of God and the teaching of our holy mother

Church.' At first the jury expressed some interest in their behalf; but

Haughton uselessly embittered his position. 'You can only produce in

favor of your opinion,' he said, 'the parliament of one single kingdom;

for mine, I can produce all Christendom.' The jury found the three

prisoners guilty of high-treason.[119] Thence the government proceeded

to more eminent victims.

Fisher and More, confined in the same prison, were now treated with more

consideration.[120] It was said, however, that these illustrious

captives were endeavoring, even in the Tower, to excite the people to

revolt. The king and Cromwell could hardly have believed it, but they

imagined that if these two leading men gave way, their example would

carry the recalcitrants with them: they were therefore exposed to a new

examination. But they proved as obstinate as their adversaries, and

perhaps more skilful. 'I have no more to do with the titles to be given

to popes and princes,' said Sir Thomas; 'my thoughts are with God

alone.'[121]

The court hoped to intimidate these eminent personages by the execution

of the three priors, which took place on the 4th May, 1535. Margaret

hurried to her father's side. Before long the procession passed under

his window, and the affectionate young woman used every means to draw

Sir Thomas away from the sight; but he would not avert his eyes. When

all was over, he turned to his daughter: 'Meg,' he said, 'you saw those

saintly fathers; they went as cheerfully to death as if they were

bridegrooms going to be married.'[122]

[Sidenote: EXECUTION OF THE CARTHUSIANS.]

The prisoners walked calmly along: they wore their clerical robes, the

ceremony of degradation not having been performed, no doubt to show that

a papal consecration could not protect offenders. Haughton, prior of the

London Charter-House, mounted the ladder first. 'I pray all who hear

me,' he said, 'to bear witness for me in the terrible day of judgment,

that it is not out of obstinate malice or rebellion that I disobey the

king, but only for the fear of God.' The rope was now placed round his

neck. 'Holy Jesus!' he exclaimed, 'have mercy on me,' and he gave up the

ghost. The other priors then stepped forward. 'God has manifested great

grace to us,' they said, 'by calling us to die in defence of the

catholic faith. No, the king is not head of the Church of England.' A

few minutes later and these monks, dressed in the robes of their order,

were swinging in the air. This was one of the crimes committed when the

unlawful tiara of the pontiffs was placed unlawfully on the head of a

king of England. Other Carthusians were put to death somewhat later.

Meanwhile Henry VIII. desired to preserve a balance between papists and

heretics. The Roman tribunals struck one side only, but this strange

prince gloried in striking both sides at once. An opportunity of doing

so occurred. Some anabaptists from the Low Countries were convicted on

the 25th of May: two of them were taken to Smithfield and twelve others

sent to different cities, where they suffered the punishment by fire.

All of them went to death with cheerful hearts.[123]

The turn of the illustrious captives was at hand.

[104] More's _Life_, p. 252.

[105] _Ibid._ p. 253.

[106] Strype, _Ecclesiastical Memorials_, i. p. 270.

[107] Cranmer's _Memorials_, p. 24.

[108] 'Bishop of Rome and fellow-brother.'—Wilkins, _Concilia_, iii. p.

280.

[109] Lee to Cromwell.—_State Papers_, i. p. 428.

[110] Cranmer's _Letters and Remains_, p. 120.

[111] 'They rather preached sedition than edification.'—Cranmer,

_Letters and Remains_, p. 296.

[112] _Ibid._ p. 305.

[113] 'Making him a god.' The king's letter.—Strype, _Records_, i. p.

208.

[114] See _State Papers_, vol. vii., containing the letters, &c., of

Cromwell, Henry VIII., Da Casale, Bryon, and Francis I. (March to June

1535.)

[115] _Histor. Martyrum Angl._—Strype, _Records_, i. p. 302. This

narrative rests specially upon the testimony of a Carthusian which,

though partial, bears however a character of truth.

[116] Strype, _Records_, i. p. 301.

[117] Vitus to Dalker, _Hist. Mart. Angl._—Strype, _Records_, i. p. 302.

[118] Coverdale, _Remains_, p. 329.—Cranmer's _Letters and Remains_, pp.

351, 352, 354.

[119] Strype, _Memorials_, i. p. 305.

[120] 'Tractabantur humanius atque mitius quam par fuisset pro eorum

demeritis.'—_State Papers_, vii. p. 634.

[121] More's _Life_, p. 256.

[122] _Ibid._ p. 246.

[123] Tyndale, i. p. lxx.—Latimer, i. p. 60.—Collyer, ii. p. 99.

CHAPTER VI.

EXECUTION OF BISHOP FISHER AND SIR THOMAS MORE.

(MAY TO SEPTEMBER 1535.)

Not long after the death of the Carthusians, Cromwell paid More a visit.

Henry VIII. loved his former chancellor, and desired to save his life.

'I am your friend,' said Cromwell, 'and the king is a good and gracious

lord towards you.' He then once again invited More to accept the act of

parliament which proclaimed the king's supremacy; and the same steps

were taken with Fisher. Both refused what was asked. From that moment

the execution of the sentence could not be long delayed. More felt this,

and as soon as the Secretary of State had left him, he took a piece of

coal and wrote some verses upon the wall, expressive of the peace of his

soul.

[Sidenote: FISHER'S LAST DAYS.]

Henry and his minister seemed however to hesitate. It had not troubled

them much to punish a few papists and obscure anabaptists; but to put to

death an ex-chancellor of the realm and an old tutor of the king—both

personages so illustrious and so esteemed throughout Christendom—was

another thing. Several weeks passed away. It was an act of the pope's

that hastened the death of these two men. About the 20th of May,

Paul III. created a certain number of cardinals: John Du Bellay,

Contarini, Caracciolo, and lastly, Fisher, bishop of Rochester. The news

of this creation burst upon Rome and London like a clap of thunder. Da

Casale, Henry's agent at the papal court, exclaimed that it was offering

his master the greatest affront possible: the matter was the talk of the

whole city.[124] 'Your holiness has never committed a more serious

mistake than this,' said Da Casale to the pope.[125] Paul tried to

justify himself. As England desired to become reconciled with the

Vatican, he said, it seemed to him that he could not do better than

nominate an English cardinal. When Fisher heard the news, he said

piously: 'If the cardinal's hat were at my feet, I would not stoop to

pick it up.' But Henry did not take the matter so calmly: he considered

Paul's proceedings as an insolent challenge. Confer the highest honors

on a man convicted of treason—is it not encouraging subjects to revolt?

Henry seemed to have thought that it would be unnecessary to take away

the life of an old man whose end could not be far off; but the pope

exasperated and braved him. Since they place Fisher among the cardinals

in Rome, in England he shall be counted among the dead. Paul may, as

long as he likes, send him the hat; but when the hat arrives, there

shall be no head on which to place it.[126]

On the 14th of June, 1535, Thomas Bedell and other officers of justice

proceeded to the Tower. The bishop would give no answer to the demand

that he should recognize the king as head of the Church. Sir Thomas

More, when questioned in his turn, replied: 'My only study is to

meditate on Christ's passion.'[127] 'Do you acknowledge the king as

supreme head of the Church?' asked Bedell. 'The royal supremacy is

established by law.'—'That law is a two-edged sword,' returned the

ex-chancellor. 'If I accept it, it kills my soul; if I reject it, it

kills my body.'[128]

Three days later the bishop was condemned to be beheaded. When the order

for his execution arrived, the prisoner was asleep: they respected his

slumber. At five o'clock the next morning, 22nd of June, 1535, Kingston

entering his cell, aroused him and told him that it was the king's good

pleasure he should be executed that morning. 'I most humbly thank his

Majesty,' said the old man, 'that he is pleased to relieve me from all

the affairs of this world. Grant me only an hour or two more, for I

slept very badly last night.' Then turning towards the wall, he fell

asleep again. Between seven and eight o'clock he called his servant,

took off the hair-shirt which he wore next his skin to mortify the

flesh, and gave it to the man. 'Let no one see it,' he said. 'And now

bring me my best clothes.'—'My lord,' said the astonished servant, 'does

not your lordship know that in two hours you will take them off never to

put them on again?'—'Exactly so,' answered Fisher; 'this is my

wedding-day, and I ought to dress as if for a holiday.'[129]

[Sidenote: FISHER'S CHRISTIAN DEATH.]

At nine o'clock the lieutenant appeared. The old man took up his New

Testament, made the sign of the cross, and left the cell. He was tall,

being six feet high, but his body was bent with age, and his weakness so

great that he could hardly get down the stairs. He was placed in an

arm-chair. When the porters stopped near the gate of the Tower to know

if the sheriffs were ready, Fisher stood up, and leaning against the

wall opened his Testament, and lifting his eyes to heaven, he said: 'O

Lord! I open it for the last time. Grant that I may find some word of

comfort to the end that I may glorify thee in my last hour.' The first

words he saw were these: _And this is life eternal, that they might know

thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent_.[130]

Fisher closed the book and said: 'That will do. Here is learning enough

to last me to my life's end.'[131]

The funeral procession was set in motion. Clouds hid the face of the

sun; the day was gloomy; the streets through which they passed seemed

dull and in harmony with men's hearts. A large body of armed men

surrounded the pious old man, who kept repeating in a low tone the words

of his Testament: _Hæc est autem vita æterna, ut cognoscant te solum

Deum et quem misisti Jesum Christum_. They reached Smithfield. 'We will

help you to ascend,' said his bearers at the foot of the scaffold. 'No,

sirs,' he replied, and then added in a cheerful tone: 'Come, feet! do

your duty, you have not far to go.'[132] Just as he mounted the

scaffold, the sun burst out and shone upon his face: _They looked unto

him and were lightened_, he cried, _and their faces were not

ashamed_.[133] It was ten o'clock. The noble bearing and piety of the

aged bishop inspired all around him with respect. The executioner knelt

before him and begged his forgiveness. 'With all my heart,' he made

answer. Having laid aside his robe and furred gown, he turned to the

people, and said with gravity and joy: 'Christians, I give my life for

my faith in the holy catholic Church of Christ. I do not fear death.

Assist me, however, with your prayers, so that when the axe falls I may

remain firm. God save the king and the kingdom!' The brightness of his

face at this moment struck the spectators. He fell on his knees and

said: 'Eternal God, my hope is in thy deliverance.' The executioner

approached and bound his eyes. The bishop raised his hands, uttered a

cry towards heaven, and laid his head on the block. The doomsman seized

his heavy axe, and cut off the head at one blow. It was exposed by

Henry's orders on London bridge; but soldiers carried the body to

Barking church-yard, where they dug a lowly grave for it with their

halberds. Doubts have been thrown upon the details of this death; we

believe them to be authentic, and it is a pleasure by reporting them to

place a crown on the tomb of a Roman-catholic bishop whose end was that

of a pious man.

It was now the turn of Sir Thomas More. On the 1st of July, 1535, he was

summoned before the court of King's Bench. The former Chancellor of

England quitted his prison in a frieze cloak, which had grown foul in

the dungeon, and proceeded on foot through the most frequented streets

of London on his road to Westminster. His thin pale face; his white

hair, the effect not of time but of sorrow and imprisonment; the staff

on which he leant,[134] for he walked with difficulty, made a deep

impression on the people. When he arrived at the bar of that tribunal

over which he had so often presided, and looked around him, though

weakened by suffering, with a countenance full of mildness, all the

spectators were moved. The indictment was long and perplexed:[135] he

was accused of high-treason. Sir Thomas, endeavoring to keep on his

feet, said: 'My Lords, the charges brought against me are so numerous,

that I fear, considering my great weakness, I shall be unable to

remember them all.' He stopped: his body trembled and he was near

falling. A chair was brought him, and after taking his seat, he

continued: 'I have never uttered a single word in opposition to the

statute which proclaims the king head of the Church.'—'If we cannot

produce your words,' said the king's attorney, 'we can produce your

silence.'—'No one can be condemned for his silence,' nobly answered

More. '_Qui tacet consentire videtur_, Silence gives consent, according

to the lawyers.'[136]

[Sidenote: SIR THOMAS MORE SENTENCED.]

Nothing could save him: the jury returned a verdict of guilty. 'Now that

all is over,' said the prisoner, 'I will speak. Yes, the oath of

supremacy is illegal. The Great Charter laid down that _the Church of

England is free_, so that its rights and liberties might be equally

preserved.'[137]—'The Church must be _free_,' said the lawyers: 'it is

not therefore the slave of the pope.'—'Yes, _free_,' retorted More; 'it

is not therefore the slave of the king.' The chancellor then pronounced

sentence, condemning him to be hanged at Tyburn, and then quartered,

while still alive. Henry spared his illustrious subject and old friend

from this cruel punishment, and ordered that he should be merely

beheaded. 'God save all my friends from his Majesty's favor,' said Sir

Thomas, 'and spare my children from similar indulgences.... I hope, my

lords,' said the ex-chancellor, turning meekly towards his judges, 'that

though you have condemned me on earth, we may all meet hereafter in

heaven.'

Sir William Kingston approached; armed guards surrounded the condemned

man, and the sad procession moved forward. One of the Tower wardens

marched in front, bearing an axe with the edge turned towards More;[138]

it was a token to the people of the prisoner's fate. As soon as he

crossed the threshold of the court, his son, who was waiting for him,

fell at his feet distracted and in tears: 'Your blessing, father,' he

exclaimed, 'your blessing!' More raised him up, kissed him tenderly, and

blessed him. His daughter Margaret was not there: she had fainted

immediately on hearing of her father's condemnation.[139] He was taken

back to prison in a boat, perhaps to withdraw this innocent and

illustrious man, treated like a criminal, from the eyes of the citizens

of London. When they got near the Tower, the governor, who had until

then kept his emotion under, turned to More and bade him farewell, the

tears running down his cheeks.[140] 'My dear Kingston,' said the noble

prisoner, 'do not weep; we shall meet again in heaven.'—'Yes!' said the

lieutenant of the Tower, adding: 'you are consoling me, when I ought to

console you.' An immense crowd covered the wharf at which the boat was

to land. Among this crowd, so eager for the mournful spectacle, was a

young woman, trembling with emotion and silently waiting for the

procession: it was Margaret. At length she heard the steps of the

approaching guards, and saw her father appear. She could not move, her

strength failed her; she fell on her knees just where she had stood. Her

father, who recognized her at a distance, giving way to the keenest

emotions, lifted up his hands and blessed her. This was not enough for

Margaret. The blessing had caused a strong emotion in her, and had

restored life to her soul. Regardless of her sex, her age, and the

surrounding crowd, that feeble woman, to whom at this supreme moment

filial piety gave the strength of many men, says a contemporary,[141]

flew towards her father, and bursting through the officers and

halberdiers by whom he was surrounded,[142] fell on his neck and

embraced him, exclaiming: 'Father, father!' She could say no more; grief

stopped her voice: she could only weep, and her tears fell on her

father's bosom.[143] The soldiers halted in emotion; Sir Thomas, the

prey at once of the tenderest love and inexpressible grief, felt as if a

sword had pierced his heart.[144] Recovering himself, however, he

blessed his child, and said to her in a voice whose emotion he strove to

conceal: 'Daughter, I am innocent; but remember that however hard the

blow with which I am struck, it comes from God. Submit thy will to the

good pleasure of the Lord.'

[Sidenote: MORE AND HIS DAUGHTER.]

The captain of the escort, wishing to put an end to a scene that might

agitate the people, bade two soldiers take Margaret away; but she clung

to her father with arms that were like bars of iron, and it was with

difficulty that she could be removed.[145] She had been hardly set on

the ground a few steps off, when she sprang up again, and thrusting

those who had separated her from him she so loved, she broke through the

crowd once more, fell upon his neck, and kissed him several times with a

convulsive effort. In her, filial love had all the vehemence of passion.

More, whom the sentence of death had not been able to move, lost all

energy, and the tears poured down his cheeks. The crowd watched this

touching scene with deep excitement, and 'they were very few in all

the troop who could refrain from weeping; no, not the guards

themselves.'[146] Even the soldiers wept, and refused to tear the

daughter again from her father's arms. Two or three, however, of the

less agitated stepped forward and carried Margaret away. The women of

her household, who had accompanied her, immediately surrounded her and

bore her away from a sight of such inexpressible sadness. The prisoner

entered the Tower.

Sir Thomas spent six more days and nights in prison. We hear certainly

of his pious words, but the petty practices of an ascetic seemed to

engross him too much. His macerations were increased: he walked up and

down his cell, wearing only a winding-sheet as if he were already a

corpse waiting to be buried.[147] He often scourged himself for a long

time together, and with extraordinary violence. Yet at the same time he

indulged in Christian meditations. 'I am afflicted,' he wrote to one of

his friends, 'shut up in a dungeon; but God in His mercy will soon

deliver me from this world of tribulation. Walls will no longer separate

us, and we shall have holy conversations together, which no jailer will

interrupt.'[148] On the 5th of July, desiring to bid his daughter a last

farewell, More took a piece of charcoal (he had nothing else), and wrote

to her: 'To-morrow is St. Thomas's day, and my saint's day; accordingly,

I desire extremely that it may be the day of my departure. My child, I

never loved you so dearly as when last you kissed me. I like when

daughterly love has no leisure to look unto worldly courtesy.[149]...

Farewell, my dearly beloved daughter; pray for me. I pray for you all,

to the end that we may meet in heaven.'

Thus one of the closest and holiest affections, that of a father for his

daughter, and of a daughter for her father, softened the last moments of

this distinguished man. Sir Thomas sent Margaret his hair-shirt and

scourge, which he desired to conceal from the eyes of the indifferent.

What an inheritance!

That night he slept quietly, and the next morning early (6th of July,

1535), a fortnight after the death of the bishop, Sir Thomas Pope, one

of his familiar friends, came to inform him that he must hold himself in

readiness. 'I thank the king,' said More, 'for shutting me up in this

prison, whereby he has put me in a condition to make suitable

preparation for death. The only favor I beg of him is, that my daughter

may be present at my burial.' Pope left the cell in tears. Then the

prisoner put on a fine silk robe which his wealthy friend Bonvisi, the

merchant of Lucca, had given him. 'Leave that dress here,' said

Kingston, 'for the man to whom it falls by custom is only a jailer.'—'I

cannot look upon that man as a jailer,' answered More, 'who opens the

gates of heaven for me.'

[Sidenote: EXECUTION OF SIR THOMAS MORE.]

At nine o'clock the procession quitted the Tower. More was calm, his

face pale, his beard long and curly; he carried a crucifix in his hand,

and his eyes were often turned towards heaven. A numerous and

sympathizing crowd watched him pass along—a man one time so honored,

lord chancellor, lord chief-justice, president of the house of

Lords—whom armed men were now leading to the scaffold. Just as he was

passing in front of a house of mean appearance, a poor woman standing at

the door, went up to him and offered him a cup of wine to strengthen

him: 'Thank you,' he said gently, 'thank you; Christ drank vinegar

only.' On arriving at the place of execution: 'Give me your hand to help

me up,' he said to Kingston, adding: 'As for my coming down, you may let

me shift for myself.'[150] He mounted the scaffold. Sir Thomas Pope, at

the king's request, had begged him to make no speech, fearing the effect

this illustrious man might produce upon the people. More desired however

to say a few words, but the sheriff stopped him. 'I die,' he was content

to say, 'in the faith of the catholic Church, and a faithful servant of

God and the king.' He then knelt down and repeated the fifty-first

Psalm:[151] _Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy

loving-kindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot

out my transgressions_. When he rose up, the executioner begged his

forgiveness: 'Why do you talk of forgiveness?' replied More; 'you are

doing me the greatest kindness I ever received from man.' He desired the

man not to be afraid to do his office, and remarked that his neck was

very short. With his own hands he fastened a bandage over his eyes, and

then laid his head on the block. The executioner, holding the axe, was

preparing to strike, when More stopped him, and putting his beard

carefully on one side, said: 'This at least has not committed treason.'

Such words, almost jesting, no doubt, startle us at such a moment; but

strong men have often been observed to manifest the calmness of their

souls in such a manner. More probably feared that his long beard would

embarrass the executioner, and deaden the blow. At length that head

fell, through which so many noble thoughts had passed; that keen clear

eye was closed; those eloquent lips were the lips of a corpse. The head

was exposed on London bridge, and Margaret discharged the painful duty

her father had bequeathed her, by piously burying his body.

[Sidenote: HENRY'S VICTIMS.]

Thus, at the cost of his life, this eminent man protested against the

aberrations of a cruel prince, who usurped the title given by the Bible

to Jesus Christ alone. The many evangelical martyrs who had been

sacrificed in different countries and who were to be sacrificed, showed

in general, to a greater extent than Fisher and More, an ardent love for

the Saviour, a lively hope of eternal life; but none showed greater

calmness than they. These two good men wanted discernment as to what

constitutes the pure Gospel; their piety bound them too much, as we have

said, to monastic practices; they had (and More especially) in the days

of their power persecuted the disciples of the Lord, and though they

rejected the usurpations of the king, had acted as fanatical defenders

of those of the pope. But at a time when there were so many cringing

bishops and servile nobles—when almost every one bent the head timidly

before the mad popery of Henry VIII., these two firmly held up theirs.

More and Fisher were companions in misfortune with Bilney and Fryth: the

same royal hand struck them all. Our sympathies are for the victims, our

aversion for the executioner.

The death of these two celebrated men caused an immense sensation. In

England, the people and even the nobility were struck with astonishment.

Could it be true, men asked, that Thomas More, whom Henry had known

since he was nine years old, with whom he used to hold friendly

conversations by night on the terrace of his country-house, at whose

table he used to love to sit down familiarly, whom he had chosen,

although a layman and a knight only, to succeed the powerful

Wolsey:—could it be true that by the king's orders he had perished by

the axe? Could it be true that Fisher had met with the same fate—that

venerable old man of fourscore years, who had been his preceptor, the

trusty friend of his grandmother, and to whose teaching he owed the

progress he had made in learning? Men began to see that resistance to a

Tudor was the scaffold. Every one trembled, and even those who had not

known the two victims could not restrain their tears.[152]

The horror which these executions caused among the enlightened men of

the continent was displayed with more liberty and energy. 'I am dead,'

exclaimed Erasmus, 'since More is dead: for, as Pythagoras says, we had

but one soul between us.'[153]—'O England! O dearly beloved country,'

said Reginald Pole; 'he was not only Margaret's father, but thine

also!'—'This year is fatal to our order,' said Melanchthon the reformer;

'I hear that More has been killed and others also. You know how such

things wring my heart.'[154]—'We banish such criminals,' said Francis I.

sharply to the English ambassador, 'but we do not put them to

death.'—'If I had two such lights in my kingdom,' said Charles V., 'I

would sooner give two of my strongest cities than suffer them to be

extinguished.' At Rome in particular the anger was terrible. They were

still flattering themselves that Henry VIII. would return to his old

sympathies; but now there was no more hope! The king had put to death a

prince of the Church, and as he had sworn, the cardinal's hat could find

no head to wear it. A consistory was immediately summoned: Cardinal de

Tournon's touching letter was read, and all who heard it were moved even

to tears. The embarrassed and speechless agents of England knew not what

to do; and as they reported, there was everything to be feared.

Perhaps nobody was so confounded as the pontiff. Paul III. was

circumspect, prudent, deliberative, and temporizing; but when he thought

the moment arrived, when he believed further manœuvring was not

required, he no longer hesitated, but struck forcibly. It is known that

he had two young relations whom, in his blind tenderness, he had

created cardinals, notwithstanding their youth and the emperor's

representations. 'Alas!' he exclaimed, 'I feel as mortally injured, as

if my two nephews had been killed before my eyes.'[155] His most devoted

partisans, and above all a cardinal of his creation put to death! There

was a violent movement in his heart; he worked himself into a fury; he

desired to strike the prince whose cruel deeds had wounded him so

deeply. His anger burst out in a thunder-clap. On the 30th of August he

issued a bull worthy of Gregory VII., which the more zealous partisans

of the papacy would like to remove from the papal records.[156] 'Let

King Henry repent of his crimes,' said the pontiff; 'we give him ninety

days and his accomplices sixty to appear at Rome. In case of default, we

strike him with the sword of anathema, of malediction, and of eternal

damnation;[157] we take away his kingdom from him; we declare that his

body shall be deprived of ecclesiastical burial; we launch an interdict

against his States; we release his subjects from their oath of fidelity;

we call upon all dukes, marquises and earls to expel him and his

accomplices from England; we unbind all Christian princes from their

oaths towards him, command them to march against him and constrain him

to return to the obedience due to the Holy Apostolic See, giving them

all his goods for their reward, and he and his to be their slaves.'[158]

Anger had the same effect upon the pontiff as inebriety; he had lost the

use of his reason, and allowed himself to be carried away to threats and

excesses of which he would have been ashamed, had he been sober.

Accordingly the drunkenness was hardly over, before the unfortunate Paul

hastened to hide his bull, and carefully laid aside his thunderbolts in

the arsenal, free to bring them out later.

[Sidenote: HENRY'S PALTRY EXCUSES.]

Henry VIII., more calm than the pope, having heard of his discontent,

feared to push him to extremities; and Cromwell, a month after the date

of the bull, instructed Da Casale to justify the king to the Vatican.

'Fisher and More,' he was to say, 'had on all points of the internal

policy of England come to conclusions diametrically opposed to the quiet

and prosperity of the kingdom. They had held secret conversations with

certain men notorious for their audacity, and had poured into the hearts

of these wretches the poison which they had first prepared in their

own.[159] Could we permit their crime, spreading wider and wider, to

give a death-blow to the State? Fisher and More alone opposed laws which

had been accepted by the general consent of the people, and were

necessary to the prosperity of the kingdom. Our _mildest_ of sovereigns

could not longer tolerate an offence so atrocious.'[160]

Even these excuses accuse and condemn Henry. Neither More nor Fisher had

entered into a plot against the State; their resistance had been purely

religious; they were free to act according to their consciences. It

might have been necessary to take some prudential measures in an age as

yet little fitted for liberty; but nothing could excuse the scaffold,

erected by the king's orders, for men who were regarded with universal

respect.

[124] 'Qua de re tota urbe sermo fuit.'—_State Papers_, vii. p. 604.

[125] 'Nunquam alias gravius erratum fuisse.'—_Ibid._

[126] 'Eo maturius truncatur capite.'—Erasmi _Epp._ i. p. 1543.

[127] Interrogatories.—_State Papers_, i. p. 432.

[128] More's _Life_, p. 271.

[129] Fuller, p. 203.

[130] John xvii. 3. The Testament was in Latin.

[131] Fuller, p. 204.

[132] 'Eia, pedes, officium facite; parum itineris jam restat.'—Sanders,

p. 79.

[133] Psalm xxxiv. 5.

[134] 'He went thither leaning on his staff.'—More's _Life_, p. 255.

[135] 'Longa et perplexa accusatio.'—Polus, _Pro Unitatis Defensione_,

p. 63.

[136] More's _Life_, p. 260. Herbert: _Henry VIII._ p. 393.

[137] 'Ecclesia Anglicana libera sit, et habeat omnia jura integra, et

libertates suas illæsas.'—Herbert: _Henry VIII._ p. 268.

[138] More's _Life_, p. 274.

[139] 'Exanimata dolore.'—Polus, _Pro Unitatis Defensione_.

[140] More's _Life_, p. 274.

[141] 'Cui jam pietas multorum virorum robur addiderat.'—Polus, _Pro

Unitatis Defensione_, p. 66.

[142] 'Passing through the midst of the guards, who with bills and

halberts compassed him round.'—More's _Life_, p. 276.

[143] 'Lacrymis sinum ejus applebat.'—Polus, _Pro Unitatis Defensione_,

p. 66.

[144] 'What a sword was this to his heart.'—More's _Life_, p. 278.

[145] 'Ut vix ab eo divelli posset.'—Polus, _Pro Unitatis Defensione_,

p. 66.

[146] More's _Life_, p. 277.

[147] 'With a sheet about him, like a corpse ready to be buried.'—More's

_Life_, p. 279.

[148] 'Ubi non arcebit a colloquio janitor.'—_Ad. Anton. Bonvisum

mercatorem Lucensem._

[149] More's _Life_, p. 280.

[150] More's _Life_, p. 286.

[151] The fiftieth of the Vulgate: _Miserere mei, Deus_.

[152] 'Lacrimas tenere non potuerunt.'—Polus, _Pro Unitatis,

Defensione_, p. 66.

[153] In Moro mihi videor extinctus, adeo _mia psuche_, juxta

Pythagoram, duobus erat.'—Erasmi _Epp._ p. 1938.

[154] _Corpus Reformatorum_, ii. p. 918. The 'order' means that of men

of letters.

[155] 'Si videret ante se, occisos duos suos nepotes.'—_State Papers_,

vii. p. 621.

[156] Lingard, iii. ch. iv.

[157] 'Anathematis, maledictionis, et damnationis eternæ mucrone

percutimus.'—_Bullarium Romanum_, 3 Kal. Septemb. 1535.

[158] 'Et eos capientium servos fieri decernentes.'—_Ibid._

[159] 'In horum sinum, jam antea conceptum pectore venenum

evomebant.'—_State Papers_, vii. p. 634.

[160] 'Sustinere diutius non potuit mitissimus Rex istorum culpam tam

atrocem.'—_State Papers_, vii. p. 635.

CHAPTER VII.

VISITATION OF THE MONASTERIES: THEIR SCANDALS AND SUPPRESSION.

(SEPTEMBER 1535 TO 1536.)

The death of the late tutor and friend of the prince was to be followed

by a measure less cruel but far more general. The pope who treated kings

so rudely should not be surprised if kings treated the monks severely.

Henry knew—had indeed been a close witness of their lazy and often

irregular lives. One day, when he was hunting in the forest of Windsor,

he lost his way, perhaps intentionally, and about the dinner hour

knocked at the gate of Reading Abbey. As he represented himself to be

one of his Majesty's guards, the abbot said: 'You will dine with me;'

and the king sat down to a table covered with abundant and delicate

dishes. After examining everything carefully: 'I will stick to this

sirloin,' said he, pointing to a piece of beef of which he eat

heartily.[161] The abbot looked on with admiration. 'I would give a

hundred pounds,' he exclaimed, 'to eat with as much appetite as you; but

alas! my weak and qualmish stomach can hardly digest the wing of a

chicken.'—'I know how to bring back your appetite,' thought the king. A

few days later some soldiers appeared at the convent, took away the

abbot, and shut him up in the Tower, where he was put upon bread and

water. 'What have I done,' he kept asking, 'to incur his Majesty's

displeasure to such a degree?' After a few weeks, Henry went to the

state prison, and concealing himself in an ante-room whence he could see

the abbot, ordered a sirloin of beef to be set before him. The famished

monk in his turn fell upon the joint, and (according to tradition) eat

it all. The king now showed himself: 'Sir abbot,' he said, 'I have cured

you of your qualms; now pay me my wages. It is a hundred pounds, you

know.' The abbot paid and returned to Reading; but Henry never after

forgot the monks' kitchen.

[Sidenote: STATE OF THE MONASTERIES.]

The state of the monasteries was an occasion of scandal: for many

centuries all religious life had died out in most of those

establishments. The monks lived, generally, in idleness, gluttony, and

licentiousness, and the convents which should have been houses of saints

had become in many cases mere sties of lazy gormandizers and impure

sensualists. 'The only law they recognize,' said Luther, speaking of

these cloisters, 'is that of the seven deadly sins.' History encounters

here a twofold danger: one is that of keeping back what is essential,

the scandalous facts that justify the suppression of monasteries; the

other is that of saying things that cannot be named. We must strive to

steer between these two quicksands.

All classes of society had become disgusted with the monasteries: the

common people would say to the monks: 'We labor painfully, while you

lead easy and comfortable lives.' The nobility regarded them with looks

of envy and irony which threatened their wealth. The lawyers considered

them as parasitical plants, which drew away from others the nutriment

they required. These things made the religious orders cry out with

alarm: 'If we no longer have the pope to protect us, it is all over with

us and our monasteries.' And they set to work to prevent Henry from

separating from the pope: they circulated anonymous stories, seditious

songs, trivial lampoons, frightful prophecies and biting satires against

the king, Anne Boleyn, and the friends of the Reformation. They held

mysterious interviews with the discontented, and took advantage of the

confessional to alarm the weak-minded. 'The supremacy of the pope,' they

said, 'is a fundamental article of the faith: none who reject it can be

saved.' People began to fear a general revolt.

When Luther was informed that Henry VIII. had abolished the authority of

the pope in his kingdom, but had suffered the religious orders to

remain, he smiled at the blunder: 'The king of England,' he said,

'weakens the body of the papacy but at the same time strengthens the

soul.'[162] That could not endure for long.

[Sidenote: CROMWELL'S ADVICE.]

Cromwell had now attained high honors and was to mount higher still. He

thought with Luther that the pope and the monks could not exist or fall

one without the other. After having abolished the Roman pontiff, it

became necessary to abolish the monasteries. It was he who had prevailed

on the king to take the place of head of the Church; and now he wished

him to be so really. 'Sire,' he said to Henry, 'cleanse the Lord's field

from all the weeds that stifle the good corn, and scatter everywhere the

seeds of virtue.[163] In 1525, 1528, 1531 and 1534 the popes themselves

lent you their help in the suppression of monasteries; now you no longer

require their aid. Do not hesitate, Sire: the most fanatical enemies of

your supreme authority are to be found in the convents. There is buried

the wealth necessary to the prosperity of the nation. The revenues of

the religious orders are far greater than those of all the nobility of

England. The cloister schools have fallen into decay, and the wants of

the age require better ones. To suppress the pope and to keep the monks

is like deposing the general and delivering the fortresses of the

country up to his army. Sire, imitate the example of the protestants and

suppress the monasteries.'

Such language alarmed the friends of the papacy, who stoutly opposed a

scheme which they believed to be sacrilegious. 'These foundations were

consecrated to Almighty God,' they told the king; 'respect therefore

those retreats where pious souls live in contemplation.'[164]

'Contemplation!' said Sir Henry Colt smiling; 'tomorrow, Sire, I

undertake to produce proofs of the kind of contemplation in which these

monks indulge.' Whereupon, says an historian, Colt, knowing that a

certain number of the monks of Waltham Abbey had a fondness for the

conversation of ladies, and used to pass the night with the nuns of

Chesham Convent, went to a narrow path through which the monks would

have to pass on their return, and stretched across it one of the stout

nets used in stag-hunting. Towards daybreak, as the monks, lantern in

hand, were making their way through the wood, they suddenly heard a loud

noise behind them—it was caused by men whom Colt had stationed for the

purpose—and instantly blowing out their lights they were hurrying away,

when they fell into the toils prepared for them.[165] The next morning,

he presented them to the king, who laughed heartily at their piteous

looks. 'I have often seen better game,' he said, 'but never fatter.

Certainly,' he added, 'I can make a better use of the money which the

monks waste in their debaucheries. The coast of England requires to be

fortified, my fleet and army to be increased, and harbors to be built

for the commerce which is extending every day.[166] All that is well

worth the trouble of suppressing houses of impurity.'

The protectors of the religious orders were not discouraged, and

maintained that it was not necessary to shut all the convents, because

of a few guilty houses.

[Sidenote: REVIVING INFLUENCE OF THE LAITY.]

Dr. Leighton, a former officer of Wolsey's, proposed a middle course:

'Let the king order a general visitation of monasteries,' he said, 'and

in this way he will learn whether he ought to secularize them or not.

Perhaps the mere fear of this inspection will incline the monks to yield

to his Majesty's desires.' Henry charged Cromwell with the execution of

this measure, and for that purpose named him vicegerent and

vicar-general, conferring on him all the ecclesiastical authority which

belonged to the king.[167] 'You will visit all the churches,' he said,

'even the metropolitan, whether the see be vacant or not; all the

monasteries both of men and women; and you will correct and punish

whoever may be found guilty.' Henry gave to his vicar precedence over

all the peers, and decided that the layman should preside over the

assembly of the clergy instead of the primate; overlook the

administration not only of the bishops but also of the archbishops;

confirm or annul the election of prelates, deprive or suspend them, and

assemble synods. This was at the beginning of September 1535. The

influence of the laity thus re-entered the Church, but not through the

proper door. They came forward in the name of the king and his

proclamations, whilst they ought to have appeared in the name of Christ

and of His Word. The king informed the primate, and through him all the

bishops and archdeacons, that as the general visitation was about to

commence, they should no longer exercise their jurisdiction.[168] The

astonished prelates made representations, but they were unavailing: they

and their sees were to be inspected by laymen. Although the commission

of the latter did not contain the required conditions, namely the

delegation of the flocks, this act was a pretty evident sign that the

restoration of the members of the Church to their functions was at that

time foreseen and perhaps even regarded by many as one of the most

essential parts of the Reformation of England.

The monks began to tremble. Faith in the convents no longer existed—not

even in the convents themselves. Confidence in monastic practices,

relics, and pilgrimages had grown weaker; the timbers of the monasteries

were worm-eaten, their walls were just ready to fall, and the edifice of

the Middle Ages, tottering on its foundations, was unable to withstand

the hearty blows dealt against it. When an antiquary explores some

ancient sepulchre, he comes upon a skeleton, apparently well preserved,

but crumbling into dust at the slightest touch of the finger; in like

manner the puissant hand of the sixteenth century had only to touch most

of these monastic institutions to reduce them to powder. The real

dissolver of the religious orders was neither Henry VIII. nor Cromwell:

it was the devouring worm which, for years and centuries, they had

carried in their bosom.

The vicar-general appointed his commissioners[169] and then assembled

them as a commander-in-chief calls his generals together. In the front

rank was Dr. Leighton, his old comrade in Wolsey's household, a skilful

man who knew the ground well and did not forget his own interests. After

him came Dr. Loudon, a man of unparalleled activity, but without

character and a weathercock turning to every wind. With him was Sir

Richard Cromwell, nephew of the vicar-general, an upright man, though

desirous of making his way through his uncle's influence. He was the

ancestor of another Cromwell, far more celebrated than Henry VIII.'s

vicegerent. Other two were Thomas Legh and John Apprice, the most daring

of the colleagues of the king's ministers; besides other individuals of

well known ability. The vicegerent handed to them the instructions for

their guidance, the questions they were to put to the monks, and the

injunctions they were to impose on the abbots and priors; after which

they separated on their mission.

The Universities, which sadly needed a reform, were not overlooked by

Henry and his representative. Since the time when Garret, the priest of

a London parish, circulated the New Testament at Oxford, the sacred

volume had been banished from that city, as well as the _Beggar's

Petition_ and other evangelical writings. Slumber had followed the

awakening. The members of the university, especially certain

ecclesiastics who, forsaking their parishes, had come and settled at

Oxford, to enjoy the delights of Capua,[170] passed their lives in

idleness and sensuality. The royal commissioners aroused them from this

torpor. They dethroned Duns Scotus, 'the subtle doctor,' who had reigned

there for three hundred years, and the leaves of his books were

scattered to the winds. Scholasticism fell; new lectures were

established; philosophical teaching, the natural sciences, Latin, Greek,

and divinity were extended and developed. The students were forbidden to

haunt taverns, and the priests who had come to Oxford to enjoy life,

were sent back to their parishes.

[Sidenote: CRANMER DENOUNCES ROME.]

The visitation of the monasteries began with those of Canterbury, the

primatial church of England. In October 1535, shortly after Michaelmas,

Dr. Leighton, the visitor, entered the cathedral, and Archbishop Cranmer

went up into the pulpit. He had seen Rome: he had an intimate conviction

that that city exerted a mischievous influence over all Christendom; he

desired, as primate, to take advantage of this important opportunity to

break publicly with her. 'No,' he said, 'the bishop of Rome is not God's

vicar. In vain you will tell me that the See of Rome is called _Sancta

Sedes_, and its bishop entitled _Sanctissimus Papa_: the pope's holiness

is but a holiness in name.[171] Vain-glory, worldly pomp, unrestrained

lust, and vices innumerable prevail in Rome. I have seen it with my own

eyes. The pope claims by his ceremonies to forgive men their sins: it is

a serious error. One work only blots them out, namely, the death of our

Lord Jesus Christ. So long as the See of Rome endures, there will be no

remedy for the evils which overwhelm us. These many years I had daily

prayed unto God that I might see the power of Rome destroyed.'[172]

Language so frank necessarily displeased the adherents of the pope, and

accordingly, when Cranmer alluded to his energetic daily prayer, the

Superior of the Dominicans, trembling with excitement, exclaimed: 'What

a want of charity!'

He was not the only person struck with indignation and fear. As soon as

the sermon was over, the Dominicans assembled to prevent the archbishop

from carrying out his intentions. 'We must support the papacy,' they

said, 'but do it prudently.' The prior was selected, as being the most

eloquent of the brothers, to reply to Cranmer. Going into the pulpit, he

said: 'The Church of Christ has never erred. The laws which it makes are

equal in authority to the laws of God Himself. I do not know a single

bishop of Rome who can be reproached with vice.'[173] Evidently the

prior, however eloquent he might be, was not learned in the history of

the Church.

[Sidenote: MONKISH DEPRAVITIES.]

The visitation of the Canterbury monasteries began. The immorality of

most of these houses was manifested by scandalous scenes, and gave rise

to questions which we are forced to suppress. The abominable vices that

prevailed in them are mentioned by St. Paul in his description of the

pagan corruptions.[174] The commissioners having taken their seats in

one of the halls of the Augustine monastery, all the monks came before

them, some embarrassed, others bold, but most of them careless. Strange

questions were then put to men who declared themselves consecrated to a

devout and contemplative life: 'Are there any among you,' asked the

commissioners, 'who disguising themselves, leave the convent and go

vagabondizing about? Do you observe the vow of chastity, and has any one

been convicted of incontinence? Do women enter the monastery,[175] or

live in it habitually?' We omit the questions that followed. The result

was scandalous: eight of the brothers were convicted of abominable

vices. The black sheep having been set apart for punishment, Leighton

called the other monks together, and said to them: 'True religion does

not consist in shaving the head, silence, fasting, and other

observances; but in uprightness of soul, purity of life, sincere faith

in Christ, brotherly love, and the worship of God in spirit and in

truth. Do not rest content with ceremonies, but rise to sublimer things,

and be converted from all these outward practices to inward and deep

considerations.'[176]

One visitation still more distressing followed this. The Carthusian

monastery at Canterbury, four monks of which had died piously, contained

several rotten members. Some of them used to put on lay dresses, and

leave the convent during the night. There was one house for monks and

another for nuns, and the blacksmith of the monastery confessed that a

monk had asked him to file away a bar of the window which separated the

two cloisters. It was the duty of the monks to confess the nuns; but by

one of those refinements of corruption which mark the lowest degree of

vice, the sin and absolution often followed close upon each other. Some

nuns begged the visitors not to permit certain monks to enter their

house again.[177]

The visitation being continued through Kent, the visitors came on the

22nd of October to Langdon Abbey, near Dover. William Dyck, abbot of the

monastery of the Holy Virgin, possessed a very bad reputation. Leighton,

who was determined to surprise him, ordered his attendants to surround

the abbey in such a manner that no one could leave it. He then went to

the abbot's house, which looked upon the fields, and was full of doors

and windows by which any one could escape.[178] Leighton began to knock

loudly, but no one answered. Observing an axe, he took it up, dashed in

the door with it, and entered. He found a woman with the monk, and the

visitors discovered in a chest the men's clothes which she put on when

she wished to pass for one of the younger brethren. She escaped, but one

of Cromwell's servants caught her and took her before the mayor at

Dover, where she was placed in the cage. As for the holy father abbot,

says Leighton, he was put in prison. A few of the monks signed an act by

which they declared that their house being threatened with utter ruin,

temporal and spiritual, the king alone could find a remedy, and they

consequently surrendered it to his Majesty.[179]

The abbot of Fountains had ruined his abbey by publicly keeping six

women. One night he took away the golden crosses and jewels belonging to

the monastery, and sold them to a jeweller for a small sum.[180] At

Mayden-Bradley, Leighton found another father prior, one Richard, who

had five women, six sons, and a daughter pensioned on the property of

the convent: his sons, tall, stout young men, lived with him and waited

on him. Seeing that the Roman Church prohibited the clergy from obeying

the commandment of Scripture, which says: _A bishop must be the husband

of one wife_, these wretched men took five or six. The impositions of

the monks to extort money injured them in public opinion far more then

their debauchery. Leighton found in St. Anthony's convent at Bristol a

tunic of our Lord, a petticoat of the Virgin, a part of the Last Supper,

and a fragment of the stone upon which Jesus was born at Bethlehem.[181]

All these brought in money.

Every religious and moral sentiment is disgusted at hearing of the

disorders and frauds of the monks, and yet the truth of history requires

that they should be made known. Here is one of the means—of the

blasphemous means—they employed to deceive the people. At Hales in

Gloucestershire, the monks pretended that they had preserved some of

Christ's blood in a bottle. The man whose deadly sins God had not yet

pardoned could not see it, they said; while the absolved sinner saw it

instantaneously. Thousands of penitents crowded thither from all parts.

If a rich man confessed to the priest and laid his gift on the altar, he

was conducted into the mysterious chapel, where the precious vessel

stood in a magnificent case. The penitent knelt down and looked, but saw

nothing. 'Your sin is not yet forgiven,' said the priest. Then came

another confession, another offering, another introduction into the

sanctuary; but the unfortunate man opened his eyes in vain, he could see

nothing until his contribution satisfied the monks. The commissioners

having sent for the vessel, found it to be a 'crystall very thick on one

side and very transparent on the other.'[182] 'You see, my lords,' said

a candid friar, 'when a rich penitent appears, we turn the vessel on the

thick side; that, you know, opens his heart and his purse.'[183] The

transparent side did not appear until he had placed a large donation on

the altar.

[Sidenote: THE FRAUD AT BOXLEY.]

No discovery produced a greater sensation in England than that of the

practices employed at Boxley in Kent. It possessed a famous crucifix,

the image on which, carved in wood, gave an affirmative nod with the

head, if the offering was accepted, winked the eyes and bent the body.

If the offering was too small, the indignant figure turned away its head

and made a sign of disapproval.[184] One of the Commissioners took down

the crucifix from the wall, and discovered the pipes which carried the

wires that the priestly conjuror was wont to pull.[185] Having put the

machine in motion, he said: 'You see what little account the monks have

made of us and our forefathers.' The friars trembled with shame and

alarm, while the spectators, says the record, roared with laughter, like

Ajax.[186] The king sent for the machine, and had it worked in the

presence of the court. The figure rolled its eyes, opened its mouth,

turned up its nose, let its head fall, and bent its back. 'Upon my

word,' said the king, 'I do not know whether I ought not to weep rather

than laugh, on seeing how the poor people of England have been fooled

for so many centuries.'

These vile tricks were the least of the sins of those wretches. In

several convents the visitors found implements for coining base

money.[187] In others they discovered traces of the horrible cruelties

practised by the monks of one faction against those of another.

Descending into the gloomy dungeons, they perceived, by the help of

their torches, the bones of a great number of wretched people, some of

whom had died of hunger and others had been crucified.[188] But

debauchery was the most frequent case. Those pretended priests of a God

who has said: _Be ye holy, for I the Lord am holy_, covered themselves

with the hypocritical mantle of their priesthood, and indulged in

infamous impurities. They discovered one monk, who, turning auricular

confession to an abominable purpose, had carried adultery into two or

three hundred families. The list was exhibited, and some of the

Commissioners, to their great astonishment, says a contemporary writer,

found the names of their own wives upon it.[189]

There were sometimes riots, sieges, and battles. The Royal Commissioners

arrived at Norton Abbey in Cheshire, the abbots of which were notorious

for having carried on a scandalous traffic with the convent plate. On

the last day of their visit, the abbot sent out his monks to muster his

supporters, and collected a band of two or three hundred men, who

surrounded the monastery, to prevent the commissioners from carrying

anything away. The latter took refuge in a tower, which they barricaded.

It was two hours past midnight: the abbot had ordered an ox to be killed

to feed his rabble, seated round the fires in front of the convent, and

even in the courtyard. On a sudden Sir Piers Dulton, a justice of the

peace, arrived, and fell with his posse upon the monks and their

defenders. The besiegers were struck with terror, and ran off as fast as

they could, hiding themselves in the fish-ponds and out-houses. The

abbot and three canons, the instigators of the riot, were imprisoned in

Halton Castle.[190]

Fortunately, the king's Commissioners met with convents of another

character. When George Gifford was visiting the monasteries of

Lincolnshire, he came to a lonely district, abounding in water but very

poor,[191] where the abbey of Woolstrop was situated. The inhabitants of

the neighborhood, notwithstanding their destitution, praised the charity

of the recluses. Entering the convent, Gifford found an honest prior and

some pious monks, who copied books, made their own clothes, and

practised the arts of embroidering, carving, painting, and engraving.

The visitor petitioned the king for the preservation of this monastery.

[Sidenote: THE NUNNERIES.]

The Commissioners had particular instructions for the women's convents.

'Is your house perfectly closed?' they asked the abbess and the nuns.

'Can a man get into it?[192] Are you in the habit of writing

love-letters?'[193] At Litchfield the nuns declared that there was no

disorder in the convent; but one good old woman told everything, and

when Leighton reproached the prioress for her falsehood, she replied:

'Our religion compels us to it. At our admission we swore never to

reveal the secret sins that were committed among us.'[194] There were

some houses in which nearly all the nuns trampled under foot the most

sacred duties of their sex, and were without mercy for the unhappy

fruits of their disorders.

Such were frequently in those times the monastic orders of the West. The

eloquent apologists who eulogize their virtues without distinction, and

the exaggerating critics who pronounce the same sentence of condemnation

against all, are both mistaken. We have rendered homage to the monks who

were upright; we may blame those who were guilty. The scandals, let us

say, did not proceed from the founders of these orders. Sentiments,

opposed beyond a doubt to the principles of the Gospel, although they

were well-intentioned, had presided over the formation of the

monasteries. The hermits Paul, Anthony, and others of the third and

fourth centuries gave themselves up to an anti-Evangelical asceticism,

but still they struggled courageously against temptation. However, one

must be very ignorant not to see that corruption must eventually issue

from monastic institutions. _Every plant which my heavenly Father hath

not planted shall be rooted up_, is the language of the Gospel.

We do not exaggerate. The monasteries were sometimes an asylum in which

men and women, whose hearts had been wrecked in the tempests of life,

sought a repose which the world did not offer. They were mistaken; they

ought to have lived with God, but in the midst of society. And yet there

is a pleasure in believing that behind those walls, which hid so much

corruption, there were some elect souls who loved God. Such were found

at Catesby, at Godstow, near Oxford, and in other places. The Visitors

asked for the preservation of these houses.

If the visitation of the convents was a bitter draught to many of the

inmates, it was a cup of joy to the greater number. Many monks and nuns

had been put into the convents during their infancy, and were detained

in them against their will. No one ought to be forced, according to

Cromwell's principles. When the visitation took place, the Visitors

announced to every monk under twenty-four years of age, and to every nun

under twenty-one, that they might leave the convent. Almost all to whom

the doors were thus opened, hastened to profit by it. A secular dress

was given them, with some money, and they departed with pleasure. But

great was the sorrow among many whose age exceeded the limit. Falling on

their knees, they entreated the Commissioners to obtain a similar favor

for them. 'The life we lead here,' they said, 'is contrary to our

conscience.'[195]

[Sidenote: REPORT OF THE COMMISSIONERS.]

The Commissioners returned to London, and made their report to the

Council. They were distressed and disgusted. 'We have discovered,' they

said, 'not seven, but more than seven hundred thousand deadly

sins.[196]... These abominable monks are the _ravening wolves_ whose

coming Christ has announced, and who under sheep's clothing devour the

flock. Here are the confessions of the monks and nuns, subscribed with

their own hands.[197] This book may well be called _The Book of God's

Judgment_. The monasteries are so full of iniquity that they ought to

fall down under such a weight. If there be here and there any innocent

cloister, they are so few in number that they cannot save the others.

Our hearts melt and all our limbs tremble at the thought of the

abominations we have witnessed. O Lord! what wilt Thou answer to the

five cities which Thou didst consume by fire, when they remind Thee of

the iniquities of those monks, whom Thou hast so long supported?[198]

The eloquence of Ptolemy, the memory of Pliny, and the pen of St.

Augustine would not be able to give us the detestable history of these

abominations.'

[Sidenote: DELIBERATIONS OF THE COUNCIL.]

The Council began to deliberate, and many of the members called for the

secularization of a part of the monasteries. The partisans of the

religious orders took up their defence, and acknowledged that there was

room for reform. 'But,' they added, 'will you deprive of all asylum the

pious souls who desire to quit the world, and lead a devout life to the

glory of their Maker?' They tried even to invalidate in some points the

testimony of the Visitors; but the latter declared that, far from having

recorded lightly those scandalous facts, they had excluded many.[199]

'We have not reported certain public scandals,' they said, 'because they

seem opposed to the famous charter of the monks—_Si non caste, tamen

caute_.' Men of influence supported the Commissioners' conclusions; a

few members of the Council were inclined to indulgence; even Cromwell

seemed disposed to attempt the reform of whatever was susceptible of

improvement; but many believed that all amendment was impossible. 'We

must, above all things, diminish the wealth of the clergy,' said Dr.

Cox; 'for so long as they do not imitate the poverty of Christ, the

people will not follow their teaching. I have no doubt,' he added, with

a touch of irony, 'that the bishops, priests, and monks will readily

free themselves from the heavy burden of wealth of every kind, which

renders the fulfilment of their spiritual duties impossible.'[200] Other

reasons were alleged. 'The income of the monasteries,' said one of the

privy-councillors, 'amounts to 500,000 ducats, while that of all the

nobility of England is only 380,000.[201] This disproportion is

intolerable, and must be put an end to. For the welfare of his subjects

and of the Church, the King should increase the number of bishoprics,

parishes, and hospitals. He must augment the forces of the State, and

prepare to resist the Emperor, whose fleets and armies threaten us.

Shall we ask the people for taxes, who have already so much trouble to

get a living, while the monks continue to consume their wealth in

laziness and debauchery? It would be monstrous injustice. The treasures

which the convents derive from the nation ought no longer to be useless

to the nation.'

In February 1536, this serious matter was laid before Parliament. It was

Thomas Cromwell whose heavy hand struck these receptables of impurity,

and whom men called 'the hammer of the monks,'[202] who proposed this

great reform. He laid on the table of the Commons that famous _Black

Book_, in which were inscribed the misdeeds of the religious orders, and

desired that it should be read to the House. The book is no longer in

existence: it was destroyed, in the reign of Queen Mary, by those who

had an interest in its suppression. But it was then opened before the

Parliament of England. There had never before been such a reading in any

assembly. The facts were clearly recorded—the most detestable enormities

were not veiled: the horrible confessions of the monks, signed with

their own hands were exhibited to the members of the Commons. The

recital produced an extraordinary effect. Men had had no idea of such

abominable scandals.[203] The House was horror-stricken, and 'Down with

them—down with them!' was shouted on every side.

The debate commenced. Personally, the members were generally interested

in the preservation of the monasteries: most of them had some connection

with one cloister or another; priors and other heads had relations and

friends in Parliament. Nevertheless the condemnation was general, and

men spoke of those monkish sanctuaries as, in former times, men had

spoken of the priests of Jezebel—'Let us pull down their houses, and

overturn their altars.'[204] There were, however, some objections.

Twenty-six abbots, heads of the great monasteries, sat as barons in the

Upper House: these were respected. Besides, the great convents were less

disorderly than the small ones. Cromwell restricted himself for the

moment to the secularization of 376 cloisters, in each of which there

were fewer than twelve persons. The abbots, flattered by the exception

made in their favor, were silent, and even the bishops hardly cared to

defend institutions which had long been withdrawn from their authority.

'These monasteries,' said Cromwell, 'being the dishonor of religion, and

all the attempts, repeated through more than two centuries, having shown

that their reformation is impossible, the King, as supreme head of the

Church under God, proposes to the Lords and Commons, and these agree,

that the possessions of the said houses, shall cease to be wasted for

the maintenance of sin, and shall be converted to better uses.'[205]

[Sidenote: REAL RELIGIOUS HOUSES.]

There was immediately a great commotion throughout England. Some

rejoiced, while others wept: superstition became active, and weak minds

believed everything that was told them. 'The Virgin,' they were assured,

'had appeared to certain monks, and ordered them to serve her as they

had hitherto done.' 'What! no more religious houses,' exclaimed others,

through their tears.[206] 'On the contrary,' said Latimer; 'look at that

man and woman living together piously, tranquilly, in the fear of God,

keeping His Word and active in the duties of their calling: they form _a

religious house_, one that is truly acceptable to God. Pure religion

consists not in wearing a hood, but in visiting the fatherless and the

widows, and keeping ourselves unspotted from the world. What has

hitherto been called a religious life was an irreligious life.'[207]

'And yet,' said the devout, 'the monks had more holiness than those who

live in the world.' Latimer again went into the pulpit and said: 'When

St. Anthony, the father of monkery, lived in the desert, and thought

himself the most holy of men, he asked God who should be his companion

in heaven, if it were possible for him to have one. "Go to Alexandria,"

said the Lord; "in such a street and house you will find him."[208]

Anthony left the desert, sought the house, and found a poor cobbler in a

wretched shop mending old shoes. The saint took up his abode with him,

that he might learn by what mortifications the cobbler had made himself

worthy of such great celestial honor. Every morning the poor man knelt

down in prayer with his wife, and then went to work. When the

dinner-hour arrived, he sat down at a table on which were bread and

cheese; he gave thanks, ate his meal with joy, brought up his children

in the fear of God, and faithfully discharged all his duties. At this

sight, St. Anthony looked inwards, became contrite of heart, and put

away his pride. Such is the new sort of _religious houses_,' added

Latimer, 'that we desire to have now.'

And yet, strange to say, Latimer was almost the only person among the

Evangelicals who raised his voice in favor of the religious bodies. He

feared that if the property of the convents passed into the greedy hands

of Henry's courtiers, the tenants, accustomed to the mild treatment of

the abbots, would be oppressed by the lay landlords, desirous of

realizing the fruits of their estate unto the very last drop. The Bishop

of Worcester, being somewhat enthusiastic, was anxious that a few

convents should be preserved as houses of study, prayer, hospitality,

charity, and preaching.[209] Cranmer, who had more discernment and a

more practical spirit, had no hope of the monks. 'Satan,' he said,

'lives in the monasteries; he is satisfied and at his ease, like a

gentleman in his inn, and the monks and nuns are his very humble

servants.'[210] The primate, however, took little part in this great

measure.[211]

[Sidenote: SUPPRESSION OF THE MONASTERIES.]

The Bill for the suppression of the monasteries passed the two Houses on

the 4th of February, 1536. It gave to the king and his heirs all the

convents whose annual income did not exceed £200 sterling. About ten

thousand monks and nuns were secularized. This Act added to the revenue

of the Crown a yearly rental of £32,000 sterling, besides the immediate

receipt of £100,000 sterling in silver, jewels, and other articles. The

possessions hitherto employed by a few to gratify their carnal appetites

seemed destined to contribute to the prosperity of the whole nation.

Unhappily, the shameless cupidity of the monks was replaced by a

cupidity of a different nature. Petitions poured in to Cromwell from

every quarter. The saying of Scripture was fulfilled, _Wheresoever the

carcass is, there will the eagles be gathered together_. Thomas Cobham,

brother of Lord Cobham, represented that the Grey Friars' monastery at

Canterbury was in a convenient position for him; that it was the city

where he was born, and where all his friends lived. He consequently

asked that it should be given him, and Cranmer, whose niece he had

married, supported the prayer.[212] 'My good Lord,' said Lord-Chancellor

Audley, 'my only salary is that of the chancellorship; give me a few

good convents; I will give you my friendship during my life, and twenty

pounds sterling for your trouble.' 'My specially dear Lord,' said Sir

Thomas Eliot, 'I have been the king's ambassador at Rome; my services

deserve some recompense. Pray his Majesty to grant me some of the

suppressed convent lands. I will give your lordship the income of the

first year.'

History has to record evils of another nature. Some of the finest

libraries in England were destroyed, and works of great value sold for a

trifle to the grocers. Friends of learning on the continent bought many

of them, and carried away whole shiploads. One man changed his religion

for the sake of a piece of abbey land. The king lost at play the

treasures of which he had stripped the monastic orders, and used

convents as stables for his horses. Some persons had imagined that the

suppression of the monasteries would lead to the abolition of taxes and

subsidies; but it was not so, and the nation found itself burdened with

a poor-law in addition to the ordinary taxes.[213] There were, however,

more worthy cases than those of the king and his courtiers. 'Most dread,

mighty, and noble prince,' wrote the lord-mayor of London to the king,

'give orders that the three city hospitals shall henceforward subserve

not the pleasures of those canons, priests, and monks, whose dirty and

disgusting bodies encumber our streets; but be used for the comfort of

the sick and blind, the aged and crippled.'

The Act of Parliament was immediately carried out. The earl of Sussex,

Sir John St. Clair, Anthony Fitzherbert, Richard Cromwell, and several

other commissioners, travelled through England and made known to the

religious communities the statutory dissolution. The voice of truth was

heard from a small number of monasteries. 'Assuredly,' said the

Lincolnshire Franciscans, 'the perfection of Christian life does not

consist in wearing a gray frock, in disguising ourselves in strange

fashion, in bending the body and nodding the head,[214] and in wearing a

girdle full of knots. The true Christian life has been divinely

manifested to us in Christ; and for that reason we submit with one

consent to the king's orders.' The monks of the convent of St. Andrew at

Northampton acknowledged to the commissioners that they had taken the

habit of the order to live in comfortable idleness and not by virtuous

labor, and had indulged in continual drunkenness, and in carnal and

voluptuous appetites.[215] 'We have covered the gospel of Christ with

shame,' they said. 'Now, seeing the gulf of everlasting fire gaping to

swallow us up, and impelled by the stings of our conscience, we humble

ourselves with lowly repentance, and pray for pardon, giving up

ourselves and our convent to our sovereign king and lord.'

[Sidenote: SORROW AND DESPAIR.]

But they did not all use the same language. It was the last hour for the

convents. There was a ceaseless movement in the cloisters; bursts of

sorrow and fear, of anger and despair. What! No more monasteries! no

more religious pomps! no more gossip! no more refectory! Those halls,

wherein their predecessors had paced for centuries; those chapels, in

which they had worshipped kneeling on the pavement, were to be converted

to vulgar uses. A few convents endeavored to bribe Cromwell: 'If you

save our house,' said the abbot of Peterborough, 'I will give the king

two million five hundred marks, and yourself three hundred pounds

sterling.'[216] But Cromwell had conceived a great national measure, and

wished to carry it out. Neither the eloquence of the monks, their

prayers, their promises, nor their money could move him.

Some of the abbots set themselves in open revolt against the king, but

were forced to submit at last. The old halls, the long galleries, the

narrow cells of the convents, became emptier from day to day. The monks

received a pension in proportion to their age. Those who desired to

continue in the religious life were sent to the large monasteries. Many

were dismissed with a few shillings for their journey and a new

gown.[217] 'As for you,' said the commissioners to the young monks under

twenty-five, 'you must earn a living by the work of your hands.' The

same rule was applied to the nuns.

There was great suffering at this period. The inhabitants of the

cloisters were strangers in the world: England was to them an unknown

land. Monks and nuns might be seen wandering from door to door, seeking

an asylum for the night. Many, who were young then, grew old in beggary.

Their sin had been great, and so was their chastisement. Some of the

monks fell into a gloomy melancholy, even into frightful despair: the

remembrance of their faults pursued them; God's judgment terrified them;

the sight of their miseries infuriated them. 'I am like Esau,' said one

of them, 'I shall be eternally damned.' And he strangled himself with

his collar. Another stabbed himself with a penknife. Some compassionate

people having deprived him of the power of injuring himself, he

exclaimed with rage, 'If I cannot die in this manner, I shall easily

find another;' and taking a piece of paper, he wrote on it: _Rex tanquam

tyrannus opprimit populum suum_.[218] This he placed in one of the

church books, where it was found by a parishioner, who in great alarm

called out to the persons around him. The monk, full of hope that he

would be brought to trial, drew near and said, 'It was I who did it:

here I am; let them put me to death.'

Erelong those gloomy clouds, which seemed to announce a day of storms,

appeared to break. There were tempests afterwards, but, speaking

generally, England found in this energetic act one of the sources of her

greatness, instead of the misfortunes with which she was threatened. At

the moment when greedy eyes began to covet the revenues of Cambridge and

Oxford, a recollection of the pleasant days of his youth was awakened in

Henry's mind. 'I will not permit the wolves around me,' he said, 'to

fall upon the universities.' Indeed, the incomes of a few convents were

employed in the foundation of new schools, and particularly of Trinity

College, Cambridge; and these institutions helped to spread throughout

England the lights of the Renaissance and of the Reformation. An

eloquent voice was heard from those antique halls, saying: 'O most

invincible prince, great is the work that you have begun. Christ had

laid the foundation; the apostles raised the building. But alas! barren

weeds had overrun it; the papal tyranny had bowed all heads beneath its

yoke. Now, you have rejected the pope; you have banished the race of

monks. What more can we ask for? We pray that those houses of cenobites,

where an ignorant swarm of drones was wont to buzz,[219] should behold

in their academic halls a generous youth, eager to be taught, and

learned men to teach them. Let the light which has been restored to us

spread its rays through all the universe and kindle other torches, so

that the darkness should flee all over the world[220] before the dawn of

a new day.'

It was not learning alone that gained by the suppression of the

monasteries. The revenues of the crown, which were about seven hundred

thousand ducats, increased by those of the convents which were about

nine hundred thousand, were more than doubled. This wealth, hitherto

useless, served to fortify England and Ireland, build fortresses along

the coasts, repair the harbors, and create an imposing fleet. The

kingdom took a step in the career of power. By the reformation of the

convents the moral force of the nation gained still more than the

material force. The abolition of the papacy restored to the people that

national unity which Rome had taken away; and England, freed from

subjection to a foreign power, could oppose her enemies with a sword of

might and a front of iron.

[Sidenote: NATIONAL PROSPERITY.]

Political economy, rural economy, all that concerns the collection and

distribution of wealth, then took a start that nothing has been able to

check. The estates, taken from the easy-going monks, produced riches.

The king and the nobility, desirous of deriving the greatest gain

possible from the domains that had fallen to them, endeavored to improve

agriculture. Many men, until that time useless, electrified by the

movement of minds, sought the means of existence. The Reformation, from

which the nation expected only purity of doctrine, helped to increase

the general prosperity, industry, commerce, and navigation. The poor

remembered that God had commanded man to eat his bread, not in the shade

of the monasteries, but _in the sweat of his brow_. To this epoch we

must ascribe the origin of those mercantile enterprises, of those long

and distant voyages which were to be one day the strength of Great

Britain. Henry VIII. was truly the father of Elizabeth.

Moral, social, and political development was no less a gainer by the

order that was established. At the first moment, no doubt, England

presented the appearance of a vast chaos: but from that chaos there

sprang a new world. Forces which had hitherto been lost in obscure

cells, were employed for the good of society. The men who had been

dwelling carelessly within or without the cloister walls, and had

expended all their activity in listlessly giving or listlessly receiving

alms, were violently shaken by the blows from the _Malleus monachorum_,

the hammer of the monks: they aroused themselves, and made exertions

which turned to the public good. Their children, and especially their

grandchildren, became useful citizens. The third estate appeared. The

population of the cloisters was transformed into an active and

intelligent middle class. The very wealth, acquired, it is true,

greedily by the nobility, secured them an independence, which enabled

them to oppose a salutary counterpoise to the pretensions of the crown.

The Upper House, where the ecclesiastical element had predominated,

became essentially a lay house by the absence of the abbots and priors.

A public grew up. A new life animated antique institutions that had

remained almost useless. It was not, in truth, until later that mighty

England, having become decidedly evangelical and constitutional, sat

down victoriously on the two great ruins of feudalism and popery; but an

important step was taken under Henry VIII. That great transformation

extended its influence even beyond the shores of Great Britain. The blow

aimed at the system of the Middle Ages re-echoed throughout Europe, and

everywhere shook the artificial scaffolding. Spain and Italy alone

remained almost motionless in the midst of their ancient darkness.

The suppression of the monasteries, begun in 1535, was continued in

1538, and brought to a conclusion in 1539 by an Act of Parliament.

[Sidenote: A PROPHECY.]

A voice was heard from these ruined convents, exclaiming: 'Praise and

thanksgiving to God! _For other foundation can no man lay than Jesus

Christ._ Whoever believes that Jesus Christ is the _pacifier_ who

turneth away from our heads the strokes of God's wrath,[221] lays the

true foundation; and on that firm base he shall raise a better building

than that which had the monks for its pillars!' This prophecy of Sir

William Overbury's did not fail to be accomplished.

[161] 'A Sir Loyne of beaf, so knighted by this king Henry.'—Fuller, p.

299.

[162] 'Des Pabstes Leib plaget er, abes seine Seele stærkt er.'—Lutheri

_Opp._ xxii. p. 1466.

[163] 'Ecclesiam vitiorum vepribus purgare, et virtutum seminibus

conserere.'—Collyer's _Records_, ii. p. 21.

[164] 'For the benefit of a retired and contemplative disposition.'—

_Ibid._ i. p. 102.

[165] 'The monks coming out of the nunnery ... ran themselves into the

net.'—Fuller, p. 317.

[166] 'He intended to build many havens.'—Burnet, i. p. 181.

[167] Wilkins, _Concilia_, iii. p. 785.—Coll. _Rec._ 21.

[168] 'Nullus vestrum ea quæ sunt jurisdictionis exercere.'—Collyer's

_Records_, p. 22.

[169] Audley to Cromwell, 30th Sept. 1535.—_State Papers_, i. p. 450.

[170] _Suppression of the Monasteries_, p. 71, sqq.

[171] Cranmer's _Letters and Remains_, p. 326.

[172] _Ibid._ p. 327.

[173] 'He knew no vices by none of the bishops of Rome.'—Cranmer's

_Letters and Remains_, p. 327.

[174] Epistle to the Romans, ch. i.

[175] 'By backways or otherwise.'—Wilkins, _Concilia_, iii. p. 783.

[176] Wilkins, _Concilia_, p. 791.

[177] _Suppression of the Monasteries_, p. 48.—Fuller, p. 318.

[178] 'Like a coney clapper, full of starting-holes.'—Fuller, pp. 75,

76.

[179] 'Surrender of the monastery of Langdon.'—Burnet, _Records_, i. p.

133.

[180] _Suppression of the Monasteries_, p. 100.

[181] 'Pars petræ super qua natus erat Jesus in Bethlehem.'—Strype, i.

p. 391.

[182] Collyer's _Records_, ii. p. 149.

[183] 'This, as it is said, was done to open his heart and his

pocket.'—_Ibid._

[184] 'Capite nutare, innuere oculis, barbam convertere, incurvare

corpus.'—_Records_ or _Documents_ in Burnet, iii. p. 131.

[185] 'Occultæ passim fistulæ in quibus ductile per rimulas ferrum a

mystagogo trahebatur.'—_Ibid._ p. 132.

[186] 'Aliis Ajacem risu simulantibus.'—_Records_ or _Documents_ in

Burnet, iii. p. 132.

[187] 'The instruments for coining.'—_Ibid._ p. 182.

[188] 'Some crucified.'—_Ibid._ p. 182.

[189] 'Some of the commissioners found of their own wives titled among

the rest.'—W. Thomas in _Strype_, i. p. 386.—Burnet, i. p. 182.

[190] Ellis, _Letters_, 3rd Series, vol. iii. p. 42.

[191] 'Standing in a wet ground, very solitary.'—_Strype_, i. p. 393.

[192] 'An sint aliqua loca pervia, per quæ secrete intrari

possit?'—Wilkins, _Concilia_, iii. p. 789.

[193] 'Whether any of you doth use to write any letters of love or

lascivious fashion.'—Wilkins, _Concilia_, iii. p. 789.

[194] _Suppression of the Monasteries_, p. 91.

[195] _Suppression of the Monasteries_, p. 81.

[196] Strype, i. p. 385.

[197] 'Their own confessions, subscribed with their own hands, be a

proof thereof.'—Strype, i. p. 387.

[198] Strype, i. p. 385.

[199] We suppress circumstances which were quoted then; they may be seen

in Fuller (p. 318) and elsewhere.

[200] Strype, i. p. 418.

[201] _Relazione d'Inghilterra_, by Daniele Barbaro, ambassador of

Venice.—Ranke, iv. p. 61.

[202] 'Malleus monachorum.'

[203] 'When their enormities were first read in the Parliament House,

they were so great and abominable.'—Latimer's _Sermons_, p. 123.

[204] 'There was nothing but "_Down with them!_"' _Ibid._ p. 123.

[205] _State Papers._ 27 Henry VIII. c. 28.

[206] Latimer's _Sermons_, p. 391.

[207] _Ibid._ p. 392.

[208] 'There he should find a cobbler which should be his fellow in

heaven.'—_Ibid._

[209] Strype, i. p. 400.

[210] Cranmer's _Letters and Remains_, p. 64.

[211] 'I will not take upon me to make any exposition.'—_Ibid._ p. 317.

[212] Cranmer's _Letters and Remains_, p. 330.

[213] Latimer's _Sermons_, pp. 93, 256.—Dean Hook's _Lives of the

Archbishops of Canterbury_, passim.

[214] 'Dolking and becking.'—Collyer's _Records_, ii. p. 159.

[215] _Ibid._

[216] Collyer's _Records_, ii. pp. 156-159.

[217] 'A new gown of strong cloath.'—Fuller, _Church History_, p. 311.

[218] 'The king oppresses his people like a tyrant.'—Cranmer's _Letters

and Remains_, p. 319.

[219] 'Ignarus fucorum grex evolare solebat.'—Strype, _Records_, i. p.

136.

[220] 'Novæ ut lampades, novique faces possint accendi.'—Strype,

_Records_, i. p. 337.

[221] 'The pacifier of God's wrath, the bearer of sins.'—Strype,

_Records_, i. p. 307.

CHAPTER VIII.

UNION OF THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND WITH THE PROTESTANTS OF GERMANY.

(1534 TO 1535.)

Henry VIII. having thrown down the _pillar of the papacy_—the monks—felt

the necessity of strengthening the work he had begun by alliances with

the continental protestants. He did not turn to the Swiss or the French

Reformers: their small political importance, as well as the decided

character of their Reform, alienated him from them. 'What inconsiderate

men they are,' said Calvin, 'who exalt the king of England. To ascribe

sovereign authority to the prince in everything, to call him supreme

head of the Church under Christ, is in my opinion blasphemy.'[222]

[Sidenote: MELANCHTHON.]

Henry hoped more from Germany than from Switzerland. As early as 1534

three senators of Lubeck had presented to him the Confession of

Augsburg, and proposed an alliance against the Roman pontiff.[223] Anne

Boleyn pressed the king to unite with the protestants, and in the spring

of 1535 Barnes was sent to Wittemberg, where he induced the Reformers to

claim his master's protection. Melanchthon, who was more inclined than

Luther to have recourse to princes, since he did not refuse to unite

with Francis I., did not reject the advances of Henry VIII. 'Sire,' he

wrote in March 1535, 'this is now the golden age for Britain.[224] In

times of old, when the armies of the Goths had stifled letters in

Europe, your island restored them to the universe. I entreat you in the

name of Jesus Christ to plead for us before kings.' The illustrious

doctor dedicated to this prince the new edition of his _Common-Places_,

and commissioned Alesius, a Scotchman, to present it with the hope that

he should see England become the salvation of many nations, and even of

the whole Church of Christ.[225] Alesius, who had taken refuge in

Saxony, was happy to return to that island from which the fanaticism of

the Scotch clergy had compelled him flee. He was presented to the uncle

of his king, and Henry, delighted with the Scotchman, said to him: 'I

name you my scholar,' and directed Cranmer to send Melanchthon two

hundred crowns. They were accompanied by a letter for the illustrious

professor, in which the king signed himself: _Your friend Henry_.

But it was not long before the hopes of a union between Germany and

England seemed to vanish. Scarcely had Melanchthon vaunted in his

dedication to Henry VIII. the moderation of the king—a moderation worthy

(he had said) of a wise prince—when he heard of the execution of Fisher

and More. He shrank back with terror. 'Morus,' he exclaimed, 'has been

put to death, and others with him.' The cruelties of the king tortured

the gentle Philip. The idea that a man of letters like More should fall

by the hands of the executioner, scandalized him. He began to fear for

his own life. 'I am myself,' he said, 'in great peril.'[226]

Henry did not suspect the horror which his crime would excite on the

continent, and had just read with delight a passage of Melanchthon's in

which the latter compared him to Ptolemy Philadelphus! He therefore said

to Barnes: 'Go and bring him back with you.' Barnes returned to

Wittemberg in September and delivered his message. But the doctor of

Germany had never received so alarming an invitation before. He imagined

it to be a treacherous scheme. 'The mere thought of the journey,' he

said, 'overwhelms me with distress.' Barnes tried to encourage him. 'The

king will give you a magnificent escort,' he said, 'and even hostages,

if you desire it.'[227] Melanchthon, who had More's bleeding head

continually before him, was immovable. Luther also regarded Barnes with

an unfavorable eye, and called him _the black Englishman_.[228]

The envoy was more fortunate with the elector. John Frederick, hearing

that the king of England was desirous of forming an alliance with the

princes of Germany, replied that he would communicate this important

demand to them. He then entertained Barnes at a sumptuous breakfast,

made him handsome presents, and wrote to Henry VIII. that the desire

manifested by him to reform religious doctrine augmented his love for

him, 'for,' he added, 'it belongs to kings to propagate Christ's gospel

far and wide.'[229]

Luther also, but from other motives than those of the elector, did not

look so closely as Melanchthon; the suppression of the monasteries

prepossessed him in favor of his ancient adversary. The penalties with

which the Carthusians and others had been visited did not alarm him.

Vergerio, the papal legate, who was at Wittemberg at the beginning of

November, invited Luther to breakfast with him. 'I know,' he said, 'that

king Henry kills cardinals and bishops, but ...' and biting his lips, he

made a significant movement with his hand, as if he wished to cut off

the king's head. When relating this anecdote to Melanchthon, who was

then at Jena, Luther added: 'Would to God that we possessed several

kings of England to put to death those bishops, cardinals, legates, and

popes who are nothing but robbers, traitors, and devils!'[230] Luther

was less tender than he is represented when contrasted with Calvin.

Those hasty words expressed really the thoughts of all parties. The

spiritual leaven of the gospel had to work for a century or more upon

the hard material of which the heart of man is made, before the errors

of Romish legislation, a thousand years old, were banished. No doubt

there was an immediate mitigation produced by the Reformation; but if

any one had told the men of the sixteenth century that it was wrong to

put men to death for acts of impiety, they would have been as

astonished, and perhaps more so, than our judges, if they were abused

because, in conformity with the law, they visited murder with capital

punishment. It is strange, however, that it required so many centuries

to understand those glorious words of our Saviour: _The Son of man is

not come to destroy men's lives, but to save them_.[231]

The condition which the protestants placed on their union with

Henry VIII. rendered the alliance difficult. 'We only ask one thing,'

said the Reformers to Barnes, 'that the doctrine which is in _conformity

with Scripture_ be restored to the _whole world_;'[232] but Henry still

observed the catholic doctrine. But he was told that the Lutherans and

Francis I., thanks to Melanchthon's mediation, were probably coming to

an agreement, and that a general council would be summoned. What

treatment could he expect from such an assembly, he who had so

grievously offended the papacy! Desirous of preventing a council at any

price, the king determined in September, 1535, to send a more important

embassy to the Lutherans, in order to persuade them to renounce the idea

of coming to terms with the pope, and rather to form an alliance with

England.

[Sidenote: EMBASSY TO GERMANY.]

Consequently Fox, bishop of Hereford, a proud and insolent courtier, and

Archdeacon Hare, an amiable and enlightened man, with some others,

started for Germany and joined Barnes and Mount who had preceded them.

On the 24th of December they were admitted into the presence of the

Elector of Saxony, the Landgrave of Hesse, and other protestant deputies

and princes: 'The king our master,' they said, 'has abolished the power

of the Roman bishop throughout his dominions, and rejected his pretended

pardons and his old wives' stories.[233] Accordingly the pope, in a

transport of fury, has summoned all the kings of the earth to take arms

against him. But neither pope nor papists alarm our prince. He offers

you his person, his wealth, and his sceptre to combat the Roman power.

Let us unite against it, and the Spirit of God will bind our

confederation together.'[234] The princes replied to this eloquent

harangue, 'that if the king engaged to propagate the pure doctrine of

the faith as it had been confessed at the diet of Augsburg; if he

engaged, like them, never to concede to the Roman bishop any

jurisdiction in his States, they would name him Defender and Protector

of their confederation.'[235] They added that they would send a

deputation, including one man of excellent learning (meaning

Melanchthon), to confer with the king upon the changes to be made in the

Church. The Englishmen could not conceal their joy, but the theologian

had lost all confidence in Henry VIII. 'The death of More distresses me:

I will have nothing to do with the business.'[236] Nevertheless the

treaty of alliance was signed on the 25th December, 1535.[237] The

catholic party, especially in England, was troubled at the news, and

Gardiner, then ambassador in France, lost no time in writing to oppose

designs which would establish protestantism in the Anglican Church.

While the king was uniting with the Confession of Augsburg, his

relations with the most decided partisans of the papacy were far from

improving. His daughter Mary, whose temper was melancholy and irritable,

observed no bounds as regards her father's friends or acts, and refused

to submit to his orders. 'I bid her renounce the title of princess,'

said Henry in a passion.—'If I consented not to be regarded as such,'

she answered, 'I should go against my conscience and incur God's

displeasure.'[238] Henry, no friend of half-measures, talked of putting

his daughter to death, and thus frightening the rebels. That wretched

prince had a remarkable tendency for killing those who were nearest to

him. We may see a father correct his child with a stripe; but with this

man, a blow from his hand was fatal. There was already some talk of

sending the princess to the Tower, when the evangelical Cranmer ventured

to intercede in behalf of the catholic Mary. He reminded Henry that he

was her father, and that if he took away her life, he would incur

universal reprobation. The king gave way to these representations,

predicting to the archbishop that this intervention would some day cost

him dear. In fact, when Mary became queen she put to death the man who

had saved her life. Henry was content to order his daughter to be

separated from her mother. On the other hand, the terrified Catherine

endeavored to mollify the princess. 'Obey the king in all things,' she

wrote from Buckden, where she was living, 'except in those which would

destroy your soul. Speak little; trouble yourself about nothing, play on

the spinet or lute.' This unhappy woman, who had found so much

bitterness in the conjugal estate, added: 'Above all, do not desire a

husband, nor even think of it, I beg you in the name of Christ's passion.

'Your loving mother, CATHERINE THE QUEEN.'[239]

[Sidenote: CATHERINE'S FIRMNESS.]

But the mother was not less decided than the daughter in maintaining her

rights, and would not renounce her title of queen, notwithstanding

Henry's orders. A commission composed of the Duke of Suffolk, Lord

Sussex, and others, arrived at Buckden to try and induce her to do so,

and all the household of the princess was called together. The intrepid

daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella said with a firm voice: 'I am the

queen, the king's true wife.'[240] Being informed that it was intended

to remove her to Somersham and separate her from some of her best

friends, she answered: 'I will not go unless you bind me with

ropes.'[241] And to prevent this she took to her bed and refused to

dress, saying she was ill.[242] The king sent two catholic prelates, the

archbishop of York and the bishop of Durham, hoping to soften her.

'Madam,' said the archbishop, 'your marriage being invalid....'—'It is a

lawful marriage,' she exclaimed with passionate vehemence.[243] 'Until

death I shall be his Majesty's wife.'—'Members of your own council,'

continued the archbishop, 'acknowledge that your marriage with Prince

Arthur was actually consummated.'—'It is all false!' she exclaimed in a

loud tone.—'The divorce was consequently pronounced.'...—'By whom?' she

asked.—'By my lord of Canterbury.'—'And who is he?' returned the queen.

'A shadow![244] The pope has declared in my favor, and he is Christ's

vicar.'—'The king will treat you like a dear sister,' said bishop

Tonstall.[245]—'Nothing in the world,' answered Catherine, 'neither the

loss of my possessions nor the prospect of death, will make me give up

my rights.'

In October, 1535, Catherine was still at Buckden. That noble but fanatic

woman increased her austerity, indulged in the harshest practices of an

ascetic life, prayed frequently bare-kneed on the floor, while at the

same time a deadly sorrow was undermining her health. At last

consumption declared itself;[246] and as her condition required a change

of air, she was removed to Kimbolton. She longed for the society of her

daughter, which would no doubt have alleviated her sufferings; but she

asked in vain with tears to see her. Mary also entreated the king to let

her visit her mother: he was inflexible.[247]

[Sidenote: CHARLES ARMS AGAINST HENRY.]

Henry's harshness towards the aunt of Charles V. excited the wrath of

that monarch to the highest degree. He was then returning victorious

from his first African expedition, and determined to delay no longer in

carrying out the mission he had received from the pope. To that end it

was necessary to obtain, if not the co-operation, at least the

neutrality of Francis I. That was not easy. The king of France had

always courted the alliance of England: he had signed a treaty with

Henry against the emperor and against the pope, and had just sought an

alliance with the Lutheran princes. But the emperor knew that the

acquisition of Italy, or at least of Lombardy, was the favorite idea of

Francis I. Charles was equally desirous of it, but he was so impatient

to re-establish Catherine of Aragon on the throne, and bring England

again under the dominion of the pope, that he determined to sacrifice

Italy, if only in appearance. Sforza, duke of Milan, having just died

without children, the emperor offered Francis I. the duchy of Milan for

his second son, the duke of Orleans, if he would not oppose his designs

against England.[248] The king of France eagerly accepted the proposal,

and wishing to give a proof of his zeal, he even proposed that the pope

should summon all the princes of Christendom to force the king of

England to submit to the See of Rome. The love he had for Milan went so

far as to make him propose a crusade against his natural ally,

Henry VIII.[249]

[Sidenote: DEATH OF CATHERINE.]

The matter was becoming serious: rarely had a greater danger threatened

England, when an important event suddenly removed it. At the very time

when Charles V., aided by Francis I., desired to rouse Europe in order

to replace his aunt on the throne, she died. About the end of December,

1535, Catherine became seriously ill, and felt that God was bringing her

great sorrows to an end. The king, wishing to keep up appearances, sent

to inquire after her. The queen, firm to the last in her principles,

sent for her lawyers and dictated her will to them. 'I am ready,' she

said, 'to yield up my soul unto God.... I supplicate that five hundred

masses be said for my soul; and that some personage go in pilgrimage for

me to Our Lady of Walsingham.[250] I bequeath my gowns to the convent,

and the furs of the same I give to my daughter.' Then Catherine thought

of the king: to her he was always her husband, and despite his

injustice, she would not address him but with respect. Feeling that the

end was not far off, she dictated the following letter, at once so

simple and so noble:—

'My most dear Lord, King, and Husband:

'The hour of my death now approaching, I cannot choose but, out of the

love I bear you, advise you of your soul's health. You have cast me into

many calamities and yourself into many troubles; but I forgive you all,

and pray God to do likewise. I commend unto you Mary our daughter,

beseeching you to be a good father to her. Lastly, I make this vow, that

mine eyes desire you above all things.'[251]

The queen, therefore, sought to bid farewell of him who had wrought her

so much evil. Henry was moved, and even shed tears,[252] but did not

comply with the queen's wish: his conscience reproached him with his

faults. On the 7th January Catherine received the last sacraments, and

at two o'clock she expired.

Anne felt at the bottom of her heart the rights of this princess. She

had yielded to her imagination, to the absolute will of the king; her

marriage had given her some moments of happiness, but her soul was often

troubled. She thought to herself that the proud Spanish woman was the

one to whom Henry had given his faith; and doubted whether the crown did

not belong to the daughter of Isabella. Catherine's death removed her

anxieties. 'Now,' she said, 'now I am indeed a queen.' She went into

mourning, but according to the custom in France at that period. The

tears of the people accompanied to the tomb that unhappy and (to say

truth) superstitious woman; but she was an affectionate mother, a

high-spirited wife, and a queen of indomitable pride.[253]

This decease was destined to effect great changes in Europe. The

emperor, who was forming a holy alliance to replace his aunt on the

throne, and who, to succeed, had gone so far as to sacrifice the

northern part of Italy, having nothing more to do with Catherine,

sheathed his sword and kept Milan. Francis I., vexed at seeing the prey

slip from him which he had so eagerly coveted, and fancied already in

his hands, went into a furious passion, and prepared for a war to the

death. The emperor and the king of France, instead of marching together

against Henry, began each of them to court him, desiring to have him for

an ally in the fierce struggle that was about to begin.

At the same time Catherine's death facilitated, as we have said, the

alliance of the king with the protestants of Germany, who had maintained

the validity of his marriage with the princess of Aragon. One of their

chief grievances against Henry VIII. had thus disappeared. Both sides

now thought they could make a step forward and strive to come to an

understanding theologically. The points on which they differed were

important. 'The king of England,' they said at Wittemberg, 'wishes to be

pope in the place of the pope, and maintains most of the errors of the

old popery, such as monasteries,[254] indulgences, the mass, prayers for

the dead, and other Romish fables.'[255]

[Sidenote: DISCUSSION AT WITTEMBERG.]

The discussion began at Wittemberg. The champions in the theological

tournament were Bishop Fox and Archdeacon Heath on one side; Melanchthon

and Luther on the other. Heath, one of the young doctors whom Queen Anne

had maintained at Cambridge University, charmed Melanchthon exceedingly.

'He excels in urbanity and sound doctrine,' said the latter. Fox, on the

other hand, who was the king's man, showed, in Philip's opinion, no

taste either for philosophy or for agreeable and graceful conversation.

The doctrine of the mass was the principal point of the discussion. They

could not come to an understanding. Luther, who thought it would be only

a three days' matter, seeing the time slip away, said to the elector: 'I

have done more in four weeks than these Englishmen in twelve years. If

they continue reforming in that style, England will never be _inside_ or

_out_.'[256] This definition of the English Reformation amused the

Germans. They did not discuss, they disputed: it became a regular

quarrel.[257] 'I am disgusted with these debates,' said Luther to

vice-chancellor Burkhard, 'they make me sick.'[258] Even the gentle

Melanchthon exclaimed: 'All the world seems to me to be burning with

hatred and anger.'[259]

Accordingly the theological discussions were broken off, and the

ambassadors of Henry VIII. were admitted on the 12th of March into the

presence of the elector. 'England is tranquil now,' said the bishop of

Hereford; 'the death of a woman has forever terminated all wrangling. At

this moment the creed of Jesus Christ alone is the concern of his

Majesty. The king therefore prays you to make an alliance between you

and him possible, by modifying a few points of your Confession.'

Whereupon the vice-chancellor of Saxony addressed Luther: 'What can we

concede to the king of England?'—'Nothing,' answered the reformer. 'If

we had been willing to concede anything, we might just as well have come

to terms with the pope.' After this very positive declaration, Luther

softened down a little. He knew well, as another reformer has said,

'that some men are weaker than others, and if we do not treat them very

mildly, they lose their courage and turn away from religion; and that

Christians who are more advanced in doctrine are bound to comfort the

infirmities of the ignorant.'[260] The Saxon reformer, retracing his

steps a little, wrote to the vice-chancellor: 'It is true that England

cannot embrace the whole truth all at once.'[261] He thought it possible

in certain cases to adopt other expressions, and tolerate some diversity

of usages. 'But,' he said, always firm in the faith, 'the great

doctrines can neither be given up nor modified. Whether to make an

alliance or not with the king, is for my most gracious lord to decide:

it is a secular matter. Only it is dangerous to unite outwardly, when

the hearts are not in harmony.' The protestant states assembled on the

24th of April, 1536, at Frankfort on the Main, required Henry VIII. to

receive _the faith confessed at Augsburg_, and in that case expressed

themselves ready to acknowledge him as protector of the evangelical

alliance. The elector, who was much displeased with certain English

ceremonies, added: 'Let your Majesty thoroughly reform the _pontifical

idolomania_ in England.'[262] It was agreed that Melanchthon, Sturm,

Bucer, and Dracon should go to London to complete this great work of

union. England and evangelical Germany were about to join hands.

This alliance of the king with the Lutherans deeply chafed the catholics

of the kingdom, already so seriously offended by the suppression of the

monasteries and the punishment of the two men to whom Henry (they said)

was most indebted. While the Roman party was filled with anger, the

political party was surprised by the bold step the prince had taken. But

the blow which had struck two great victims had taught them that they

must submit to the will of the monarch or perish. The scaffolds of

Fisher and More had read them a great lesson of docility, and moulded

all those around Henry to that servile spirit which leaves in the palace

of a king nothing but a master and slaves.

They were about to see an illustrious instance in the trial of Anne

Boleyn.

[222] 'Inconsiderati homines. . . . Dederunt illi (Regi Angliæ) summam

rerum omnium potestatem, et hoc me semper graviter vulneravit.

Erant . . . enim blasphemi, quum vocarent ipsum _Summum caput Ecclesiæ

sub Christo_.'—Calvinus _in Amos_, vii. 13.

[223] 'Fœdus contra Romanum pontificem.'—Rymer, _Fœdera_, VI. ii. p.

214.

[224] 'Tale nunc aureum seculum esse tuæ Britanniæ.'—_Corpus Reform._

ii. p. 862.

[225] 'Multarum gentium et Ecclesiæ Christianæ salutem.'—_Ibid._ p. 920.

[226] 'Ego quoque magno versor in periculo.'—_Corpus Reform._ ii. p.

918.

[227] 'Und auch Geissel dafür anbeüt.'—Lutheri _Epp._ iv. p. 633.

[228] 'Ille niger Anglicus.'—_Ibid._ p. 630.

[229] 'Ut Christi gloria latissime propagetur.'—_Corpus Reform._ ii. p.

944.

[230] 'Reverendissimi cardinales, papæ et eorum legati, proditores,

fures, raptores, et ipsi diaboli. Utinam haberent plures Reges Angliæ,

qui illos occiderent.'—Lutheri _Epp._ iv. p. 655.

[231] St. Luke ix. 56.

[232] 'Pia ac sana doctrina, divinis literis consentanea, toti orbi

restituatur.'

[233] There is a play upon words in the Latin: 'Venias vel potius Nenias

prorsus antiquavit.'—_Corpus Reform._ ii. p. 1029.

[234] 'Dei spiritum qui utrosque conglutinet.'—_Ibid._ p. 1032.

[235] 'S. M. obtineat nomen Defensoris et Protectoris.'—_Ibid._ 1034.

[236] 'Thomæ Mori casu afficior, nec me negotiis illis admiscebo.'—

_Ibid._ p. 1034.

[237] _Corpus Reform._ ii. pp. 1032-36. The signatures of Fox, Heath,

and Barnes, the English envoys, precede those of the Elector of Saxony

and of the Landgrave.

[238] Letter from Lady Mary to King Henry VIII.—Foxe, _Acts_, vi. p.

353.

[239] Burnet, _Records_, ii. p. 220.

[240] 'Persisting in her great stomake and obstinacy, made answer with

an open voice.'—_State Papers_, i. p. 415.

[241] _Ibid._ p. 417.

[242] 'She may faine her self sycke and kepe her bed, and will not put

on her clothes.'—_Ibid._

[243] 'In great coler and agony, and always interrupting our

words.'—_Ibid._ i. p. 420.

[244] 'Lord of Canterbury, whom she called a shadow.'—_Ibid._ p. 420.

[245] 'As your Grace's most dearest sister.'—_Ibid._ p. 421.

[246] 'Catharina ... animi mœrore confecta, cœpit ægrotare.'—_Polydore

Virgil_, p. 690.

[247] 'Conjux a viro, mater pro filia impetrare non potuit.'—Polus,

_Apol. ad Cæsarem_, p. 162. This fact has been doubted, but no evidence

has been produced against it.

[248] 'Scribebat se contentari dare ducatum Mediolani duci

Aurelianensi.'—_State Papers_, vii. p. 649.

[249] _Mémoires de Du Bellay._

[250] 'The last will, &c.'—Strype, _Records_, i. p. 252.

[251] Herbert, p. 432.

[252] 'Rex ubi literas legit, amanter lachrymavit.'—_Polydore Virgil_,

p. 690.

[253] The Lord Chamberlain to Cromwell.—_State Papers_, i. p. 452.

[254] The _great_ monasteries were not yet suppressed.

[255] _Corpus Reform._ iii. p. 12.

[256] 'Werden sie nimmermehr daraus noch drein kommen.'—Lutheri _Epp._

iv. p. 671.

[257] 'Cum Anglicis disputamus, si disputare est rixari.'—_Ibid._ p.

669.

[258] 'Usque ad nauseam.'—_Ibid._ p. 669.

[259] 'Orbis terrarum ardet odiis et furore.'—_Corpus Reform._ iii. p.

53.

[260] Calvin.

[261] 'In England nicht so plötzlich kann alles nach der Lehre in's Werk

bracht werden.'—Letter to the Vice-Chancellor. Lutheri _Epp._ iv. p.

688.

[262] 'Regia dignitas vestra suscipiat emendationem Idolomaniæ

pontificiæ.'—_Corpus Reform._ iii. p. 64.

CHAPTER IX.

ACCUSATION OF ANNE.

(1535 TO MAY 1536.)

If feeble minds did not shrink from bending beneath the royal despotism,

men of fanatical mould cherished vengeance in their hearts. Great wounds

had been inflicted on the papacy, and they burnt to strike some signal

blow against the cause of Reform. That also, they said, must have its

victim. For all these monasteries sacrificed, one person must be

immolated: one only, but taken from the most illustrious station. The

king having, on the one side, struck his tutor and his friend, must now,

to maintain the balance, strike his wife on the other. A tragedy was

about to begin which would terminate in a frightful catastrophe. Anne

Boleyn had not been brought up, as some have said, 'in the worst school

in Europe,'[263] but in one of the best—in the household of the pious

Margaret of Angoulême, who was the enlightened protectress not only of

the learned, but of all friends of the Gospel. Anne had learnt from that

princess to love the Reformation and the Reformers. And accordingly she

was in the eyes of the papal partisans, the principal cause of the

change that had been wrought in the king's mind, and by him throughout

the kingdom. The Reformation, as we have seen, began in England about

1517 with the reading of the Holy Scriptures in the universities; but

the most accredited Roman doctors have preferred assigning it another

origin, and, speaking of Cranmer's connexion with Anne Boleyn, thirteen

years later, have said, 'Such is the beginning of the Reformation in

England.'[264] In this assertion there is an error both of chronology

and history.

[Sidenote: CRANMER'S ELOQUENCE.]

Since her coronation, the queen had been in almost daily communication

with the archbishop of Canterbury, and habitually—even her enemies

affirmed it—the interests of the evangelical cause were treated of. At

one time Anne prayed Cranmer to come to the assistance of the persecuted

protestants. At another, full of the necessity of sending reapers into

the harvest, she interested herself about such young persons as were

poor, but whose pure morals and clear intellect seemed to qualify them

for the practice of virtue and the study of letters;[265] these she

assisted with great generosity.[266] This was also an example that

Margaret of Valois had given her. The queen did not encourage these

students heedlessly: she required testimonials certifying as to the

purity of their morals and the capacity of their intellect. If she was

satisfied, she placed them at Oxford or Cambridge, and required them to

spread around them, even while studying, the New Testament and the

writings of the reformers. Many of the queen's pensioners did great

service to the Church and State in after years. With these queenly

qualities Anne combined more domestic ones. Cranmer saw her, like good

Queen Claude, gathering round her a number of young ladies distinguished

by their birth and their virtues, and working with them at tapestry of

admirable perfection for the palace of Hampton Court, or at garments for

the indigent. She established in the poor parishes vast warehouses,

filled with such things as the needy wanted. 'Her eye of charity, her

hand of bounty,' says a biographer, 'passed through the whole

land.'[267] 'She is said in three quarters of a year,' adds Lord Herbert

of Cherbury, the celebrated philosopher and historian, 'to have bestowed

fourteen or fifteen thousand pounds in this way,' that is, in alms.[268]

And this distinguished writer, ambassador of England at the court of

Louis XIII., and known in France by the exertions he made in behalf of

the protestants, adds: 'She had besides established a stock for poor

artificers in the realm.'[269] Such were the works of Queen Anne.

Cranmer, who had great discernment of men and things, being touched by

the regard which the queen had for those who professed the Gospel, and

seeing all that she did for the Reformation and the consolation of the

wretched, declared that next to the king, Anne was of all creatures

living 'the one to whom he was most bound.'[270]

Cranmer was not the only person among the evangelicals with whom Anne

Boleyn entertained relations. From the first day she had seen Latimer,

the Christian simplicity and apostolic manners of the reformer had

touched her. When she heard him preach, she was delighted. The

enthusiasm for that bold Christian preacher was universal. 'It is as

impossible,' said his hearers, 'for us to receive into our minds all the

treasures of eloquence and knowledge which fall from his lips, as it

would be for a little river to contain the waters of the ocean in its

bed.' From the period (1535) when Latimer preached the Lent Sermons

before the king, he was one of the most regular instruments of the

queen's active charity.

A still more decided reformer had a high esteem for Anne Boleyn: this

was Tyndale. No one, in his opinion, had declared with so much decision

as the queen in favor of the New Testament and its circulation in

English. Wishing, accordingly, to show his gratitude and respect,

Tyndale presented her with a unique copy of his translation, printed in

beautiful type on vellum, illuminated and bound in blue morocco, with

these words in large red letters: _Anne Regina Angliæ_ (Anne, queen of

England).[271] This remarkable volume, now preserved in the library of

the British Museum, is a monument of the veneration of the prisoner of

Vilvorde for Anne Boleyn. A manuscript manual of devotion for the use of

this princess has also been preserved: she used to present copies of it

to her maids of honor. We see in it the value she attached to the Holy

Scriptures: 'Give us, O Father of Mercies,' we read, 'the greatest of

all gifts Thou hast ever conferred on man—the knowledge of Thy holy

will, and the glad tidings of our salvation. Roman tyranny had long

hidden it from us under Latin letters; but now it is promulgated,

published, and freely circulated.'[272]

[Sidenote: PARKER'S CHRISTIAN CHARACTER.]

Anne having in 1535 lost Dr. Betts, one of her almoners, looked out for

a man devoted to the Gospel to take his place, for she loved to be

surrounded by the most pious persons in England. She cast her eyes upon

Matthew Parker, a native of Norwich, professor at Corpus Christi

College, Cambridge, and a man who for two years had been preaching the

truth with fervor. Parker loved retirement and obscurity; accordingly,

when he received on the Wednesday following Palm Sunday two letters

summoning him to court 'because the queen wished to see him,'[273] he

was amazed and confounded. At first he wanted to refuse so brilliant a

call; but Latimer wrote to him: 'Show yourself to the world; hide

yourself no longer; do good, whilst you have the opportunity. We know

what you can do; let not your will be less than your power.'[274] Parker

went to London, and in a short time his knowledge, piety, and prudence

gained the entire esteem of the queen. That modest, intelligent, active

man was just the person Anne wanted, and she took pleasure thenceforward

in bestowing on him marks of her consideration. He himself tells us that

if, in the course of his duties, he was called upon to receive friends

at his table, the queen, eking out his narrow means, would send him a

hare or a fawn taken in her parks.[275] Parker was from this time one of

those employed by Anne to distribute her benevolence. He had hardly

arrived at court, when he presented to the queen one W. Bill, a very

young and very poor man, but by no means wanting in talent. Anne, rich

in discernment, placed him in the number of students whom she was

preparing for the ministry: he afterwards became dean of Westminster.

Parker, who began his career with Anne, was to finish it with Elizabeth.

When he was deprived of all his offices by Queen Mary in 1554, he

exclaimed: 'Now that I am stripped of everything, I live in God's

presence, and am full of joy in my conscience. In this charming leisure

I find greater pleasures than those supplied by the busy and perilous

life I led at the court.' Forced to hide himself, often to flee by

night, to escape the pursuit of his persecutors, the peace which he

enjoyed was never troubled. He looked upon trials as the privilege of

the child of God. All of a sudden a strange and unexpected calamity

befell him. The daughter of Anne Boleyn, having ascended the throne,

desired to have her mother's chaplain for archbishop of Canterbury and

primate of all England. 'I kneel before your Majesty,' he said to Queen

Elizabeth, 'and pray you not to burden me with an office which requires

a man of much more talent, knowledge, virtue, and experience than I

possess.' A second letter from Chancellor Bacon repeated the summons.

Then the unhappy Parker exclaimed in the depth of his sorrow: 'Alas!

alas! Lord God! for what times hast Thou preserved me![276] I am come

into deep waters, where the floods overflow me. O Lord! strengthen me by

Thy mighty Spirit!' Parker was at the head of the Church of England for

sixteen years, and dignified the elevated seat on which he had been

constrained to sit. Such were the men whom Anne Boleyn gathered round

her.

We should be mistaken, however, if we represented the young queen as a

bigot, living like Catherine in the practices of a rigid austerity. It

appears even doubtful whether she knew by experience that inner,

spiritual, and living Christianity which was found in Latimer, Tyndale,

Cranmer, and Parker. She was a virtuous wife, a good protestant,

attached to the Bible, opposed to the pope, fond of good works,

esteeming men of God more than courtiers: but she had not renounced the

world and its pomps. A woman of the world, upright, religious, loving to

do good, a class of which there is always a large number, she was

unacquainted with the pious aspirations of a soul that lives in

communion with God. Even her position as queen and wife of Henry VIII.

may have hindered her from advancing in the path of a Christian life.

She thought it possible to love God without renouncing the enjoyments of

the age, and looked upon worldly things as an innocent recreation.

Desiring to keep her husband's heart, she endeavored to please him by

cheerful conversation, by organizing pleasure parties of which she was

the life, and by receiving all his courtiers gracefully. Placed on a

slippery soil and watched by prejudiced eyes, she may occasionally have

let fall some imprudent expression. Her sprightliness and gaiety, her

amiable freedom were in strong contrast with the graver and stiffer

formalities of the English ladies. Latimer, who saw her closely,

sometimes admonished her respectfully, when he was alone with her, and

the grateful Anne would exclaim unaffectedly: 'You do me so much

good![277] Pray never pass over a single fault.'

[Sidenote: THE TRUTH ABOUT ANNE BOLEYN.]

It is not from the writings of the pamphleteers that we must learn to

know Anne Boleyn. Towards the end of the sixteenth century, opposite

parties, in their extreme excitement, have painted her at one time in

colors too dark, at another in colors too flattering. We must in this

matter especially listen to men whose testimony is sanctioned by

universal respect. There are not many princesses in history who have

enjoyed, like Anne, the esteem of the most elevated minds—of Cranmer and

Latimer, of Tyndale and Parker, and other Christians, less illustrious,

perhaps, but not less respectable. In the eyes of the papal partisans,

however, she had committed an unpardonable crime: _she had separated

England from the papacy_; and accordingly their savage hatred has known

no bounds, and they have never ceased to blacken her memory with their

vile calumnies. Of all the misdeeds that history can commit, the

greatest consists in representing the innocent as if they were guilty.

It is wholesale calumny for the use not only of the present generation

but for generations to come. Many writers have forged and still forge

base imputations against the reformers Luther, Calvin, and others. Anne

Boleyn has had her full share of slander in this huge conspiracy of

falsehood.[278]

The grandeur with which Anne was surrounded, had opened her heart to the

tenderest sympathies. To be the joy of her husband and the delight of

her relations, to protect the friends of the Gospel and to be loved by

England—these were for some time the dreams of her young imagination.

But ere long the crown of St. Edward pressed heavily on her forehead.

The members of her own family became her enemies. Her uncle, the proud

duke of Norfolk, the chief along with Gardiner of the ultramontane

party, was animated by a secret hatred against the young woman who was

the support of the evangelical party. Her father, the earl of Wiltshire,

imagining he saw that the king was not flattered at being his

son-in-law, had quitted London, regretting a union which his ambition

had so much desired. Lady Rocheford, wife of Anne's brother, a woman of

despicable character, whose former perfidies the queen had pardoned, and

whom she had attached to the court, repaid this generous magnanimity by

secretly plotting the ruin of a sister-in-law whose elevation had filled

her with jealousy. At length, one of those who ate her bread and

received favors from her, was about to show her ingratitude to the

unfortunate queen.

Among her ladies of honor was Jane Seymour, who united all the

attractions of youth and beauty, and whose disposition held a certain

mean between the severe gravity of Queen Catherine and the fascinating

sprightliness of Queen Anne. Constancy in affection was not a feature of

Henry's character; his heart was easily inflamed; his eye rested on the

youthful Jane Seymour, and no sooner had he become sensible of her

graces, than the charms of Anne Boleyn, which had formerly captivated

him, became unendurable. The genial gaiety of the queen fatigued him;

the accomplishments which are ordinarily the means of pleasing, gave him

umbrage; the zeal she manifested for Protestantism alienated him. Anne's

enemies, especially the duke of Norfolk and Lady Rocheford, observed

this, and resolved to take advantage of it to ruin the woman who

overshadowed them.

[Sidenote: ANNE'S CHARACTER AND MANNERS.]

One circumstance, innocent enough of itself, favored the designs of the

queen's enemies. Anne, who had been brought up in France, among a people

distinguished for their inexhaustible stores of gaiety, easy

conversation, witty and ingenious sallies, ironical phrases, and amiable

hearts, had brought something of all this to London. Frank and

prepossessing, she loved society; and her ordinary manners seemed too

easy among a nation which, with deep affections, possesses much gravity

and external coldness. Anne had found a certain freedom of speech in the

court of France—it does not appear that she even imitated it; but in a

moment of gaiety she might have let slip some keen railleries, some

imprudent words, and thus furnished her enemies with weapons. She had

some difficulty in conforming with the strict etiquette of the court of

England, and had not been trained to the circumspection so necessary

with a husband like Henry VIII.

Anne was, at the same time, a friend of the Reformation in the midst of

a society that was catholic at heart, and a Frenchwoman in the midst of

an English court; these were her two capital crimes. She was not

understood. Her gaiety did not degenerate into frivolity: she did not

possess that love of pleasure, which, carried to excess, engenders

corruption of manners; we have named the truly pious men whom she loved

to gather round her. But it was quite enough for some persons that Anne

was agreeable, like the ladies of St. Germains and Fontainebleau, to

suspect her of being a flirt, like many of them. Moreover, she had

married above her station. Having lived at court as the equal of the

young nobles belonging to it, she was not always able, after she

ascended the throne, to keep herself on the footing of a queen. From

that time her enemies interpreted unfavorably the innocent amiability

with which she received them. The mistrustful Henry VIII. began to

indulge in suspicions, and Viscountess Rocheford endeavored to feed that

prince's jealousy by crafty and perfidious insinuations.

[Sidenote: ANNE'S ANGUISH.]

Anne soon noticed the king's inclination for Jane Seymour: a thousand

trifles, apparently indifferent, had struck her. She often watched the

maid of honor; her pride was offended, and jealousy tortured her heart

night and day. She endeavored to win back the king's love; but Henry,

who perceived her suspicions, grew more angry with her every hour. The

queen was not far from her confinement; and it was at the very moment

when she hoped to give Henry the heir he had longed for during so many

years, that the king withdrew from her his conjugal affection. Her heart

was wrung, and, foreseeing a mournful future, she doubted whether a blow

similar to that which had struck Catherine might not soon be aimed at

her. Jane Seymour did not reject the king's advances. Historians of the

most opposite parties relate that one day, towards the end of January

1536, the queen, unexpectedly entering a room in the palace, found the

king paying his court to the young maid of honor in too marked a manner.

They may possibly exaggerate,[279] but there is no doubt that Henry gave

cause for very serious complaints on the part of his wife. It was as if

a sword had pierced the heart of the unfortunate Anne Boleyn: she could

not bear up against so cruel a blow, and prematurely gave birth to a

dead son. God had at length granted Henry that long-desired heir, but

the grief of the mother had cost the child's life. What an affliction

for her! For some time her recovery was despaired of. When the king

entered her room, she burst into tears. That selfish prince, soured at

the thought that she had borne him a dead son, cruelly upbraided her

misfortune, instead of consoling her. It was too much: the poor mother

could not restrain herself. 'You have no one to blame but yourself,' she

exclaimed.[280] Henry, still more angry, answered her harshly and left

the apartment.[281] These details are preserved by a well-informed

writer of the time of Elizabeth. To present Henry under so unfavorable a

light, if it were untrue, could hardly have been an agreeable mode of

paying court, as some have insinuated, to a queen who took more after

her father than her mother.

Anne now foresaw the misfortunes awaiting her: she recovered indeed

after this storm, and exerted herself by taking part once more in

conversaziones and fêtes; but she was melancholy and uneasy, like a

foundering ship, which reappears on the waves of the sea after the

storm, and still keeps afloat for a time, only to be swallowed up at

last. All her attempts to regain her husband's affections were useless,

and frightful dreams disturbed her during the slumbers of the night.

This agony lasted three months.

The wind had changed: everybody noticed it, and it was, to certain

heartless courtiers, like the signal given to an impatient pack of

hounds. They set themselves to hunt down the prey, which they felt they

could rend without danger. The ultramontanists regained their courage.

They had feared that, owing to Anne's intervention, the cause of Rome

was lost in England, and their alarm was not unreasonable. Cranmer,

uniting his efforts with those of the queen, never ceased pushing

forward the Reformation. When some one spoke in the House of Lords about

a General Council in Italy, he exclaimed: 'It is the Word of God alone

that we must listen to in religious controversies.' At the same time, in

concert with Anne, he circulated all over England a new Prayer-book,

_the Primer_, intended to replace the dangerous books of the

priests.[282] The people used it. A pious and spiritual reader of that

book exclaimed one day, after meditating upon it: 'O bountiful Jesu! O

sweet Saviour! despise not him whom Thou hast ransomed at the price of

such a treasure—with Thy blood! I look with confidence to the throne of

mercy.'[283] Religion was becoming personal with Anne Boleyn.

[Sidenote: ANNE'S ZEAL FOR RELIGION.]

The queen and the archbishop had not stopped there: they had attempted,

so far as Henry would permit, to place true shepherds over the flocks,

instead of merchants who traded with their wool. The bishopric of

Worcester, which had been taken from Ghinnucci, was given (as we have

seen) to Latimer; so that the valley of the Severn, which four Italian

bishops had plundered for fifty years, possessed at last a pastor who

'planted there the plenteousness of Jesus Christ.'[284] Shaxton, another

of Anne's chaplains, who at this time professed a great attachment to

Holy Scripture, had been appointed bishop of Salisbury, in place of the

famous Cardinal Campeggio. Hilderly, formerly a Dominican prior—who had

at one time defended the immaculate conception of the Virgin, but had

afterwards acknowledged and worshipped Jesus Christ as the only

Mediator—had been nominated to the see of Rochester, in place of the

unfortunate Bishop Fisher. Finally, George Brown, ex-provincial of the

Augustines in England—an upright man, a friend of the poor, and who,

caught by the truth, had exclaimed from the pulpit, 'Go to Christ and

not to the saints!'—had been elected archbishop of Dublin, and thus

became the first evangelical prelate of Ireland, a difficult post, which

he occupied at the peril of his life.[285] Other prelates, like Fox,

bishop of Hereford, although not true Protestants, proved themselves to

be anti-Papists.

The members of the ultramontane party saw the influence of the queen in

all these nominations. Who resisted the proposal that the English Church

should be represented at the General Council? Who endeavored to make the

king advance in the direction of the Reformation? Who threw England into

the arms of the princes of Germany?—The queen, none but the queen. She

felt unhappy, it was said, when she saw a day pass without having

obtained some favor for the Reformation.[286] Men knew that the pope was

ready to forgive everything, and even to unite with Henry against

Charles V., if the king would submit to the conditions laid down in the

bull—that is to say, if he would put away Anne Boleyn.[287]

The condition required by the pontiff was not an impossible one, for

Henry liked to change his wives: he had six. Marriage was not to him a

oneness of life. At the end of 1535, Anne had been his wife for three

years; it was a long time for him, and he began to turn his eyes upon

others. Jane Seymour's youth eclipsed the queen's. Unfortunate Boleyn!

Sorrow had gradually diminished her freshness. Jane had natural allies,

who might help her to ascend the throne. Her two Papers_, vii. p. 637,

640.] brothers, Edward and Thomas—the elder more moderate, the younger

more arrogant—each possessing great ambition and remarkable capacity,

thought that a Seymour was as worthy as a Boleyn to wear the English

crown. The first blow did not however proceed from them, but from a

member of the queen's family—from her sister-in-law. There is no room

for indifference between near relations: they love or, if they do not

love, they hate. Lady Rocheford, so closely allied to the queen, felt

continually piqued at her. Jealousy had engendered a deep dislike in her

heart, and this dislike was destined to lead her on to contrive the

death of the detested object. Rendered desperate by the happiness and

especially by the greatness of Anne Boleyn, it became her ruling passion

to destroy them. One obstacle, however, rose up before her. Lord

Rocheford, her husband and Anne's brother, would not enter into her

perfidious schemes. That depraved woman, who afterwards suffered capital

punishment for conniving at crime, determined to ruin her sister-in-law

and her husband together. It was arranged that three of the courtiers

should give Henry the first hints. 'Thus began,' says an author of that

day, 'a comedy which was changed into a sorrowful tragedy.'[288] Nothing

was omitted that tended to the success of one of the most infamous court

intrigues recorded in history.

Anne became cognizant almost at the same time of her sister-in-law's

hatred of her and of her husband's love for Jane Seymour. From that

moment she foreboded an early death, and her most anxious thoughts were

for her daughter. She wondered what would become of the poor child, and,

desirous of having her brought up in the knowledge of the Gospel, she

sent for the pious simple-minded Parker, told him of her apprehensions

and her wishes, and commended Elizabeth to him with all a mother's

love.[289] Anne's words sank so deep into his heart that he never forgot

them;[290] and twenty-three years later, when that child, who had become

queen, raised him to the primacy, he declared to Lord Burghley, that if

he were not under such great obligations to her mother, he would never

have consented to serve the daughter in such an elevated station.[291]

After consigning the youthful Elizabeth to the care of a man of God, the

unhappy queen was more at ease.

[Sidenote: CHARGES AGAINST ANNE.]

Meantime the plot was forming in silence, and two or three

circumstances, such as occur in the most innocent life, were the pretext

for Anne's destruction.

One day, when she was with the king at Winchester, she sent for one of

the court-musicians, named Smeton, 'to play on the virginals.'[292] This

was the first count in the indictment.

Norris, a gentleman of the king's chamber, was engaged to Margaret, one

of Anne's maids of honor, and consequently was often in the queen's

apartments. Slanderous tongues affirmed that he went more for the sake

of his sovereign than for his betrothed. The queen hearing of it, and

desiring to stop the scandal, determined to bind Norris to marry

Margaret. 'Why do you not go on with your marriage?' she asked him. 'I

desire to wait a little longer,' answered the gentleman. Anne, with the

intent of making him understand that there were serious reasons for not

putting it off any longer, added: 'It is said at court that you are

waiting for a dead man's shoes, and that if any misfortune befell the

king, you would look to have me for your wife.'[293] 'God forbid!'

exclaimed Norris, in alarm; 'if I had such an idea, it would be my

destruction.' 'Mind what you are about,' resumed the queen, with

severity. Norris, in great emotion, went immediately to Anne Boleyn's

almoner. 'The queen is a virtuous woman,' he said; 'I am willing to

affirm it upon oath.'[294] This was the second count in the indictment.

Sir Francis Weston, a bold frivolous man, was (although married) very

attentive to a young lady of the court, a relative of the queen. 'Sir

Francis,' said Anne, who was distressed at his behavior, 'you love

Mistress Skelton, and neglect your wife.' 'Madam,' answered the

audacious courtier, 'there is one person in your house whom I love

better than both.' 'And who is that?' said the queen. 'Yourself,'

answered Weston. Offended by such insolence, Anne ordered him, with

scorn and displeasure, to leave her presence.[295] This was the third

count of the indictment.

Lord Rocheford, a man of noble and chivalrous character, indignant at

the calumnies which were beginning to circulate against his sister,

endeavored to avert the storm. One day, when she kept her bed, he

entered her room to speak to her; and, the maids of honor being present,

he leant towards the queen, to say something on this matter which was

not fit for the ears of strangers to the family. The infamous Lady

Rocheford made use of this innocent circumstance to accuse her husband

and sister-in-law of an abominable crime.

Such are the four charges that were to cost Anne Boleyn her life. Futile

observations, malicious remarks to which persons are exposed in the

world, and especially at court, reached the ears of the king, and

inspired him with jealousy, reproaches, angry words, and coldness. There

was no more happiness for Anne.

There was enough in these stories to induce Henry VIII. to reject his

second wife, and take a third. This prince—and it was the case generally

with the Tudors—had a temper at once decided and changeable, a heart

susceptible and distrustful, an energetic character, and passions eager

to be satisfied at any price. Very mistrustful, he did not easily get

the better of his suspicions, and when any person had vexed him, he was

not appeased until he had got rid of him. Common-sense generally

appreciates at their true worth such stories as those we have reported;

but the characters now on the stage were more irritable than those

usually to be found in the world. 'A tempest,' says Lord Herbert of

Cherbury on this subject, 'though it scarce stir low and shallow waters,

when it meets a sea, both vexeth it, and makes it toss all that comes

thereon.'[296]

Henry, happy to have found the pretext which his new passion made him

long for, investigated nothing; he appeared to believe everything he was

told. He swore to prove Anne's guilt to others by the greatness of his

revenge. Of his six wives, he got rid of two by divorce, two by the

scaffold; only two escaped his criminal humor. This time he was

unwilling to proceed by divorce; the tediousness of Catherine's affair

had wearied him. He preferred a more expeditious mode—the axe.

[Sidenote: COMMISSION OF ENQUIRY.]

On the 25th of April the king appointed a commission to enquire into

Anne's conduct, and placed on it the duke of Norfolk, a maternal uncle

but (as we have said) an implacable enemy of the unfortunate queen; the

duke of Suffolk, who, as Henry's brother-in-law, served him in his least

desires; the earl of Oxford, a skilful courtier; William Paulet,

comptroller of the royal household, whose motto was, 'To be a willow and

not an oak;' Audley, the honestest of all, but still his master's humble

servant; Lord Delawarr, and several other lords and gentlemen, to the

number of twenty-six. It has been said, by Burnet and others, that the

king named Anne's father, the earl of Wiltshire, one of the judges. It

would, no doubt, have been the most striking trait of cruelty, of which

Henry gave so many proofs; but we must in justice declare that the

wretched prince did not perpetrate such a monstrosity. Burnet, after the

most searching investigations, retracted his error.[297] On Thursday,

the 27th of April, the king, understanding the necessity of a Parliament

to repeal the laws made in favor of Anne and her children, issued writs

for its assembling. He was resolved to hurry on the business—equally

impatient to hear no more of his wife, and to possess her who was the

object of his desires.

Anne, who was ignorant of what was going on, had gradually recovered a

little serenity, but it was not so with those around her. The court was

agitated and uneasy. The names of the commissioners were canvassed, and

people wondered where the terrible blows of the king would fall. Many

were alarmed for themselves or their friends. Would the storm burst on

Sir Thomas Wyatt, who wrote verses in Anne's honor? or on Lord

Northumberland, whom the queen had loved before Henry cast his eyes upon

her? The king did not intend to go so high.

The indecision did not last long. At two o'clock on the 27th of

April—the very day when the writs for the new Parliament were

issued—William Brereton, one of the gentlemen of the king's household,

pointed out by the queen's enemies, was arrested and taken to the Tower.

Two days later, on the 29th of April, Anne was crossing the

presence-chamber, where a miserable creature happened to be present at

that moment. It was Mark Smeton, the court-musician—a vain, cowardly,

corrupt man, who had felt hurt because, since the day when he had played

before the queen at Winchester, that princess had never even looked at

him. He was standing, in a dejected attitude, leaning against a window.

It is possible that, having heard of the disgrace that threatened the

queen, he hoped, by showing his sorrow, to obtain from her some mark of

interest. Be that as it may, his unusual presence in that room, the

posture he had assumed, the appearance of sorrow which he had put on,

were evidently intended to attract her attention. The trick succeeded.

Anne noticed him as she passed by. 'Why are you sad?' she asked. 'It is

no matter, madam.' The queen fancied that Smeton was grieved because she

had never spoken to him. 'You may not look to have me speak to you,' she

added, 'as if you were a nobleman, because you are an inferior person.'

'No, madam,' replied the musician, 'I need no words; a look sufficeth

me.'[298] He did not receive the look he asked for, and his wounded

vanity urged him from that moment to ruin the princess, by whom he had

the insolence to wish to be remarked. Smeton's words were reported to

the king, and next day (April 30), the musician was arrested, examined

at Stepney, and sent to the Tower.

[Sidenote: TOURNAMENT AT GREENWICH.]

A magnificent festival was preparing at Greenwich, to celebrate the

First of May in the usual manner. This was the strange moment which

Henry had chosen for unveiling his plans. In certain minds there appears

to be a mysterious connection between festivities and bloodshed; another

prince (Nero) had shown it in old times, and some years later

Charles IX. was to celebrate the marriage of his sister Margaret by the

massacres of St. Bartholomew. Henry VIII. gave to two of the victims he

was about to immolate the foremost places in the brilliant tournament he

had prepared. Lord Rocheford, the queen's brother, was the principal

challenger, and Henry Norris was chief of the defenders. Sir Francis

Weston was also to take part in these jousts. Henry showed himself very

gracious to them, and hid with smiles their approaching destruction. The

king having taken his place, and the queen, in a magnificent costume,

being seated by his side, Rocheford and Norris passed before him,

lowering their spears—_morituri te salutant_. The jousting began

immediately after. The circumstances of the court gave a gloomy

solemnity to the festival. The king, who was watching with fixed eyes

the struggles of his courtiers, started up all of a sudden, with every

appearance of anger, and hastily quitted the balcony. What had happened?

The ultramontane Sanders, notorious as being a most malicious and

fabulous writer, mentions that the queen had dropped her handkerchief

into the lists, and that Norris took it up and wiped his face with it.

Lord Herbert, Burnet, and others affirm that there is nothing to

corroborate the story, which, were it true, might be very innocent.

However, the festivities were interrupted by the king's departure. The

confusion was universal, and the alarmed queen withdrew, eager to know

the cause of the strange procedure.[299] Thus ended the rejoicings of

the First of May.

Henry, who had gone back to the palace, hearing of the queen's return,

refused to see her, ordered her to keep her room, mounted his horse,

and, accompanied by six gentlemen, galloped back to London. Slackening

his pace for a time, he took Norris aside, and, telling him the occasion

of his anger, promised to pardon him if he would confess. Norris

answered, with firmness and respect: 'Sire, if you were to cut me open

and take out my heart, I could only tell you what I know.'[300] On

reaching Whitehall, Henry said to his ministers: 'To-morrow morning you

will take Rocheford, Norris, and Weston to the Tower; you will then

proceed to Greenwich, arrest the queen, and put her in prison. Finally,

you will write to Cranmer and bid him go immediately to Lambeth, and

there await my orders.' The victims were seized, and the high-priest

summoned for the sacrifice.

The night was full of anguish to Anne Boleyn, and the next day, when she

was surrounded by her ladies, their consternation increased her terror.

It seemed to her impossible that a word from her would not convince her

husband of her innocence. 'I will positively see the king,' she

exclaimed. She ordered her barge to be prepared, but, just as she was

about to set out, another barge arrived from London, bringing Cromwell,

Audley, and the terrible Kingston, lieutenant of the Tower. That ominous

presence was a death-warrant: on seeing him the queen screamed aloud.

[Sidenote: ANNE BEFORE THE COUNCIL.]

They did not, however, remove her at once: the council, on which sat her

most violent adversaries, assembled in the palace, and Anne was summoned

to appear before it. The duke of Norfolk, the president, informed her

coldly of what she was accused, and named her pretended accomplices. At

these words, the queen, struck with astonishment and sorrow, fell on her

knees and cried out: 'O Lord, if I am guilty, may I never be forgiven!'

Then, recovering a little from her emotion, she replied to the

calumnious charges brought against her, to which Norfolk answered

carelessly and contemptuously, as if he were still speaking to the

little girl whom he had seen born, 'Tut, tut, tut,' and shook his head

disdainfully.[301] 'I desire to see the king,' said Anne. 'Impossible,'

answered the duke; 'that is not included in our commission.' 'I have

been very cruelly treated,' said Anne Boleyn, later, when speaking of

this horrible conversation with her uncle. 'It is his Majesty's good

pleasure that we conduct you to the Tower,' added Norfolk. 'I am ready

to obey,' said the queen, and all went in the same barge. When they

reached the Tower, Anne landed. The governor was there to receive her.

Norfolk and the other members of the council committed her into his

charge and departed. It was five in the afternoon.

Then the gates of the fortress opened; and at this moment, when she was

crossing the threshold under the charge of heinous crimes, Anne

remembered how, three years before, she had entered it in triumph for

the ceremony of her coronation, in the midst of the general acclamations

of the people. Struck by the fearful contrast, she fell on her knees 'as

a ball,'[302] and exclaimed, 'O Lord, help me, as I am guiltless of that

whereof I am accused!' The governor raised her up, and they entered. She

expected to be put into close confinement. 'Mr. Kingston,' she said,

'shall you put me into a dungeon?' 'No, madam,' answered the governor;

'you will be in your own lodging, where you lay at your coronation.' 'It

is too good for me,' she exclaimed. She entered, however, and on

reaching those royal chambers, which recalled such different

recollections, she knelt again and burst into tears. The violence of her

grief presently brought on convulsive movements, and her tears were

succeeded by hysterical laughter.[303] Gradually she came to herself,

and tried to collect her thoughts. Feeling the need of strengthening

herself by the evidences of the Lord's love, she said to Kingston,

'Entreat his Majesty to let me have the sacrament.'[304] Then, in the

consciousness of innocence, she added, 'Sir, I am as clear from the

company of man as I am of you. I am the king's true wedded wife.'[305]

[Sidenote: ANNE'S SYMPATHY.]

She was not absorbed in her own misfortunes: she was moved by the

sufferings of the others, and uneasy about her brother. 'Can you tell me

where Lord Rocheford is?' she asked. Kingston replied that he had seen

him at Whitehall. She was not tranquillized by this evasive answer. 'Oh,

where is my sweet brother?' she exclaimed. There was no reply. 'Mr.

Kingston,' resumed Anne, after a few moments, 'do you know why I am

here?' 'No, madam.' 'I hear say that I am to be accused of criminal

familiarities.' (Norfolk had told her so in the barge.) 'I can say no

more than—Nay!' Suddenly tearing one of her garments, she exclaimed, as

if distracted: 'If they were to open my body, I should still say—No.'

After this her mind wandered. She thought of her mother, and the love

she felt for the countess of Wiltshire made her feel more than anything

else the bitterness of her situation: she imagined the proud lady was

before her, and cried, with unutterable agony, 'O my mother, my mother,

thou wilt die for sorrow!' Then her gloomy thoughts were turned to other

objects. She remembered that, while in the barge, the duke of Norfolk

had named Norris and Smeton as her accusers, which was partly false. The

miserable musician was not grieved at being wrongfully accused of a

crime likely to make him notorious, but Norris had stoutly rejected the

idea that the queen could be guilty. 'O Norris, hast thou accused me!'

she ejaculated; 'and thou too, Smeton!' After a few moments' silence,

Anne fixed her eyes on the governor. 'Mr. Kingston,' she asked, 'shall I

die without justice?' 'Madam,' answered the governor, 'the meanest

subject of the king has that.' At these words the queen again laughed

hysterically. 'Justice—justice!' she exclaimed, with disdainful

incredulity. She counted less upon justice than the humblest of her

subjects. Gradually the tempest calmed down, and the silence of the

night brought relief to her sorrow.

The same day (May 2) the news spread through London that the queen was

arrested. Cranmer, who had received the royal intimation to go to his

palace at Lambeth, and wait there until further orders, had arrived, and

was thunderstruck on hearing what had happened. 'What! the queen in

prison! the queen an adulteress!'... A struggle took place in his bosom.

He was indebted to the queen for much; he had always found her

irreproachable—the refuge of the unhappy, the upholder of the truth. He

had loved her like a daughter, respected her as his sovereign. That she

was innocent, he had no doubt; but how account for the behavior of the

king? The unhappy prelate was distracted by the most painful thoughts

during the whole of Tuesday night. This truly pious man showed excessive

indulgence towards Henry VIII., and bent easily beneath his powerful

hand; but his path was clearly traced—to maintain unhesitatingly the

innocence of her whom he had always honored. And yet he was to be an

example of the fascination exerted by a despot over such characters—of

the cowardice of which a good man may be guilty through human respect.

Doubtless there are extenuating circumstances in his case. It was not

only the queen's fate that made the prelate uneasy, but also the future

of the Reformation. If love for Anne had helped to make Henry incline to

the side of the Reformation, the hatred which he now felt against his

unhappy wife might easily drive him into the other direction. Cranmer

desired to prevent this at any price, and accordingly thought himself

obliged to use extreme precaution. But these circumstances are really no

extenuation. No motive in the world can excuse a man from not frankly

defending his friends when they are falsely accused—from not vindicating

an innocent woman when she is declared to be guilty. Cranmer wrote to

the king: 'I cannot without your Majesty's command appear in your

presence; but I can at least desire most humbly, as is my duty, that

your great wisdom and God's help may remove the deep sorrow of your

heart.

[Sidenote: CRANMER'S LETTER TO HENRY.]

'I cannot deny that your Majesty has great cause to be overwhelmed with

sorrow. In fact, whether the things of which men speak be true or not,

your honor, Sire, according to the false appreciation of the world, has

suffered; and I do not remember that Almighty God has ever before put

your Majesty's firmness to so severe a proof.

'Sire, I am in such a perplexity that I am clean amazed; for I never had

a better opinion in woman than I had of her, which maketh me think that

she cannot be culpable.'[306]

This was tolerably bold, and accordingly Cranmer hastened to tone down

his boldness. 'And yet, Sire,' he added, 'would you have gone so far, if

you had not been sure of her crime?... Your Grace best knoweth that,

next unto your Grace, I was most bound unto her of all creatures living.

Wherefore I must humbly beseech your Grace to suffer me in that which

both God's law, nature, and her kindness bindeth me, unto that I may

(with your Grace's favor) wish and pray for her. And from what condition

your Grace, of your only mere goodness, took her, and set the crown upon

her head, I repute him not your Grace's faithful servant and subject,

nor true to the realm, that would not desire the offence to be without

mercy punished, to the example of all others. And as I loved her not a

little, for the love I judged her to bear towards God and His holy

Gospel; so, if she be proved guilty, there is not one that loveth God

and His Gospel that will ever favor her, for then there never was

creature in our time that so much slandered the Gospel.

'However,' he added, appearing to recover his courage, 'forget not that

God has shown His goodness to your Grace in many ways, and has never

injured you; whilst your Grace, I am sure, acknowledged that you have

offended Him. Extend, therefore, to the Gospel the precious favor you

have always shown it, and which proceedeth not from your love for the

queen your wife, but from your zeal for the truth.

'From Lambeth, 3d of May, 1636.'

When Cranmer addressed these soothing words to the king, it was

doubtless on the supposition (on which he gives no opinion) that Anne

was guilty. But, even admitting this hypothesis, is it not carrying

flattery of the terrible autocrat very far, to compare him with Job as

the prelate does? In another part of this letter he says: 'By accepting

all adversity, without despair and without murmuring, your Grace will

give opportunity to God to multiply His blessings, as He did to His

faithful servant Job, to whom, after his great calamity, and to reward

his patience, He restored the double of what He had possessed.' As

regards the king, Cranmer had found for himself a false conscience,

which led him into deceitful ways: his letter, although he still tries

to defend Anne, cannot be justified.

He was about to dispatch the letter, when he received a message from the

lord-chancellor, desiring him to come to the Star-Chamber. The

archbishop hastened across the Thames, and found at the appointed place

not only Audley, but the Lords Oxford and Sussex, and the

lord-chamberlain. These noblemen laid before him the charges brought

against Anne Boleyn, adding that they could be proved, though they did

not themselves produce any proof. On his return to Lambeth, Cranmer

added a postscript to his letter, in which he expressed his extreme

sorrow at the report that had just been made to him.

[Sidenote: CRUELTY TO ANNE BOLEYN.]

The morning of the same day (May 3) was a sad one in the Tower. By a

refinement of cruelty, the king had ordered two of the queen's

enemies—Lady Boleyn and Mistress Cosyns—to be always near her; to which

end they slept in her room, while Kingston and his wife slept outside

against her chamber-door. What could be the object of these strange

precautions? We can only see one. Every word that fell from Anne, even

in her convulsions or in her dreams, would be perfidiously caught up,

and reported to the king's agents with malicious interpretations. Anne,

pardoning the former conduct of these ladies, and wholly engrossed with

her father's sorrow, thought she might ask for news about him from the

persons who had been given her for companions; but those wicked women,

who never spoke to her without rudeness, refused to give her any

information. 'The king knew what he was doing,' said Anne to Kingston,

'when he put these two women about me. I could have desired to have two

ladies of my chamber, persons whom I love; but his Majesty has had the

cruelty to give me those whom I could never endure.'[307]

The punishment continued. Lady Boleyn, hoping to detect some confusion

in her niece's face, told her that her brother, Lord Rocheford, was also

in the Tower. Anne, who had somewhat recovered her strength, answered

calmly, 'I am glad to learn that he is so near me.' 'Madam,' added

Kingston, 'Weston and Brereton are also under my charge.' The queen

remained calm.[308]

She purposed, however, to vindicate herself, and her first thought

turned towards two of the most pious men in England: 'Oh, if God

permitted me,' she said, 'to have my bishops (meaning Cranmer and

Latimer), they would plead to the king for me.' She then remained silent

for a few minutes. A sweet reflection passed through her mind and

consoled her. Since she had undertaken the defence of the persecuted

evangelicals, gratitude would doubtless impel them to pray for her. 'I

think,' she said, 'that the greater part of England is praying for

me.'[309]

Anne had asked for her almoner, and, as some hours had elapsed without

his arrival, gloomy images once more arose to sadden her mind. 'To be a

queen,' she said, 'and to be treated so cruelly—treated as queen never

was before!' Then, as if a ray of sunshine had scattered the clouds, she

exclaimed: 'No, I shall not die—no, I will not die!... The king has put

me in prison only to prove me.' The terrible struggle was too great for

the young woman: she had convulsions and fits, and almost lost her

senses. Attacked by a fresh hysterical paroxysm, the unfortunate lady

burst into laughter. On coming to herself after a while, she cried: 'I

will have justice ... justice ... justice!'[310] Kingston, who was

present, bowed and said: 'Assuredly, madam.' 'If any man accuses me,'

she continued, 'I can only say—No. They can bring no witness against

me.'[311] Then she had, all at once, an extraordinary attack: she fell

down in delirium, and with eyes starting, as if she were looking into

the future, and could foresee the chastisement with which God would

punish the infamous wickedness of which she was the victim, she

exclaimed: 'If I am put to death, there will be great judgments upon

England for seven years.... And I ... I shall be in heaven ... for I

have done many good deeds during my life.'[312]

[263] Froude.

[264] Bossuet, _Histoire des Variations_, liv. vii. art. 8.

[265] 'Quorum morum ingenuitas et candor aliquis ingenii præluceret.'—

Letter of Sir John Cheke, 1535. Parker's _Correspondence_, p. 3.

[266] 'Reginæ magnificentia quæ erga studiosos late patuit.'—_Ibid._ p. 2.

[267] Wyatt, _Memoirs of Anne Boleyn_, p. 442.

[268] Herbert, _Reign of Henry VIII._ The sum was equivalent to about

60,000_l._ of our money.

[269] Herbert.

[270] 'I was most bound unto her of all creatures living.'—Cranmer to

Henry VIII., 1536. _Letters and Remains_, p. 324.

[271] Tyndale, _Doctrinal Treatises, Notice_, p. lxiv.

[272] _History of the Translation of the Bible_, p. 97. Todd's _Life of

Cranmer_, i. p. 136.

[273] Parker's _Correspondence_, pp. 1, 2.

[274] 'Notum est quid potes; fac non minus velis quam potes.'—_Ibid._

p. v.

[275] Parker to Sir W. Cecil, _ibid._ p. 178.

[276] 'Heu, heu! Domine Deus, in quæ tempora servasti me!'—Parker's

_Memoranda, Corresp._ p. 484.

[277] 'She heard her chaplain gladly to admonish her.'—Fuller, p. 200.

[278] This sort of conspiracy extends from the publication of the work

entitled, _De origine et progressu schismatis Anglicani_, 1585, by

Sanders—'a book,' says Bayle, 'in which there is much passion and very

little accuracy'—down to the _Histoire de Henri VIII._, by Audin, a

worthy successor of Sanders, and whose work is in high favor in all

papal coteries. This miserable manufacture of outrageous fictions began

even before Sanders, and is not yet ended.

[279] 'Janam (Seymour) genibus Henrici insidentem.'—Sanders, Heylin,

Lingard.

[280] 'Laying the fault upon unkindness.'—Wyatt.

[281] 'Which the king took more hardly.'—_Ibid._

[282] 'Pestilent and infectious books.'—_Preface to the Primer._

[283] Strype, i. p. 339; _Liturgies_, p. 477.

[284] Latimer's _Sermons_, p. 82.

[285] 'It was to the hazard of his life.'—Cranmer's _Memorials_, p. 38.

[286] Meteren, _Histoire des Pays-Bas_, p. 21.

[287] 'Hanno fondata questa bolla sopra la causa del matrimonio.'—_State

Papers_, vii. p. 637, 640.

[288] _Histoire de Anne Boleyn, royne d'Angleterre_, p. 181.—This

History, written in French verse of the sixteenth century, which M.

Crapelet has printed after three manuscripts in the Imperial Library at

Paris, is from the pen of Crespin, lord of Milherve, who was in London

at the time of which he speaks.

[289] 'What words her Grace's mother said to me of her (Elizabeth) not

six days before her apprehension.'—Parker's _Correspondence_, p. 59.

[290] Parker to Lord Burghley, 6th October, 1572.—_Ibid._ p. 400.

[291] Parker to Lord Burghley, 19th March, 1571.—_Ibid._ p. 391.

[292] Kingston's _Letters_, p. 455.

[293] Kingston's _Letters_, p. 452.

[294] 'He would swear for the queen that she was a good woman.'—_Ibid._

[295] 'And then she defied him in scorn and displeasure.'—Strype, p. 433.

[296] Herbert, p. 381 (ed. 1649).

[297] Addenda to the Third Book of his History.—He acknowledges that

this _mistake_, as he calls it, was an invention of the miserable

Sanders.

[298] Kingston's _Letters_, p. 455.

[299] 'This much troubled the whole company, especially the

queen.'—Herbert, p. 445.

[300] _Histoire d'Anne Boleyn_, by Crespin, p. 186. See also

_Archéologie_, xxiii. p. 64.

[301] Kingston's _Letters_, p. 456.

[302] 'This gracious queen falling down upon her knees _as a ball_, her

soul beaten down with affliction to the earth.'—Wyatt, p. 144.

[303] 'In the same sorrow, fell into great laughing.'—Kingston's

_Letters_, p. 451.

[304] Kingston's _Letters_, p. 451.

[305] _Ibid._

[306] Cranmer's _Letters and Remains_, letter clxxiv. to King

Henry VIII., pp. 323, 324.

[307] Cranmer's _Letters and Remains_, p. 457.

[308] 'She made a very good countenance.'—Cranmer's _Letters and

Remains_, p. 454.

[309] 'I think the most part of England prays for me.'—Kingston's

_Letters_, p. 457.

[310] Kingston's _Letters_, p. 457.

[311] _Ibid._

[312] Kingston's _Letters_, p. 457.

CHAPTER X.

ANNE FORGIVES HER ENEMIES, AND IS PUT TO DEATH.

(MAY 1536.)

[Sidenote: AN UNJUST TRIBUNAL.]

Everything was preparing for the unjust judgment which was to have so

cruel a termination. Justice is bound to watch that the laws are

observed, and to punish the guilty; but if law is to be just law, the

judges must listen fairly to the accused, diligently discharge all the

duties to which their office calls them, and not permit themselves to be

influenced either by the presents or the solicitations, the threats or

the favors, or the rank (even should it be royal) of the prosecutor.

Their decisions should be inspired only by such motives as they can give

an account of to the Supreme Judge; their sentences must be arrived at

through attentive consideration and serious reflection. For them there

are no other guides than impartiality, conscience, and law. But the

queen was not to appear before such judges: those who were about to

dispose of her life set themselves in opposition to these imperious

conditions.

Henry's agents redoubled their exertions to obtain, either from the

ladies of the court or from the accused men, some deposition against

Anne; but it was in vain. Even the women whom her elevation had eclipsed

could allege nothing against her. Henry Norris, William Brereton, and

Sir Francis Weston were carefully interrogated, one after the other: the

examiners tried to make them confess their adultery, but they stoutly

denied it; whereupon the king's agents, who were determined to get at

something, began a fresh inquiry, and cross-examined the prisoners. It

is believed that the gentlemen of the court were exempted from torture,

but that the rack was applied to Mark Smeton, who was thus made to

confess all they wanted.[313] It is more probable that the vile

musician, a man of weak head and extreme vanity, being offended that his

sovereign had not condescended even to look at him, yielded to the

vengeance of irritated self-esteem. The queen had not been willing to

give him the honor of a look—he boasted of adultery. The three gentlemen

persevered in their declaration touching the queen's innocence: Lord

Rocheford did the same.[314] The disheartened prosecutor wrote to the

Lord-Treasurer: 'This is to inform you that no one, except Mark, will

confess anything against her; wherefore I imagine, if there be no other

evidence, the business will be injurious to the king's honor.'[315] The

lawyers knew the value to be given to the musician's words. If the

verdict was left to the equitable interpretation of the law—if the king

did not bring his sovereign influence to bear upon the decisions of the

judges, there could be no doubt as to the issue of the hateful trial.

But every passion was at work to paralyze the power of right. Vainly the

queen's innocence shone forth on every side—the conspiracy formed

against her grew stronger every day. To the wickedness of Lady

Rocheford, the jealousies of an intriguing _camarilla_, the hatred of

the ultramontane party, the unbridled ambition aroused in certain

families by the prospects of the despot's couch soon to be empty though

stained with blood, and to the instability of weak men, was added the

strong will of Henry VIII., as determined to get rid of Anne by death as

he had been to separate from Catherine by divorce. The queen understood

that she must die; and, wishing to be prepared, she sought to wean

herself from that life which had so many attractions for her. She felt

that the pleasures she had so enjoyed were vain; the knowledge that she

had endeavored to acquire, superficial; the virtue to which she had

aspired, imperfect; and the active life she had desired, without

decisive results. The vanity of all created things, once proclaimed by

one who also had occupied a throne, struck her heart. Everything being

taken from her, she renounced

Le vain espoir de ce muable monde.[316]

Anne, giving up everything, turned towards a better life, and sought to

strengthen herself in God.[317]

[Sidenote: ANNE SEEKS THE BETTER LIFE.]

Such were her affecting dispositions when the duke of Norfolk,

accompanied by other noblemen, came in the king's name to set before her

the charges brought against her, to summon her to speak the truth, and

to assure her that, if she confessed her fault, the king might pardon

her. Anne replied with the dignity of a queen still upon the throne, and

with the calmness of a Christian at the gates of eternity. She threw

back with noble indignation the vile accusations of which the royal

commissioners were the channel:

A ces seigneurs, parlant comme maîtresse.[318]

'You call upon me to speak the truth,' she said to Norfolk. 'Well then,

the king shall know it,' and she dismissed the lords. It was beneath her

to plead her cause before these malicious courtiers, but she would tell

her husband the truth. Left alone, she sat down to write that celebrated

letter, a noble monument of the elevation of her soul; a letter full of

the tenderest complaints and the sharpest protests, in which her

innocence shines forth, and which combines at once so much nature and

eloquence that in the opinion of the most competent judges it deserves

to be handed down to posterity. It ran as follows:—

[Sidenote: ANNE BOLEYN'S LETTER.]

'Your Grace's displeasure and my imprisonment are things so strange unto

me, that what to write, or what to excuse, I am altogether ignorant.

Whereas you sent to me (willing me to confess a truth and so obtain your

favor), by such a one whom you know to be my ancient professed enemy; I

no sooner received this message by him, than I rightly conceived your

meaning; and if, as you say, confessing a truth indeed may procure my

safety, I shall with all willingness and duty perform your command.

'But let not your Grace ever imagine that your poor wife will ever be

brought to acknowledge a fault, where not so much as a thought thereof

ever proceeded. And, to speak truth, never a prince had wife more loyal

in all duty and in all true affection, than you have ever found in Anne

Boleyn—with which name and place I could willingly have contented

myself, if God and your Grace's pleasure had so pleased. Neither did I

at any time so far forget myself in my exaltation or received queenship,

but that I always looked for such alteration as I now find; for the

ground of my preferment being on no surer foundation than your Grace's

fancy, the least alteration was fit and sufficient (I knew) to draw that

fancy to some other subject.

'You have chosen me from a low estate to be your queen and companion,

far beyond my desert or desire. If then you found me worthy of such

honor, good your Grace, let not any light fancy or bad counsel of my

enemies withdraw your princely favor from me; neither let that

stain—that unworthy stain—of a disloyal heart towards your good Grace

ever cast so foul a blot on me and on the infant princess, your

daughter.

'Try me, good king, but let me have a lawful trial, and let not my sworn

enemies sit as my accusers and as my judges; yea, let me receive an open

trial, for my truth shall fear no open shames. Then shall you see either

mine innocence cleared, your suspicions and conscience satisfied, the

ignominy and slander of the world stopped—or my guilt openly declared;

so that whatever God and you may determine of, your Grace may be freed

from an open censure, and mine offence being so lawfully proved, your

Grace may be at liberty, both before God and man, not only to execute

worthy punishment on me, as an unfaithful wife, but to follow your

affection already settled on that party, for whose sake I am now as I

am; whose name I could, some good while since, have pointed unto, your

Grace being not ignorant of my suspicion therein. But if you have

already determined of me, and that not only my death but an infamous

slander must bring you the joying of your desired happiness, then I

desire of God that He will pardon your great sin herein, and likewise my

enemies, the instruments thereof; and that He will not call you to a

strict account for your unprincely and cruel usage of me at His general

judgment-seat, where both you and myself must shortly appear; and in

whose just judgment, I doubt not (whatsoever the world may think of me),

mine innocency shall be openly known and sufficiently cleared.

'My last and only request shall be, that myself may only bear the burden

of your Grace's displeasure, and that it may not touch the innocent

souls of those poor gentlemen, who, as I understand, are likewise in

strait imprisonment for my sake. If ever I have found favor in your

sight—if ever the name of Anne Boleyn have been pleasing in your

ears—then let me obtain this request; and so I will leave to trouble

your Grace any further; with mine earnest prayer to the Trinity to have

your Grace in His good keeping, and to direct you in all your actions.

'From my doleful prison in the Tower, the 6th of May.

'ANNE BOLEYN.'

We see Anne thoroughly in this letter, one of the most touching that was

ever written. Injured in her honor, she speaks without fear, as one on

the threshold of eternity. If there were no other proofs of her

innocence, this document alone would suffice to gain her cause in the

eyes of an impartial and intelligent posterity.[319]

[Sidenote: EFFECT OF ANNE'S LETTER ON HENRY.]

That noble letter aroused a tempest in the king's heart. The firm

innocence stamped on it; the mention of Henry's tastes, and especially

of his inclination for Jane Seymour; Anne's declaration that she had

anticipated her husband's infidelity, the solemn appeal to the day of

judgment, and the thought of the injury which such noble language would

do to his reputation—all combined to fill that haughty prince with

vexation, hatred, and wrath. That letter gives the real solution of the

enigma. A guilty caprice had inclined Henry to Anne Boleyn; another

caprice inclined him now to Jane Seymour. This explanation is so patent

that no one need look for another.

Henry determined to inflict a great humiliation upon this daring woman.

He would strip her of the name of wife, and pretend that she had only

been his concubine. As his marriage with Catherine of Aragon had been

declared null because of her union with his brother Arthur, Henry

imagined that his marriage with Anne Boleyn might be annulled because of

an attachment once entertained for her by Percy, afterwards duke of

Northumberland. When that nobleman was summoned before Cromwell, he

thought that he also was to be thrown into the Tower as the queen's

lover; but the summons had reference to quite a different matter. 'There

was a pre-contract of marriage between you and Anne Boleyn?' asked the

king's vicar-general. 'None at all,' he answered; and in order that his

declaration might be recorded, he wrote it down and sent it to Cromwell.

In it he said: 'Referring to the oath I made in this matter before the

archbishops of Canterbury and York, and before the Blessed Body of our

Saviour, which I received in the presence of the duke of Norfolk, and

others of his majesty's counsellors, I acknowledge to have eaten the

Holy Sacrament to my condemnation, if there was any contract or promise

of marriage between the queen and me. This 13th of May, in the

twenty-eighth year of his majesty King Henry VIII.'[320] This

declaration was clear, but the barbarous monarch did not relinquish his

idea.

A special commission had been appointed, on the 24th of April, 'to judge

of certain offences committed at London, Hampton Court, and Greenwich.'

They desired to give to this trial the appearance at least of justice;

and as the alleged offences were committed in the counties of Middlesex

and Kent, the indictment was laid before the grand juries of both

counties. On the 20th of May they found a true bill. The writers

favorable to Henry VIII. in this business—and they are few—have

acknowledged that these 'hideous charges' (to use the words of one of

them) were but fables invented at pleasure, and which 'overstepped all

ordinary bounds of credulity.'[321] Various explanations have been given

of the conduct of these juries; the most natural appears to be that they

accommodated themselves, according to the servile manner of the times,

to the king's despotic will, which was always to be feared, but more

especially in matters that concerned his own person.

The acts that followed were as prompt as they were cruel. Two days after

(on May 12) Norris, Weston, Brereton, and the musician were taken to

Westminster, and brought before a commission composed of the dukes of

Norfolk and Suffolk, Henry's two intimates, and other lords, and it is

even said that the earl of Wiltshire was present.[322] The three

gentlemen repelled the charge with unshakable firmness. 'I would endure

a thousand deaths,' said Norris, 'sooner than betray the innocent. I

declare, upon my honor, that the queen is innocent, and am ready to

support my testimony in arms against all the world.'[323] When this

language of Henry VIII.'s favorite was reported to that prince, he cried

out: 'Hang him up, then—hang him up!'[324] The wretched musician alone

confessed a crime which would give him a place in history. He did not

reap the reward promised to his infamy. Perhaps it was imagined that his

death would guarantee his silence, and that his punishment would

corroborate his defamations. The three gentlemen were condemned to be

beheaded, and the musician to be hanged.

[Sidenote: QUEEN ANNE'S TRIAL.]

Three days later (on May 15) the queen and her brother were taken before

their peers in the great hall of the Tower, to which the Lord Mayor and

a few aldermen and citizens alone were admitted. The duke of Norfolk had

received orders to assemble a certain number of peers to form a court:

they were twenty-six in all, and most of them enemies of Anne and of the

Reformation.[325] The earl of Wiltshire was not of the number, as

Sanders pretends.[326] The duke of Norfolk, the personal enemy of the

unfortunate queen, that uncle who hated her as much as he should have

loved her, had been appointed to select the judges and to preside over

the trial: a circumstance indicative of the spirit in which it was to be

conducted. Norfolk took his seat, having the lord-chancellor on his

right and the duke of Suffolk on his left, and in front of him sat as

deputy-marshal the earl of Surrey, Norfolk's son, an upright man, but a

proud and warm supporter of Romanism. The queen was announced: she was

received in deep silence. Before her went the governor of the Tower,

behind her came Lady Kingston and Lady Boleyn. Anne advanced with

dignity, adorned with the ensigns of royalty, and, after gracefully

saluting the court, took her seat in the chair accorded either to her

weakness or her rank. She had no defender; but the modesty of her

countenance, the dignity of her manner, the peace of her conscience,

which found expression in the serenity of her look, touched even her

enemies. She appeared before the tribunal of men, thinking only of the

tribunal of God; and, relying upon her innocence, she did not fear those

whom but yesterday she had ruled as a queen. One might have said from

the calmness and nobility of her deportment, so assured and so majestic,

that she was come, not to be tried as a criminal, but to receive the

honors due to sovereigns. She was as firm, says a contemporary, as an

oak that fears neither the hail nor the furious blasts of the wind.[327]

The court ordered the indictment to be read; it charged the queen with

adultery, incest, and conspiracy against the king's person. Anne held up

her hand and pleaded 'not guilty,' and then refuted and tore to tatters,

calmly yet forcibly, the accusations brought against her. Having an

'excellent quick wit,' and being a ready speaker, she did not utter a

word that did not strike home,[328] though full of moderation; but the

tone of her voice, the calmness of her features, and the dignity of her

countenance, pleaded more eloquently than her words. It was impossible

to look at her or to hear her, and not declare her innocent, says an

eye-witness.[329] Accordingly there was a report in the Tower, and even

in the city, that the queen had cleared herself by a most wise and noble

speech and that she would be acquitted.

While Anne was speaking, the duke of Northumberland, who had once loved

her and whom Henry had cruelly enrolled among the number of her judges,

betrayed by his uneasy movements the agitation of his bosom. Unable to

endure the frightful torment any longer, he rose, pretending

indisposition, and hastily left the hall before the fatal verdict was

pronounced.

The king waited impatiently for the moment when he could introduce Jane

Seymour into Anne Boleyn's empty apartments. Unanimity of votes was not

necessary in the House of Peers. In England, during the sixteenth

century, there was pride in the people, but servility (with few

exceptions) among the great. The axe that had severed the head of the

venerable bishop of Rochester and of the ex-chancellor More, had taught

a fearful lesson to all who might be disposed to resist the despotic

desires of the prince. The court feared to confront the queen with the

musician, the only witness against her, and declared her guilty without

other formality. The incomprehensible facility with which the nobility

were then accustomed to submit to the inflexible will of the monarch,

could leave no room for doubt as to the catastrophe by which this

tragedy would be terminated.[330]

[Sidenote: ANNE'S SENTENCE.]

The duke of Norfolk, as lord high-steward, pronounced sentence: that the

queen should be taken back to the Tower, and there on the green should

be burnt or beheaded, _according to his majesty's good pleasure_. The

court, desirous of leaving a little space for Henry's compassion, left

the mode of death to him: he might do the queen the favor of being only

decapitated.

Anne heard this infamous doom with calmness.[331] No change was observed

in her features: the consciousness of innocence upheld her heart.

Clasping her hand and raising her eyes to heaven, she cried out, 'O

Father, O Creator! Thou who art the way, the truth, and the life,

knowest that I have not deserved this death!'[332] Then, turning to her

cruel uncle and the other lords, she said: 'My lords, I do not say that

my opinion ought to be preferred to your judgment; but if you have

reasons to justify it, they must be other than those which have been

produced in court, for I am wholly innocent of all the matters of which

I have been accused, so that I cannot call upon God to pardon me. I have

always been faithful to the king my lord; but perhaps I have not always

shown to him such a perfect humility and reverence as his graciousness

and courtesy deserved, and the honor he hath done me required. I confess

that I have often had jealous fancies against him which I had not wisdom

or strength enough to repress. But God knows that I have not otherwise

trespassed against him. Do not think I say this in the hope of

prolonging my life, for He who saveth from death has taught me how to

die, and will strengthen my faith. Think not, however, that I am so

bewildered in mind that I do not care to vindicate my innocence. I knew

that it would avail me little to defend it at the last moment, if I had

not maintained it all my life long, as much as ever queen did. Still the

last words of my mouth shall justify my honor. As for my brother and the

other gentlemen who are unjustly condemned, I would willingly die to

save them; but as that is not the king's pleasure, I shall accompany

them in death. And then afterwards I shall live in eternal peace and joy

without end, where I will pray to God for the king—and for you, my

lords.'[333]

The wisdom and eloquence of this speech, aided by the queen's beauty and

the touching expression of her voice, moved even her enemies. But

Norfolk, determined upon carrying out his hateful task, ordered her to

lay aside her royal insignia. She did so, and commending herself to all

their prayers, returned to her prison.

Lord Rocheford now came forward and took his sister's place. He was calm

and firm, and answered every question point by point, with much

clearness and decision. But it was useless for him to affirm the queen's

innocence—useless to declare that he had always respected her as a

sister, as an 'honored lady:' he was condemned to be beheaded and

quartered.

The court then broke up, and while the courtiers, who had just sealed

with the blood of an innocent queen their servile submission to the most

formidable of despots, were returning to their amusements and base

flatteries, the Lord Mayor turned to a friend and said to him: 'I can

only observe one thing in this trial—the fixed resolution to get rid of

the queen at any price.' And that is the verdict of posterity.

[Sidenote: LORD ROCHEFORD BEHEADED.]

The wretches who had entered into this iniquitous plot were eager to

have it ended. On the 17th of May the gentlemen who were to be executed

were brought together into a hall of the Tower. They embraced, commended

each other to God, and prepared to depart.[334] The constable of the

Tower, fearing that they would speak upon the scaffold, reminded them

that the honor due to the king would not permit them to doubt the

justice of their sentence. When they reached the place of punishment,

Lord Rocheford, no longer able to keep silence, turned towards the

spectators and said: 'My friends, I am going to die, as such is his

majesty's pleasure. I do not complain of my death, for I have committed

many sins during my life, but _I have never injured the king_. May God

grant him a long and happy life!' Then, according to the chronicler, he

presented his head

Au dur tranchant qui d'un coup l'emporta.[335]

Norris, Weston, and Brereton were beheaded after him.

The king, before putting his wife to death, desired to perform an act

not less cruel: he was determined to annul his marriage with Anne,

notwithstanding Northumberland's denials. Did he wish to avoid the

reproach of causing his wife to perish by the hands of the executioner?

or, in a fit of anger, did he desire to strike the queen on all sides at

once? We cannot tell. Be that as it may, the king in his wrath did not

see that he was contradicting himself; that if there was no marriage

between him and Anne, there could be no adultery, and that the sentence,

based on this crime, was _ex facto_ null. Cranmer, the most unfortunate,

but perhaps not the least guilty of all the lords who lent themselves

servilely to the despotic wishes of the prince—Cranmer believed (as it

appears) that the position of the queen would thus become better; that

her life would be saved, if she could no longer be regarded as having

been Henry's wife. This excuses, although slightly, his great weakness.

He told the unhappy lady that he was commissioned to find the means of

declaring null and void the ties which united her to the king. Anne,

stunned by the sentence pronounced upon her, was also of opinion that it

was an expedient invented by some relics of Henry's regard, to rescue

her from the bitterness of death. Her heart opened to hope, and

imagining that she would only be sent into banishment, she formed a plan

of returning to the continent. 'I will go to Antwerp,' she said at

dinner, with an almost happy look.[336] She knew that she would meet

with protestants in that city, who would receive her with joy. But vain

hope! In the very letter wherein the governor of the Tower reports this

ingenuous remark of the queen, he asks for the king's orders as to the

construction of the scaffold.[337] Henry desired personally to order the

arrangement of those planks which he was about to stain with innocent

blood.

About nine o'clock in the forenoon of the 17th of May the

lord-chancellor, the duke of Suffolk, the earl of Essex (Cromwell), the

earl of Sussex, with several doctors and archdeacons entered the chapel

at Lambeth.[338] The archbishop having taken his seat, and the

objections made against the marriage of Henry VIII. and Anne Boleyn

having been read, the proctors of the king and of the queen admitted

them, and the primate declared the marriage to be null and void. The

queen was not present, as some historians have thought.

[Sidenote: DELIGHT OF THE POPE.]

On the very day of Anne Boleyn's divorce, Da Casale, the English envoy

at Rome, having heard of the queen's imprisonment, hurried to the

pontifical palace to inform Paul III. of the good news.[339] 'I have

never ceased praying to heaven for this favor,' said the pope with

delight, 'and I have always hoped for it. Now his majesty may accomplish

an admirable work for the good of Christendom. Let the king become

reconciled with Rome, and he will obtain from the king of France all

that he can wish for. Let us be friends. I will send him a nuncio for

that purpose. When the news of cardinal Fisher's death reached Rome,' he

continued, recollecting that terrible bull, 'it is true I found myself

driven to a measure somewhat severe ... but I never intended to follow

up my words by deeds.' Thus, according to the pope and his adherents,

the imprisonment of Anne Boleyn was to reconcile England and Rome. This

fact points to one of the causes which made Norfolk and other catholics

enter into the conspiracy against her.

On the same day also (17th of May), towards evening, the queen learnt

that the sentence would assuredly be carried out. Although it was

declared that she had never been the king's wife, the doom pronounced

upon her for adultery must nevertheless be accomplished. This is what

Henry VIII. called administering justice.

[Sidenote: ANNE ASKS MARY'S PARDON.]

Anne desired to take the Lord's Supper, and asked to be left alone.

About two hours after midnight the chaplain arrived; but, before

partaking of the holy rite, there was one thing she wished to do. One

fault weighed heavily on her heart. She felt that she had sinned against

queen Catherine by consenting to marry the king. Her conscience

reproached her with having injured the princess Mary. It filled her with

the deepest sorrow, and she was eager, before she died, to make

reparation to the daughter of the woman whose place she had taken. Anne

would have liked to see Mary, to fall a queen at her feet, and implore

her pardon; but alas! she could not: she was only to leave the prison

for the scaffold. Resolved, however, to confess her fault, she did so in

a striking manner, which showed all the sincerity of her repentance and

her firm determination to humble herself before Catherine's daughter.

She begged Lady Kingston, the wife of the constable of the Tower, who

had little regard for her, to take her seat in the chair of state. When

the latter objected, Anne compelled her, and kneeling before her, she

said, all the while crying bitterly: 'I charge you—as you would answer

before God—to go in my name to the princess Mary, to fall down before

her as I do now before you, and ask her forgiveness for all the wrongs I

have done her. Until that is done,' she added, 'my conscience will have

no rest.'[340] At the moment when she was about to appear before the

throne of God, she wished to make reparation for a fault that weighed

heavily upon her heart. 'In that,' she said, 'I wish to do what a

Christian ought.' This touching incident leads us to hope that if,

during life, Anne was simply an honest protestant, trusting too much to

her own works, the trial had borne fruit and had made her a true

Christian. But of this she was to give a still more striking proof.

As she rose from her knees, Anne felt more calm and prepared to receive

the sacrament. Before taking it, she once more declared her innocence of

the crime imputed to her. The governor was present, and he did not fail

to inform Cromwell of this declaration, made as it were in the presence

of God. Anne had found in Christ's death new strength to endure her own:

she sighed after the moment that would put an end to her sorrows.

Contrary to her expectation, she was told that the execution was put off

until the afternoon. 'Mr. Kingston,' she said, 'I hear that I am not to

die this afternoon, and I am very sorry for it; for I thought by this

time to be dead and past my pain.'—'Madam,' replied the governor, 'you

will feel no pain, the blow will be so sharp and swift.'—'Yes,' resumed

Anne, 'I have heard say that the headsman is very clever,' and then she

added: 'and I have but a little neck,' putting her hand about it and

smiling.[341] Kingston left the room.

Meanwhile the devout adherents of the Roman primacy were full of

exultation, and allowed the hopes to appear which Anne's death raised in

their bosoms. 'Sire,' they told the king, 'the tapers placed round the

tomb of queen Catherine suddenly burst into flame of their own

accord.'[342] They concluded, from this prodigy, that Roman-catholicism

was once more about to shed its light on England. The priests were eager

to chant their _Deo gratias_, and a report was circulated that this new

victory over the Reformation was going to be inaugurated by hanging a

group of heretics along with Anne.[343] Neither friends nor enemies drew

any real distinction between the cause of Anne and the cause of

protestantism; and many evangelical Christians, imagining that when Anne

was dead there would be no one to protect them any longer, prepared to

quit the kingdom.

Henry, however, keenly desiring to have if it were but one word from

Anne that would exculpate him, sent some one to her with a commission to

sound her, and to discover whether the hope of escaping death would not

induce her to satisfy him. Anne replied, and they were the last words

she addressed to the king: 'Commend me to his majesty, and tell him that

he has ever been constant in his career of advancing me. From a private

gentlewoman he made me a marchioness, from a marchioness a queen; and

now that he has no higher degree of honor left, he gives my innocence

the crown of martyrdom.'[344] The gentleman went and reported this noble

farewell to his master. Even the jailer bore testimony to the peace and

joy which filled Anne Boleyn's heart at this solemn moment. 'I have seen

men and also women executed,' wrote Kingston to Cromwell, 'and they have

been in great sorrow; but to my knowledge this lady has much joy and

pleasure in death.'[345]

[Sidenote: ANNE'S EXECUTION.]

Everything was arranged so that the murder should be perpetrated without

publicity and without disturbance. Kingston received orders to turn all

strangers out of the Tower, and readily obeyed. About eleven in the

forenoon of the 19th of May, the dukes of Suffolk and Richmond, the

lord-chancellor, Cromwell, the lord-mayor with the sheriffs and

aldermen, entered the Tower, and took their stations on the green, where

the instrument of punishment had been erected. The executioner, whom

Henry had summoned from Calais, was there with his axe and his

attendants. A cannon, mounted on the walls, was to announce both to king

and people that all was over. A little past noon Anne appeared, dressed

in a robe of black damask, and attended by four of her maids of honor.

She walked up to the block on which she was to lay her head. Her step

was firm, her looks calm; all indicated the most complete resignation.

She was then thirty years old, and 'never had she looked so beautiful

before,'[346] says a French contemporary, then in London. Her eyes

expressed a meek submission; a pleasing smile accompanied the look she

turned on the spectators of this tragic scene.[347] But just when the

executioners had made the last preparations, her emotion was so keen

that she nearly fainted. Gradually she recovered her strength, and her

faith in the Saviour filled her with courage and hope.

It is important to know what, in this last and solemn moment, were her

sentiments towards the king. She had desired that Mary should be asked

to forgive her wrongs: it was her duty, if she died a Christian, also to

pardon Henry's faults. She must obey her Saviour, who said: '_Love your

enemies, bless them that curse you_.' She had pardoned everything; but

it was her duty to declare it before she died, and if she was humble,

she would do so without affectation. Addressing those who had been her

subjects and were then standing round her, she said: 'Good Christian

people, I am not come here to justify myself; I leave my justification

entirely to Christ, in whom I put my trust. I will accuse no man, nor

speak anything of that whereof I am accused, as I know full well that

aught that I could say in my defence doth not appertain unto you, and

that I could draw no hope of life from the same. I come here only to

die, according as I have been condemned. I commend my judges to the

Lord's mercy. I pray God (and I beg you to do the same) to save the king

and send him long to reign over you, for a gentler or more merciful

prince there never was. To me he was ever a good, gentle, and sovereign

lord. And thus I take my leave of the world and of you, and I heartily

desire you all to pray for me. O Lord, have mercy upon me! To God I

commit my soul!'[348]

Such are the simple words in which Anne gave utterance to the feelings

of peace with which her heart was filled towards her husband, at the

moment when he was robbing her of life. Had she said that she forgave

him, she would have called up the memory of the king's crime, and would

thus have appeared to claim the merit of her generous pardon. She did

nothing of the sort. During one part of their wedded life, Henry had

been a 'good lord' to her. She desired to recall the good only, and

buried the evil in oblivion. She did so without any thought of self; for

she knew that before the gracious words could reach the king's ears, the

axe would have already fallen upon her, and it would be impossible for

Henry to arrest the fatal blow.

This Christian discourse could not fail to make a deep impression on all

who heard her. As they looked at the unfortunate queen, they felt the

tenderest compassion and the sharpest pain.[349] The firmer her heart

became, the weaker grew the spectators of the tragedy. Ere long they

were unable to check the tears which the sufferer had the strength to

restrain.[350] One of the ladies of the royal victim approached her to

cover her eyes; but Anne refused, saying that she was not afraid of

death, and gave her as a memorial of that hour, a little manuscript

prayer-book that she had brought with her.

The queen then removed her white collar and took off her hood, that the

action of the axe might not be impeded;[351] this head-dress formed a

queue and hung down behind. Then falling on her knees, she remained a

few moments silent and motionless, praying inwardly. On rising up, she

approached the fatal block, and laid her head on it: 'O Christ, into thy

hands I commit my soul!' she exclaimed. The headsman, disturbed by the

mild expression of her face, hesitated a few seconds, but his courage

returned. Anne cried out again: 'O Jesus, receive my soul!' At this

instant the axe of the executioner flashed in the air and her head fell.

A cry escaped from the lips of the spectators, 'as if they had received

the blow upon their own necks.'[352] This is honorable to Anne's

enemies, so that we may well believe the evidence. But immediately

another sound was heard: the gunner, placed as a signal-man on the wall,

had watched the different phases of the scene, holding a lighted match

in his hand; scarcely had the head fallen, when he fired the gun, and

the report, which was heard at a distance, bore to Henry the news of the

crime which gave him Jane Seymour.[353] The ladies of queen Anne, though

almost lifeless with terror, would not permit the noble remains of the

mistress, whom they had loved so much, to be touched by rude hands; they

gathered round the body, wrapped it in a white sheet, and carried it

(almost fainting as they were) to an old elm chest, which had been

brought out of the arsenal and had been used for storing arrows. This

rough box was the last home assigned to her who had inhabited costly

palaces: not so much as a coffin had been provided for her. The ladies

placed in it Anne's head and body; 'the eyes and lips were observed to

move,' says a document, as if her mouth was repeating the last words it

had uttered. She was immediately buried in the Tower chapel.[354]

Thus died Anne Boleyn. If the violent passions of a prince and the

meanness of his courtiers brought her to an untimely death, hatred and

credulity have killed her a second time. But an infamous calumny, forged

by dishonest individuals, ought to be sternly rejected by all sensible

men. Not in vain did Anne, at the hour of death, place her cause in the

hands of God, and we willingly believe that all enlightened men, without

prejudice or partiality, among Roman-catholics as among others, turn

with disgust from the vile falsehoods of malicious courtiers and the

deceitful fables of the papist Sanders and his followers.

[Sidenote: HENRY'S INHUMANITY.]

On the morning of this day, Henry VIII. had dressed himself in white, as

for a festival, and ordered a hunting-party. There was a great stir

round the palace; huntsmen hurrying to and fro, dogs baying, horns

sounding, nobles arriving. The troop was formed and they all set off for

Epping Forest, where the sport began. At noon the hunters met to repose

themselves under an oak which still bears the name of the _King's Oak_.

Henry had taken his seat beneath it, surrounded by his suite and the

dogs; he listened and seemed to be agitated. Suddenly a cannon shot

resounded through the forest—it was the concerted signal—the queen's

head had fallen. 'Ha, ha!' exclaimed the king, rising, 'the deed is

done! uncouple the hounds and away.'[355] Horns and trumpets were

sounded, and dogs and horses were soon in pursuit. The wretched prince,

led away by his passions, forgot that there is a God to whom he would

have to render an account not only of the execution in the Tower, but of

the chase in the forest; and by these cruel acts, which should have

shocked the hearts even of his courtiers, he branded himself with his

own hands as a great criminal. The king and his court returned to the

palace before nightfall.

At last Henry was free. He had desired Jane Seymour, and everything had

been invented—adultery, incest—to break the bonds that united him to the

queen. The proofs of Anne's crimes failing, the ferocious acts of the

king were to supply their place. Could those who witnessed the cruelty

of the husband venture to doubt the guilt of the wife? Henry had become

inhuman that he might not appear faithless. Now that the object was

obtained, it only remained to profit by his crime. His impatience to

gratify his passions made him brave all propriety. The mournful death of

his queen; the Christian words that she had uttered, kissing as it were

the cruel hand that struck her—nothing softened that man's heart, and

the very next day he married the youthful maid of honor. It would have

been difficult to say in a more striking manner: 'This is why Anne

Boleyn is no more!' When we see side by side the blood-stained block on

which Anne had received her death-blow, and the brilliant altar before

which Henry and Jane were united, we all understand the story.[356] The

prince, at once voluptuous and cruel, liked to combine the most contrary

objects in the same picture—crime and festivities, marriage and death,

sensuality and hatred. He showed himself the most magnificent and most

civilized monarch of Europe; but also the rival of those barbarous kings

of savage hordes who take delight in cutting off the heads of those who

have been their favorites and even the objects of their most passionate

love. We must employ different standards in judging of the same person,

when we regard him as a private and as a public individual. The Tudor

prince, so guilty as a husband, father, and friend, did much good as a

ruler for England. Louis XIV., as well as Henry VIII., had some of the

characteristics of a great king; and his moral life was certainly not

better than that of his prototype in England. He had as many, and even

more mistresses than the predecessor of the Stuarts had wives; but the

only advantage which the French monarch had over the English one, is

that he knew how to get rid of them without cutting off their heads.

The death of Anne Boleyn caused a great sensation in Europe, as that of

Fisher and More had done before it. Her innocence, which Henry (it is

said) acknowledged on his death-bed,[357] was denied by some and

maintained by others; but all men of principle expressed a feeling of

horror when they heard of her punishment. The protestant princes and

divines of Germany had not a doubt that this cruel act was the pledge of

reconciliation offered to the pope by Henry VIII., and renounced the

alliance they were on the point of concluding with England. 'At last I

am free from that journey,' said Melanchthon, whom Anne Boleyn's death,

added to that of Sir Thomas More, had rendered even less desirous of

approaching the prince who had struck them. 'The queen,' he continued,

'accused, rather than convicted, of adultery, has suffered the penalty

of death, and that catastrophe has wrought great changes in our

plans.'[358]

Somewhat later the protestants ascribed Anne's death especially to the

pope: 'That blow came from Rome,' they cried; 'in Rome all these tricks

and plots are contrived. Even Petrarch had long since called that city

Nido di tradimenti, in cui si cuova

Quanto mal per lo mondo hoggi si spande.'[359]

In this I suspect there is a mistake. The plots of the Roman court

against Elizabeth have caused it to be accused of similar designs

against the mother of the great protestant queen. The friends of that

court in England were probably no strangers to the crime, but the great

criminal was Henry.

[313] 'The saying was that he was grievously racked.'—_Archéologie_,

xxiii. p. 164.

[314] 'No man will confess anything against her.'—Kingston's _Letters_,

p. 458.

[315] Kingston's _Letters_, p. 458.

[316] 'The vain hope of this changeable world.'—_Histoire d'Anne de

Boleyn_, by Crespin, p. 140.

[317] 'Avecque Dieu lors plus se fortifie.'—_Ibid._ p. 190.

[318] 'Speaking like a mistress to these lords.'

[319] A copy of this letter was found among the papers of Cromwell, at

that time the king's chief minister. 'It is universally known,' says Sir

Henry Ellis, 'as one of the finest compositions in the English

language.'—_Original Letters_, ii. p. 53.

[320] Burnet, _Records_, book iii. No. 49. The original is in the Cotton

Library.

[321] Froude.

[322] Baga de Secretis, pouch 8.

[323] Meteren, _Histoire des Pays-Bas_.

[324] Godwin's _Annals_, p. 139.—Queen Elizabeth raised his son to the

peerage, and four of his grandsons were among the greatest of England's

captains during the reign of Anne Boleyn's daughter.

[325] Burnet, _Addenda_, vol. i.

[326] _Ibid._ Baga de Secretis, pouch 8.

[327]

'On vit la reine au jugement venir,

Qui ne se veut que de Dieu souvenir;

Ne faisant cas de chose qui la touche;

Mais plus se tient constante qu'une souche,

Qui ne craint grêle ou vent impétueux.'

_Histoire d'Anne Boleyn, royne d'Angleterre_, by Crespin, p. 200. The

last lines of this narrative are dated 2d of June, 1536, only seventeen

days after the queen's trial and sentence. It would appear that the

author, Crespin, lord of Milverne, was an eye-witness of the scene.

[328] 'Having an excellent quick wit and being a ready speaker, she

did so answer all objections.'—_Harleian MSS._

[329]

'Peu parlait, mais qui la regardait,

Coulpe de crime en elle n'attendait.'

_Histoire d'Anne Boleyn, royne d'Angleterre_, by Crespin, p. 201.

[330] The catholic historian, Lingard, makes this remark. Vol. iii.

ch. v.

[331] _Histoire d'Anne Boleyn, royne d'Angleterre_, by Crespin, p. 202.

[332] Meteren, _Histoire des Pays-Bas_, p. 21.

[333] Meteren, _Histoire des Pays-Bas_, p. 21.

[334] _Histoire d'Anne Boleyn, royne d'Angleterre_, by Crespin, pp. 196,

198, 199, 205.

[335] _Ibid._ pp. 205, 206.—To the sharp axe which severed it at a blow.

[336] 'This day at dinner the queen said that she should go to

Antwerp.'—Kingston, _Letters_, p. 460.

[337] 'I desire to know the king's pleasure for the preparation of the

scaffold.'—_Ibid._

[338] 'Inter horas ix et xi ante meridiem, in quodam basso

sacello.'—Wilkins, p. 803. It is an error of the copyist or of the

printer which makes Wilkins say that the act relates to Anne of Cleves

(Annam Clivensem).

[339] 'Ten days have elapsed since I went to the pope and narrated to

him the tidings.'—_Cotton MSS._ Vitellius, B. xiv. fol. 215, May 27th,

1536.

[340] Burnet, i. p. 185.

[341] Burnet, i. p. 185.

[342] Cotton MSS., Vitellius, B. xiv. p. 216; Turner, ii. p. 457.

[343] Cotton MSS., Vitellius, B. xiv. p. 216; Turner, ii. p. 457.

[344] 'Purposing to make her by martyrdom a saint in heaven.'—Strype,

p. 437.

[345] Kingston, _Letters_, p. 461.

[346] 'Oncque n'avoit été vue si belle.'

[347] _Histoire d'Anne Boleyn, royne d'Angleterre_, by Crespin.

[348] Anne Boleyn's last words are given by Hall, p. 819; Burnet, i.

p. 373; Turner, ii. p. 455; Wyatt, p. 214. See also the _Memorial_ of

Constantine who was present (_Archeologia_, vol. xxiii.), and the letter

of a Portuguese gentleman quoted by Lingard, vol. iii. ch. v.

[349] _Histoire d'Anne Boleyn, royne d'Angleterre_, by Crespin.

[350] _Ibid._

[351] _Histoire d'Anne Boleyn, royne d'Angleterre_, by Crespin.

[352] Wyatt, p. 449.

[353] _Histoire d'Anne Boleyn, royne d'Angleterre._

[354] _Histoire d'Anne Boleyn, royne d'Angleterre._ Spelman, Hall,

Burnet.

[355] Anderson, _Annals of the English Bible_, i. p. 476; Tytler, _Life

of King Henry VIII._, p. 383; Nott, &c.

[356] Hume, who is certainly an impartial judge, has described these

things with justice, and better than the most recent historians. See his

_History of England_, House of Tudor, ch. viii.; and also Burnet,

Turner, &c.

[357] Thevet: _Cosmographie Universelle_, p. 656. This author was a

contemporary Franciscan monk, and consequently an impartial witness.

Meteren, _Histoire des Pays-Bas_, p. 21; Burnet, iii. p. 120; Turner,

ii. p. 459.

[358] 'Posterior regina, magis accusata quam convicta adulterii, ultimo

supplicio affecta est; magna conciliorum mutatio secuta est.'—_Corpus

Reformatorum_, iii. p. 89.

[359] _Memoir of Anne Boleyn_, by G. Wyatt, p. 445.

CHAPTER XI.

REFORMING MOVEMENT AFTER ANNE'S DEATH; CATHOLIC

AND SCHOLASTIC REACTION.

(SUMMER, 1536.)

[Sidenote: POSITION OF THE TWO PARTIES.]

After queen Anne's death the two parties were agitated in opposite

directions. The friends of the Reformation wished to show that the

disgrace of that princess did not carry with it the disgrace of the

cause they had at heart, and consequently believed that they ought to

accelerate the Reform movement. The friends of Rome and its doctrines,

imagining, on their part, that the queen's death had put their affairs

in good train, thought they had but to redouble their activity to gain a

complete victory. The latter seemed indeed to have some reasons for

encouragement. If Catherine's death had reconciled Henry VIII. and the

emperor just when the latter was threatening England with invasion, the

death of Anne Boleyn appeared as if it would reconcile the king with

Paul III., who was ready to issue his terrible bull. Henry's wives

played a great part in his private history, but they had also a certain

importance in his relations with the powers of Europe, especially with

the pope. As soon as the pontiff had seen Charles V. and Francis I.

preparing for war, he had instructed his _son_ to hint to Da Casale,

that the court of Rome was very desirous of reviving the ancient

friendship which had united it to England.[360] These desires increased

rapidly.

On the 20th of May, when the news of the queen's prosecution arrived in

Rome, both pope and cardinals were transported with joy. The frightful

calumnies of which that princess was the victim, served the cause of the

papacy too well not to be accepted as truths, and all felt persuaded

that, if Anne fell from the throne, the acts done at London against the

Italian primacy would fall with her. When Da Casale informed the pope

that the queen had been sent to prison, Paul exclaimed with delight: 'I

always thought, when I saw Henry endowed with _so many virtues_, that

heaven would not forsake him. If he is willing to unite with me,' he

added, 'I shall have authority enough to enjoin the emperor and the king

of France to make peace; and the king of England, reconciled with the

Church, will command the powers of Europe.' At the same time Paul III.

confessed that he had made a mistake in raising Fisher to the

cardinalate, and wound up this pontifical effusion in the kindest of

terms. Da Casale, much delighted on his part, asked whether he was to

repeat these matters to the king. 'Tell him,' answered the pope, 'that

his majesty may, without hesitation, expect everything from me.'[361] Da

Casale, therefore, made his report to London, and intimated that, if

Henry made the least sign of reconciliation, the pope would immediately

send him a nuncio. Thus Paul left not a stone unturned to win over the

king of England. He extolled his virtues, promised him the foremost

place in Europe, flattered his vanity as an author, and did not fear—he

the infallible one—to acknowledge that he had made a mistake. Everybody

at the court of Rome felt convinced that England was about to return to

the bosom of the Church; cardinal Campeggi even sent his brother to

London to resume possession of the bishopric of Salisbury, of which he

had been deprived in 1534.[362] Up to the end of June, the pope and the

cardinals became kinder and more respectful to the English, and

entertained the most flattering expectations regarding the return of

England.

[Sidenote: THE TWO HENRYS.]

Would these expectations be realized? Henry VIII. was not one man, but

two: his domestic passions and his public acts formed two departments

entirely distinct. Guided as an individual by passion, he was, as a

king, sometimes led by just views. He believed that neither pope nor

foreign monarch had a right to exercise the smallest jurisdiction in

England. He was therefore decided—and this saved Great Britain—to

maintain the rupture with Rome. One circumstance might have taught him

that in all respects it was the best thing he could do.

Rome has two modes of bringing back princes under her yoke—flattery and

abuse. The pope had adopted the first: a person, at that time without

influence, Reginald Pole, an Englishman, and also a relative and

_protégé_ of Henry's, undertook the second. In 1535 he was in the north

of Italy; burning with love for the papacy and hatred for the king, his

benefactor, he wrote _ab irato_ a defence of the unity of the Church,

addressed to Henry VIII., and overflowing with violence. The wise and

pious Contarini, to whom he showed it, begged him to soften a tone that

might cause much harm. As Pole refused, Contarini entreated him at least

to submit his manuscript to the pope; but the young Englishman, fearing

that Paul would require him to suppress the untoward publication,

declined acceding to his friend's request. His object was, not to

convert the king, but to stir up the English against their lawful

prince, and induce them to fall prostrate again before the Roman

pontiff. The treatise, finished in the winter of 1536, before Anne's

trial, reached London the first week in June. Tonstall, bishop of

Durham, and Pole's friend, read the book, which contained a few truths

mixed up with great errors, and then communicated it to the king. Never

did haughty monarch receive so rude a lesson.

[Sidenote: POLE'S APPEAL TO THE KING.]

'Shall I write to you, O prince,' said the young Englishman, 'or shall I

not? Observing in you the certain symptoms of the most dangerous malady,

and assured as I am that I possess the remedies suitable to cure you,

how can I refrain from pronouncing the word which alone can preserve

your life? I love you, sire, as son never loved his father, and God

perhaps will make my voice to be like that of his own Son, _whose voice

even the dead hear_. O prince, you are dealing the most deadly blow

against the Church that it can possibly receive, you rob it of the chief

whom it possesses upon earth. Why should a king, who is the supreme head

of the State, occupy a similar place in the Church? If we may trust the

arguments of your doctors, we must conclude that Nero was the head of

the Church.[363] We should laugh, if the laughter were not to be

followed by tears. There is as great a distance between the

ecclesiastical and the civil power, as there is between heaven and

earth. There are three estates in human society: first, the people; then

the king, who is the son of the people; and lastly, the priest, who

being the _spouse of the people_ is consequently the _father of the

king_.[364] But you, in imitation of the pride of Lucifer, set yourself

above the vicar of Jesus Christ.

'What! you have rent the Church, as it was never before rent in that

island, you have plundered and cruelly tormented it, and you claim, in

virtue of such merits, to be called its supreme head. There are two

Churches: if you are at the head of one, it is not the Church of Christ;

if you are, it is like Satan, who is the prince of the world, which he

oppresses under his tyranny.... You reign, but after the fashion of the

Turks. A simple nod of your head has more power than ancient laws and

rights. Sword in hand you decide religious controversies. Is not that

thoroughly Turkish and barbarian?[365]

'O England! if you have not forgotten your ancient liberty, what

indignation ought to possess you, when you see your king plunder,

condemn, murder, squander all your wealth, and leave you nothing but

tears. Beware, for if you let your grievances be heard, you will be

afflicted with still deeper wounds. O my country! it is in your power to

change your great sorrow into greater joy. Neither Nero nor Domitian,

nor—I dare affirm—Luther himself, if he had been king of England,[366]

would have wished to avenge himself by putting to death such men as

Fisher and Sir Thomas More!

'What king has ever given more numerous signs of respect to the supreme

pontiff than that Francis I. who spoke of you, O Henry, in words

received with applause by the whole Christian world: "your friend,—till

the altar," _Amicus—usque ad aras_.—The emperor Charles has just subdued

the pirates; but is there any pirate that is worse than you? Have you

not plundered the wealth of the Church, thrown the bodies of the saints

into prison, and reduced men's souls to slavery? If I heard that the

emperor with all his fleet was sailing for Constantinople, I would fall

at his feet, and say—were it even in the straits of the Hellespont—"O

emperor, what are you thinking of? Do you not see that a much greater

danger than the Turks threatens the Christian republic? Change your

route. What would be the use of expelling the Turks from Europe, when

new Turks are hatched among us?" Certainly the English for slighter

causes have forced their kings to put off their crowns.'[367]

After the apostrophe addressed to Charles V., Reginald Pole returns to

Henry VIII., and imagining himself to be the prophet Elijah before king

Ahab, he says with great boldness: 'O king, the Lord hath commanded me

to curse you; but if you will patiently listen to me, he will return you

good for evil. Why delay to confess your sin? Do not say that you have

done everything according to the rules of Holy Scripture. Does not the

Church, which gives it authority, know what is to be received and what

rejected? You have forsaken the fountain of wisdom. Return to the

Church, O prince! and all that you have lost you shall regain with more

splendor and glory.

'But if anyone hears the sound of the trumpet and does not heed it, the

sword is drawn from the scabbard, the guilty is smitten, and his blood

is upon his own head.'

[Sidenote: ITS EFFECT ON HENRY.]

We have hardly given the flower of this long tirade, written in the

style of the 16th century, which, divided into four books, fills one

hundred and ninety-two folio pages. It reached England at the moment of

the condemnation of the innocent Anne, which Pole unconsciously

protested against as unjust, more unjust even than the sentences of

Fisher and More. Henry did not at first read his 'pupil's' philippic

through. He saw enough, however, to regard it as an insult, a divorce

which Italy had sent him. He ordered Pole to return to England; but the

latter remembered too well the fate of Fisher and Sir Thomas More to run

the risk. Bishop Tonstall, one of the enemies of the Reformation, wrote,

however, to Pole, that as Christ was the head of the Church, to separate

it from the pope was not to separate from its head. This refutation was

short but complete.

The king was resolved to maintain his independence of the pope. Some

have ascribed this determination to Pole's treatise, and others to the

influence of Jane Seymour. Both these circumstances may have had some

weight in Henry's mind; but the great cause, we repeat, is that he would

not suffer any master but himself in England. Gardiner replied to Pole

in a treatise which he entitled: _On True Obedience_,[368] to which

Bonner wrote the preface.

Paul III. was not the only one who descried the signal of triumph in

Anne's death: the princess Mary believed that she would now become

heiress-presumptive to the crown. Lady Kingston, having discharged Anne

Boleyn's Christian commission, Catherine's daughter, but slightly

affected by this touching conduct, took advantage of it for her own

interest, and charged that lady with a letter addressed to Cromwell, in

which she begged him to intercede for her with the king, so that the

rank which belonged to her should be restored. Henry consented to

receive his daughter into favor, but not without conditions: 'Madam,'

said Norfolk, who had been sent to her by the king, 'here are the

articles which require your signature.'

The daughter of the proud Catherine of Aragon was to acknowledge four

points: the supremacy of the king, the imposture of the pope, the incest

of her own mother, and her own illegitimacy. She refused, but as Norfolk

was not to be shaken, she signed the two first articles;[369] then

laying down the pen, she exclaimed: 'As for my own shame and my

mother's—never!' Cromwell threatened her, called her obstinate and

unnatural, and told her that her father would abandon her: the unhappy

princess signed everything. She was restored to favor, and from that

time received yearly three thousand pounds sterling; but she was

deceived in thinking that the misfortune of her little sister Elizabeth

would replace her on the steps of the throne.

[Sidenote: THANKS OF PARLIAMENT.]

Parliament met on the 8th of June, when the chancellor announced to them

that the king, notwithstanding his mishaps in matrimony, _had yielded to

the humble solicitations of the nobility_, and formed a new union. The

two houses ratified the accomplished facts. No man desired to stir the

ashes from which sparks might issue and kindle a great conflagration. At

no price would they compromise the most exalted persons in the kingdom,

and especially the king. All the allegations, even the most absurd, were

admitted: Parliament wanted to have done with the matter. It even went

further: the king was thanked for the _most excellent goodness_ which

had induced him to marry a lady whose brilliant youth, remarkable

beauty, and purity of blood were the sure pledges of the happy issue

which a marriage with her could not fail to produce; and his most

respectful subjects determined to bury the faults of their prince under

flowers, compared him for beauty to Absalom, for strength to Samson, and

for wisdom to Solomon. Parliament added, that as the daughters of

Catherine and Anne were both illegitimate, the succession had devolved

upon the children of Jane Seymour. As, however, it was possible that she

might not have any issue, parliament granted him the privilege of naming

his successor in his will: an enormous prerogative, conferred upon the

most capricious of monarchs. Those who refused to take the oath required

by the statute were to be declared guilty of high treason.

Parliament having thus arranged the king's business, set about the

business of the country. 'My lords,' said ministers on the 4th of July

to the upper house, 'the bishop of Rome, whom some persons call _pope_,

wishing to have the means of satisfying his love of luxury and tyranny,

has obscured the Word of God, excluded Jesus Christ from the soul,

banished princes from their kingdoms, monopolized the mind, body, and

goods of all Christians, and, in particular, extorted great sums of

money from England by his dreams and superstitions.' Parliament decided

that the penalties of _præmunire_ should be inflicted on everybody who

recognized the authority of the Roman pontiff, and that every student,

ecclesiastic, and civil functionary should be bound to renounce the pope

in an oath made in the name of God and all his saints.[370]

This bill was the cause of great joy in England; the protestant spirit

was stirred; there was a great outburst of sarcasms, and one could see

that the citizens of the capital naturally were not friends to the

papacy. Man is inclined to laugh at what he has respected when he finds

that he has been deceived, and then readily classes among human follies

what he had once taken for the wisdom of Heaven. A contest of epigrams

was begun in London, similar to that which had so often taken place at

Rome between Pasquin and Marforio: perhaps, however, the jokes were

occasionally a little heavy. 'Do you see the stole round the priest's

neck?' said one wit; 'it is nothing else but the bishop of Rome's

rope.'[371]—'Matins, masses, and evensong are nothing but a roaring,

howling, whistling, murmuring, tomring, and juggling.'[372]—'It is as

lawful to christen a child in a tub of water at home or in a ditch by

the way, as in a font-stone in the church.'—Gradually this jesting

spirit made its way to the lower classes of society.—'Holy water is very

useful,' said one who haunted the London taverns; 'for as it is already

salted, you have only to put an onion in it to make sauce for a gibbet

of mutton.'—'What is that you say,' replied some blacksmith, 'it is a

very good medicine for a horse with a galled back.'[373] But while

frivolity and a desire to show one's wit, however coarse it might be,

gave birth to silly jests merely provocative of laughter, the love of

truth inspired the evangelical Christians with serious words which

irritated the priests more than the raillery of the jesters. 'The

Church,' they said, 'is not the clergy, the Church is the congregation

of good men only. All ceremonies accustomed in the Church and not

clearly expressed in Scripture ought to be done away. When the sinner is

converted, all the sins over which he sheds tears are remitted freely by

the Father who is in heaven.'[374]

After the words of the profane and of the pious came the words of the

priests. A convocation of the clergy was summoned to meet at St. Paul's.

The bishops came and took their places, and anyone might count the votes

which Rome and the Reformation had on the episcopal bench. For the

latter there were: archbishop Cranmer; Goodrich, bishop of Ely; Shaxton,

bishop of Salisbury; Fox, bishop of Hereford; Latimer, bishop of

Worcester; Hilsey, bishop of Rochester; Barlow, bishop of St. David's;

Warton, bishop of St. Asaph; and Sampson, bishop of Chichester—nine

votes in all. For Rome there were: Lee, archbishop of York; Stokesley,

bishop of London; Tonstall, bishop of Durham; Longland, bishop of

Lincoln; Vesey, bishop of Exeter; Clerk, bishop of Bath; Lee, bishop of

Lichfield; Salcot, bishop of Bangor; and Rugge, bishop of Norwich—nine

against nine. If Gardiner had not been in France there would have been a

majority against the Reformation. Forty priors and mitred abbots,

members of the upper house, seemed to assure victory to the partisan of

tradition. The clergy, who assembled under their respective banners,

were divided not by shades but by glaring colors, and people asked, as

they looked on this chequered group, which of the colors would carry the

day. Cranmer had taken precautions that they should not leave the church

without being enlightened on that point.

[Sidenote: LATIMER'S SERMON.]

The bishop of London having sung the mass of the Holy Ghost, Latimer,

who had been selected by the primate to edify the assembly, went up into

the pulpit. Being a man of bold and independent character, and

penetrating, practical mind, which could discover and point out every

subterfuge, he wanted a Reform more complete even than Cranmer desired.

He took for his text the parable of the unjust steward.[375] 'Dear

brethren,' he said, 'you have come here to-day to hear of great and

weighty matters. Ye look, I am assured, to hear of me such things as

shall be meet for this assembly.' Then having introduced his subject,

Latimer continued: 'A faithful steward coineth no new money, but taketh

it ready coined of the good man of the house. Now, what crowds of our

bishops, abbots, prelates, and curates, despising the money of the Lord

as copper and not current, teach that now redemption purchased by money

and devised by men is of efficacy, and not redemption purchased by

Christ.'

The whole of Latimer's sermon was in this strain. He did not stop here;

in the afternoon he preached again. 'You know the proverb,' he said—'"An

evil crow, an evil egg."[376] The devil has begotten the world, and the

world in its turn has many children. There is my Lady Pride, Dame

Gluttony, Mistress Avarice, Lady Lechery, and others, that now hard and

scant ye may find any corner, any kind of life, where many of his

children be not. In court, in cowls, in cloisters, yea, where shall ye

not find them? Howbeit, they that be secular are not children of the

world, nor they that are called spiritual, of the clergy. No, no; as ye

find among the laity many children of light, so among the clergy ye

shall find many children of the world. They do execrate and detest the

world (being nevertheless their father) in words and outward signs; but

in heart and works they coll and kiss him.[377] They show themselves to

be as sober as Curius the Roman was,[378] and live every day as if all

their life were a shroving time (a carnival). I see many such among the

bishops, abbots, priors, archdeacons, deans, and others of that sort,

who are met together in this convocation, to take into consideration all

that concerns the glory of Christ and the wealth of the people of

England. The world has sent us some of its whelps.[379] What have you

been doing these seven years and more? Show us what the English have

gained by your long and great assemblies. Have they become even a hair's

breadth better? In God's name, what have you done?—so great fathers, so

many, so long a season, so oft assembled together—what have you done?

Two things: the one, that you have burnt a dead man (William Tracy); the

other, that ye went about to burn one being alive.[380] Ye have oft sat

in consultation, but what have ye done? Ye have had many things in

deliberation, but what one is put forth whereby either Christ is more

glorified, or else Christ's people made more holy? I appeal to your own

conscience.'

Here Latimer began, as Luther had done in his _Appeal to the German

Nobility_, to pass in review the abuses and errors of the clergy—the

Court of Arches, the episcopal consistories, saints' days, images, vows,

pilgrimages, certain vigils which he called 'bacchanalia,' marriage,

baptism, the mass, and relics.

After this severe catalogue, the bishop exclaimed: 'Let us go home even

as good as we came hither, right-begotten children of the world. Let us

beat our fellows, let us eat and drink with drunkards. But God will

come, God will come, yea and he will not tarry. He will come upon such a

day as we nothing look for him. He will come and cut us in pieces, and

let be the end of our tragedy.[381] These be the delicate dishes

prepared for the world's well-beloved children. These be the wafers and

junkets provided for worldly prelates—wailing and gnashing of teeth.

'If you will not die eternally, live not worldly. Preach truly the Word

of God. Feed ye tenderly the flock of Christ. Love the light. Walk in

the light, and so be the children of light while you are in the world,

that you may shine in the world to come bright as the sun, with the

Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.'

An action full of simplicity and warmth had accompanied the firm and

courageous words of the Reformer. The reverend members of convocation

had found their man, and his sermon appeared to them bitterer than

wormwood. They dared not, however, show their anger, for behind Latimer

was Cranmer, and they feared lest they should find the king behind

Cranmer.

Ere long the clergy received another mortification which they dared not

complain of. A rumor got abroad that Cromwell would be the

representative of Henry VIII. in the assembly. 'What!' they cried out,

'a layman, a man who has never taken a degree in any university!' But

what was the astonishment of the prelates, when they saw not Cromwell

enter, but his secretary, Dr. Petre, one of the convent visitors, whom

the primate seated by his side—a delegate of a delegate! On the 21st of

June, Cromwell came down, and took his seat above all the prelates. The

lay element took, with a bold step, a position from which it had been so

long banished.

[Sidenote: THE MALA DOGMATA DENOUNCED.]

It was to be expected that the champions of the middle ages would not

submit to such affronts, and particularly to such a terrible fire as

Latimer's, without unmasking their batteries in return, and striving to

dismantle those of the enemy. They saw that they could not maintain the

supremacy of the pope and attack that of the king; but they knew that

Henry adhered to transubstantiation and other superstitious doctrines of

the dark ages; and accordingly they determined to attack by this breach,

not only Latimer, but all the supporters of the Reformation.

Roman-catholicism did not intend to perish without a struggle; it

resolved—in order that it might hold its ground in England—to make a

vigorous onslaught. The lower house having chosen for its prolocutor one

Richard Gwent, archdeacon of bishop Stokesley and a zealous

ultramontanist, the cabal set to work, and the words of Wycliff, of the

Lollards, of the Reformers, and even of the jesting citizens having been

carefully recorded, Gwent proposed that the lower house should lay

before the upper house sixty-seven evil doctrines (_mala dogmata_).

Nothing was forgotten, not even _the horse with the galled back_. To no

purpose were they reminded that what was blamable in this catalogue were

only 'the indiscreet expressions of illiterate persons;' and that the

rudeness of their imagination alone had caused them to utter these

pointed sarcasms. In vain were they reminded that, even in horse races,

the riders to be sure of reaching their goal pass beyond it. The

enumeration of the _mala dogmata_ was carried, without omitting a single

article.

On the 23d of June, the prolocutor appeared with his long list before

the upper house of convocation. 'There are certain errors,' he said,

'which cause disturbance in the kingdom,' and then he read the

sixty-seven _mala dogmata_. 'They affirm,' he continued, 'that no

doctrine must be believed unless it be proved by Holy Scripture; that

Christ, having shed his blood, has fully redeemed us, so that now we

have only to say, O God, I entreat Thy Majesty to blot out my

iniquity.[382] They say that the sacrifice of the mass is nothing but a

piece of bread; that auricular confession was invented by the priests to

learn the secrets of the heart, and to put money in their purse; that

purgatory is a cheat; that what is usually called the Church is merely

the old synagogue, and that the true Church is the assembly of the just;

that prayer is just as effectual in the open air as in a temple; that

priests may marry. And these heresies are not only preached, but are

printed in books stamped _cum privilegio_, with privilege, and the

ignorant imagine that those words indicate the king's approbation.'[383]

The two armies stood face to face, and the scholastic party had no

sooner read their lengthy manifesto than the combat began. 'Oh, what

tugging was here between these opposite sides,' says honest Fuller.[384]

They separated without coming to any decision. Men began to discuss

which side they should take: 'Neither one nor the other,' said those who

fancied themselves the cleverest. 'When two stout and sturdy travellers

meet together and both desire the way, yet neither is willing to fight

for it, in their passage they so shove and shoulder one another, that

they divide the way between them, and yet neither gets the same.[385]

The two parties in convocation ought to do the same: there ought to be

neither conquerors nor conquered.' Thus the Church, _the pillar of

truth_, was required to admit both black and white—to say Yes and No. 'A

medley religion,' exclaims an historian; 'to salve (if not the

consciences) at least the credits of both sides.'[386]

[Sidenote: ALESIUS IN CONVOCATION.]

Cranmer and Cromwell determined to use the opportunity to make the

balance incline to the evangelical side. They went down to convocation.

While passing along the street Cromwell noticed a stranger—one Alesius,

a Scotchman, who had been compelled to seek refuge in Germany for having

professed the pure Gospel, and there he had formed a close intimacy with

Melanchthon. Cranmer, as well as Cromwell, desirous of having such an

evangelical man in England—one who was in perfect harmony with the

Protestants of Germany, and whose native tongue was English—had invited

him over to London.[387] Melanchthon had given him a letter for the

king, along with which he sent a copy of his commentary on the Epistle

to the Romans. Henry was so charmed with the Scotchman, that he gave him

the title of 'King's Scholar.' Alesius was living at the archbishop's

palace in Lambeth. Cromwell, observing him so seasonably, called him and

invited him to accompany them to Westminster. He thought that a man of

such power might be useful to him; and it is even possible that the

meeting had been prearranged. Together the Englishman and the Scotchman

entered the chamber in which the bishops were sitting round a table,

with a number of priests standing behind them. When the vicar-general

and Alesius, who was unknown to most of them, appeared, they all rose

and bowed to the king's representative. Cromwell returned the

salutation, and, after seating the exile in the highest place opposite

the two archbishops, he addressed them as follows: 'His majesty will not

rest until, in harmony with convocation and parliament, he has put an

end to the controversies which have taken place, not only in this

kingdom but in every country. Discuss these questions, therefore, with

charity, without brawling or scolding, and decide all things by the Word

of God.[388] Establish the divine and perfect truth as it is found in

Scripture.'

[Sidenote: GOD'S WORD THE SOURCE OF LIFE.]

Cromwell wanted the submission of _all_ to the divine revelations: the

traditional party answered him by putting forward human doctrines and

human authorities. Stokesley, bishop of London, endeavored to prove, by

certain glosses and passages, that there were seven sacraments: the

archbishop of York and others supported him by their sophistry and their

shouts. 'Such disputes about words, and such cries,' said Cranmer, 'are

unbecoming serious men. Let us seek Christ's glory, the peace of the

Church, and the means by which sins are forgiven. Let us inquire how we

may bring consolation to uneasy souls; how we may give the assurance of

God's love to consciences troubled by the remembrance of their sins. Let

us acknowledge that it is not the outward use of the sacraments that

justifies a man, and that our justification proceeds solely from faith

in the Saviour.'[389] The prelate spoke admirably and in accordance with

Scripture: it was necessary to back up this noble confession. Cromwell,

who kept his Scotchman in reserve, now introduced him to the clergy, as

the 'king's scholar,' and asked him what he thought of the discussion.

Alesius, speaking in the assembly of bishops, showed that there were

only _two_ sacraments—Baptism and the Lord's Supper, and that no

ceremony ought to be put in the same rank with them. The bishop of

London chafed with anger in his seat. Shall a mere Scotchman, driven

from his country and entertained by German protestants, presume to teach

the prelates of England? He shouted out indignantly, 'All that is

false!' Alesius declared himself ready to prove what he had said out of

Scripture and the old fathers. Then Fox, bishop of Hereford, who had

just returned from Wittemberg, whither he had been sent by the king, and

where he had been enlightened by conversing with Luther and Melanchthon,

rose up and uttered these noble sentiments: 'Christ hath so lightened

the world at this time,' he said, 'that the light of the Gospel hath put

to flight all misty darkness; and the world will no longer endure to be

led astray by all that fantastic rubbish with which the priests formerly

filled their imaginations and their sermons.' This was pointed at bishop

Stokesley and his friends: 'It is vain to resist the Lord; his hand

drives away the clouds. The laity know the Holy Scriptures now better

than many of us.[390] The Germans have made the text of the Bible so

easy, by the Hebrew and Greek tongue, that even women and children

wonder at the blindness and falsehood that hath been hitherto. Consider

that you make not yourselves to be laughed to scorn of all the world. If

you resist the voice of God, you will give cause for belief that there

is not one spark of learning or godliness in you. All things consist not

in painted eloquence and strength of authority. For truth is of so great

power, strength, and efficacy, that it can neither be defended with

words nor be overcome with any strength; but after she hath hidden

herself long, at length she pusheth up her head and appeareth.' Such was

the eloquent and Christian language with which even bishops endeavored

to bring about the triumph of that English Reformation which some have

been pleased to represent as 'the product of an amorous caprice.'[391]

Moved by such Christian remarks, Alesius exclaimed, 'Yes, it is the Word

of God that bringeth life; the Word of God is the very substance and

body of the Sacrament. It makes us certain and sure of the will of God

to save our souls: the outward ceremony is but a token of that lively

inflammation which we receive through faith in the Word and promise of

the Lord.' At these words the bishop of London could not contain

himself. 'The Word of God,' he cried; 'Yes, granted! But you are far

deceived if you think there is no _other_ Word of God but that which

every souter and cobbler may read in his mother-tongue.' Stokesley

believed in another Word of God besides the Bible; he thought, as the

council of Trent did a little later, 'That we must receive _with similar

respect and equal piety the Holy Scriptures and_ TRADITION.'[392] As it

was noon, Cromwell broke up the meeting.

The debate had been sharp. The sacerdotal, sacramental, ritualist party

had been beaten; the evangelicals desired to secure their victory.

Alesius, after his return to Lambeth, began to compose a treatise;

Stokesley, on the other hand, prepared to get up a conspiracy against

Alesius. Next day the bishops, who arrived first at Westminster, entered

into conversation about the last sitting, and were very indignant that a

stranger, a Scotchman, should have been allowed to sit and speak among

them. Stokesley called upon Cranmer to resist such an irregularity. The

archbishop, who was always rather weak, consented, and Cromwell entering

shortly after with his protégé, an archdeacon went up to the latter and

told him that his presence was disagreeable to the bishops. 'It is

better to give way,' said Cromwell to Alesius; 'I do not want to expose

you to the hatred of the prelates. When once they take a dislike to a

man, they never rest until they have got him out of the way. They have

already put to death many Christians for whom the king felt great

esteem.' Alesius withdrew and the debate opened. 'Are there seven

sacraments or only two?' was the question. It was impossible to come to

an understanding.

Convocation, an old clerical body, in which were assembled the most

resolute partisans of the abuses, superstitions, and doctrines of the

middle ages, was the real stronghold of Rome in England. To undertake to

introduce the light and life of the Gospel into it was a rash and

impracticable enterprise. The divine Head of the Church himself has

declared that '_no man putteth new cloth to an old garment, neither do

men put new wine into old bottles_.' There was but one thing to be done.

Suppress the assembly and form a new one, composed of members and

ministers of the Church, who acknowledge no other foundation, no other

rule, than the Word of God. '_New wine must be put into new bottles._'

Such a step as this would have helped powerfully to reform the Church of

England really and completely. But it was not taken.

[360] 'Pristina rediret amicitia.'—Da Casale to Cromwell. _State

Papers_, vii. p. 643.

[361] 'Proculdubio vestra Majestas omnia de ipso sibi polliceri possit.'

This letter of the 27th of May, which is among the Cotton MSS.

(Vitellius, B. xiv.), has suffered by fire, but is given almost entire

by Turner in a note to the second volume of his History, pp. 483-5.

[362] Letter from Campeggi to the duke of Suffolk, dated 5th of June,

1536.—_State Papers_, vii. p. 657.

[363] 'Quid aliud quam Neronem fuisse caput ecclesiæ.'—R. Poli, _Pro

Ecclesiasticæ Unitatis defensione_. Libri quatuor, 1555, without place,

fol. 7, _verso_.

[364] 'Sacerdos ergo tanquam vir populi erga regem patris personam

gerit.'—_Ibid._ fol. 17, _verso_ 18-20.

[365] 'Atque hoc Turcicum plane et barbarum.'—R. Polus, fol. 71,

_verso_. Pole forgot that this reasoning applied still better to the

popes than to Henry VIII.

[366] 'Audeo autem jurare ne Lutherum quidem ipsum, si rex Angliæ

fuisset, &c.'—R. Polus, fol. 75.

[367] 'Corona se et sceptro abdicare coegerunt.'—_Ibid._ fol. 79,

_verso_.

[368] _De Vera Obedientia._

[369] _State Papers_, i. p. 459.

[370] 'So help me God, all saints, and the Holy Evangelist.'—Collyers,

ii. p. 119.

[371] Wilkins, _Concilia_, iii. p. 805.

[372] _Ibid._ p. 806.

[373] _Ibid._ p. 807.

[374] _Ibid._ p. 806.

[375] St. Luke xi. 1-8.

[376] Latimer's _Sermons_, p. 42.

[377] Wilkins, _Concilia_, p. 43.

[378] Curius Dentatus.—'Incomptis Curium capillis.' Horace.

[379] Latimer's _Sermons_, p. 44.

[380] Referring to himself.

[381] Latimer's _Sermons_, p. 57.

[382] 'Deprecor Majestatem tuam, ut tu Deus deleas iniquitatem

meam.'—Wilkins, _Concilia_, p. 806.

[383] The list of _mala dogmata_ is given by Collier.

[384] Fuller, p. 213.

[385] _Ibid._

[386] _Ibid._

[387] Preface to Alesius's treatise _On the Authority of the Word of

God_. See also Anderson, _Annals of the Bible_, i. p. 451.

In the history of the Reformation in Scotland we shall sketch the most

remarkable traits of the life of Alesius.

[388] 'Ye will conclude all things by the Word of God, without all

brawling or scolding.'—Anderson, _Annals of the Bible_, i. p. 499.

[389] 'Whether the outward worth of them doth justify man, or whether we

receive our justification through faith.'—Anderson, _Annals of the

Bible_, i. p. 499. Todd's _Life of Cranmer_, i. p. 163.

[390] Burnet, i. p. 205. Anderson, _Annals of the Bible_, i. p. 502.

[391] Audin, _Histoire de Henri VIII._ Preface.

[392] Council of Trent, 4th sitting, 8th of April, 1546.

CHAPTER XII.

A MOVEMENT OF SCHOLASTIC CATHOLICISM INAUGURATED BY

THE KING. EVANGELICAL REACTION.

(AUTUMN, 1536.)

After Anne Boleyn's death, the men of the Reformation had taken the

initiative, and Cranmer, Cromwell, Latimer, and Alesius seemed on the

point of winning the prize of the contest. The intervention of a greater

personage was about to turn the medal.

[Sidenote: HENRY PLAYS THE POPE.]

Anne's disgrace and the wedding with Jane Seymour had occupied the king

with far other matters than theology. Cranmer had the field free to

advance the Reformation. This was not what Henry meant; and as soon as

he noticed it, he roused himself, as if from slumber, and hastened to

put things in order. Though rejecting the authority of the pope, he

remained faithful to his doctrines. He proceeded to act in his character

as head of the Church, and resolved to fulminate a bull, as the pontiffs

had done. Reginald Pole, in the book which he had addressed to him,

observed that in matters touching the pope, we must not regard either

his character or his life, but only his authority; and that the lapses

of a pope in morals detract nothing from his infallibility in faith.

Henry understood this distinction very clearly, and showed himself a

pope in every way. He did not believe that there was any incompatibility

between the right he claimed of taking a new wife whenever he pleased,

by means of divorce or the scaffold, and that of declaring the oracles

of God on contrition, justification, and ecclesiastical rites and

ceremonies. The rupture of the negotiations with the protestants gave

him more liberty, and even caused him a little vexation. His chagrin was

not unmingled with anger, and he was not grieved to show those obstinate

Germans what they gained by not accepting him. In this respect Henry was

like a woman who, annoyed at being rejected by the man she prefers,

gives her hand to his rival in bravado. He returned, therefore, to his

theological labors. The doctors of the scholastic party spared him the

pains of drawing up for himself the required articles; but he revised

them and was elated at the importance of his work. 'We have in our own

person taken great pain, study, labors, and travails,' he said, 'over

certain articles which will establish concord in our Church.'[393]

Cromwell, always submissive to his master and well knowing the cost of

resistance, laid this royal labor before the upper house of Convocation.

In religious matters Henry had never done anything so important. The

doctrine of the authority of the prince over the dogmas of the Church

now became a _fact_. The king's dogmatic paper, entitled _Articles about

religion set out by the Convocation, and published by the King's

authority_, bears a strong resemblance to the _Exposition_ and the _Type

of Faith_, published in the seventh century, during the monothelite

controversy, by the emperors of Constantinople—Heraclius and

Constant II. That prince, who in a political sense gave England a new

impulse, sought his models as an ecclesiastical ruler, in the Lower

Empire. Everybody was eager to know what doctrines the new head of the

Church was going to proclaim. The partisans of Rome were doubtless quite

as much surprised as the Reformers, but their astonishment was that of

joy; the surprise of the evangelicals was that of fear. The

vicar-general read the royal oracles aloud: 'All the words contained in

the whole canon of the Bible.' he said, 'and in the three creeds—the

Apostles', the Nicene, and the Athanasian—_according to the

interpretation which the holy approved doctors in the Church do

defend_,[394] shall be received and observed as the infallible words of

God, so that whosoever rejects them is not a member of Christ but a

member of the devil, and eternally damned.'

[Sidenote: ARTICLES OF RELIGION.]

That was the Romish doctrine, and Bossuet, in his examination of the

royal document, appears much satisfied with the article.[395]

'The sacrament of baptism should be administered to infants, in order

that they may receive the Holy Ghost and be purified of sin by its

secret virtue and operation. If a man falls after baptism the sacrament

of penance is necessary to his salvation; he must go to confession, ask

absolution at the priest's hands, and look upon the words uttered by the

confessor as the _voice of God_ speaking out of heaven.'[396]

——'That is the whole substance of the catholic doctrine,' the partisans

of Rome might urge.[397]

'Under the form of the bread and the wine are verily, substantially, and

really contained the body and very blood of the Saviour which was born

of the Virgin.'

——'That indicates most precisely the real presence of the body,' say the

Romish doctors.[398]

'The merits of the Saviour's passion are the only and worthy causes of

our justification; but, before giving it to us, God requires of us

inward contrition, perfect faith, hope, and charity, and all the other

spiritual motions which must necessarily concur in the remission of our

sins.'

——The council of Trent declared the same doctrine not long after.[399]

'Images ought to be preserved in the churches. Only let those who kneel

before them and adore them know that such honor is not paid to the

images, but to God.'

——'To use such language,' Roman-catholics have said, 'is to approve of

image-worship to the extreme.'[400]

'It is praiseworthy,' continued Cromwell, 'to address prayers to our

Blessed Lady, to St. John the Baptist, to each of the apostles, or to

any other saint, in order that they may pray for us and with us; but

without believing there is more mercy in them than in Christ.'

——'If the king looks upon this as a kind of Reformation,' said a Romish

doctor, 'he is only making game of the world; for no catholic addresses

the saints except to have their prayers.'[401]

'As for the ceremonies, such as sprinkling with holy water, distributing

the consecrated bread, prostration before the cross and kissing it,

exorcisms, &c., these rites and others equally praiseworthy ought to be

maintained as putting us in remembrance of spiritual things.'

——'That is precisely our idea,' said the partisans of Romish

tradition.[402]

'Finally, as to purgatory, the people shall be taught that Christians

ought to pray for the souls of the dead, and give alms, in order that

others may pray for them, so that their souls may be relieved of some

part of their pain.'[403]

——'All that we teach is here approved of,' said the great opponent of

protestantism.[404]

Such was the religion which the prince, whom some writers call the

father of the Reformation, desired to establish in England. If England

became protestant, it was certainly in spite of him.

[Sidenote: THE ARTICLES ACCEPTED.]

A long debate ensued in convocation and elsewhere. The decided

evangelicals could see nothing in these articles but an abandonment of

Scripture, a 'political daubing,' in which the object was only to please

certain persons and to attain certain ends. The men of the moderate

party said, on the other hand, 'Ought we not to rejoice that the

Scriptures and ancient creeds are re-established as rules of faith,

without considering the pope?' But above these opposite opinions rose

the terrible voice of the king: _Sic volo, sic jubeo_: Such is my

pleasure, such are my orders. If the primate and his friends resisted,

they would be set aside and the Reformation lost.

It does not appear that Cranmer had any share in drawing up these

articles, but he signed them. It has been said, to excuse him, that

neither he, nor many of his colleagues, had at that time a distinct

knowledge of such matters, and that they intended to make amendments in

the articles; but these allegations are insufficient. Two facts alone

explain the concessions of this pious man: the king's despotic will and

the archbishop's characteristic weakness. He always bent his head; but,

we must also acknowledge, it was in order to raise it again. Archbishop

Lee, sixteen bishops, forty abbots or priors, and fifty archdeacons or

proctors signed after Cromwell and the primate. The articles passed

through Convocation, because—like Anne's condemnation—_it was the king's

will_. Nothing can better explain the concessions of Cranmer, Cromwell,

and others in the case of Anne Boleyn, than their support of these

articles, which were precisely the opposite of the Scriptural doctrine

whose triumph they had at heart. In both cases they had yielded

slavishly to those magic words: _Le roi le veut_, The king wills it.

Those four words were sufficient: that man was _loyal_ who sacrificed

his own will to the sovereign. It was only by degrees that the free

principles of protestantism were to penetrate among the people, and give

England liberty along with order. Still that excuse is not sufficient:

Cranmer would have left a more glorious name if he had suffered

martyrdom under Henry VIII., and not waited for the reign of Mary.

When the king's articles were known, discontent broke out in the

opposite parties. 'Be silent, you contentious preachers and you factious

schoolmen,' said the politicians: 'you would sooner disturb the peace of

the world, than relinquish or retract one particle!'[405] The articles

were sent all over England, with orders that everyone should conform to

them at his peril.

Cranmer did not look upon the game as lost. To bend before the blast,

and then rise up again and guide the Reform to a good end, was his

system. He first strove to prevent the evil by suggesting measures

calculated to remedy it. Convocation resolved that a petition should be

addressed to the king, praying him to permit his lay subjects to read

the Bible in _English_, and to order a new translation of it to be

made;[406] moreover, a great number of feast-days were abolished as

favoring 'sloth, idleness, thieves, excesses, vagabonds, and

riots;'[407] and finally, on the last day of the session (20th of July),

Convocation declared—to show clearly that there was no question of

returning to popery—that there was nothing more pernicious than a

general council;[408] and that, consequently, they must decline to

attend that which the pope intended to hold in the city of Mantua.

Thereupon parliament and Convocation were dissolved, and the king did

without them for three years.

[Sidenote: CROMWELL'S INSTRUCTIONS.]

Henry VIII. was satisfied with his minister. Cromwell was created Lord

Privy-Seal, the 2d of July, 1536, baron, and a few days later vicegerent

in ecclesiastical matters (_in rebus ecclesiasticis_). Wishing to tone

down what savored too much of the schools in the king's articles, he

circulated among all the priests some instructions which were passably

evangelical. 'I enjoin you,' he said, 'to make your parishioners

understand that they do rather apply themselves to the keeping of God's

commandments and fulfilling of his works of charity, and providing for

their families, than if they went about to pilgrimages.[409] Advise

parents and masters to teach their children and their servants the

Lord's Prayer, the Apostles' Creed, and the Ten Commandments, in their

mother-tongue.' He even undertook to reform the clergy. 'Deans, parsons,

vicars, curates, and priests,' he said, 'are forbidden to haunt taverns,

to drink or brawl after dinner or supper, to play at cards day or night.

If they have any leisure, they should read the Scriptures, or occupy

themselves with some honest exercise.'

Cranmer and Cromwell went farther than this. They wished to circulate

the Holy Scriptures. Tyndale's version was, in Cromwell's opinion, too

far compromised to be officially circulated; he had, therefore,

patronized another translation. Coverdale, who was born in 1488, at a

place of that name in Yorkshire, had undertaken (as we have seen) to

translate the Bible, and had applied to Cromwell to procure him the

necessary books.[410] Tyndale was more independent, a man of firmer and

bolder character than Coverdale. He did not seek the aid of men, and

finished his work (so to say) alone with God. Coverdale, pious no doubt

like his rival, felt the need of being supported, and said, in his

letter to Cromwell, that he implored his help, 'prostrate on the knees

of his heart.'

Coverdale knew Greek and Hebrew. He began his task in 1530; on the 4th

of October, 1535, the book appeared, probably at Zurich, under the

title: BIBLIA, _the Bible, that is to say, the Holy Scriptures of the

Old and New Testament_; and reached England in the early part of 1536.

At the beginning of the volume was a dedication to Henry VIII., which

ended by imploring the divine blessing on the king and on his 'dearest,

just wife, and most virtuous princess, queen Anne.' Cromwell was to

present this translation to the king, and circulate it throughout the

country; but this _dearest wife_, this _most virtuous princess_, had

just been accused by Henry, dragged before the tribunals, and beheaded.

It was impossible to distribute a single copy of this version without

arousing the monarch's anger. Those who desired that the ship which had

come so far should not be wrecked in the harbor, had recourse to several

expedients. The decapitated queen's name was _Anne_, that of the

queen-regnant was _Jeanne_: there was a resemblance between them. Some

copies corrected with a pen have instead of _queen Anne_,—_queen JAne_;

in others the name of the queen is simply scratched out.[411] These

expedients were not sufficient: a new title-page was printed and dated

1536, the current year. But it was all of no use: it was impossible to

obtain the royal sanction.

Still, if Coverdale's Bible was not admitted into England, the

Reformation, taught by pious ministers, was spreading more and more. The

priests murmured in vain: 'Not long ago,' they said, 'the Lollards were

put to death for reading the Gospel in English, and now we are ordered

to teach it in that language. We are robbed of our privileges, and our

labors are increased.'

[Sidenote: EVANGELICAL REACTION.]

The king had proclaimed and laid down his ten articles to little

purpose: faith gave pious ministers and Christians a courage which the

great ones of the earth did not possess. John Gale, pastor of Twaite, in

Suffolk, a quick, decided, but rather imprudent man, attacked the royal

articles from his pulpit. But he did not stop there. His church was

ornamented with images of the Virgin and Saints, before which the devout

used to stick up tapers. 'Austin,' said he one day to a parishioner,

'follow me;' and the two men, with great exertions, took away the iron

rods on which the worshippers used to set their tapers, and turned the

images to the wall.—'Listen,' said Dr. Barret to his parishioners, 'the

lifting up of the host betokens simply that the Father has sent his Son

to suffer death for man, and the lifting up of the chalice, that _the

Son has shed his blood for our salvation_.'—'Christ,' said Bale, prior

of Dorchester, 'does not dwell in churches of stone, but in heaven above

and in the hearts of men on earth.'[412]—The minister of Hothfield

declared that: 'Our Lady is not the queen of heaven, and has no more

power than another woman.' 'Pull him out of the pulpit,' said the

exasperated bailiff to the vicar. 'I dare not,' answered the latter. In

fact, the congregation were delighted at hearing their minister say of

Jesus, as Peter did: _Neither is there salvation in any other_, and that

very day more than a hundred embraced their pastor's doctrines.[413]

Jerome, vicar of Stepney, endeavored to plant the pure truth of Christ

in the conscience,[414] and root out all vain traditions, dreams and

fantasies. Being invited to preach at St. Paul's Cross, on the fourth

Sunday in Lent, he said: 'There are two sorts of people among you: the

free, who are freely justified without the penance of the law and

without meritorious works; and the slaves, who are still under the yoke

of the law.'—Even a bishop, Barlow of St. David's, said in a stately

cathedral: 'If two or three cobblers or weavers, elect of God, meet

together in the name of the Lord, they form a true Church of God.'[415]

This was going too far: proceedings were commenced against those who had

thus braved the king's articles. Jerome appeared before Henry VIII. at

Westminster. The poor fellow, intimidated by the royal majesty,

tremblingly acknowledged that the sacraments were necessary for

salvation; but he was burnt five years after in the cause of the Gospel.

Gale and others were accused of heresy and treason before the criminal

court. The books were not spared. There were some, indeed, that went

beyond all bounds. One, entitled _The little garden of the soul_,[416]

contained a passage, in which the beheading of John the Baptist and of

Anne Boleyn were ascribed to the same motive—the reproach of a criminal

love uttered against two princes: one by Anne, and the other by John.

Henry compared to Herod! Anne Boleyn to Saint John the Baptist! Tonstall

denounced this audacious publication to Cromwell.

The crown-officers were to see that the doctrines of the pope were

taught everywhere; but, without the pope and his authority, this system

has no solid foundation. The Holy Scriptures, to which evangelical

Christians appeal, is a firm foundation. The authority of the pope—a

vicious principle—at least puts those who admit it in a position to know

what they believe. But catholicism with Romish doctrine and without the

pope, has no ground to stand on. Non-Roman-catholicism has but a

treacherous support. Another system had already, in the sixteenth

century, set up reason as the supreme rule; but it presents a thousand

different opinions, and no absolute truth. There is but one real

foundation: _Thy word is truth_, says Jesus Christ.

[393] Wilkins, _Concilia_, iii. p. 817.

[394] Wilkins, _Concilia_, iii. p. 818.

[395] Bossuet, _Histoire des Variations_, liv. vii. § 30.

[396] Wilkins, _Annals_, iii. p. 819.

[397] Bossuet, _Histoire des Variations_, liv. vii. § 26.

[398] _Ibid._ § 25.

[399] Council of Trent, sixth session, canons 9 & 11.

[400] Bossuet, _Variations_, liv. vii. § 26.

[401] _Ibid._

[402] _Ibid._ § 27.

[403] Wilkins, _Concilia_, iii. p. 822.

[404] Bossuet, _Variations_, liv. vii. § 28.

[405] Lord Herbert of Cherbury, p. 470.

[406] Heylin, _Ecclesia vindicata_, p. 15. Anderson, _Annals of the

English Bible_, i. p. 507.

[407] Wilkins, _Concilia_, iii. pp. 823, 827.

[408] 'Nullius Synodi finem vidi bonum.'—_Ibid._ p. 808.

[409] Wilkins, _Concilia_, iii. p. 814.

[410] _State Papers_, i. p. 383. Coverdale's _Remains_, p. 490. The

letter is dated the 1st of May, but has no year: it appears to me to

be 1530.

[411] Such copies may be found at the British Museum, and in the

libraries at Lambeth and Sion College.

[412] Strype, i. p. 442.

[413] _Ibid._ i. p. 443.

[414] Foxe, _Acts_, v. p. 429.

[415] 'Two cobblers and weavers, in company, elected in the name of God,

there was the true Church of God.'—Strype, _Records_, i. p. 443.

[416] _Hortulus animæ._—Strype, i. p. 444.

CHAPTER XIII.

INSURRECTION OF THE NORTH OF ENGLAND TO RESTORE THE

PAPACY AND DESTROY THE REFORMATION.

(OCTOBER, 1536.)

The bastard system of a catholicism without a pope, put forward by the

king, did not enjoy great favor, and the evangelical Reform gained fresh

adherents every day. The more consistent popish system endeavored to

stand against it. There were still many partisans of Rome in the

aristocracy and among the populations of the North. A mighty effort was

about to be made to expel both Cranmer's protestantism and the king's

catholicism, and restore the papacy to its privileges. A great

revolution is rarely accomplished without the friends of the old order

of things combining to resist it.

[Sidenote: INFLUENCE OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.]

Many members of the House of Lords saw with alarm the House of Commons

gaining an influence which it had never possessed before, and taking the

initiative in reforms which were not (as they thought) within its

sphere. Trained in the hatred of heresy, those noble lords were

indignant at seeing heretics invested with the episcopal dignity, and a

layman, Cromwell, presuming to direct the convocation of the clergy.

Some of them formed a league, and Lord Darcy, who was at their head, had

a conference on the subject with the ambassador of Charles V. That

prince assured him that he should be supported.[417] The English

partisans of the pope, aided by the imperialists, would be amply

sufficient, they thought, to re-establish the authority of the Roman

pontiff.

There was great agitation especially among the inhabitants of the towns

and villages of the North. Those of the counties of York and Lincoln,

too remote from London to feel its influence, besides being ignorant and

superstitious, were submissive to the priests as to the very

representatives of God. The names of the Reformers Luther, Melanchthon,

Œcolampadius, and Tyndale were known by the priests, who taught their

flocks to detest them. Everything they saw exasperated them. If they

went a journey, the convents which were their ordinary hostelries

existed no longer. If they worked in the fields, they saw approaching

them some ragged monk, with tangled hair and beard, with haggard eye,

without bread to support him, or roof to shelter him, to whom hatred

still gave strength to complain and to curse. These unhappy wretches

went roaming up and down the country, knocking at every door; the

peasants received them like saints, seated them at their table, and

starved themselves for their nourishment. 'See,' said the friars,

showing their rags to the people about them, 'see to what a condition

the members of Jesus Christ are reduced! A schismatic and heretical

prince has expelled us from the houses of the Lord. But the Holy Father

has excommunicated and dethroned him: no one should henceforth obey

him.' Such words produced their effect.

When the autumn of 1536 had arrived, the ferment increased among the

inhabitants of the rural districts who had no longer their field labors

to divert them. They assembled in great numbers round the convents to

see what the king meant to do with them. They looked on at a distance,

and with angry eyes watched the commissioners who at times behaved

violently, indulged in exactions, or threw down one after another the

stones of the building which had been held in such long reverence.

Another day they saw the agent of some lord settle in the monastery with

his wife, children, and servants; they heard those profane lay-folks

laugh and chatter as they entered the sacred doors, whose thresholds had

until now been trodden only by the sandals of the silent monks. A report

spread abroad, that the monasteries still surviving were also about to

be suppressed. Dr. Makerel, formerly prior of Barlings, disguised as a

laborer, and a monk (some writers say a shoemaker) named Melton, who

received the name of 'Captain Cobbler,'[418] endeavored to inflame men's

minds and drive them to revolt. Everywhere the people listened to the

agitators; and ere long the superior clergy appeared in the line of

battle. 'Neither the king's highness nor any temporal man,' they said,

'may be supreme head of the Church. The Pope of Rome is Christ's vicar,

and must alone be acknowledged as supreme head of Christendom.'[419]

[Sidenote: REVOLT IN LINCOLNSHIRE.]

On Monday, 2d of October, 1536, the ecclesiastical commission was to

visit the parish of Louth in Lincolnshire,[420] and the clergy of the

district were ordered to be present. Only a few days before, a

neighboring monastery had been suppressed and two of Cromwell's agents

placed in it to see to the closing. The evening before the inspection

(it was a Sunday) a number of the townspeople brought out a large silver

cross which belonged to the parish, and shouting out, 'Follow the cross!

All follow the cross! God knows if we can do so for long,' marched in

procession through the town, with Melton leading the way. Some went to

the church, took possession of the consecrated jewels, and remained

under arms all night to guard them for fear the royal commissioners

should carry them off. On Monday morning one of the commissioners, who

had no suspicions, quietly rode into the town, followed by a single

servant. All of a sudden the alarm-bell was rung, and a crowd of armed

men filled the streets. The terrified commissioner ran into the church,

hoping to find it an inviolable asylum; but the mob laid hold of him,

dragged him out into the market-place, and pointing a sword at his

breast, said to him, 'Swear fidelity to the Commons or you are a dead

man.' All the town took an oath to be faithful to King, Commons, and

Holy Church. On Tuesday morning the alarm-bell was rung again; the

cobbler and a tailor named Big Jack marched out, followed by a crowd of

men, some on foot and some on horseback. Whole parishes, headed by their

priests, joined them and marched with the rest. The monks prayed aloud

for the pope, and cried out that if the gentry did not join them they

should all be hanged; but gentlemen and even sheriffs united with the

tumultuous troops. Twenty thousand men of Lincolnshire were in arms.

England, like Germany, had its peasant revolt;[421] but while Luther was

opposed to it, the archbishop of York, with many abbots and priests,

encouraged it in England.

The insurgents did not delay proclaiming their grievances. They declared

that if the monasteries were restored, men of mean birth dismissed from

the Council,[422] and heretic bishops deprived, they would acknowledge

the king as head of the Church.[423] The movement

was got up by the monks more than by the pope. Great disorders were

committed.

The court was plunged into consternation by this revolt. The king, who

had no standing army, felt his weakness, and his anger knew no bounds.

'What!' he said to the _traitors_ (for such was the name he gave them),

'what! do you, the rude commons of one shire, and that one of the most

_brute and beastly_ of the whole realm, presume to find fault with your

king? Return to your homes, surrender to our lieutenants a hundred of

your leaders, and prepare to submit to such condign punishment as we

shall think you worthy of; otherwise you will expose yourselves, your

wives and children, your lands and goods, not only to the indignation of

God, but to utter destruction by force and violence of the sword.'

Such threats as these only served to increase the commotion.

'Christianity is going to be abolished,' said the priests; 'you will

soon find yourselves under the sword of _Turks_! But whoever sheds his

blood with us shall inherit eternal glory.' The people crowded to them

from all quarters. Lord Shrewsbury, sent by the king against the

rebellion, being unable to collect more than 3,000 men, and having to

contend against ten times as many, had halted at Nottingham. London

already imagined the rebels were at its gates, and mighty exertions were

made. Sir John Russell and the duke of Suffolk were sent forward with

forces hurriedly equipped.

The insurgents were 60,000 strong, but with no efficient leader or store

of provisions. Two opinions arose among them: the gentlemen and farmers

cried, 'Home, home!' the priests and the people shouted, 'To arms!' The

party of the friends of order continued increasing, and at last

prevailed. The duke of Suffolk entered Lincolnshire on October 13, and

the rebels dispersed.[424]

[Sidenote: PILGRIMAGE OF GRACE.]

A still greater danger threatened the established order of things. The

men of the North were more ultramontane than those of Lincoln. On

October 8 there was a riot at Beverley, in Yorkshire. A Westminster

lawyer, Robert Aske, who had passed his vacation in field-sports, was

returning to London, when he was stopped by the rebels and proclaimed

their leader. On October 15 he marched to York and replaced the monks in

possession of their monasteries. Lord Darcy, an old soldier of Ferdinand

of Spain and Louis XII., a warm papal partisan, quitted his castle of

Pomfret to join the insurrection. The priests stirred up the

people,[425] and ere long, the army, which amounted to 40,000 men,

formed a long procession, 'the _Pilgrimage of Grace_,' which marched

through the county of York. Each parish paraded under a captain, priests

carrying the church cross in front by way of flag. A large banner, which

floated in the midst of this multitude, represented on one side Christ

with the five wounds on a cross, and on the other a plow, a chalice, a

pix, and a hunting-horn. Every pilgrim wore embroidered on his sleeve

the five wounds of Christ with the name of Jesus in the midst. The

insurgents had a thousand bows and as many bills, besides other

arms,[426] but hardly one poor copy of the Testament of Christ. 'Ah!'

said Latimer, preaching in Lincolnshire, 'I will tell you what is the

true Christian man's pilgrimage. There are, the Saviour tells us, eight

days' journeys.' Then he described the eight beatitudes in the most

evangelical manner: the poor in spirit, those who mourn, those who are

meek, those who hunger and thirst after righteousness, and the

rest.[427]

Aske's pilgrimage was of another sort. Addressing the people of those

parts, he said to them: 'Lords, knights, masters, and friends,

evil-disposed persons have filled the king's mind with new inventions:

the holy body of the Church has been despoiled. We have therefore

undertaken this _pilgrimage_ for the reformation of what is amiss and

the punishment of heretics.[428] If you will not come with us we will

fight and die against you.' Great bonfires were lighted on all the hills

to call the people to arms. Wherever these new crusaders appeared the

monks were replaced in their monasteries and the peasants constrained to

join the pilgrimage, under pain of seeing their houses pulled down,

their goods seized, and their bodies handed over to the mercy of the

captains.

There was this notable difference between the revolt in Germany and that

in the North of England. In Germany, a few nobles only joined the people

and were compelled to do so. In England, almost all the nobility of the

North rallied to it of their own accord. The earls of Westmoreland,

Rutland, and Huntingdon, Lords Latimer, Lumley, Scrope, Conyers, and the

representatives of several other great families, followed the example of

old Lord Darcy. One single nobleman, Percy, earl of Northumberland,

remained faithful to the king. He had been ill since the unjust sentence

which had struck the loyal wife of Henry VIII.—a sentence in which he

had refused to join—and was now at his castle lying on a bed of pain

which was soon to be the bed of death. The rebels surrounded his

dwelling and summoned him to join the insurrection. He might now have

avenged the crime committed by Henry VIII. against Anne Boleyn, but he

refused. Savage voices shouted out, 'Cut off his head, and make Sir

Thomas Percy earl in his stead.' But the noble and courageous man said

calmly to those around him, 'I can die but once; let them kill me, and

so put an end to my sorrows.'[429]

The king, more alarmed at this revolt than at the former one, asked with

terror whether his people desired to force him to replace his neck under

the detested yoke of the pope. In this crisis he displayed great

activity. Being at Windsor, he wrote letter after letter to

Cromwell.[430] 'I will sell all my plate,' he said. 'Go to the Tower,

take as much plate as you may want, and coin it into money.'[431] Henry

displayed no less intelligence than decision. He named as commander of

his little army a devoted servant, who was also the chief of the

ultramontane party at the court—the duke of Norfolk. Once already, for

the condemnation of the protestant Anne Boleyn, Henry had selected this

chief of the Romish party. This clever policy succeeded equally well for

the king in both affairs.

London, Windsor, and all the south of England were in great commotion.

People imagined that the papacy, borne on the lusty arms of the northern

men, was about to return in triumph into the capital; that perhaps the

Catholic king of the Scots, Henry's nephew, would enter with it and

place England once more under the papal sceptre. The friends of the

Gospel were deeply agitated. 'That great captain the devil,' said

Latimer in the London pulpits, 'has all sorts of ordnance to shoot at

Christian men. These men of the North, who wear the cross and the wounds

before and behind,[432] are marching against Him who bare the cross and

suffered those wounds. They have risen (they say) to support the king,

and they are fighting against him. They come forward in the name of the

Church, and fight against the Church, which is the congregation of

faithful men. Let us fight with the sword of the spirit, which is the

Word of God.'

The rebels, far from being calmed, showed—part of them at least—that

they were animated by the vilest sentiments. A body of insurgents had

invested the castle of Skipton, the only place in the county of York

which still held for the king. The wife and daughters of Lord Clifford,

and other ladies who inhabited it, happened to be at an abbey not far

off, just when the castle was beleaguered. The insurgents caused Lord

Clifford to be informed that if he did not surrender, his wife and

daughters would be brought next day to the foot of the walls and be

given up to the camp-followers. In the middle of the night, Christopher

Aske, brother of Robert, who had remained faithful, crept through the

camp of the besiegers, and by unfrequented roads succeeded in bringing

into the castle all those ladies, whom he thus saved from the most

infamous outrages.[433]

[Sidenote: THE LANCASTER HERALD.]

Robert Aske, Lord Darcy, the archbishop of York, and several other

leaders had their head-quarters at Pomfret castle, where the Lancaster

herald, dispatched by the king, presented himself on the 21st of

October. After passing through many troops of armed men—'very cruel

fellows,' he says[434]—he was at last introduced to the great captain.

Seeing Lord Darcy and the archbishop before him—persons more important

than the Westminster lawyer—the herald began to address them. Aske was

offended, and rising from his seat told him haughtily, that he was the

person to be addressed. The messenger discharged his mission. He

represented to the leaders of the rebellion that they were but a handful

before the great power of his Majesty,[435] and that the king had done

nothing in regard to religion, but what the clergy of York and of

Canterbury had acknowledged to be in conformity with the Word of God.

When the speech was ended, Aske, as if he did not care for the herald's

words, said rudely to him, 'Show me your proclamation.' 'He behaved,'

wrote the envoy, 'as though he had been some great prince, with great

rigor and like a tyrant.' 'Herald,' said Aske, 'this proclamation shall

neither be read at the market-cross nor elsewhere amongst my people. We

want the redress of our grievances, and we will die fighting to obtain

them.' The herald asked what were their grievances. 'My followers and

I,' replied the chief, 'will walk in pilgrimage to London, to his

Majesty, to expel from the council all the vile blood in it, and set up

all the noble blood again;[436] and also to obtain the full restitution

of Christ's Church.' 'Will you give me that in writing?' said the

herald. Aske gave him the oath which the rebels took, and at the same

time putting his hand on the paper, he said with a loud voice, 'This is

my act; I will die in its defence, and all my followers will die with

me.' The herald, intimidated by the authoritative tone of the chief,

bent his knee before the rebel captain, for which he was brought to

trial and executed in the following year. 'Give him a guard of forty

men, and see him out of town,' said Aske.

[Sidenote: REBELS MARCH ON LONDON.]

Forthwith thirty thousand well-armed men, of whom twelve thousand were

mounted, set out under the orders of Aske, Lord Darcy, and other

noblemen of the country. Norfolk had only a small force, which he could

not trust; accordingly the rebels were convinced, that when they

appeared, the king's soldiers and perhaps the duke himself would join

them. The Roman-catholic army arrived on the banks of the Don, on the

other side of which (at Doncaster) the king's forces were stationed.

Those ardent men, who were six against one, inflamed by monks who were

impatient to return to their nests, proposed to pass the Don, overthrow

Norfolk, enter London, dictate to the king the execution of all the

partisans of the Reformation, and restore the papal power in England.

The rising of the water, increased by heavy rains, did not permit them

to cross the river. Every hour's delay was a gain to the royal cause;

the insurgents having brought no provisions with them, were forced to

disband to go in search of them elsewhere. Norfolk took advantage of

this to circulate an address among the rebels. 'Unhappy men!' it said,

'what folly hath led you to make this most shameful rebellion against

our most righteous king, who hath kept you in peace against all your

enemies? Fye, for shame! How can you do this to one who loves you more

than all his subjects? If you do not return, every man to his house, we

will show you the hardest courtesy that ever was shown to men, that have

loved you so well as we have done. But if you go to your homes, you

shall have us most humble suitors to his Highness for you.'[437] This

proclamation was signed by Lords Norfolk, Shrewsbury, Exeter, Rutland,

and Huntingdon, all catholics, and the greatest names in England.

The insurgents thus found themselves in the most difficult position.

They must attack the supporters of their own cause. If the lords who had

signed the proclamation were slain, England would lose her best

councillors, and her greatest generals, and the Church would be deprived

of the most zealous catholics. The strength of England would be

sacrificed and the country opened to her enemies. Old Lord Darcy was for

attacking; young Robert Aske for negotiation. On Saturday, 28th of

October, commissioners from both parties met on the bridge leading to

Doncaster. The rebel commissioners consented to lay down their arms,

provided the heresies of Luther, Wicliff, Huss, Melanchthon,

Œcolampadius, and the works of Tyndale were destroyed and nullified;

that the supremacy was restored to the see of Rome; that the suppressed

abbeys were re-established; that heretical bishops and lords were

punished by fire or otherwise; and that a parliament was held promptly

at Nottingham or York.[438]

There could no longer be any doubt, that the object of the insurrection

was to crush the Reformation. The names of most of the reformers were

mentioned in the articles, and fire or sword were to do justice to the

most illustrious of their adherents. The same evening they handed in a

letter addressed: _To the King's Royal Highness. From Doncaster, this

Saturday, at eleven of the clock at night. Haste, post, haste, haste,

haste!_[439] The rebels themselves were in such haste that they waited

no longer. The next day (29th of October) the king's lieutenant

announced at one in the afternoon, that the insurgents had dispersed and

were returning to their homes.[440] Two of the rebel leaders were to

carry the stipulated conditions to the king, and Norfolk was to

accompany them. That zealous catholic was not perhaps without a hope

that the petition would induce Henry to become reconciled to the pope.

He was greatly deceived.

Thus God had scattered the forces of those who had stood up against

Wicliff, Huss, and Luther. The kingdom resumed its usual tranquillity. A

little later the men of the North, excited by the intrigues of the pope

and Reginald Pole, then a cardinal, again took up arms; but they were

defeated; seventy of them were hanged on the walls of Carlisle, and

Lords Darcy and Hussey, with many barons, abbots, priors, and a great

number of priests, were executed in different places. The scheming

archbishop of York alone escaped, it is not known how. The cottages,

parsonages, and castles of the North were filled with anguish and

terror. Henry, who cut off the heads of his most intimate friends and of

his queen, did not think of sparing rebels. It was a terrible lesson,

but not very effectual. The priests did not lose their courage; they

still kept asking for the re-establishment of the pope, the death of the

Lutherans, and the annihilation of the Reform. An event which occurred

at this time seemed likely to favor their desires. A great blow was

about to be dealt against the Reformation. But the ways of God are not

as our ways, and from what seems destined to compromise His cause, He

often makes His triumph proceed.

[417] 'That he should lack no help.'—_State Papers_, i. p. 558.

[418] _State Papers_, i. p. 462, note.

[419] Wilkins, _Concilia_, iii. p. 812.

[420] _State Papers_, i. p. 462.

[421] The _State Papers_ contain several documents relating to this

insurrection (vol. i. pp. 462-534). Others are in the _Chapter House_.

[422] 'Counsellors of mean birth'—particularly Cromwell.—Herbert,

p. 474.

[423] 'They might accept his grace to be Supreme Head of the

Church.'—_Ibid._

[424] _State Papers_, i. pp. 462, 471.

[425] 'Certain abbots moved to insurrection.'—Coverdale, _Remains_,

p. 329.

[426] Bale, _Works_, p. 327. Bale was Archbishop of York in 1553.

[427] Latimer, _Sermons_, i. p. 476.

[428] _State Papers_, i. p. 467. Dr. Lingard says that this expedition

was named jestingly 'the Pilgrimage of Grace.' He is mistaken: the

rebels themselves seriously call it by this name six times in their

proclamation.

[429] Stapleton's _Examination_.

[430] October 17 and 18, 1536. Letters liv. to lviii. pp. 475-478, of

the _State Papers_, vol. i.

[431] _State Papers_, i. p. 478, 482.

[432] Latimer, _Sermons_, p. 29.

[433] This fact is mentioned in one of the depositions of the trial

which followed the revolt. See Christopher Aske's Examination.

[434] Lancaster Herald's Report.—_State Papers_, i. p. 485.

[435] The herald added: 'They shall be constrained the next year to

eat their own fingers.'—_State Papers_, i. p. 476.

[436] 'To have all the vyle blood of his counsell put from him and

all noble blood set up again.'—_Lancaster Herald's Report_, p. 486.

[437] _State Papers_, i. p. 495.

[438] These articles are more or less numerous according to the

sources whence they are derived.

[439] _State Papers_, i. p. 496.

[440] _Ibid._ p. 497.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE DEATH OF THE GREAT REFORMER OF ENGLAND.

(FROM 1535 TO OCTOBER 1536.)

Most of the reformers, Luther, Zuingle, Calvin, Knox, and others have

acquired that name by their preachings, their writings, their struggles,

and their actions. It is not so with the principal reformer of England:

all his activity was concentred in the Holy Scriptures. Tyndale was less

prominent than the other instruments of God, who were awakened to

upraise the Church. We might say, that knowing the weakness of man, he

had retired and hidden himself to allow the Word from Heaven to act by

itself. He had studied it, translated it, and sent it over the sea: it

must now do its own work. Is it not written: _The field is the world,

and the seed is the Word_? But there is another characteristic, or

rather another fact, which distinguishes him from them, and this we have

to describe.

[Sidenote: TYNDALE'S CHARACTERISTIC.]

While the new adversaries of Henry VIII., Pole and the papistical party,

were agitating on the continent, Tyndale, the man whom the king had

pursued so long without being able to catch, was in prison at Vilvorde,

near Brussels. In vain was he girt around with the thick walls of that

huge fortress. Tyndale was free. 'There is the captivity and bondage,'

he could say, 'whence Christ delivered us, redeemed and loosed us.[441]

His blood, his death, his patience in suffering rebukes and wrongs, his

prayers and fastings, his meekness and fulfilling of the uttermost point

of the law broke the bonds of Satan, wherein we were so strait bound.'

Thus Tyndale was as truly free at Vilvorde, as Paul had been at Rome. He

felt pressed to accomplish a vow made many years before. 'If God

preserves my life,' he had said, 'I will cause a boy that driveth a plow

to know more of the Scriptures than the pope.' True Christianity shows

itself by the attention it gives to Christ's little ones. It was time

for Tyndale to keep his promise. He occupied his prison hours in

preparing for the humble dwellers in the Gloucestershire villages and

the surrounding counties, an edition of the Bible in which he employed

the language and orthography used in that part of England.[442] When

near his end, he returned lovingly to the familiar speech of his

childhood; he wrote in the dialect of the peasantry to save the souls of

the peasants, and for the first time put titles to the chapters of the

Scripture, in order to make the understanding of it easier to his

humbler fellow-countrymen. Two other editions of the New Testament

appeared during the first year of his captivity. He did more: he had

translated the Old Testament according to the Hebrew text, and was going

to see to the printing of it just when Philips betrayed him. The fear

that this labor would be lost grieved him even more than his

imprisonment: a friend undertook the work he could no longer do himself.

[Sidenote: ROGERS AND TYNDALE.]

At that time there lived at Antwerp, as chaplain to the English

merchants in that city, a young man from the county of Warwick, named

Rogers, who had been educated at Cambridge, and was a little more than

thirty years old. Rogers was learned, but submissive to the Romish

traditions. Tyndale having made his acquaintance, asked him to help in

translating the Holy Scriptures, and Rogers caught joyfully at the

opportunity of employing his Greek and Hebrew. Close and constant

contact with the Word of God gradually effected in him that great

transformation, that total renewal of the man which is the object of

redemption. 'I have found the true light in the Gospel,' he said one day

to Tyndale; 'I now see the filthiness of Rome, and I cast from my

shoulders the heavy yoke it had imposed upon me.'[443] From that hour

Tyndale received from Rogers the help which he had formerly received

from John Fryth, that pious martyr, whose example Rogers was to follow

by enduring, the first under Mary, the punishment of fire. The Holy

Scriptures have been written in English with the blood of martyrs—if we

may so speak—the blood of Fryth, Tyndale, and Rogers: it is a crown of

glory for that translation. At the moment of Tyndale's perfidious

arrest, Rogers had fortunately saved the manuscript of the Old

Testament, and now resolved to delay the printing no longer. When the

news of this reached the Reformer in his cell at Vilvorde, it cast a

gleam of light upon his latter days and filled his heart with joy. The

_whole Bible_,—that was the legacy which the dying Tyndale desired to

leave to his fellow-countrymen. He took pleasure in his gloomy dungeon

in following with his mind's eye that divine Scripture from city to city

and from cottage to cottage; his imagination pictured to him the

struggles it would have to go through, and also its victories. 'The Word

of God,' he said, 'never was without persecution—no more than the sun

can be without his light. By what right doth the pope forbid God to

speak in the English tongue? Why should not the sermons of the Apostles,

preached no doubt in the mother-tongue of those who heard them, be now

written in the mother-tongue of those who read them?' Tyndale did not

think of proving the divinity of the Bible by learned dissertations.

'Scripture derives its authority from Him who sent it,' he said. 'Would

you know the reason why men believe in Scripture?—It is _Scripture_.—It

is itself the instrument which outwardly leads men to believe, whilst

inwardly, the spirit of God Himself, speaking through Scripture, gives

faith to His children.'[444] We do not know for certain in what city

Rogers printed the great English folio Bible. Hamburg, Antwerp, Marburg,

Lubeck, and even Paris have been named. Extraordinary precautions were

required to prevent the persecutors from entering the house where men

had the boldness to print the Word of God, and from breaking the

printing-presses. Tyndale had the great comfort of knowing that the

whole Bible was going to be published, and that prophets, apostles, and

Christ himself would speak by it after his death.[445]

[Sidenote: TYNDALE IN PRISON.]

This man, so active, so learned, and so truly great, whose works

circulated far and wide with so much power, had at the same time within

him a pure and beneficent light—the love of God and of man—which shed

its mild rays on all around him. The depth of his faith, the charm of

his conversation, the uprightness of his conduct, touched those who came

near him.[446] The jailer liked to bring him his food, in order to talk

with him, and his young daughter often accompanied him and listened

eagerly to the words of the pious Englishman. Tyndale spoke of Jesus

Christ; it seemed to him that the riches of the divine Spirit were about

to transform Christendom; that the children of God were about to be

manifested, and that the Lord was about _to gather together his elect_.

'Grace is there, summer is nigh,' he was wont to say, 'for the trees

blossom.'[447] In truth, young shoots and even old trees, long barren,

flourished within the very walls of the castle. The jailer, his

daughter, and other members of their house were converted to the Gospel

by Tyndale's life and doctrine.[448] However dark the machinations of

his enemies, they could not obscure the divine light kindled in his

heart, and which _shone before men_. There was an invincible power in

this Christian man. Full of hope in the final victory of Jesus Christ,

he courageously trampled under foot tribulations, trials, and death

itself. He believed in the victory of the Word. 'I am bound like a

malefactor,' he said, 'but the Word of God is not bound.' The bitterness

of his last days was changed into great peace and divine sweetness.

[Sidenote: EFFORTS TO SAVE TYNDALE.]

His friends did not forget him. Among the English merchants at Antwerp

was one whose affection had often reminded him that 'friendship is the

assemblage of every virtue,' as a wise man of antiquity styles it.[449]

Thomas Poyntz, one of whose ancestors had come over from Normandy with

William the Conqueror, had perhaps known the reformer in the house of

Lady Walsh, who also belonged to this ancient family. For nearly a year

the merchant had entertained the translator of the Scriptures beneath

his roof, and a mutual and unlimited confidence was established between

them. When Poyntz saw his friend in prison, he resolved to do everything

to save him. Poyntz's elder brother John, who had retired to his estate

at North Okendon, in Essex, had accompanied the king in 1520 to the

Field of the Cloth of Gold, and although no longer at court, he still

enjoyed the favor of Henry VIII. Thomas determined to write to John.

'Right well-beloved brother,' he said, 'William Tyndale is in prison,

and like to suffer death, unless the king should extend his gracious

help to him. He has lain in my house three quarters of a year, and I

know that the king has never a truer-hearted subject.[450] When the pope

gave his Majesty the title of Defender of the Faith, he prophesied like

Caiaphas. The papists thought our prince should be a great maintainer of

their abominations; but God has entered his grace into the right battle.

The king should know that the death of this man will be one of the

highest pleasures to the enemies of the Gospel. If it might please his

Majesty to send for this man, it might, by the means thereof, be opened

to the court and council of this country (Brabant) that they would be at

another point with the bishop of Rome within a short space.'

John lost no time: he succeeded in interesting Cromwell in the

reformer's cause, and on the 10th of September 1535, a messenger arrived

in Antwerp with two letters from the vicar-general—one for the marquis

of Bergen-op-zoom, and the other for Carondelet, archbishop of Palermo

and president of the council of Brabant. Alas! the marquis had started

two days before for Germany, whither he was conducting the princess of

Denmark. Thomas Poyntz mounted his horse, and caught up the escort about

fifteen miles from Maestricht. The marquis hurriedly glanced over

Cromwell's dispatch. 'I have no leisure to write,' he said; 'the

princess is making ready to depart.' 'I will follow you to the next

baiting place,' answered Tyndale's indefatigable friend. 'Be it so,'

replied Bergen-op-zoom.

On arriving at Maestricht, the marquis wrote to Flegge, to Cromwell, and

to his friend the archbishop, president of the council of Brabant, and

gave the three letters to Poyntz. The latter presented the letters of

Cromwell and of the marquis to the president, but the archbishop and the

council of Brabant were opposed to Tyndale. Poyntz immediately started

for London, and laid the answer of the council before Cromwell,

entreating him to insist that Tyndale should be immediately set at

liberty, for the danger was great. The answer was delayed a month.[451]

Poyntz handed it to the chancery of Brabant, and every day this true and

generous friend went to the office to learn the result. 'Your request

will be granted,' said one of the clerks on the fourth day. Poyntz was

transported with joy. Tyndale was saved.[452]

The traitor Philips, however, who had delivered him to his enemies, was

then at Louvain. He had run away from Antwerp, knowing that the English

merchants were angry with him, and had sold his books with the intent of

escaping to Paris. But the Louvain priests, who still needed him,

reassured him, and remaining in that stronghold of Romanism, he began to

translate into Latin such passages in Tyndale's writings as he thought

best calculated to offend the catholics. He was thus occupied when the

news of Tyndale's approaching deliverance filled him and his friends

with alarm. What was to be done? He thought the only means of preventing

the liberation of the prisoner was to shut up the liberator

himself.[453] Philips went straight to the procurator-general. 'That

man, Poyntz,' he said, 'is as much a heretic as Tyndale.' Two

sergeants-at-arms were sent to keep watch over Poyntz at his house, and

for six days in succession he was examined upon a hundred different

articles. At the beginning of February 1536, he learnt that he was about

to be sent to prison, and knowing what would follow, he formed a prompt

resolution. One night, when the sergeants-at-arms were asleep, he

escaped and left the city early, just as the gates were opened. Horsemen

were sent in search of him; but as Poyntz knew the country well, he

escaped them, got on board a ship, and arrived safe and sound at his

brother's house at North Okendon.

[Sidenote: TYNDALE'S FIRMNESS.]

When Tyndale heard of this escape, he knew what it indicated; but he was

not overwhelmed, and almost at the foot of the scaffold, he bravely

fought many a tough battle. The Louvain doctors undertook to make him

abjure his faith, and represented to him that he was condemned by the

Church. 'The authority of Jesus Christ,' answered Tyndale, 'is

independent of the authority of the Church.' They called upon him to

make submission to the successor of the Apostle Peter. 'Holy Scripture,'

he said, 'is the first of the Apostles, and the _ruler_ in the kingdom

of Christ.'[454] The Romish doctors ineffectually attacked him in his

prison: he showed them that they were entangled in vain traditions and

miserable superstitions, and overthrew all their pretences.

During this time Poyntz was working with all his might in England to

ward off the blow by which his friend was about to be struck. John

assisted Thomas, but all was useless. Henry just at that time was making

great efforts to arrest some of his subjects, whom their devotion to the

pope had driven out of England. 'Cover all the roads with spies, in

order to catch them,' he wrote to the German magistrates;[455] but there

was not a word about Tyndale. The king cared very little for these

evangelicals. His religion consisted in rejecting the Roman pontiff and

making himself pope; as for those reformers, let them be burnt in

Brabant, it will save him the trouble.

All hope was not, however, lost. They had confidence in the vicegerent,

the _hammer_ of the monks. On the 13th of April Vaughan wrote to

Cromwell from Antwerp: 'If you will send me a letter for the

privy-council, I can still save Tyndale from the stake; only make haste,

for if you are slack about it, it will be too late.'[456] But there were

cases in which Cromwell could do nothing without the king, and Henry was

deaf. He had special motives at that time for sacrificing Tyndale: the

discontent which broke out in the North of England made him desirous of

conciliating the Low Countries. Charles V. also, who was vigorously

attacked by Francis I., prayed _his very good brother_ (Henry VIII.) to

unite with him _for the public good of Christendom_.[457] Queen Mary,

regent of the Netherlands, wrote from Brussels to her uncle, entreating

him to yield to this prayer, and the king was quite ready to abandon

Tyndale to such powerful allies. Mary, a woman of upright heart but

feeble character, easily yielded to outward impressions, and had at that

time bad counsellors about her. 'Those animals (the monks) are all

powerful at the Court of Brussels,' said Erasmus. 'Mary is only a puppet

placed there by our nation; Montigny is the plaything of the

Franciscans; the cardinal-archbishop of Liège is a domineering person,

and full of violence; and as for the archbishop of Palermo, he is a mere

giver of words and nothing else.'[458]

Among such personages, and under their influence, the court was formed,

and the trial of the reformer of England began. Tyndale refused to be

represented by counsel. 'I will answer my accusers myself,' he said. The

doctrine for which he was tried was this: 'The man who throws off the

worldly existence which he has lived far from God, and receives by a

living faith the complete remission of his sins, which the death of

Christ has purchased for him, is introduced by a glorious adoption into

the very family of God.' This was certainly a crime for which a reformer

could joyfully suffer. In August 1536, Tyndale appeared before the

ecclesiastical court. 'You are charged,' said his judges, 'with having

infringed the imperial decree which forbids any one to teach that faith

alone justifies.'[459] The accusation was not without truth. Tyndale's

_Unjust Mammon_ had just appeared in London under the title: _Treatise

of Justification by Faith only_. Every man could read in it the crime

with which he was charged.

Tyndale had his reasons when he declared he would defend himself. It was

not his own cause that he undertook to defend, but the cause of the

Bible; a Brabant lawyer would have supported it very poorly. It was in

his heart to proclaim solemnly, before he died, that while all human

religions make salvation proceed from the works of man, the divine

religion makes it proceed from a work of God. 'A man, whom the sense of

his sins has confounded,' said Tyndale, 'loses all confidence and joy.

The first thing to be done to save him is, therefore, to lighten him of

the heavy burden under which his conscience is bowed down. He must

believe in the perfect work of Christ which reconciles him completely

with God; then he has peace, and Christ imparts to him, by his Spirit, a

holy regeneration.—Yes,' he exclaimed, 'we believe and are at peace in

our consciences, because that God who cannot lie, hath promised to

forgive us for Christ's sake. As a child, when his father threateneth

him for his fault, hath never rest till he hear the word of mercy and

forgiveness of his father's mouth again; but as soon as he heareth his

father say, "Go thy way, do me no more so; I forgive thee this fault!"

then is his heart at rest; then runneth he to no man to make

intercession for him; neither, though there come any false merchant,

saying: "What wilt thou give me and I will obtain pardon of thy father

for thee," will he suffer himself to be beguiled. No, he will not buy of

a _wily fox_ what his father hath given him freely.'[460]

[Sidenote: TYNDALE DEGRADED.]

Tyndale had spoken to the consciences of his hearers, and some of them

were beginning to believe that his cause was the cause of the Gospel.

'Truly,' exclaimed the procurator-general, as did formerly the centurion

near the cross; 'truly this was a good, learned, and pious man.'[461]

But the priests would not allow so costly a prey to be snatched from

them. Tyndale was declared guilty of erroneous, captious, rash,

ill-sounding, dangerous, scandalous, and heretical propositions, and was

condemned to be solemnly degraded and then handed over to the secular

power.[462] They were eager to make him go through the ceremonial, even

all the mummeries, used on such occasions: it was too good a case to

allow of any curtailment. The reformer was dressed in his sacerdotal

robes, the sacred vessels and the Bible were placed in his hands, and he

was taken before the bishop. The latter, having been informed of the

_crime_ of the accused man, stripped him of the ornaments of his order,

took away the Bible from the translator of the Bible; and after a barber

had shaved the whole of his head, the bishop declared him deprived of

the crown of the priesthood, and expelled, like an undutiful child, from

the inheritance of the Lord.

One day would have been sufficient to cut off from this world the man

who was its ornament, and those who walked in the darkness of fanaticism

waited impatiently for the fatal hour; but the secular power hesitated

for awhile, and the reformer stayed nearly two months longer in prison,

always full of faith, peace, and joy. 'Well,' said those who came near

him in the castle of Vilvorde, 'if that man is not a good Christian, we

do not know of one upon earth.' Religious courage was personified in

Tyndale. He had never suffered himself to be stopped by any difficulty,

privation, or suffering; he had resolutely followed the call he had

received, which was to give England the Word of God. Nothing had

terrified him, nothing had dispirited him; with admirable perseverance

he had continued his work, and now he was going to give his life for it.

Firm in his convictions, he had never sacrificed the least truth to

prudence or to fear; firm in his hope, he had never doubted that the

labor of his life would bear fruit, for that labor had the promises of

God. That pious and intrepid man is one of the noblest examples of

Christian heroism.

[Sidenote: TYNDALE'S DYING PRAYER.]

The faint hope which some of Tyndale's friends had entertained, on

seeing the delay of justice, was soon destroyed. The imperial government

prepared at last to complete the wishes of the priests. Friday, the 6th

of October, 1536, was the day that terminated the miserable but glorious

life of the reformer. The gates of the prison rolled back, a procession

crossed the foss and the bridge, under which slept the waters of the

Senne,[463] passed the outward walls, and halted without the

fortifications. Before leaving the castle, Tyndale, a grateful friend,

had intrusted the jailer with a letter intended for Poyntz; the jailer

took it himself to Antwerp not long after, but it has not come down to

us. On arriving at the scene of punishment, the reformer found a

numerous crowd assembled. The government had wished to show the people

the punishment of a heretic, but they only witnessed the triumph of a

martyr. Tyndale was calm. 'I call God to record,' he could say, 'that I

have never altered, against the voice of my conscience, one syllable of

his Word. Nor would do this day, if all the pleasures, honors, and

riches of the earth might be given me.'[464] The joy of hope filled his

heart: yet one painful idea took possession of him. Dying far from his

country, abandoned by his king, he felt saddened at the thought of that

prince, who had already persecuted so many of God's servants, and who

remained obstinately rebellious against that divine light which

everywhere shone around him. Tyndale would not have that soul perish

through carelessness. His charity buried all the faults of the monarch:

he prayed that those sins might be blotted out from before the face of

God; he would have saved Henry VIII. at any cost. While the executioner

was fastening him to the post, the reformer exclaimed in a loud and

suppliant voice: 'Lord, open the king of England's eyes!'[465] They were

his last words. Instantly afterwards he was strangled, and flames

consumed the martyr's body. His last cry was wafted to the British

isles, and repeated in every assembly of Christians. A great death had

crowned a great life. 'Such,' says the old chronicler, John Foxe, 'such

is the story of that true servant and martyr of God, William Tyndale,

who, for his notable pains and travail, may well be called _the Apostle

of England in this our later age_.'[466]

His fellow-countrymen profited by the work of his life. As early as 1526

more than twenty editions of Tyndale's New Testament had been circulated

over the kingdom, and others had followed them. It was like a mighty

river continually bearing new waters to the sea. Did the reformer's

death dry them up suddenly? No. A greater work still was to be

accomplished: the entire Bible was ready. But could it be circulated?

The king had refused his consent to the circulation of Coverdale's

Bible; would he not do the same with this, and with greater reason? A

powerful protector alone could secure the free circulation of Scripture.

Richard Grafton, the printer, went to London to ask permission to sell

the precious volume, and with the intention of applying to Cranmer.

Would Cranmer protect it? The king and Cromwell had declared against

Tyndale, and the primate had looked on: that was too much his custom.

His essentially prudent mind, the conviction he felt that he could do no

good to the Church unless he kept the place he occupied, and perhaps his

love of life, inclined him to yield to his master's despotic will. So

long as Henry VIII. was on the throne of England, Cranmer was (humanly

speaking) the only possible reformer. A John the Baptist, a Knox, would

have been dashed to pieces at the first shock. The sceptre was then an

axe; to save the head, it was necessary to bend it. The primate,

therefore, bent his head frequently. He hid himself during the royal

anger, but when the storm had passed he appeared again. The primate was

the victim of an error. He had said that the king ought to command the

Church, and every time the tyrant's order was heard, he appeared to

believe that God himself enjoined him to obey. Cranmer was the image of

his Church which, under the weight of its greatness and with many

weaknesses hidden beneath its robes, has notwithstanding always had

within it a mighty principle of truth and life.

Grafton, the printer, had an audience of the archbishop at Forde, in

Kent: he presented the martyr's Bible, and asked him to procure its free

circulation. The archbishop took the book, examined it, and was

delighted with it. Fidelity, clearness, strength, simplicity,

unction—all were combined in this admirable translation. Cranmer had

much eagerness in proposing what he thought useful. He sent the volume

to Cromwell, begging him to present it to his Majesty and obtain

permission for it to be sold, 'until such time that we (the bishops),'

he added, 'shall put forth a better translation—which, I think, will not

be till a day after doomsday.'[467]

[Sidenote: SALE OF THE BIBLE PERMITTED.]

Henry ran over the book: Tyndale's name was not in it, and the

dedication to his Majesty was very well written. The king regarding (and

not without reason) Holy Scripture as the most powerful engine to

destroy the papal system, and believing that this translation would help

him to emancipate England from the Romish domination, came to an

unexpected resolution: he authorized the sale and the reading of the

Bible throughout the kingdom. Inconsistent and whimsical prince! at one

and the same time he published and imposed all over his realm the

doctrines of Romanism, and circulated without obstacle the Divine Word

that overthrew them! We may well say that the blood of a martyr,

precious in the eyes of the Supreme King, opened the gates of England to

the Holy Scriptures. Cromwell having informed the archbishop of the

royal decision, the latter exclaimed, 'What you have just done gives me

more pleasure than if you had given me a thousand pounds. I doubt not

but that hereby such fruit of good knowledge shall ensue, that it shall

well appear hereafter, what high and acceptable service you have done

unto God and the king, which shall so much redound to your honor that

(besides God's reward) you shall obtain perpetual memory for the

same.'[468]

[Sidenote: RECEPTION OF THE BIBLE.]

For centuries the English people had been waiting for such a permission,

even from before the time of Wycliff; and accordingly the Bible

circulated rapidly. The impetuosity with which the living waters rushed

forth, carrying with them everything they met in their course, was like

the sudden opening of a huge floodgate. This great event, more important

than divorces, treaties, and wars, was the conquest of England by the

Reformation. 'It was a wonderful thing to see,' says an old

historian.[469] Whoever possessed the means bought the book and read it

or had it read to him by others. Aged persons learnt their letters in

order to study the Holy Scriptures of God. In many places there were

meetings for reading; poor people clubbed their savings together and

purchased a Bible, and then in some remote corner of the church,[470]

they modestly formed a circle, and read the Holy Book between them. A

crowd of men, women, and young folks, disgusted with the barren pomp of

the altars, and with the worship of dumb images, would gather round them

to taste the precious promises of the Gospel. God himself spoke under

the arched roofs of those old chapels or time-worn cathedrals, where for

generations nothing had been heard but masses and litanies. The people

wished, instead of the noisy chants of the priests, to hear the voice of

Jesus Christ, of Paul and of John, of Peter and of James. The

Christianity of the Apostles reappeared in the Church.

But with it came persecution, according to the words of the Master: _The

brother shall deliver up the brother to death, and the father the

child_. A father exasperated because his son, a mere boy, had taken part

in these holy readings, caught him by the hair, and put a cord round his

neck to hang him.[471] In all the towns and villages of Tyndale's

country the holy pages were opened, and the delighted readers found

therein those treasures of peace and joy which the martyr had known.

Many cried out with him, 'We know that this Word is from God, as we know

that fire burns; not because any one has told us, but because a Divine

fire consumes our hearts. O the brightness of the face of Moses! O the

splendor of the glory of Jesus Christ, which no veil conceals! O the

inward power of the Divine word, which compels us, with so much

sweetness, to love and to do! O the temple of God within us, in which

the Son of God dwells!'[472] Tyndale had desired to see the world on

fire by his Master's Word, and that fire was kindled.

The general dissemination of the Holy Scriptures forms an important

epoch in the Reformation of England. It is like one of those pillars

which separate one territory from another. Here, for the moment, we

suspend our course, and repose for a brief space ere we turn our steps

to other countries.

[441] Tyndale, _Doctrinal Treatises_, p. 18.

[442] '_The Newe Testament dylygently corrected and compared with the

Greke_, by Willyam Tyndale, and finished in the yere of our Lord God

M.D. anno xxv.' There is a copy of it in the Cambridge Library. In this

edition Tyndale wrote, 'faether, maester, sayede,' &c., instead of

'father, master, said.'

[443] Foxe, _Acts_, vi. p. 591.

[444] Tyndale's _Works_, vol. i. pp. 131, 161, 148; vol. iii. pp. 136,

139.

[445] Mr. Christopher Anderson, who has displayed such a combination of

learning and discernment in his work entitled _The Annals of the English

Bible_, comes to no decision as to the place of impression. He only

remarks that if we examine well the capital letters, initials, &c., we

may now be able to name the printing office from which that volume

proceeded.

[446] Foxe, _Acts_, v. p. 127.

[447] Tyndale, _Doctrinal Treatises_, p. 83.

[448] Foxe, _Acts_, v. p. 127.

[449] Pythagoras in the _Epicteti Enchir._ p. 334.

[450] Anderson, _Annals of the English Bible_, i. p. 427.

[451] 'Let not to take pains with loss of time in his own

business.'—Foxe, _Acts_, v. p. 124.

[452] 'Master Tyndale should have been delivered to him.'—_Ibid._

[453] 'He knew no other remedy but to accuse Poyntz.'—Foxe,

_Acts_, v. p. 430.

[454] Tyndale, _Works_, ii. pp. 195, 251.

[455] Tyndale, _Works_, ii. pp. 195, 251.

[456] _State Papers_, vii. pp. 662, 663, 665.

[457] _Ibid._ ix. pp. 662-664.

[458] Letter to Cholerus. Erasmus died shortly after, on the 12th

of July, 1536.

[459] Foxe, _Acts_, v. p. 127. Urkunden des Augsburg Reichtages,

ii. p. 719.

[460] Tyndale, _Works_, i. p. 294.

[461] 'Homo doctus, pius, et bonus.'—Foxe, _Acts_, v. p. 127.

[462] John Hutton (the English agent) to Lord Cromwell, 12th

August, 1536.—_State Papers_, vii. p. 665.

[463] The present prison is built on the other bank of the river.

[464] Foxe, _Acts_, v. p. 134.

[465] _Ibid._ p. 129.

[466] Foxe, _Acts_, v. p. 114.

[467] Cranmer, _Letters and Remains_ (4th August, 1537), p. 344.

[468] Cranmer, _Letters and Remains_, p. 346.

[469] Strype, _Cranmer Mem._ p. 91.

[470] 'Several poor men ... on Sunday sat reading in the lower

end of the Church.'—_Ibid._

[471] Strype, _Cranmer Mem._, p. 92.

[472] Tyndale's _Works_, vol. i. pp. 27, 317, 373, 463; vol. ii. pp. 210,

260; vol. iii. p. 26.

BOOK IX.

REFORMATION OF GENEVA BY FAREL'S MINISTRY, AND ARRIVAL

OF CALVIN IN THAT CITY AFTER HIS SOJOURN IN ITALY.

CHAPTER I.

PROGRESS, STRUGGLES, AND MARTYRS OF THE REFORMATION IN GENEVA.

(JANUARY TO JUNE 1535.)

The Reformation of Geneva, prepared by the restoration of civil liberty

and begun by the reading of the Word of God and the teaching of various

evangelists, was about to be definitively carried out by the devout

ministry of Froment, Viret, and particularly of Farel. Afterwards

Calvin, in accord with the Councils, who never renounced their right of

intervention, will strengthen the foundations and organize and crown the

edifice. The civil and ecclesiastical powers had (especially since the

days of Hildebrand) struggled continually with each other in the

different nations of Christendom, and stirred up hatreds, divisions, and

wars. A better state of things was to take the place of these perpetual

troubles. Church and State were not always to be united even in Geneva;

but they would show more moderation in their relations, would more

frequently have the same thoughts, and would advance hand in hand

towards a mutual independence, which would not, however, estrange them

from each other.

[Sidenote: IS LIBERTY A BLESSING?]

At the beginning of 1535 the opposition to Reform was still vigorous in

that city, whose inhabitants were discussing the important question

whether liberty was a good or an evil? The partisans of the pope and

Savoy tried to demonstrate to such of the citizens as were known to be

in favor of civil liberty and religious reform, that their condition

would go from bad to worse, if they did not accept the sovereignty of

their bishop, the protectorate of a neighboring prince, and the

supremacy of the pope—three masters for one. The fruits of that

independence with which they were so captivated, would be (they said)

agitation, disorder, violence, and misery. The feudal party was

sincerely convinced that the path of liberty is rugged and dangerous;

that he who follows it stumbles, falls, and is ruined; and that whether

a nation be great or small, it needs an absolute and energetic power to

keep it in order. They advised the Genevese to lay aside their fine

theories, their old parchments, and their ancient franchises, and to

take a master if they desired to see peace, wealth, pleasure, and

prosperity abound within their walls.

The citizens rejected this advice. They believed that as the liberties

they possessed came from their fathers, they ought not to rob their

children of them. They knew that independence had dangers, privations,

and troubles to which they must submit. But life itself is not without

them, and we should not think that a reason for making away with it. If

God has enriched man with noble faculties, it is not that he may

mutilate or stifle them, but develop, regulate, and increase them. No

man worthy of the name voluntarily accepts laws in the making of which

he has had no share. Cæsarism, violence, and secret societies cannot be

substituted in a nation for independence, justice, and publicity.

Despotism dwarfs a man, liberty strengthens him. To take it away in

order to prevent abuses, is to change the work and plan of the Creator.

And yet everything seemed to indicate that liberty and reform were about

to be destroyed in Geneva. An assembly of the Swiss Cantons held, as we

have seen, at Lucerne on the 1st of January, 1535, had been occupied

about Geneva; and Berne, the only canton that wished well to the

Genevese, had consented that the bishop and the duke should be

reinstated in the rights which they pretended to possess, provided

religion remained free; for, the Bernese had added, 'faith is the gift

of God.' But the envoys of Savoy had demanded the complete and

unconditional recognition of the absolute authority of the duke and the

bishop, which alone (they affirmed) could put an end to all hatred and

effusion of blood.[473] The diet had decided on this, so that the

reformation and independence of Geneva were about to be annihilated by

the Swiss themselves.

[Sidenote: HUGUENOT MAGISTRATES ELECTED.]

But it is when men draw back that help is nearest. If all were resolved,

outside of Geneva, to destroy its Reformation, the small phalanx of

citizens within its walls was not less resolved to uphold it. Three

parties called for it alike. The old huguenots wanted it to be

immediate, violent even if necessary; the magistrates wished it to be

legal, slow, and diplomatic; and the evangelicals desired it to be

spiritual and peaceably accomplished by the Word of God. There were many

pious souls in the houses of people of mark, as well as in obscure

dwellings, who cried to God day and night for the triumph of the good

cause. That little city of 12,000 souls had determined to resist the

powers who wanted to crush it. Without hesitation, without fear, Geneva

trusted in God and marched onwards. The period (7th of February) having

arrived at which the magistrates were elected every year, the Genevese

resolutely voted to the first offices of the state the friends of

independence and reform.[474] Among the councillors there were also some

of the most decided huguenots.[475] With such men—with Farel, Viret, and

Froment within its walls, and with the Divine protection, the

transformation of Geneva seemed imminent, notwithstanding the efforts of

Switzerland, Piedmont, the emperor, and the pope.

The government party desired to precipitate nothing; they intended to

conciliate opposite opinions, and to seek a certain middle course which

would satisfy everybody; but the cause of the Reformation and of liberty

fermented in many hearts. Those waters, which the magistrates would have

desired to see motionless, were strongly agitated, and the Roman ship,

already dismasted, might be suddenly engulfed. Almost every day some

citizen, some woman, or even some monk, left the Church of the pope and

entered the Church of the Gospel; or else some foreign Christian, who

had forsaken everything to obey his conscience, entered the free city,

principally by the gate of France. Those pious refugees were received

like brothers. People gathered round them, looked at them, and

questioned them. The strangers told how they had waged a bitter war,

endured vile reproaches, wept much and groaned much; but the annoyances

they had suffered (they added) appeared light, now that they had found

deliverance and liberty. The Christians of Geneva were strengthened by

the faith of these noble confessors of Jesus Christ. The reforming

torrent increased, it was seen rushing against the weakened barriers.

The Roman-catholics both from without and within vainly endeavored to

check it; it was about to sweep away the worm-eaten timbers of

popery.[476] The council, however, seemed motionless. The ardent

Bandière was pushing forward, the catholic Philippin was holding back;

but the halfway opinions of the chief syndic and of Du Molard finally

prevailed.

The moderate party agreed that some concession ought to be made to the

evangelical party, if they wished to remain in office. A good

opportunity occurred of realizing this plan. They discovered a gray

friar who offered to preach the Word of God, while wearing the hood of

St. Francis. To give a mitigated Gospel, under a Roman form, is the plan

ordinarily chosen by those who have set peace before truth. One or two

days after the election of syndics, the cordelier, supported by the

council, asked the Chapter for a place to preach in. The canons, who

were a little mistrustful, examined him: he wore the brown frock of St.

Francis, and a cord served him for a girdle. Still they feared there was

something underneath. 'Go to the vicar-episcopal, who lives at Gex,'

they said. The 'evangelical monk' did so; but the vicar also regarded

him with an uneasy look. 'My lord bishop,' he answered, 'will soon come

to Geneva; he will bring with him whatever preacher he likes.' The poor

Franciscan came back and told the council that they had bowed him out

everywhere. Two councillors now waited upon the Chapter to support the

monk's petition; when some of them, who lived as canons do, as idly as

can be imagined, suddenly found that they had their hands full. 'We have

to read the service,' they answered, 'and it is so long! and then there

is other work to do; there is the procession, in which we must walk in

order. We have not the time to think about preaching! Make the best

arrangement you can.' The council was disgusted. To bawl out litanies,

that was a pressing matter; but to have the Word of God preached was a

supererogatory work. 'Well then,' said the offended syndics to the monk,

'we will give you a place ourselves,' and they assigned him the church

of St. Germain, situated in a district devoted to catholicism. This was

Saturday, 12th of February, the eve of the first Sunday in Lent.[477]

The report of this decision threw the catholics of the parish into

confusion, and there were violent scenes in many a household. The women

were beside themselves; they abused their husbands, called them cowards,

and enjoined them to oppose the monk's sermon. One of them, by name

Pernette, was distinguished in this opposition. Small, fat,

short-legged, and with her head between the shoulders, she was so like a

ball that they called her in the city _Touteronde_.[478] But a restless

spirit agitated her little body, and a big voice came out of it.

Pernette bestirred herself, plotted in-doors, shouted in the streets,

and at last went to see the parish-priest.

The priest of St. Germain and bishop's procurator-fiscal was Thomas

Vandel, brother of Robert, Pierre, and Hugues. He was an undecided

character, disposed to walk like his brothers in the way of

independence, but close ties attached him to the bishop, and he

hesitated. Divided in heart, he was continually driven backwards and

forwards by opposing sentiments.

For the moment, thanks to the efforts of certain canons and noble

ladies, the wind at the parsonage was favorable for the papacy. Certain

huguenots, however, were just then speaking in a loud voice; and Vandel,

unwilling to pronounce for either side, threw the burden on the

principal members of his parish, by requesting them to present a

petition to the council.

[Sidenote: A RIOT IN CHURCH.]

On Sunday morning a little before the hour at which the monk was to

preach, the deputation proceeded to the hôtel-de-ville. The members were

really speaking for their wives. There was no question of heresy. 'We

fear that there may be a disturbance,' they said, 'and therefore beg to

have our usual service.' The syndics answered, 'You will hear the

preacher. If he preaches well, he shall stay; but if he preaches any

novelty, anything contrary to Holy Scripture, he will be expelled.'

Accordingly the priest had it announced in the church that the monk

would preach _by order of the council_. The women and a few men returned

to their homes much irritated. An insurrection was at once organized; a

clerical partisan collected a number of the parishioners about him in

the street and shouted out, 'Shut the church doors against the gray

friar.' Pernette, who was there, went home, caught up a great wooden

pestle with which she used to pound salt,[479] and brandishing it like a

club, marched fiercely to the combat. A great number of women, among

whom were some of rather questionable morality, surrounded her, crying,

'The Lutherans want to give us a preacher. Oh, the dogs, the dogs!'

Pernette raised her pestle and declared she would brain the first

heretic who dared approach the pulpit. Her bellicose companions followed

her, entered the church, drew up in battle-array, and waited for the

enemy. Directly the cordelier appeared, they began to make a great

uproar,[480] and rushed in front of him, shouting and tossing their arms

and their weapons. Pernette got on a chair, and brandished the pestle

over their heads. The Reformed who had entered the doors gathered round

the preacher, crying, 'Forward, courage!' and made a way for the monk,

who, little by little, reached the foot of the pulpit. 'Then,' says

sister Jeanne de Jussie, 'that apostate from St. Francis, who still wore

the robe of the holy order, began to preach in the heretical

fashion.'[481] But as soon as the Franciscan opened his mouth, Pernette

gave the signal by raising her pestle, and immediately the bigots of

both sexes made such an uproar that the cordelier was compelled to be

silent.

The council, unwilling to see their orders defied, took proceedings

against the rioters. The friend of the priests who had prompted the

insurrection lost his citizenship; Pernette was condemned to a few days'

imprisonment on bread and water; and two other women of loose conduct

were banished from the city. From that time the cordelier preached in

peace; and the _curé_ seeing which way the wind was blowing, graciously

received him into his own house. Before long he began to have a liking

for the monk's opinions, and appeared to range himself on the side of

the Gospel.[482]

This victory—as was natural—precipitated the movement of the Reformation

in Geneva. Easter day was kept with much fervor by the friends of the

Gospel. They went in considerable numbers to the Lord's table, which was

spread at the Rive convent. Husbands accompanied their wives; the young

guided the old. Some huguenots, who probably were not among the

communicants, wishing to prove to the catholics, that although they were

in the last days of Holy Week, the bells had not made a journey to Rome,

as the priests led the superstitious people to believe, rang them in

loud peals on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, says sister Jeanne.[483]

The fanatical adversaries of the Reformation, exasperated by this

progress, were about to take a cruel revenge.

[Sidenote: THE PIOUS KNIGHT OF RHODES.]

Gaudet of St. Cloud, near Paris, a pious man and formerly knight of

Rhodes,[484] saw with joy this active movement of Reform. Accordingly,

he had left his uncle, the Commander of Rhodes, Sire Loys Brunis de

Compésières, a man heartily devoted to the pope, and had gone and

settled in Geneva with his wife and household. The city of the huguenots

was specially adapted to offer a refuge to the exiles. Then, at least,

there was no exclusive aristocracy; every individuality had its place.

Any one might by his intelligence and energy take his seat among the

notables. Gaudet, touched by these liberal manners, and edified by the

zeal with which Farel and the other ministers scattered the true

doctrine of the Son of God amidst great difficulties,[485] lived happily

in Geneva, heard the preaching and even preached himself, which seemed

extraordinary in a knight of Rhodes. One day a Genevese Roman-catholic,

visiting the Commander of Compésières, told him what his nephew was

doing. When Sire Loys heard that the knight of Rhodes was turning

heretic and preacher, he resolved to get him out of so dangerous a city,

and to that end gave his visitor a letter in which Gaudet was invited to

go to Gex, where he would find important news from Paris. Gaudet set

off. It was not an easy thing at that time to make this journey.

Genevese mamelukes, Savoyard knights, and other brigands filled the

castle of Peney. Perched on the walls, they kept watch on all the

surrounding country, and as soon as they perceived a traveller, they

swooped down upon their prey, and carried him off to their eyrie. Their

brigandage was the chief topic of conversation in all the country round.

'On the 9th of February of this year,' people said at Geneva, 'three

cordeliers and two printers, all disciples of the Gospel, who had come

from France and were journeying hither, were carried away from the inn

at which they had halted by twelve arquebusiers from Peney. A little

later another Frenchman was taken, tortured, and hanged. Between the 1st

and 5th of April several Genevans were taken to the castle with their

hands tied behind them like criminals. A huguenot, condemned, without

proof, of having helped to drive the bishop out of Geneva, was torn limb

from limb by horses in the courtyard at Peney. The garrison of that

castle creates continual alarm night and day; and carries off cattle,

goods, and even men, women and children.'[486] Such savage acts were of

a nature to prevent Gaudet from acting upon his uncle's invitation; but

a knight of Rhodes knows no fear. He reached Gex on the 22d of June

without hindrance, and departed the next morning. He was travelling

without suspicion when some armed men pounced upon him and carried him

off to the castle of Peney.

[Sidenote: THE KNIGHT CRUELLY TORTURED.]

The fanatics who had taken up their abode there, tried to bring Gaudet

back to the teaching of Rome; but as their efforts were useless, they

took other means which doubtless were not to be found in his uncle's

instructions. They kept him for about five days in great torment.[487]

'If you will recant,' they said, 'your life shall be spared.' But the

ex-knight knew that we have to fight continually, and he had the

doctrine of salvation too deeply engraved in his heart to forget it. 'He

remained constant,' say the chroniclers, 'supporting the cause of the

Gospel.' The men of Peney had not expected this. In their eyes Gaudet's

firmness was criminal obstinacy, and they resolved 'to put him to the

cruellest death ever heard of in this country.'[488] They determined

that he should be 'burnt alive over a slow fire, for having settled at

Geneva, for having attended sermons, and heard and preached the Gospel.'

That was his crime. Wishing to let their neighbors enjoy a spectacle so

worthy of being seen, the gentlemen invited the peasantry of the

neighborhood, men, women, and children, to be present. Gaudet was

brought from his dungeon, and taken into the castle yard, which was

filled with spectators, and there fastened to a post. One of the

Peneysans brought some embers and placed them 'neatly' under his feet;

when the soles of his feet were burnt, the fire was removed and passed

in succession over the different parts of the body. But the Christian

knight remained firm. He knew that when God puts his Holy Spirit into a

man, he cannot fail, although the heavens should fall. His cruel

torturers showed as much determination as he did. They said that Gaudet

was a member of that famous order of St. John of Jerusalem founded in

the Holy Land, placed under the protection of the holy see, and which

had defended with so much glory the Cross against the Crescent. The

knowledge that one of its knights had joined the heretics, that he had

even become a preacher, transported them with fury. Seeing that their

burning coals did nothing, they tied the disciple of the Gospel to a

pillar, stood round him with their arms, and, more cruel than the Red

Indians, began to prick him all over with their spears and

halberds.[489] Gaudet, forgivingly, blessed his enemies. 'You are

putting me to death,' he said, 'because I have preached the Word of God.

I call to the God of mercy, and pray that He will pardon the sufferings

you inflict upon me.'[490]

The martyr was visibly sinking, but he ceased not to invoke the name of

Christ; and 'that invocation,' says the chronicler, 'brought him

alleviation in his bitter torments.' He had put his hope in the

faithfulness of the unseen God. The punishment and the joy of the martyr

had a different effect upon the spectators from what had been expected.

They were seized with horror; they uttered deep sighs, and 'departed

weeping and groaning to their homes, being grieved at such an

outrage.'[491] At length Gaudet, exhausted, rendered up his soul to God,

two days after he had been fastened to the pillar. Geneva, who had had

her martyrs of liberty, now had her martyrs of faith.[492]

[Sidenote: ATTACK ON PENEY.]

So cruel an action revolted every heart. The priests said: 'It will do

us more mischief than twenty of Farel's sermons.' The huguenots

exclaimed that the brigands' nest must be destroyed. The relatives of

the citizens confined in it feared lest they should meet with Gaudet's

fate, and called for their deliverance. The council met one night after

supper, the gates of the city being already closed, and the attack of

Peney was proposed. They were reminded, in vain, 'that it contained old

soldiers, men tried in war, and that the castle was strong and well

supplied with artillery.' Gaudet's cruel punishment carried the day: the

proposal for attacking was voted. The herald passed through the dark

streets, with orders that every man, bearing arms, should go to his

muster-place without delay. A force of nearly five hundred men and two

pieces of artillery left the city. About an hour after midnight, the

little army was under the walls of the fortress. All was quiet:

everybody was asleep. Unfortunately, the ladders had not yet arrived,

and the Genevese, fearing they would be observed if the assault was

deferred, pointed their cannons and fired a shot. The men-at-arms in the

castle were aroused: at first they imagined they were taken, says the

chronicler; but recovered themselves before long. Some rang the

alarm-bell to call their friends from outside, others ran to the

ramparts. Renouncing their idea of scaling the walls, the Genevese aimed

their cannons at the gate and battered it down; the Peneysans

immediately set up another. Bullets and cannonballs rained on the

besiegers, the walls seemed on fire. Some of the Genevese fell where

they stood; others, who were wounded, retired out of gunshot, and sat

down mournfully by the road-side. At this moment it was reported that M.

de Lugrin, who commanded at Gex, was approaching with his troops. As the

Genevans were about to be caught between two fires, the commanders

ordered a retreat.

Everybody crowded to the gates to receive the discomfited force. What a

disaster! women looking for their husbands, mothers for their sons!

'What remedy can be found for the ills that now oppress us?' was the

cry. The voices of the Reformers revived their drooping spirits, and

said: 'God will do other and greater things. He will deliver you from

your enemies, but by other means which you do not understand, in order

that the honor may be entirely paid to Him, and not to your human

enterprises and artillery.'[493] The Genevans neglected nothing for

their defence. They took the bells from the convents and cast them into

cannon; they cleared away the walls of the faubourgs which still

existed; they established a permanent force to protect the open country

and seek provisions; and, finally, sent away the traitors whom they

found in the city. They trusted in God, but they wished to be ready for

battle.

[473] _Archives générales du royaume d'Italie à Turin._—Genève, paquet

14.

[474] The four syndics were A. Chicand, the intrepid huguenot Ami

Bandière, Hudriod du Molard, and Jean Philippin: the last only, who was

chosen from a feeling of equity, inclined to the catholic side.

[475] A. Porral, J. Philippe, F. Favre, S. Coquet, d'Adda, Cl. Savoye,

J. Lullin, and Et. de Chapeaurouge.

[476] Registres du Conseil des 7 et 8 Février 1525.—Froment, _Gestes le

Genève_, p. 131

[477] Registres du Conseil du 12 Février 1535.

[478] Roundabout.

[479] 'Unum pictonem nemoreum.' (Lawyer's Latin.) Registres du Conseil

du 14 Février 1535.

[480] Registres du Conseil du 14 Février 1535.

[481] _Commencement de l'Hérésie dans Genève_, p. 105.

[482] Registres du Conseil des 13, 14, 21 Février et 6 Mars.

[483] _Commencement de l'Hérésie_, pp. 106 and 108.

[484] See Vol. IV. book vii. ch. 10.

[485] Crespin, _Actes des Martyrs_, art. P. Gaudet, p. 114.

[486] Froment, _Gestes de Genève_, p. 172.

[487] Crespin, _Martyrologue_, p. 114.

[488] 'Dont onques on ouyt parler en ce pays.'

[489] Froment, _Gestes de Genève_, p. 173.

[490] Letter from the Council of Geneva to Porral, ambassador at Berne,

29th June, 1535.

[491] 'S'en alloynt, pleurant et gémissant en leurs maysons, estant

marrys d'ung tel oultraige.'

[492] Registres du Conseil du 29 Juin 1525.—Crespin, _Actes des

Martyrs_, p. 114.—Froment, _Gestes de Genève_, p. 173.

[493] Registres du Conseil des 4, 7, 10, 17, 18, Mai 1535.—Froment,

_Gestes de Genève_, pp. 177, 178.—Jeanne de Jussie, _Commencement de

l'Hérésie dans Genève_, pp. 114, 115.