WOLSEY AND WHITEHALL.
Regal Character of Whitehall -- York Place -- Personal and
Moral Character of Wolsey -- Comparison of him with his Master,
Henry -- His Pomp and Popularity -- Humorous Account of his
Flatterers by Sir Thomas More -- Importance of his Hat --
Cavendish's Account of his household State, his goings forth in
Public, and his entertainments of the King.
The whole district containing all that collection of streets and
houses, which extends from Scotland Yard to Parliament Street, and
from the river side, with its wharfs, to St. James's Park, and which
is still known by the general appellation of Whitehall, was formerly
occupied by a sumptuous palace and its appurtenances, the only relics
of which, perhaps the noblest specimen, is the beautiful edifice built
by Inigo Jones, and retaining its old name of the Banqueting House.
As this palace was the abode of a series of English sovereigns,
beginning with Henry the Eighth, who took it from Wolsey, and
terminating with James the Second, on whose downfall it was destroyed
by fire, we are now in the very thick of the air of royalty; and so
being, we mean to lead a princely life with the reader for a couple of
chapters,--whether he take the word "princely" in a good or ill sense,
as first in magnificence and authority, or in wilfulness and
profusion. Cavendish, Holinshed, and the poets, will enable us to live
with Wolsey, with Henry, and with Elizabeth; Wilson and the poets,
with James the First; Clarendon, Pepys, and others with Charles the
First, Cromwell, Charles the Second, and his brother. We shall eat and
drink, and swell into most unapostolical pomp, with the great
Cardinal; shall huff and fume with Henry, and marry pretty Anne Bullen
in a closet (Lingard says in a "garret"); send her to have her head
cut off as if nothing had happened; be an everlasting young old
gentlewoman with Queen Elizabeth, enamouring people's eyes at seventy;
drink and splutter, and be a great baby, with King James; have a
taste, and be henpecked, and not very sincere, yet melancholy and much
to be pitied, with poor Charles the First; be uneasy, secret, and
energetic, and like a crowned Methodist preacher, or an old dreary
piece of English oak (choose which you will) with Oliver Cromwell;
saunter, squander, and be gay, and periwigged, and laughing, and
ungrateful, and liked, and despised, and have twenty mistresses, and
look as grim and swarthy, and with a face as full of lines, as if we
were full of melancholy and black bile, with Charles the Second; and,
finally, have all his melancholy, and none of his wit and mirth, with
his poor, dreary, bigoted brother James.
"Now, this is worshipful society."
Whether it be happy or not, or enviable by the least peasant who can
pay his way and sleep heartily, will be left to the judgment of the
reader.
The site of Whitehall was originally occupied by a mansion built by
Hubert de Burgh, Earl of Kent, and Chief Justice of England in the
reign of Henry the Third, one of the ancestors of the present Marquess
of Clanricarde. De Burgh bequeathed it to the Brotherhood of the Black
Friars, near "Oldborne," in whose church he was buried; the
Brotherhood sold it to Walter Gray, Archbishop of York, who left it to
his successors in that see as the archiepiscopal residence, which
procured it the name of York Place; and under that name, two
centuries and a half afterwards, it became celebrated for the pomp and
festal splendour of the "full-blown" priest, Wolsey, the magnificent
butcher's son. Wolsey, on highly probable evidence, is thought to have
so improved and enlarged the mansion of his predecessors, as to have
in a manner rebuilt it, and given it its first royalty of aspect: but,
as we shall see by and by, it was not called Whitehall, nor occupied
anything like the space it did afterwards, till its seizure by the
Cardinal's master.
We have always thought the epithet of "full-blown," as applied to
Wolsey, the happiest poetical hit ever made by Dr. Johnson:
"In full-blown dignity see Wolsey stand,
Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand."
His ostentation, his clerical robes, his very corpulence, and his
subsequent _fading_, all conspire to render the image felicitous.
Wolsey is the very flower of priestly prosperity--fat, full-blown,
gorgeous, called into life by sunshine; the very odours he was fond of
carrying in his hand, become a part of his efflorescence; one imagines
his cheek florid, and his huge, silken vestments expanding about him,
like bloated petals. Anon, the blast blows from the horrid royal
mouth: the round flower hangs its head; it lays its dead neck on the
earth; and in its room, is a loathed weed.
Wolsey, however, did not grow to be what he was with the indolence of
a flower. He began his career with as much personal as mental
activity, rendered himself necessary to the indolence of a young and
luxurious Sovereign,--in fact, became his Sovereign's will in another
shape, relieving the royal person of all trouble, and at the same time
securing all his wishes, from a treaty down to a mistress; and hence,
as he himself intimated, the whole secret of his prosperity. He had
industry, address, eloquence, the power of pleasing, the art (till
success spoilt him) of avoiding whatever was unpleasant. He could set
his master at ease with himself, in the smallest points of discourse,
as well as on greater occasions. Henry felt no misgiving in his
presence. He beheld in his lordly and luxurious agent a second self,
with a superior intellect, artfully subjected to his own, so as to
imply intellectual as well as royal superiority; and he loved the
priestly splendour of Wolsey, because, in setting the church so high,
and at the same time carrying himself so loyally, the churchman only
the more elevated the Prince. The moment the great servant appeared as
if he could do without the greater master, by a fortune superior to
failure in his projects, Henry's favour began to give way; and when
the princely churchman, partly in the heedlessness arising from long
habits of security, and partly in the natural resentment of a superior
mind, expressed a doubt whether his Sovereign was acting with perfect
justice towards him, his doom was sealed. Kings never forgive a wound
to their self-love. They have been set so high above fellowship by
their fellow-creatures, that they feel, and in some measure they have
a right to feel, the least intimation of equality, much more of
superiority, as an offence, especially when it is aggravated by a
secret sense of the justice of the pretension; and all Wolsey's
subsequent self-abasements could not do away with that stinging
recollection, pleased as Henry was to widen the distance between them,
and recover his own attitude of self-possession by airs of princely
pity. Wolsey was a sort of Henry, himself--wilful, worldly, and fat,
but with more talents and good-nature; for he appears to have been a
man of rare colloquial abilities, and, where he was not opposed in
large matters, of a considerate kindliness. He was an attached as well
as affable master; and his consciousness of greater merit in himself
would never have suffered him to send a couple of poor light-hearted
girls to the scaffold, for bringing the royal marriage-bed into some
shadow of a doubt of its sacredness. He would have sent them to a
nunnery, and had a new marriage, without a tragedy in it, like a
proper Christian Sultan! Had Henry been in Wolsey's place, he would
have proposed to set up the Inquisition; and King Thomas would have
reproved him, and told him that such severities did not become two
such fat and jolly believers as they.
The people appear to have liked Wolsey much. They enjoyed his pomp as
a spectacle, and pitied his fall. They did not grudge his pomp to one
who was so generous. Besides, they had a secret complacency in the
humbleness of his origin, seeing that he rose from it by real merit.
Those that quarrelled with him for his pride, were proud nobles and
grudging fellow-divines. It is pretty clear that Shakspeare, who was
such a "good fellow" himself, had a regard for Wolsey as another. He
takes opportunities of echoing his praises, and dresses his fall in
robes of pathos and eloquence. As to a true feeling of religion, it is
out of the question in considering Wolsey's history and times. It was
not expected of him. It was not the fashion or the morality of the
day. It was sufficient that the Church made its way in the world, and
secretly elevated the interests of literature and scholarship along
with it. A king in those times was regarded as a visible God upon
earth, not thoroughly well behaved, but much to be believed in; and if
the Church could compete with the State, it was hoped that more
perfect times would somehow or other ensue. A good deal of license was
allowed it on behalf of the interests of better things--a singular
arrangement, and, as the event turned out, not likely to better itself
quite so peaceably as was hoped for; but it was making the best, under
the circumstances, of the old perplexity between "the shows of things,
and the desires of the mind." Wolsey (as the prosperous and the upper
classes are apt to do in all ages) probably worshipped success itself
as the final proof of all which the divine Governor of the world
intended, in his dealings with individuals or society. Hence his proud
swelling while possessed of it, and his undisguised tears and
lamentations during his decline. He talks with his confidants about
the King and good fortune, like a boy crying for a cake, and they
respectfully echo his groans, and evidently think them not at all
inconsistent, either with manliness or wisdom.
There was a breadth of character in all that Wolsey thought, did, and
suffered--in his strength and in his weakness. In his prosperity he
set no bounds to his pomp; in adversity he cries out and calls upon
the gods, not affecting to be a philosopher. When he was angry he
huffed and used big words, like his master; when in good humour, he
loaded people with praise; and he loved a large measure of it himself,
he issued forth, with his goodly bulk and huge garments, and expected
a worship analogous to his amplitudes. There is a passage written with
great humour by Sir Thomas More, which, according to Dr. Wordsworth
(the poet's brother), is intended, "no doubt, to represent the
Cardinal at the head of his table." What reasons the doctor has for
not doubting the application, we cannot say, and therefore do not
think ourselves any more justified than inclined to dispute them. The
supposition is highly probable. Wolsey must have offered a fine
dramatic spectacle to the eyes of a genius like More. We shall
therefore copy the passage for the reader's entertainment, from a note
in Mr. Singer's excellent edition of the Cardinal's Life by
Cavendish:--
"_Anthony._ I praye you, Cosyn, tell on. _Vincent._ Whan I was
fyrste in Almaine, Uncle, it happed me to be somewhat favoured
_with a great manne of the churche, and a great state_, one of
the greatest in all that country there. And in dede whosoever
might spende as muche as hee mighte in one thinge and other,
were a ryght great estate in anye countrey of Christendom. But
_glorious_ was hee verye farre above all measure, and that was
great pitie, for it dyd harme, and made him abuse many great
gyftes that God hadde given him. Never was he saciate of
hearinge his owne prayse.
"So happed it one daye, that he had in a great audience made an
oracion in a certayne matter, wherein he liked himselfe so
well, that at his dinner he sat, him thought, on thornes, tyll
he might here how they that sat with hym at his borde, woulde
commende it. And whan hee had sitte musing a while, devysing,
as I thought after, uppon some pretty proper waye to bring it
in withal, at the laste for lacke of a better, lest he should
have letted the matter too long, he brought it even blontly
forth, and asked us al that satte at his bordes end (for at his
owne messe in the middes there sat but himself alone) how well
we lyked his oracion that he hadde made that daye. But in
fayth, Uncle, whan that probleme was once proponed, till it was
full answered, _no manne (I wene) eate one morsell of meate
more_. Every manne was fallen in so depe a studye, for the
fyndynge of _some exquisite prayse_. For he that shoulde have
broughte out but a vulgare and a common commendacion, woulde
have thoughte himself shamed for ever. Then sayde we our
sentences by rowe as wee sat, from the lowest unto the hyghest
in good order, _as it had bene a great matter of the common
weale, in a right solemne counsayle_. Whan it came to my parte,
I wyll not say it, Uncle, for no boaste, mee thoughte, by oure
Ladye, for my parte, I quytte my selfe metelye wel. And I lyked
my selfe the better because mee thoughte my words beeinge but a
straungyer, wente yet with some grace in the Almain tong;
wherein lettyng my latin alone me listed to shewe my cunnyng,
and I hoped to be lyked the better, because I sawe that he that
sate next mee, and should saie his sentence after mee, was an
unlearned Prieste, for he could speake no latin at all. But
whan he came furth for hys part with my Lordes commendation,
the wyly fox hadde be so well accustomed in courte with the
crafte of flattry, that he wente beyonde me to farre.
"And then might I see by hym, what excellence a right meane
witte may come to in one crafte, that in al his whole life
studyeth and busyeth his witte about no mo but that one. But I
made after a solempne vowe unto my selfe, that if ever he and I
were matched together at that boarde agayne, whan we should
fall to our flattrye, I would flatter in latin, that he should
not contende with me no more. For though I could be contente to
be out runne by an horse, yet would I no more abyde it to be
out runne of an asse. But, Uncle, here beganne nowe the game;
he that sate hyghest, and was to speake, was a great beneficed
man, and not a Doctour only, but also somewhat learned in dede
in the lawes of the Churche. A worlde it was to see howe he
marked every mannes worde that spake before him. And it seemed
that every worde _the more proper it was, the worse he liked
it, for the cumbrance that he had to study out a better to
passe it_. The manne even swette with the laboure, so that he
was faine in the while now and than to wipe his face. Howbeit
in conclusion whan it came to his course, we that had spoken
before him, hadde so taken up al among us before, that we hadde
not lefte him one wye worde to speake after.
"_Anthony._ Alas good manne! amonge so manye of you, some good
felow shold have lente hym one. _Vincent._ It needed not, as
happe was, Uncle. For he found out such a shift, that in hys
flatterying _he passed us all the many_. _Anthony._ Why, what
sayde he, Cosyn? _Vincent._ By our Ladye, Uncle, _not one
worde_. But lyke as I trow Plinius telleth, that when Appelles
the Paynter in the table that he paynted of the sacryfyce and
the death of Iphigenia, hadde in the makynge of the sorrowefull
countenances of the other noble menne of Greece that beehelde
it, spente out so much of his craft and hys cunnynge, that whan
he came to make the countenance of King Agamemnon her father,
which hee reserved for the laste ... he could devise no maner
of newe heavy chere and countenance--but to the intent that no
man should see what maner countenance it was, that her father
hadde, the paynter was fayne to paynte him, holdyng his face in
his handkercher--the like pageant in a maner plaide us there
_this good aunciente honourable flatterer_. For whan he sawe
that he coulde fynde no woordes of prayse, that woulde passe al
that hadde bene spoken before all readye, the wyly Fox woulde
speake never a worde, _but as he that were ravished unto
heavenwarde with the wonder of the wisdom and eloquence that my
Lordes Grace had uttered in that oracyon, he fette a long syghe
with an Oh! from the bottome of his breste, and helde uppe
bothe hys handes, and lyfte uppe both his handes, and lyfte
uppe his head, and caste up his eyen into the welkin and
wept_."
But if Wolsey set store by his fine speaking, he knew also what
belonged to his _hat_; he was quite alive to the effect produced by
his office, and knew how to _get up_ and pamper a ceremony--to cook up
a raw material of dignity for the public relish. It should be no fault
of his, that any toy of his rank should not be looked up to with awe.
Accordingly, a most curious story is told of the way in which he
contrived that the Cardinal's hat, which was sent him during his
residence in York Place, should make its first appearance in public.
Cavendish says, that the hat having been sent by the Pope through the
hands of an ordinary messenger, without any state, Wolsey caused him
to be "stayed by the way," newly dressed in rich apparel, and met by a
gorgeous cavalcade of prelates and gentry. But a note in Mr. Singer's
edition, referring to Tindal and Fox, tells us that the messenger
actually reached him in York Place, was clothed by him as aforesaid,
_and sent back with the hat to Dover_, from whence the cavalcade went
and fetched him. The hat was then set on a sideboard full of plate,
with tapers round about it, "and the greatest Duke in the lande must
make curtesie thereto."
Cavendish has given a minute account of the household at York Place,
from which the following are extracts. Compare them with the
recollection of "the disciples plucking ears of corn:"--
"He had in his hall, daily, three especial tables furnished
with three principal officers; that is to say, a Steward, which
was always a dean or a priest; a Treasurer, a knight; and a
Comptroller, an esquire; which bore always within his house
their white staves. Then had he a cofferer, three marshals, two
yeoman ushers, two grooms, and an almoner," &c., &c., &c....
"In his privy kitchen, he had a master-cook, who went daily in
damask, satin, or velvet, with a chain of gold about his
neck."... In his chapel, he had "a Dean, who was always a great
clerk and a divine; a Sub-dean; a Repeater of the quire; a
Gospeller, a Pisteller (separate men to read the Gospels and
the Epistles), and twelve singing Priests; of Scholars, he had
first, a Master of the children; twelve singing children;
sixteen singing men; with a servant to attend upon the said
children. In the Revestry, a yeoman and two grooms: then were
there divers retainers of cunning singing men, that came
thither at divers sundry principal feasts. But to speak of the
furniture of this chapel passeth my capacity to declare the
number of the costly ornaments and rich jewels, that were
occupied in the same continually. For I have seen there, in a
procession, worn forty-four copes of one suit, very rich,
besides the sumptuous crosses, candlesticks, and other
necessary ornaments to the comely furniture of the same. Now
shall ye understand that he had two cross-bearers, and two
pillar-bearers; and in his chamber, all these persons; that is
to say: his High Chamberlain; his Vice-Chamberlain; twelve
Gentlemen Ushers, daily waiters; besides two in his Privy
Chamber; and of Gentlemen waiters in his Privy Chamber he had
six; and also he had of Lords nine or ten, who had each of them
allowed two servants; and the Earl of Derby had allowed five
men. Then had he of Gentlemen, as cup-bearers, carvers, sewers,
and Gentlemen daily waiters, forty persons; of yeomen ushers he
had six; of grooms in his chamber he had eight; of yeomen of
his chamber he had forty-six daily to attend upon his person;
he had also a priest there which was his Almoner, to attend
upon his table at dinner. Of doctors and chaplains attending in
his closet to say daily mass before him, he had sixteen
persons: and a clerk of his closet. Also he had two
secretaries, and two clerks of his signet: and four counsellors
learned in the laws of the realm.
"And, for as much as he was Chancellor of England, it was
necessary for him to have divers officers of the Chancery, to
attend daily upon him, for the better furniture of the same.
That is to say, first, he had the Clerk of the Crown, a Riding
Clerk, a Clerk of the Hanaper, a Chafer of Wax. Then had he a
Clerk of the Check, as well to check his chaplains, as his
yeomen of the chamber; he had also four Footmen, which were
apparelled in rich running coats, whensoever he rode any
journey. Then had he an Herald at Arms, and a Serjeant at Arms;
a Physician; an Apothecary; four Minstrels; a Keeper of his
Tents; an Armourer; an Instructor of his Wards; two Yeomen in
his Wardrobe; and a Keeper of his chamber in the court. He had
also daily in his house the Surveyor of York, a Clerk of the
Green Cloth; and an auditor. All this number of persons were
daily attendant upon him in his house, down-lying and
up-rising. And at meals, there was continually in his chamber
a board kept for his Chamberlains, and Gentlemen Ushers, having
with them a mess of the young Lords, and another for gentlemen.
Besides all these, there was never an officer and gentleman, or
any other worthy person in his house, but he was allowed some
three, some two servants; and all other one at the least; which
amounted to a great number of persons."
Such was the style in which Wolsey grew fat, in-doors. When he went
out of doors, to Westminster Hall for instance, as Chancellor, or
merely came into an anteroom, to speak with his suitors, the following
was the state which he always kept up. Think of Lord Brougham or Lord
Lyndhurst in our own times, modestly eschewing notice, and going down
to the House in a plain hat and trowsers, and then look on the
following picture:--
"Now will I declare unto you," says the worthy Cavendish,
striking up a right gentleman-usher note (and out of this very
gentleman-usher's family came the princely house of Devonshire,
which has lasted with so much height and refinement ever
since,)--"Now will I declare unto you his order in going to
Westminster Hall, _daily_ in the term season. First, before his
coming out of his privy chamber, he heard most commonly every
day two masses in his private closet; and there then said his
daily service with his chaplain; and, as I heard his chaplain
say, being a man of credence and of excellent learning, that
the Cardinal, what business or weighty matters soever he had in
the day, he never went to his bed with any part of his divine
service unsaid, yea, not so much as one collect; wherein I
doubt not but he deceived the opinion of divers persons. And
after mass he would return in his privy chamber again, and
being advertised of the furniture of his chambers without, with
noblemen, gentlemen, and other persons, would issue out into
them, apparelled all in red, in the habit of a cardinal; which
was either of fine scarlet, or else of crimson satin, taffety,
damask, or caffa, the best that he could get for money; and
upon his head a round pillion, with a noble of black velvet set
to the same in the inner side; he had also a tippet of fine
sables about his neck; holding in his hand a very fair orange,
whereof the meat or substance within was taken out, and filled
up again with the part of a sponge, wherein was vinegar, and
other confections against the pestilent airs; the which he most
commonly smelt unto, passing among the press, or else when he
was pestered with many suitors. There was also borne before
him, first, the great seal of England, _and then his cardinal's
hat, by a nobleman or some worthy gentleman, right solemnly,
bareheaded_. And as soon as he was entered into his chamber of
presence, where there was attending his coming to await upon
him to Westminster Hall, as well noblemen and other worthy
gentlemen, as noblemen and gentlemen of his own family; thus
passing forth with two great crosses of silver borne before
him; with also two great pillars of silver, and his pursuivant
at arms with a great mace of silver gilt. Then his gentlemen
ushers cried, and said: 'On, my lords and masters, on before;
make way for my Lord's Grace!' Thus passed he down from his
chamber through the hall; and when he came to the hall door,
there was attendant for him his mule, trapped altogether in
crimson velvet, and gilt stirrups. When he was mounted, with
his cross bearers, and pillow bearers, also upon great horses
trapped with [fine] scarlet, then marched he forward, with his
train and furniture in manner as I have declared, having about
him four footmen, with gilt poll-axes in their hands; and thus
he went until he came to Westminster Hall door. And there
alighted and went after this manner, up through the hall into
the chancery; howbeit he would most commonly stay awhile at a
bar, made for him, a little beneath the chancery [on the right
hand], and there commune some time with the judges, and some
time with other persons. And that done he would repair into the
chancery, sitting there till eleven of the clock, hearing
suitors, and determining on divers matters. And from thence, he
would divers times go into the star chamber, as occasion did
serve; where he spared neither high nor low, but judged every
estate according to their merits and demerits."
But this style of riding abroad was not merely for official occasions.
He went through Thames Street every Sunday, in his way to the court at
Greenwich, with his crosses, his pillars, his hat, and his great seal.
He was as fond of his pomp out of doors, as a child is of its new
clothes.
The description of the way in which he used to receive the visits of
the King at York Place, has acquired a double interest from the use
made of it by Shakspeare, by whom it has been, in a manner, copied, in
his play of "Henry the Eighth:"
"Thus in great honour, triumph, and glory," says Cavendish, "he
reigned a long season, ruling all things within this realm,
appertaining unto the King, by his wisdom, and also all other
weighty matters of foreign regions with which the King of this
realm had any occasion to intermeddle. All Ambassadors of
foreign potentates were always dispatched by his discretion, to
whom they had always access for their dispatch. His house was
also always resorted and furnished with noblemen, gentlemen,
and other persons, with going and coming in and out, feasting
and banqueting all Ambassadors divers times, and other
strangers right nobly.
"And when it pleased the King's Majesty, for his recreation, to
repair unto the Cardinal's house, as he did divers times in the
year, at which time there wanted no preparations, or goodly
furniture, with viands of the finest sort that might be
provided for money or friendship, such pleasures were then
devised for the King's comfort and consolation, as might be
invented, or by man's wit imagined. The banquets were set
forth, with masks and mummeries, in so gorgeous a sort, and
costly a manner, that it was a heaven to behold. _There wanted
no dames, or damsels, meet or apt to dance with the maskers, or
to garnish the place for the time, with other goodly disports._
Then was there all kind of music and harmony set forth, with
excellent voices both of men and children. I have seen the King
suddenly come in thither in a mask, with a dozen of other
maskers, all in garments like shepherds, made of fine cloth of
gold and fine crimson satin paned, and caps of the same, with
visors of good proportion of visnomy; their hairs, and beards,
either of fine gold wire, or else of silver, and some being of
black silk; having sixteen torch-bearers, besides their drums,
and other persons attending upon them, with visors, and clothed
all in satin, of the same colours. And at his coming, and
before he came into the hall, ye shall understand, that he came
by water to the water gate, without any noise: where, against
his coming, were laid charged, many chambers[335], and at his
landing they were all shot off, which made such a rumble in the
air, that it was like thunder. It made all the noblemen,
ladies, and gentlewomen, to muse what it should mean coming so
suddenly, they sitting quietly at a solemn banquet; under this
sort: First, ye shall perceive that the tables were set in the
chamber of presence, banquet-wise covered, my Lord Cardinal
sitting under the cloth of estate, and there having his service
all alone; and then was there set a lady and a nobleman, or a
gentleman and gentlewoman, throughout all the tables in the
chamber on the one side, which were made and joined as it were
but one table. All which order and device was done and devised
by the Lord Sands, Lord Chamberlain to the King; and also by
Sir Henry Guildford, Comptroller to the King. Then immediately
after this great shot of guns, the Cardinal desired the Lord
Chamberlain and Comptroller to look what this sudden shot
should mean, as though he knew nothing of the matter. They
thereupon looking out of the windows into Thames, returned
again, and showed him that it seemed to them there should be
some noblemen and strangers arrived at his bridge, as
ambassadors from some foreign prince. With that, quoth the
Cardinal, 'I shall desire you, because ye can speak French, to
take the pains to go down into the hall to encounter and to
receive them, according to their estates, and to conduct them
into this chamber, where they shall see us, and all these noble
personages sitting merrily at our banquet, desiring them to sit
down with us, and to take part of our fare and pastime.' Then
[they] went incontinent down into the hall, where they received
them with near twenty new torches, and conveyed them up into
the chamber, with such a number of drums and fifes as I have
seldom seen together at one time, in any masque. At their
arrival into the chamber, two and two together, they went
directly before the Cardinal where he sat, saluting him very
reverently; to whom the Lord Chamberlain for them said; 'Sir,
for as much as they be strangers, and can speak no English,
they have desired me to declare unto your Grace thus: they,
having understanding of this your triumphant banquet, where was
assembled such a number of excellent fair dames, could do no
less, under the supportation of your good Grace, but to repair
hither to view as well as their incomparable beauty, as for to
accompany them at mumchance[336], and then after to dance with
them, and so to have of them acquaintance. And, sir, they
furthermore require of your Grace license to accomplish the
cause of their repair.' To whom the Cardinal answered, that he
was very well contented that they should do so. Then the
maskers went first and saluted all the dames as they sat, and
then returned to the most worthiest, and there opened a cup
full of gold, with crowns and other pieces of coin, to whom
they set divers pieces to cast at. Thus in this manner perusing
all the ladies and gentlewomen, and to some they lost, and of
some they won. And this done, they returned unto the Cardinal,
with great reverence, pouring down all the crowns into the cup,
which was about two hundred crowns. 'At all,' quoth the
Cardinal, and so cast the dice, and won them all at a cast;
whereat was great joy made. Then quoth the Cardinal to my Lord
Chamberlain, 'I pray you,' quoth he, 'show them that it seemeth
me that there should be among them some noble man, whom I
suppose to be much more worthy of honour to sit and occupy this
room and place than I; to whom I would most gladly, if I knew
him, surrender my place, according to my duty.' Then spake my
Lord Chamberlain unto them in French, declaring my Lord
Cardinal's mind, and they rounding him again in the ear, my
Lord Chamberlain said to my Lord Cardinal, 'Sir, they confess,'
quoth he, 'that among them there is such a noble personage,
whom, if your Grace can appoint him from the other, he is
contented to disclose himself, and to accept your place most
worthily.' With that the Cardinal, taking a good advisement
among them, at the last, quoth he, 'me seemeth the gentleman
with the black beard should be even he.' And with that he arose
out of his chair, and offered the same to the gentleman in the
black beard, with his cap in his hand. The person to whom he
offered then his chair was Sir Edward Neville, _a comely knight
of a goodly personage_,[337] that much more resembled the
King's person in that mask than any other. The King, hearing
and perceiving the Cardinal so deceived in his estimation and
choice, could not forbear laughing; but plucked down his visor,
and Master Neville's also, _and dashed[338] out with such a
plesant countenance and cheer_, that all noble estates there
assembled, seeing the King to be there amongst them, rejoiced
very much. The Cardinal eftsoons desired his highness to take
the place of estate, to whom the King answered, that he would
go first and shift his apparel; and so departed, and went
straight into my lord's bedchamber, where was a great fire made
and prepared for him; and there new apparelled him with rich
and princely garments. And in the time of the King's absence
the dishes of the banquet were clean taken up, and the tables
spread again with new and sweet perfumed clothes; every man
sitting still until the King and his maskers came in among them
again, every man being newly apparelled. Then the King took his
seat under the cloth of state, commanding no man to remove, but
sit still, as they did before. Then in came a new banquet
before the King's majesty, and to all the rest through the
tables, wherein, I suppose, were served two hundred dishes or
above, of wondrous costly meats and devices, subtilly devised.
Thus passed they forth the whole night with banqueting,
dancing, and other triumphant devices, to the great comfort of
the King, and pleasant regard of the nobility there assembled.
"All this matter I have declared at large, because ye shall
understand what joy and delight the Cardinal had to see his
Prince and sovereign Lord in his house so nobly entertained and
pleased, which was always his only study, to devise things to
his comfort, not passing of the charges or expenses. It
delighted him so much, to have the King's pleasant princely
presence, that nothing was to him more delectable than to cheer
his sovereign lord, to whom he owed so much obedience and
loyalty, as reason required no less, all things well
considered.
"Thus passed the Cardinal his life and time, from day to day,
and year to year, in such great wealth, joy, and triumph, and
glory, having always on his side the King's especial favour;
until Fortune, of whose favour no man is longer assured than
she is disposed, began to wax something wroth with his
prosperous estate [and] thought she would devise a mean to
abate his high port; wherefore she procured Venus, the
insatiate Goddess, to be her instrument. To work her purpose,
she brought the King in love with a gentlewoman, that, after
she perceived and felt the King's goodwill towards her, and how
diligent he was both to please her, and to grant all her
requests, she wrought the Cardinal much displeasure; as
hereafter shall be more at large declared."
Pretty Anne Bullen completed the ruin of Wolsey for having thwarted
her, and not long afterwards was sent out of this very house from
which she ousted him, to the scaffold, herself ruined by another
rival. On the Cardinal's downfall, Henry seized his house and goods,
and converted York Place into a royal residence, under the title of
Westminster Place, then, for the first time, called also Whitehall.
"It is not impossible," says Mr. Brayley (Londiniana, vol. ii.,
p. 27.) "that the Whitehall, properly so called, was erected by
Wolsey, and obtained its name from the newness and freshness of
its appearance, when compared with the ancient buildings of
York Place. Shakspeare, in his play of King Henry VIII., makes
one of the interlocutors say, in describing the coronation of
Queen Anne Boleyn:--
'So she parted,
And with the same full state paced back again
To York Place, where the feast is held.'
To this is replied--
'Sir, you
Must no more call it York Place--that is past.
For since the Cardinal fell, that title's lost.
'Tis now the King's, and called Whitehall.'"
It is curious to observe the links between ancient names and their
modern representatives, and the extraordinary contrast sometimes
exhibited between the two. The "Judge," who by Henry's orders went to
turn Wolsey out of his house, without any other form of law--a
proceeding which excited even the fallen slave to a remonstrance--was
named Shelly, and was one of the ancestors of the _poet_! the most
independent-minded and generous of men.
FOOTNOTES:
[334] Life of Lord Herbert of Cherbury, in the "Autobiography," p. 79.
[335] _Chambers_, short guns, or cannon, standing upon their breaching
without carriages, chiefly used for festive occasions; and having
their name most probably from being little more than _chambers_ for
powder. It was by the discharge of these _chambers_ in the play of
Henry VIIIth. that the Globe Theatre was burnt in 1613. Shakspeare
followed pretty closely the narrative of Cavendish.--_Singer._
[336] _Mumchance_ appears to have been a game played with dice, at
which silence was to be observed.--_Singer._
[337] Probably a handsomer figure than the King. This (though not the
subtlest imaginable) would be likely to be among Wolsey's
court-tricks, and modes of gaining favour.
[338] This "dashed out" is in the best style of bluff King Hal, and
capitally well said by Cavendish.