THE FALL OF WOLSEY
1529-1530
When the storm broke over his head Wolsey had no hope of escape. His
position as an English minister was due entirely to the king's favour,
and when that favour was withdrawn he was entirely helpless. Outside the
king there was no motive power in English politics at this period. There
was no party in the State strong enough to bring any influence to bear
upon him: he was likely to be moved by nothing save the dread of a
popular rising, and there was no chance of a popular rising in Wolsey's
favour. On the other hand, Wolsey had been contented to take upon his
own shoulders the responsibility of all that was most unpopular in the
king's proceedings. The demands created by the king's extravagance were
put down to his extortionate nature; the debts incurred by a policy
which he disapproved were supposed to be the results of his influence;
even the divorce was attributed to his ill-will against the Emperor and
his love for France. The current of popular opinion ran strong against
Wolsey. He had made few friends and many enemies. His enemies were
powerful, his friends were powerless. No one in England could lend him
any help.
It is true that the charge brought against him was most iniquitous. He
had obtained his legatine authority through the king's urgent request;
he had used it solely at the king's orders, and in the king's behalf.
But he knew that such a plea would not be regarded, as the king's courts
would simply register the king's will. There was no other course than
entire submission, and before the king Wolsey had no thought of personal
dignity. He wrote to Henry as a lowly suppliant, "For surely, most
gracious king, the remembrance of my folly, with the sharp sword of your
Highness's displeasure, hath so penetrated my heart that I cannot but
lamentably cry, It is enough; now stay, most merciful king, your hand."
Such loyalty, such entire submission, is to our minds inconceivable, and
only shows how the possession of absolute power debases not only those
who are invested with it but those who are brought in contact with them.
Wolsey might indeed lament his "folly" in putting any trust in princes;
he had served his master only too well, and met with the basest
ingratitude for all the sacrifices of his own wishes and his own
principles.
Still he hoped by his submission to save something. If sentence were
pronounced against him, under the charge of _præmunire_, his goods would
be forfeited, and his acts invalidated. If he threw himself upon the
king's mercy he might at least save his two colleges, and might be
permitted to serve his country on a smaller scale. What was coming he
could not foresee. There would be open war between Henry and the Papacy,
waged with new weapons and fraught with danger to the English Church.
"It is the intention of these lords," wrote the French ambassador, "when
Wolsey is dead or destroyed, to get rid of the Church and spoil the
goods of both. I suppose they mean to do grand things." The days of
revolution were at hand, and Wolsey might still have some power to check
its excesses.
His submission led to no immediate results. On 16th October the Dukes of
Norfolk and Suffolk demanded the surrender of the great seal, and
ordered Wolsey to depart to his house at Esher. Wolsey would humble
himself before the king, but not before others, and calmly asked them
for their authority. They answered that they had the king's commission
by word of mouth. "The great seal of England," said Wolsey, "was
delivered me by the king's own person, to enjoy during my life, with the
ministration of the office and high room of chancellorship of England;
for my surety whereof I have the king's letters-patent to show." High
words were used by the dukes, but in the end they departed, and
reappeared next day with letters from the king. On reading them Wolsey
delivered up the seal, and expressed himself content to withdraw to
Esher.
Before departing he made an inventory of all his plate and tapestries,
that it might be ready for the king to take possession. He further
signed an indenture acknowledging that on the authority of bulls
obtained from Rome, which he published in England contrary to the
statute, he had unlawfully vexed the prelates of the realm and other of
the king's subjects, thereby incurring the penalties of _præmunire_, by
which also he deserved to suffer perpetual imprisonment at the king's
pleasure, and to forfeit all his lands, offices, and goods. He besought
the king, in part recompense of his offences, to take into his hands all
his temporal possessions. Then he entered his barge in the presence of a
crowd, which was sorely disappointed not to see him take the way to the
Tower.
When Wolsey arrived at Putney he was greeted by a messenger from the
king, who brought him as a token a ring, with a message "that the king
bade him be of good cheer, for he should not lack. Although the king
hath dealt with you unkindly, he saith that it is for no displeasure
that he beareth you, but only to satisfy the minds of some which he
knoweth be not your friends. Also ye know right well that he is able to
recompense you with twice as much as your goods amounteth unto: and all
this he bade me that I should show you. Therefore, sir, take patience;
and for my part, I trust to see you in better estate than ever ye were."
When Wolsey heard this he dismounted from his mule and knelt in the mud
in sign of thankfulness. He gave a present to the messenger, and grieved
that he had no worthy gift to send to the king. Presently he bethought
himself of a jester belonging to his household. "If ye would at my
request present the king with this poor fool, I trust his Highness would
accept him well, for surely for a nobleman's pleasure he is worth a
thousand pounds." It is a relief to find in this dismal story some signs
of human feeling. "The poor fool took on so, and fired so in such a rage
when he saw that he must needs depart from my lord," that six tall
yeomen had to be sent as an escort to convey him safely to the Court.
It is needless to seek for a motive for Henry's conduct in sending this
delusive message; probably he did it through an amiable desire to make
himself generally agreeable. No man likes to feel that he is acting
villainously; perhaps Henry's conscience felt all the pleasure of having
performed a virtuous action when he heard of Wolsey's gratitude for such
a small mercy. Henry VIII. was nothing if he was not conscientious; but
he made large drafts on his conscience, and paid them back in small
coin. Probably we have here the record of such a payment.
Certainly Henry did nothing to give his goodwill towards Wolsey any
practical expression; he did not even send him any money to provide his
household with the necessaries of life. For a month they remained
"without beds, sheets, tablecloths, cups, and dishes to eat their meat
or lie in," and ultimately had to borrow them. What most distressed
Wolsey, who had been accustomed to munificence, was that he had not even
money to pay the wages of his household before he dismissed them sadly
from his service. In his straits one of his officials came to his aid,
and showed his tact and management in affairs of business. Thomas
Cromwell, the son of a London citizen, spent an adventurous youth in
business on the Continent, and settled in London as a small attorney and
a money-lender. Wolsey had found out his ability, and employed him to
manage the dissolution of the monasteries, and transact the business
connected with the foundation of his colleges. No doubt this gave him
opportunities of spreading his own business, and making himself useful
friends. In anticipation of the future he contrived to get himself
elected as member of the Parliament for which Henry VIII. issued writs
upon the suspension of the legatine court.
Cromwell accompanied Wolsey to Esher, and was much moved by the thought
of the loss which his patron's fall was likely to inflict upon himself.
On 1st November Cavendish found him leaning in the window "with a primer
in his hand, saying our Lady mattins. He prayed not more earnestly than
the tears distilled from his eyes." He lamented that he was in disdain
with most men for his master's sake, and surely without just cause; but
he was resolved that afternoon to ride to London, and so to the Court,
"where I will either make or mar, or I come again." After dinner he
talked with Wolsey about his household, and then showed his power of
gaining popularity at the expense of others. "Have you not," he
exclaimed, "a number of chaplains, to whom ye have departed very
liberally with spiritual promotions? and yet have your poor servants
taken much more pains for you in one day than all your idle chaplains
have done in a year. Therefore if they will not freely and frankly
consider your liberality, and depart with you of the same goods gotten
in your service, now in your great indigence and necessity, it is pity
that they live." Wolsey agreed; he summoned his household, and addressed
them in a dignified speech; he gave them a month's holiday, that they
might seek some more profitable service. Then Cromwell said that they
lacked money, and himself tendered five pounds towards their payment,
adding, "Now let us see what your chaplains will do." The example was
contagious, and contributions poured in. The household was paid, and
departed full of thankfulness to Cromwell. Then, after a private
conversation with Wolsey, Cromwell rode off to London to "make or mar."
Parliament met on 3d November, and Wolsey's enemies hoped that its first
business would be Wolsey's impeachment. For this, however, Henry VIII.
was not prepared, though he did not openly forbid it. He was not sure of
the capacity of his new advisers, and perhaps felt that he might have
further need of Wolsey's services. Anyhow it was better to keep his
opponents in constant fear of his return to power. They were bound
together rather by opposition to Wolsey than by any agreement amongst
themselves; and Henry was not very sanguine about their administrative
success. The Duke of Norfolk, the uncle of Anne Boleyn, was president of
the Council, and Suffolk was vice-president. The chancellorship was
given to Sir Thomas More, who was well fitted by his literary reputation
and high character to calm the fears of moderate men, and show
Europe that the English king had no lack of eminent servants. The
chancellorship of the duchy of Lancashire was given to the treasurer of
the household, Sir William Fitzwilliam, a capable official. Gardiner
preferred an ecclesiastical post, and succeeded to the bishopric of
Winchester, which Wolsey was bidden to resign. It still remained to be
seen if Norfolk, Suffolk, and More could fill the place of Wolsey.
Parliament was opened by the king; and the chancellor, according to
custom, made a speech. In the course of it More showed that a man of
letters does not necessarily retain his literary taste in politics, and
that high character does not save a statesman from the temptation to
catch a passing cheer by unworthy taunts at his defeated adversary. He
spoke of the king as shepherd of his people, and went on, "As you see
that amongst a great flock of sheep some be rotten and faulty, which the
good shepherd sendeth from the good sheep, so the great wether which is
of late fallen, as you all know, so craftily, so scabbedly, yea, and so
untruly juggled with the king, that all men must needs guess and think
that he thought in himself that he had no wit to perceive his crafty
doing, or else that he presumed that the king would not see nor know his
fraudulent juggling and attempts. But he was deceived; for his Grace's
sight was so quick and penetrating that he saw him, yea, and saw through
him, both within and without, so that all things to him were open; and
according to his deserts he hath had a gentle correction."
This speech of More served as introductory to a Bill which was brought
into the Upper House for disabling Wolsey from being restored to his
former dignities and place in the king's Council. It was founded upon a
series of articles which had been drawn up by his enemies long before,
and were a tissue of frivolous or groundless charges. The Bill passed
the Lords, but on its introduction into the Commons was opposed by
Cromwell, who knew that the king did not wish it to be passed. It
answered its purpose of casting a stigma on Wolsey, and justifying
Henry's conduct towards him; but Henry did not intend to deprive himself
of the power of employing Wolsey again if he should prove useful. So
Cromwell served the king while he served Wolsey, and served himself at
the same time by a display of zeal for his fallen master which raised
him in men's esteem, "so that at length, for his honest behaviour in his
master's cause, he grew into such estimation in every man's opinion,
that he was esteemed to be the most faithfullest servant to his master
of all others, wherein he was of all men greatly commended." Moreover,
he managed to make friends by the sure tie of self-interest. He advised
Wolsey to buy off the hostility of important men by granting them
pensions out of the revenues of his see: as he chose the recipients of
the money and negotiated the grants he gained more gratitude than Wolsey
gained profit out of the transaction. Wolsey believed that his prospects
depended on Cromwell's zeal, and the great cardinal became submissive to
the direction of one whom he had raised. He abode at Esher in a state of
feverish anxiety, sometimes receiving a present and a gracious message
from the king, often irritated by Cromwell, who deluded him by a cheap
display of zeal, grieving most of all at the uncertainty of the fortunes
of his great colleges, which he still wished to leave as a memorial to
posterity of the schemes which he intended.
Parliament was prorogued in the middle of December, and the Bill against
Wolsey was allowed to drop. The king and Anne Boleyn were delighted with
the cardinal's house at York Place, of which they took possession, and
Wolsey was still left in uncertainty about his future. Anxiety preyed
upon his health, and at Christmas he fell ill. The news of his illness
seems to have brought some remorse to Henry, who sent his own physician,
and eagerly asked for tidings, saying, "I would not lose him for twenty
thousand pounds." Doctor Buttes answered, "Then must your Grace send him
some comfortable message as shortly as is possible." The king gave
Buttes a favourite ring from his own finger, saying, "Tell him that I am
not offended with him in my heart nothing at all, and that shall he
perceive, and God send him life very shortly." He asked Anne Boleyn to
send also a "token with comfortable words," and Anne at his command
obeyed, overcoming her reluctance by the thought that the cardinal was
on his deathbed.
Doctor Buttes's prescription was a good one, and with revived hopes
Wolsey speedily recovered. On 2d February 1530 the king sent him some
furniture for his house and chapel. On 12th February he received a full
pardon for his offences, and on 14th February was restored to the
archbishopric of York and its possessions excepting York Place, which
the king retained for himself. He entreated to be allowed to keep also
the bishopric of Winchester and the Abbey of St. Alban's; but Gardiner
had his eye on Winchester, and the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk were
anxious that Wolsey should not hold a post which might bring him into
the neighbourhood of the king. He was compelled to resign both these
offices, and recognised in this the power of his foes.
The damp air of Esher was hurtful to his health, and he received
permission to change his residence to Richmond Lodge. There he stayed
until the state of the roads allowed him to take his journey northwards,
which the Duke of Norfolk pressed him to do in forcible language. "Show
him," he said to Cromwell, "that if he go not away shortly, I will,
rather than he should tarry still, tear him with my teeth." When Wolsey
heard this he said, "Marry, Thomas, then it is time to be going, if my
lord of Norfolk take it so. Therefore I pray you go to the king and say
that I would with all my heart go to my benefice at York but for want of
money." Wolsey's immediate necessities were grudgingly supplied by the
lords of the Council, and in the beginning of Passion Week he began his
journey to York. He was received with courtesy by the gentry on the way.
The manor-house at Southwell, where he resolved to live, required some
repairs, and he could not occupy it till 5th June.
In his house at Southwell Wolsey received the neighbouring gentry, and
made himself popular amongst them. He lived simply, and applied himself
to the discharge of the duties of his office with great success. A
pamphlet published in 1536 says of him: "Who was less beloved in the
north than my lord cardinal before he was amongst them? Who better
beloved after he had been there a while? He gave bishops a right good
example how they might win men's hearts. There were few holy days but he
would ride five or six miles from his house, now to this parish church,
now to that, and there cause one or other of his doctors to make a
sermon unto the people. He sat amongst them and said mass before all the
parish; he saw why churches were made; he began to restore them to their
right and proper use; he brought his dinner with him, and bade divers of
the parish to it. He inquired whether there were any debate or grudge
between any of them. If there were, after dinner he sent for the parties
to the church and made them all one." It is an attractive picture of
episcopal activity which is here set before us. We wish that Wolsey had
been great enough to realise the pleasure of these simple duties so
thoroughly as to wean himself from the allurements of political
ambition. But Wolsey in his retirement was something like Machiavelli in
exile: he found some satisfaction for his activity in the doings of
peasants, but he went home and hankered for the great life of politics
which was denied him. He meditated still how he could overthrow his
enemies and return to the more complex problems in which he had been
trained.
At the end of the summer Wolsey removed from Southwell to another
manor-house at Scrooby, where he continued the same mode of life. All
this time his actions were jealously watched by his enemies, who
suspected him of trying to gain popularity and raise up a party in his
favour. They did their best to keep him in perpetual annoyance by
threats of legal proceedings touching the possessions of the see of
York. The king paid no heed to him save to exact all the money he could
from his forfeiture. Amongst other things which the king claimed was the
payment of Wolsey's pension from the French king; and his care for
Wolsey's health at Christmas may have been due to the fact that he
thought that Wolsey's life had a pecuniary value to himself. He
presently dissolved Wolsey's college at Ipswich, and seized all its
lands and possessions. It was a bitter blow to Wolsey to see his plans
thus overthrown. He had hoped to found an institution which should
promote education where it was sorely needed in the eastern counties. It
was the beginning of a project which would have led to the foundation of
local universities, which it has been reserved to our own day to revive.
If Wolsey had remained in power monastic revenues would have been
increasingly diverted to educational purposes, and England would have
been provided with colleges which would have grown with local needs. The
dissolution of the college at Ipswich checked this process at the
beginning, and negatived any scheme for the slow transformation of the
monasteries into institutions which were in accordance with national
needs.
Cardinal College at Oxford met with better fortune. Wolsey pleaded hard
for its preservation, and the authorities of the college made a stand in
its behalf. The king was not yet prepared to seize the lands of the
dissolved monastery of St. Frideswyde, or of the old Canterbury Hall,
which had been absorbed, and it could be shown that he would lose as
much as he would gain by attempting an accurate division of the property
of the college. He agreed to "have an honourable college there, but not
so great and of such magnificence as my lord cardinal intended to have,
for it is not thought meet for the common weal of our realm." The site
of the college and a portion of its revenues were saved from the
commissioners who were realising Wolsey's forfeiture; but the name of
Christ Church obliterated that of Cardinal College, and Henry VIII.
endeavoured as far as he could to associate the foundation with himself
and dissociate it from Wolsey.
This persistent disregard of the ideas which Wolsey had striven to put
forward weighed heavily on his spirits. "I am put from my sleep and
meat," he wrote, "for such advertisements as I have had of the
dissolution of my colleges." It was not only the sense of personal
disappointment which afflicted him; it was the hopeless feeling that all
his policy was being reversed. Wolsey was in his way a churchman, and
hoped as a statesman to bring the Church into accordance with the
national needs. He saw that only in this way could the existing
resources of the Church be saved from the hand of the spoiler. The
king's desire to seize upon the revenues of his colleges showed him that
Henry had cast away the principles which Wolsey had striven to enforce,
that he had broken through the limits which Wolsey had endeavoured to
set, and that when once he had tasted his prey his appetite was likely
to be insatiable. This taught Wolsey that his own future was hopeless.
On the lower level to which the king had sunk he was not likely to need
the cardinal's aid. Wolsey's great schemes for the future were to make
way for a policy mainly dictated by present greed. Henry VIII. had
discovered how great his power was, and intended to use it for the
satisfaction of his own desires.
So Wolsey turned himself more attentively to the duties of his episcopal
office, hoping thereby to make some amends for past neglect, and fill up
with useful work the remainder of his days. His poverty had prevented
him from taking possession of his cathedral, as he had no money to
defray the expenses of his installation. By the end of September he had
managed to scrape together £1500, and set out from Scrooby to York. On
his way he was busied with confirmations. At St. Oswald's Abbey he
confirmed children from eight in the morning till noon; after dinner he
returned to the church at one, and continued his confirmation till four,
when he was constrained for weariness to sit down in a chair. Next
morning before his departure he confirmed a hundred children more; and
as he rode on his way he found at Ferrybridge two hundred children
waiting for confirmation at a stone cross standing upon the green. It
was late in the evening before he reached Cawood Castle, seven miles
from York. There he was visited by the Dean of York, and made
arrangements for his installation.
This ceremony, however, was not to take place. Wolsey's enemies were
implacable, especially the Duke of Norfolk, who was alarmed at the
renewal of Wolsey's popularity in the north, and at the signs of vigour
which he showed. His actions were jealously watched and eagerly
criticised to find some opportunity for a charge against him, which was
at last found in Wolsey's communications with foreign envoys. It would
seem that Wolsey could not reconcile himself to political inactivity,
and trusted that the influence of Francis I., for whom he had done so
much, would be used in his favour. But Francis treated Wolsey with the
proverbial ingratitude of politicians. Wolsey had been a friend of
France, but his friendship had been costly, and Francis I. found that
the new ministers were equally friendly to France, and did not demand so
much in return. In truth, Henry, though he had abandoned Wolsey for his
failure in the matter of the divorce, had not been better served by his
new advisers, who had no other course to follow than that which Wolsey
had marked out--to use the close alliance with France as a means of
bringing pressure to bear upon the Pope. So Norfolk was obsequious to
Francis, who preferred to deal with a man of Norfolk's calibre rather
than acknowledge a master in Wolsey.
Of this Wolsey was ignorant; and he no longer showed his old dexterity
in promoting his own interests. He made the mistake of trusting to the
old methods of diplomacy when his position was no longer that of a
minister, and when he had been removed from actual touch of current
affairs. He opened up communications with the French envoy by means of a
Venetian physician, Agostino, who was a member of his household. He even
communicated with the imperial envoy as well. However harmless these
communications might be, they were certainly indiscreet, and were
capable of being represented to the king as dangerous. Norfolk gained
some information, either from the French envoy or from Agostino, and
laid before the king charges against Wolsey, "that he had written to
Rome to be reinstated in his possessions, and to France for its favour;
and was returning to his ancient pomp, and corrupting the people." There
was not much in these charges; but Norfolk was afraid of Wolsey in the
background, and quailed before the king's bursts of petulance, in which
he said that the cardinal knew more about the business of the State than
any of his new advisers. Henry was quite satisfied with the proceeds of
spoiling Wolsey, and was glad to keep him in reserve; but the suggestion
that Wolsey was intriguing with foreign Courts sorely angered him, and
he gave orders that Wolsey be brought to trial to answer for his conduct.
So Sir Walter Walshe was sent with a warrant to the Earl of
Northumberland, and arrived as Wolsey was busied at Cawood with the
preliminaries of his installation. On 4th November, when Wolsey had
retired from dinner and was sitting in his own room over his dessert,
the Earl of Northumberland appeared, and demanded the keys of the castle
from the porter. He entered the hall, and posted his servants to guard
all the doors. Wolsey, in ignorance of what was in store for him, met
Northumberland and offered him hospitality, expressing his delight at
the unexpected visit. When they were alone the Earl, "trembling, said,
with a very faint and soft voice, unto my lord, laying his hand upon his
arm, 'My lord, I arrest you of high treason.'" For a time Wolsey stood
speechless with astonishment, then he asked to see the warrant, which
Northumberland had not brought with him. As he was speaking Sir Walter
Walshe opened the door and thrust into the room the physician Agostino,
whom he had made prisoner. Wolsey asked him about the warrant, and when
he recognised him as one of the gentlemen of the king's privy chamber,
he submitted to the royal commands without asking further for the
production of the warrant. Then he delivered up his keys to
Northumberland.
Agostino was at once sent to London tied under a horse's belly--a mode
of conveyance which was doubtless calculated to refresh his memory. When
he arrived in London he was taken to the Duke of Norfolk's house, and
showed himself ready to bear witness against Wolsey. "Since they have
had the cardinal's physician in their hands," writes the imperial envoy,
"they have found what they sought. Since he has been here he has lived
in the Duke of Norfolk's house like a prince, and is singing the tune
they wished."
There was not the same need of haste in bringing Wolsey to London, for
even with Agostino's help Norfolk was doubtful if the evidence against
Wolsey would be sufficient to ensure his condemnation to death; and he
did not wish to give Wolsey the opportunity of a trial when he might
still be formidable. His imprisonment in the Tower at the royal pleasure
would only bring him nearer to the king, who might at any moment make
use of him as he threatened. Really, Norfolk was somewhat embarrassed at
the success of his scheme; and Wolsey, in a conversation with Cavendish,
showed a flash of his old greatness. "If I may come to my answer," he
said, "I fear no man alive; for he liveth not upon the earth that shall
look upon this face and shall be able to accuse me of any untruth; and
that know my enemies full well, which will be an occasion that I shall
not have indifferent justice, but they will rather seek some other
sinister way to destroy me."
It was this thought that unnerved Wolsey, worn out as he was by
disappointment, humiliated by his helplessness, and harassed by a sense
of relentless persecution. Still he retained his dignity and kindliness,
and when on the evening of 7th November he was told to prepare for his
journey, he insisted upon bidding farewell to his household. The Earl of
Northumberland wished to prevent this, and only gave way through fear of
a tumult if he persisted in his refusal. The servants knelt weeping
before Wolsey, who "gave them comfortable words and worthy praises for
their diligent faithfulness and honest truth towards him, assuring them
that what chance soever should happen unto him, that he was a true man
and a just to his sovereign lord." Then shaking each of them by the hand
he departed.
Outside the gate the country folk had assembled to the number of three
thousand, who cried, "God save your grace. The foul evil take all them
that hath thus taken you from us; we pray God that a very vengeance may
light upon them." Thus they ran crying after him through the town of
Cawood, they loved him so well. After this moving farewell Wolsey rode
through the gathering darkness to Pomfret, where he was lodged in the
abbey. Thence he proceeded through Doncaster to Sheffield Park, where he
was kindly received by the Earl of Shrewsbury, whose guest he was for
eighteen days. Once a day the earl visited him and tried to comfort him,
but Wolsey refused all human comfort, and applied himself diligently to
prayer. While he was at Sheffield Park his health, which never had been
good, began to give way, and he suffered from dysentery, which was
aggravated by an unskilful apothecary.
As he was thus ailing there arrived Sir William Kingston, Constable of
the Tower, with a guard of twenty-four soldiers; he had received a
commission from the king to bring Wolsey as a prisoner to the Tower. It
would seem from this that Agostino's confessions had been skilfully
raised to fan the royal wrath, and Henry gave this sign that he was
prepared to treat his former minister as a traitor. The Earl of
Shrewsbury did his best to treat the coming of Kingston as a trivial
incident, and sent Cavendish to break the news gently to his master.
Cavendish gave the message as he was bidden. "Forsooth my lord of
Shrewsbury, perceiving by your often communication that ye were always
desirous to come before the king's Majesty, and now as your assured
friend, hath travailed so with his letters unto the king, that the king
hath sent for you by Master Kingston and twenty-four of the guard to
conduct you to his Highness." Wolsey was not deceived. "Master
Kingston," he repeated, and smote his thigh. When Cavendish made a
further attempt to cheer him he cut him short by saying, "I perceive
more than you can imagine or can know. Experience hath taught me." When
Kingston was introduced and knelt before him, Wolsey said, "I pray you
stand up, and leave your kneeling unto a very wretch replete with
misery, not worthy to be esteemed, but for a vile object utterly cast
away, without desert; and therefore, good Master Kingston, stand up, or
I will myself kneel down by you." After some talk Wolsey thanked
Kingston for his kind words. "Assure yourself that if I were as able and
as lusty as I have been but of late, I would not fail to ride with you
in post. But all these comfortable words which ye have spoken be but for
a purpose to bring me to a fool's paradise; I know what is provided for
me."
With a mind thus agitated the sufferings of the body increased. When
Wolsey took his journey next day all regarded him as a dying man. The
soldiers of the guard, "as soon as they espied their old master in such
a lamentable estate, lamented him with weeping eyes. Whom my lord took
by the hands, and divers times by the way as he rode he would talk with
them, sometime with one and sometime with another." That night he
reached Hardwick Hall, in Notts, a house of the Earl of Shrewsbury, and
the next day rode to Nottingham. On the way from thence to Leicester he
was so feeble that he could scarcely sit upon his mule. It was dark on
Saturday night when he reached Leicester Abbey, where the abbot greeted
him by torchlight. "Father Abbot," he said, "I am come hither to leave
my bones among you." Kingston had to carry him upstairs to his bed,
which he never quitted again.
All Sunday his malady increased, and on Monday morning Cavendish, as he
watched his face, thought him drawing fast to his end. "He perceiving my
shadow upon the wall by his bedside asked who was there. 'Sir, I am
here,' quoth I. 'What is it of the clock?' said he. 'Forsooth, sir,'
said I, 'it is past eight of the clock in the morning.'--'Eight of the
clock, eight of the clock,' said he, rehearsing divers times. 'Nay, nay,
it cannot be eight of the clock; for by eight of the clock ye shall lose
your master, for my time draweth near that I must depart out of this
world.'"
But the dying man was not to depart without a reminder of the pitiless
character of the master whom he had served so well. When Wolsey left
Cawood the Earl of Northumberland remained behind to examine his papers;
amongst them he found a record that Wolsey had in his possession £1500,
but he reported to the king that he could not find the money. Such was
Henry's keenness as his own minister of finance that he could not await
Wolsey's arrival in London, but wrote off instantly to Kingston, bidding
him examine Wolsey how he came by the money, and discover where it was.
In obedience to the royal command Kingston reluctantly visited the dying
man, who told him that he had borrowed the money of divers friends and
dependants whom he did not wish to see defrauded; the money was in the
keeping of an honest man, and he asked for a little time before
disclosing where it was.
In the night he often swooned, but rallied in the morning and asked for
food. Some chicken broth was brought him, but he remembered that it was
a fast-day, being St. Andrew's Eve. "What though it be," said his
confessor, "ye be excused by reason of your sickness."--"Yea," said he,
"what though? I will eat no more." After this he made his confession,
and about seven in the morning Kingston entered to ask further about the
money. But seeing how ill Wolsey was, Kingston tried to comfort him.
"Well, well," said Wolsey, "I see the matter against me how it is
framed, but if I had served God so diligently as I have done the king,
he would not have given me over in my gray hairs. Howbeit, this is the
just reward that I must receive for my worldly diligence and pains that
I had to do him service, only to satisfy his vain pleasure, not
regarding my godly duty. Wherefore, I pray you, with all my heart, to
have me most humbly commended unto his royal Majesty, beseeching him in
my behalf to call to his most gracious remembrance all matters
proceeding between him and me from the beginning of the world unto this
day, and the progress of the same, and most chiefly in the weighty
matter now depending (_i.e._ the divorce); then shall his conscience
declare whether I have offended him or no. He is sure a prince of a
royal courage, and hath a princely heart; and rather than he will either
miss or want any part of his will or appetite he will put the loss of
one-half of his realm in danger. For I assure you I have often kneeled
before him in his privy chamber on my knees the space of an hour or two,
to persuade him from his will and appetite; but I could never bring to
pass to dissuade him therefrom. Therefore, Master Kingston, if it chance
hereafter you to be one of his Privy Council, as for your wisdom and
other qualities ye are meet to be, I warn you to be well advised and
assured what matter ye put in his head, for ye shall never put it out
again." He went on to bid him warn the king against the spread of the
pernicious sect of Lutherans as harmful to the royal authority and
destructive of the order of the realm. Then as his tongue failed him he
gasped out, "Master Kingston, farewell. I can no more, but wish all
things to have good success. My time draweth on fast. I may not tarry
with you. And forget not, I pray you, what I have said and charged you
withal, for when I am dead ye shall peradventure remember my words much
better." His breath failed him and his eyes grew fixed. The abbot came
to administer supreme unction, and as the clock struck eight Wolsey
passed away. "And calling to our remembrance his words the day before,
how he said that at eight of the clock we should lose our master, one of
us looked upon another supposing that he prophesied of his departure."
Kingston sent a message to tell the king of Wolsey's death, and hastened
the preparations for his funeral. His body was placed in a coffin of
boards, vested in his archiepiscopal robes, with his mitre, cross, and
ring. It lay in state till five in the afternoon, when it was carried
into the church and was placed in the Lady Chapel, where it was watched
all night. At four in the morning mass was sung, and by six the grave
had closed over the remains of Wolsey.
It would be consoling to think that a pang of genuine sorrow was felt by
Henry VIII. when he heard of the death of Wolsey; but unfortunately
there is no ground for thinking so, and all that is on record shows us
that Henry's chief care still was to get hold of the £1500, which was
all that remained of Wolsey's fortune. Cavendish was taken by Kingston
to Hampton Court, where he was summoned to the king, who was engaged in
archery in the park. As Cavendish stood against a tree sadly musing
Henry suddenly came behind him and slapped him on the back, saying, "I
will make an end of my game, and then I will talk with you." Soon he
finished his game and went into the garden, but kept Cavendish waiting
for some time outside. The interview lasted more than an hour, "during
which time he examined me of divers matters concerning my lord, wishing
that liever than twenty thousand pounds that he had lived. Then he asked
me for the fifteen hundred pounds which Master Kingston moved to my lord
before his death." Cavendish told him what he knew about it, and said
that it was deposited with a certain priest. "Well, then," said the
king, "let me alone, and keep this gear secret between yourself and me,
and let no man be privy thereof; for if I hear more of it, then I know
by whom it is come to knowledge. Three may keep counsel if two be away;
and if I thought that my cap knew my counsel I would cast it into the
fire and burn it." Henry spoke freely, and these words disclose the
secret of his strength. Every politician has a method of his own by
which he hides his real character and assumes a personality which is
best fitted for his designs. Henry VIII. beneath an air of frankness and
geniality concealed a jealous and watchful temperament, full of crafty
designs for immediate gain, resolute, avaricious, and profoundly
self-seeking.
As we have been so much indebted to Cavendish for an account of Wolsey's
private life, especially in his last days, it is worth while to follow
Cavendish's fortunes. The king promised to take him into his own
service, and to pay him his wages for the last year, amounting to £10.
He bade him ask it of the Duke of Norfolk. As he left the king he met
Kingston coming from the Council, whither Cavendish also was summoned.
Kingston implored him to take heed what he said. The Council would
examine him about Wolsey's last words; "and if you tell them the truth
you shall undo yourself." He had denied that he heard anything, and
warned Cavendish to do the same. So Cavendish answered the Duke of
Norfolk that he was so busied in waiting on Wolsey that he paid little
heed to what he said. "He spoke many idle words, as men in such
extremities do, the which I cannot now remember." He referred them to
Kingston's more accurate memory. It is a dismal picture of Court life
which is here presented to us. On every side was intrigue, suspicion,
and deceit. Wolsey's last words were consigned to oblivion; for the
frankness that was begotten of a retrospect in one who had nothing more
to hope or fear was dangerous in a place whence truth was banished.
When the Council was over Norfolk talked with Cavendish about his
future. Cavendish had seen enough of public life, and had no heart to
face its dangers. The figure of Wolsey rose before his eyes, and he
preferred to carry away into solitude his memories of the vanity of
man's ambition. His only request was for a cart and horse to carry away
his own goods, which had been brought with Wolsey's to the Tower. The
king was gracious, and allowed him to choose six cart-horses and a cart
from Wolsey's stable. He gave him five marks for his expenses, paid him
£10 for arrears of wages, and added £20 as a reward. "I received all
these things accordingly, and then I returned into my country."
It says much for Wolsey that he chose as his personal attendant a man of
the sweet, sensitive, retiring type of George Cavendish, though it was
not till after his fall from power that he learned the value of such a
friend. No less significant of the times is the profound impression
which Wolsey's fate excited on the mind of Cavendish, who in the
retirement of his own county of Suffolk lived with increasing sadness
through the changes which befell England and destroyed many of the
memories which were dearest to his heart. No one then cared to hear
about Wolsey, nor was it safe to recall the thought of the great
Cardinal of England to the minds of men who were busied in undoing his
work. Not till the days of Mary did Cavendish gather together his notes
and sketch the fortunes of one whose figure loomed forth from a distant
past, mellowed by the mists of time, and hallowed by the pious
resignation which was the only comfort that reflection could give to the
helpless recluse. The calm of a poetic sadness is expressed in the pages
of Cavendish's _Memoir_. Wolsey has become to him a type of the vanity
of human endeavour, and points the moral of the superiority of a quiet
life with God over the manifold activities of an aspiring ambition. But
Cavendish did not live to see the time when such a sermon, preached on
such a text, was likely to appeal to many hearers. His work remained in
manuscript, of which copies circulated amongst a few. One such copy, it
is clear, must have reached the hands of Shakespeare, who, with his
usual quickness of perception, condensed as much as his public could
understand into his portrait of Wolsey in the play of _Henry VIII._ When
the _Memoir_ was first printed in 1641 it was garbled for party
purposes. The figure of Wolsey was long left to the portraiture of
prejudice, and he was regarded only as the type of the arrogant
ecclesiastic whom it was the great work of the Reformation to have
rendered impossible in the future. Wolsey, the most patriotic of
Englishmen, was branded as the minion of the Pope, and the upholder of a
foreign despotism. When Fiddes, in 1724, attempted, on the strength of
documents, to restore Wolsey to his due position amongst England's
worthies, he was accused of Popery. Not till the mass of documents
relating to the reign of Henry VIII. was published did it become
possible for Dr. Brewer to show the significance of the schemes of the
great cardinal, and to estimate his merits and his faults.