Henry had caused himself to be announced to Anne Boleyn, who (says

Cavendish) "kept state at Grafton more like a queen than a simple

maid." Possessing extreme sensibility, and an ardent imagination,

Anne, who felt the slightest insult with all the sensibility of her

woman's heart, was very dissatisfied with the king after the report of

the dukes. Accordingly, heedless of the presence of the attendants,

she said to him: "Sir, is it not a marvellous thing to see into what

great danger the cardinal hath brought you with all your

subjects?"--"How so, sweetheart?" asked Henry. Anne continued: "Are

you ignorant of the hatred his exactions have drawn upon you? There is

not a man in your whole realm of England worth one hundred pounds, but

he hath made you his debtor." Anne here alluded to the loan the king

had raised among his subjects. "Well, well," said Henry, who was not

pleased with these remarks, "I know that matter better than you."--"If

my lord of Norfolk, my lord of Suffolk, my uncle, or my father had

done much less than the cardinal hath done," continued Anne, "they

would have lost their heads ere this." "Then I perceive," said Henry,

"you are none of his friends."--"No, sir, I have no cause, nor any

that love you," she replied. The dinner was ended; the king, without

appearing at all touched, proceeded to the presence-chamber where

Wolsey expected him.

[Sidenote: WOLSEY'S LAST INTERVIEW.]

After a long conversation, carried on in a low tone, the king took

Wolsey by the hand and led him into his private chamber. The courtiers

awaited impatiently the termination of an interview which might decide

the fate of England; they walked up and down the gallery, often

passing before the door of the closet, in the hope of catching from

Wolsey's looks, when he opened it, the result of this secret

conference; but one quarter of an hour followed another, these became

hours, and still the cardinal did not appear. Henry having resolved

that this conversation should be the last, was no doubt collecting

from his minister all the information necessary to him. But the

courtiers imagined he was returning into his master's favour; Norfolk,

Suffolk, Wiltshire, and the other enemies of the prime minister, began

to grow alarmed, and hastened off to Anne Boleyn, who was their last

hope.

It was night when the king and Wolsey quitted the royal closet; the

former appeared gracious, the latter satisfied; it was always Henry's

custom to smile on those he intended to sacrifice. "I shall see you in

the morning," he said to the cardinal with a friendly air. Wolsey made

a low bow, and, turning round to the courtiers, saw the king's smile

reflected on their faces. Wiltshire, Tuke, and even Suffolk, were full

of civility. "Well," thought he, "the motion of such weathercocks as

these shows me from what quarter the wind of favour is blowing."[1043]

[1043] Burnet's Ref. vol. i, p. 59.

But a moment after the wind began to change. Men with torches waited

for the cardinal at the gates of the palace to conduct him to the

place where he would have to pass the night. Thus he was not to sleep

beneath the same roof with Henry. He was to lie at Euston, one of

Empson's houses, about three miles off. Wolsey, repressing his

vexation, mounted his horse, the footmen preceded him with their

links, and after an hour's riding along very bad roads, he reached the

lodging assigned him.

[Sidenote: THE KING'S FAREWELL TO WOLSEY.]

He had sat down to supper, to which some of his most intimate friends

had been invited, when suddenly Gardiner was announced. Gardiner owed

every thing to the cardinal, and yet he had not appeared before him

since his return from Rome. He comes no doubt to play the hypocrite

and the spy, thought Wolsey. But as soon as the secretary entered,

Wolsey rose, made him a graceful compliment, and prayed him to take a

seat. "Master Secretary," he asked, "where have you been since your

return from Rome?"--"I have been following the court from place to

place."--"You have been hunting then? Have you any dogs?" asked the

prime minister, who knew very well what Gardiner had been doing in the

king's closet. "A few," replied Gardiner. Wolsey thought that even the

secretary was a bloodhound on his track. And yet after supper he took

Gardiner aside, and conversed with him until midnight. He thought it

prudent to neglect nothing that might clear up his position; and

Wolsey sounded Gardiner, just as he himself had been sounded by Henry

not long before.

The same night at Grafton the king gave Campeggio a farewell audience,

and treated him very kindly, "by giving him presents and other

matters," says Du Bellay. Henry then returned to Anne Boleyn. The

dukes had pointed out to her the importance of the present moment; she

therefore asked and obtained of Henry, without any great difficulty,

his promise never to speak to his minister again.[1044] The insults of

the papacy had exasperated the king of England, and as he could not

punish Clement, he took his revenge on the cardinal.

[1044] Du Bellay to the Grand Master. Le Grand, Preuves, p. 375; also

Cavendish.

The next morning, Wolsey, impatient to have the interview which Henry

had promised, rode back early to Grafton. But as he came near, he met

a numerous train of servants and sumpter-horses; and presently

afterwards Henry, with Anne Boleyn and many lords and ladies of the

court, came riding up. "What does all this mean?" thought the cardinal

in dismay. "My lord," said the king, as he drew near, "I cannot stay

with you now. You will return to London with cardinal Campeggio." Then

striking the spurs into his horse, Henry galloped off with a friendly

salutation. After him came Anne Boleyn, who rode past Wolsey with head

erect, and casting on him a proud look. The court proceeded to

Hartwell Park, where Anne had determined to keep the king all day.

Wolsey was confounded. There was no room for doubt; his disgrace was

certain. His head swam, he remained immovable for an instant, and then

recovered himself; but the blow he had received had not been

unobserved by the courtiers, and the cardinal's fall became the

general topic of conversation.

After dinner, the legates departed, and on the second day reached Moor

Park, a mansion built by Archbishop Neville, one of Wolsey's

predecessors, who for high treason had been first imprisoned at

Calais, and afterwards at Ham. These recollections were by no means

agreeable to Wolsey. The next morning the two cardinals separated,

Campeggio proceeded to Dover and Wolsey to London.

[Sidenote: CAMPEGGIO SEARCHED AT DOVER.]

Campeggio was impatient to get out of England, and great was his

annoyance, on reaching Dover, to find that the wind was contrary. But

a still greater vexation was in reserve. He had hardly lain down to

rest himself, before his door was opened, and a band of sergeants

entered the room. The cardinal, who knew what scenes of this kind

meant in Italy, thought he was a dead man,[1045] and fell trembling at

his chaplain's feet begging for absolution. Meantime the officers

opened his luggage, broke into his chests, scattered his property

about the floor, and even shook out his clothes.[1046]

[1045] Le Grand, vol. ii. p. 156. Life of Campeggio, by Sigonius.

[1046] Sarcinas excuti jussit. Sanders, p. 51.

Henry's tranquility had not been of long duration. "Campeggio is the

bearer of letters from Wolsey to Rome," whispered some of the

courtiers; "who knows but they contain treasonable matter?" "There is,

too, among his papers the famous _decretal_ pronouncing the divorce,"

said one; "if we had but that document it would finish the business."

Another affirmed that Campeggio "had large treasure with him of my

lord's (Wolsey's) to be conveyed in great tuns to Rome,"[1047] whither

it was surmised the cardinal of York would escape to enjoy the fruits

of his treason. "It is certain," added a third, "that Campeggio,

assisted by Wolsey, has been able to procure your majesty's

correspondence with Anne Boleyn, and is carrying it away with him."

Henry, therefore, sent a messenger after the nuncio, with orders that

his baggage should be thoroughly searched.

[1047] Cavendish, p. 216. See also Le Grand, ii. 258

Nothing was found, neither letters, nor bull, nor treasures. The bull

had been destroyed; the treasures Wolsey had never thought of

intrusting to his colleague; and the letters of Anne and Henry,

Campeggio had sent on before by his son Rodolph, and the pope was

stretching out his hands to receive them, proud, like his successors,

of the robbery committed by two of his legates.

Campeggio being reassured, and seeing that he was neither to be killed

nor robbed, made a great noise at this act of violence, and at the

insulting remarks which had given rise to it. "I will not leave

England," he caused Henry to be informed, "until I have received

satisfaction." "My lord forgets that he is legate no longer," replied

the king, "since the pope has withdrawn his power; he forgets,

besides, that, as bishop of Salisbury, he is my subject; as for the

remarks against him and the cardinal of York, it is a liberty the

people of England are accustomed to take, and which I cannot put

down." Campeggio, anxious to reach France, was satisfied with these

reasons, and soon forgot all his sorrows at the sumptuous table of

cardinal Duprat.

[Sidenote: WOLSEY'S DESOLATION.]

Wolsey was not so fortunate. He had seen Campeggio go away, and

remained like a wrecked seaman thrown on a desert isle, who has seen

depart the only friends capable of giving him any help. His necromancy

had forewarned him that this would be a fatal year.[1048] The angel of

the maid of Kent had said: "Go to the cardinal and announce his fall,

because he has not done what you had commanded him to do."[1049] Other

voices besides hers made themselves heard: the hatred of the nation,

the contempt of Europe, and, above all, Henry's anger, told him that

his hour was come. It was true the pope said, that he would do all in

his power to save him;[1050] but Clement's good offices would only

accelerate his ruin. Du Bellay, whom the people believed to be the

cardinal's accomplice, bore witness to the change that had taken place

in men's minds. While passing on foot through the streets of the

capital, followed by two valets, "his ears were so filled with coarse

jests as he went along," he said, "that he knew not which way to

turn."[1051] "The cardinal is utterly undone," he wrote; "and I see

not how he can escape." The idea occurred to Wolsey, from time to

time, to pronounce the divorce himself; but it was too late. He was

even told that his life was in danger. Fortune, blind and bald, her

foot on the wheel, fled rapidly from him, nor was it in his power to

stop her. And this was not all: after him (he thought) there was no

one who could uphold the church of the pontiffs in England. The ship

of Rome was sailing on a stormy sea among rocks and shoals; Wolsey at

the helm looked in vain for a port of refuge; the vessel leaked on

every side; it was rapidly sinking, and the cardinal uttered a cry of

distress. Alas! he had desired to save Rome, but Rome would not have

it so.

[1048] He had learnt of his necromancy that this would be a jeopardous

year for him. Tyndale's Works, i, p. 480.

[1049] Strype. i. p. 373.

[1050] Herbert, p. 289.

[1051] Du Bellay to Montmorency. 12th October. Le Grand, Preuves,

p.365.

CHAPTER XII.

A Meeting at Waltham--Youth of Thomas Cranmer--His early

Education--Studies Scripture for Three Years--His functions

as Examiner--The Supper at Waltham--New View of the

Divorce--Fox communicates it to Henry--Cranmer's

Vexation--Conference with the King--Cranmer at the Boleyns.

[Sidenote: THOMAS CRANMER.]

As Wolsey's star was disappearing in the West in the midst of stormy

clouds, another was rising in the East, to point out the way to save

Britain. Men, like stars, appear on the horizon at the command of God.

On his return from Woodstock to Greenwich, Henry stopped full of

anxiety at Waltham in Essex. His attendants were lodged in the houses

of the neighbourhood. Fox, the almoner, and Secretary Gardiner, were

quartered on a gentleman named Cressy, at Waltham Abbey. When supper

was announced, Gardiner and Fox were surprised to see an old friend

enter the room. It was Thomas Cranmer, a Cambridge doctor. "What! is

it you?" they said, "and how came you here?" "Our host's wife is my

relation," replied Cranmer, "and as the epidemic is raging at

Cambridge, I brought home my friend's sons, who are under my care." As

this new personage is destined to play an important part in the

history of the Reformation, it may be worth our while to interrupt our

narrative, and give a particular account of him.

[Sidenote: CRANMER'S FIRST MARRIAGE.]

Cranmer was descended from an ancient family, which came into England,

as is generally believed, with the Conqueror. He was born at Aslacton

in Nottinghamshire on the 2nd of July 1489, six years after Luther.

His early education had been very much neglected; his tutor, an

ignorant and severe priest, had taught him little else than patiently

to endure severe chastisement--a knowledge destined to be very useful

to him in after-life. His father was an honest country gentleman, who

cared for little besides hunting, racing, and military sports. At this

school, the son learnt to ride, to handle the bow and the sword, to

fish, and to hawk; and he never entirely neglected these exercises,

which he thought essential to his health. Thomas Cranmer was fond of

walking, of the charms of nature, and of solitary meditations; and a

hill, near his father's mansion, used often to be shown where he was

wont to sit, gazing on the fertile country at his feet, fixing his

eyes on the distant spires, listening with melancholy pleasure to the

chime of the bells, and indulging in sweet contemplations. About 1504,

he was sent to Cambridge, where "barbarism still prevailed," says an

historian.[1052] His plain, noble, and modest air conciliated the

affections of many, and, in 1510, he was elected fellow of Jesus

College. Possessing a tender heart, he became attached, at the age of

twenty-three, to a young person of good birth (says Foxe,) or of

inferior rank, as other writers assert. Cranmer was unwilling to

imitate the disorderly lives of his fellow-students, and although

marriage would necessarily close the career of honours, he married the

young lady, resigned his fellowship (in conformity with the

regulations), and took a modest lodging at the Dolphin. He then began

to study earnestly the most remarkable writings of the times,

polishing, it has been said, his old asperity on the productions of

Erasmus, of Lefevre of Etaples, and other great authors; every day his

crude understanding received new brilliancy.[1053] He then began to

teach in Buckingham (afterwards Magdalene) College, and thus provided

for his wants.

[1052] Fæda barbaries. Melch. Adam. Vitæ Theol. i.

[1053] Ad eos non aliter quam ad cotem, quotidie priscam detergebat

scabritiem. (Ibid.) Coming to them as to a whetstone, he daily rubbed

off his old asperity.

[Sidenote: CRANMER ON THE DIVORCE.]

His lessons excited the admiration of enlightened men, and the anger

of obscure ones, who disdainfully called him (because of the inn at

which he lodged) _the hostler_. "This name became him well," said

Fuller, "for in his lessons he roughly rubbed the backs of the friars,

and famously curried the hides of the lazy priests." His wife dying a

year after his marriage, Cranmer was re-elected fellow of his old

college, and the first writing of Luther's having appeared, he said:

"I must know on which side the truth lies. There is only one

infallible source, the Scriptures; in them I will seek for God's

truth."[1054] And for three years he constantly studied the holy

books,[1055] without commentary, without human theology, and hence he

gained the name of the _Scripturist_. At last his eyes were opened; he

saw the mysterious bond which unites all biblical revelations, and

understood the completeness of God's design. Then without forsaking

the Scriptures, he studied all kinds of authors.[1056] He was a slow

reader, but a close observer;[1057] he never opened a book without

having a pen in his hand.[1058] He did not take up with any particular

party or age; but possessing a free and philosophic mind, he weighed

all opinions in the balance of his judgment,[1059] taking the Bible

for his standard.

[1054] Behold the very fountains. Foxe, viii, p. 4.

[1055] Totum triennium Sacræ Scripturæ monumentis periegendis

impendit. M. Adam. p. 1.

[1056] Like a merchant greedy of all good things. Foxe. viii, p. 4.

[1057] Tardus quidem lector sed vehemens observator. M. Adam. p. 1.

[1058] Sine calamo nunquam ad scriptoris eujusquam librum accessit. M.

Adam. p. 1.

[1059] Omnes omnium opiniones tacito secum judicio trutinabat. Ibid.

Honours soon came upon him; he was made successively doctor of

divinity, professor, university preacher, and examiner. He used to say

to the candidates for the ministry: "Christ sendeth his hearers to the

Scriptures, and not to the church."[1060]--"But," replied the monks,

"they are so difficult."--"Explain the obscure passages by those which

are clear," rejoined the professor, "Scripture by Scripture. Seek,

pray, _and he who has the key of David_ will open them to you." The

monks, affrighted at this task, withdrew bursting with anger; and

erelong Cranmer's name was a name of dread in every convent. Some,

however, submitted to the labour, and one of them, Doctor Barret,

blessed God that the examiner had turned him back; "for," said he, "I

found the knowledge of God in the holy book he compelled me to study."

Cranmer toiled at the same work as Latimer, Stafford, and Bilney.

[1060] Cranmer's Works, p. 17, 18.

[Sidenote: CRANMER'S CHARACTER.]

Fox and Gardiner having renewed acquaintance with their old friend at

Waltham Abbey, they sat down to table, and both the almoner and the

secretary asked the doctor what he thought of the divorce. It was the

usual topic of conversation, and not long before, Cranmer had been

named member of a commission appointed to give their opinion on this

affair. "You are not in the right path," said Cranmer to his friends;

"you should not cling to the decisions of the church. There is a surer

and a shorter way which alone can give peace to the king's

conscience."--"What is that?" they both asked. "The true question is

this," replied Cranmer: "_What says the Word of God?_ If God has

declared a marriage of this nature _bad_, the pope cannot make it

_good_. Discontinue these interminable Roman negotiations. When God

has spoken man must obey."--"But how shall we know what God has

said?"--"Consult the universities; they will discern it more surely

than Rome."

This was a new view. The idea of consulting the universities had been

acted upon before; but then their own opinions only had been demanded;

now, the question was simply to know _what God says in his word_. "The

word of God is above the church," was the principle laid down by

Cranmer, and in that principle consisted the whole of the

Reformation. The conversation at the supper-table of Waltham was

destined to be one of those secret springs which an invisible Hand

sets in motion for the accomplishment of his great designs. The

Cambridge doctor, suddenly transported from his study to the foot of

the throne, was on the point of becoming one of the principal

instruments of Divine wisdom.

The day after this conversation, Fox and Gardiner arrived at

Greenwich, and the king summoned them into his presence the same

evening. "Well, gentlemen," he said to them, "our holidays are over;

what shall we do now? If we still have recourse to Rome, God knows

when we shall see the end of this matter."[1061]--"It will not be

necessary to take so long a journey," said Fox; "we know a shorter and

surer way."--"What is it?" asked the king eagerly.--"Doctor Cranmer,

whom we met yesterday at Waltham, thinks that the Bible should be the

sole judge in your cause." Gardiner, vexed at his colleague's

frankness, desired to claim all the honour of this luminous idea for

himself; but Henry did not listen to him. "Where is Doctor Cranmer?"

said he, much affected.[1062] "Send, and fetch him immediately. Mother

of God! (this was his customary oath) this man has the right sow by

the ear.[1063] If this had only been suggested to me two years ago,

what expense and trouble I should have been spared."

[1061] God knows, and not I. Foxe, viii, 7.

[1062] Burnet, vol. i, p. 60.

[1063] Ibid.

Cranmer had gone into Nottinghamshire; a messenger followed and

brought him back. "Why have you entangled me in this affair?" he said

to Fox and Gardiner. "Pray make my excuses to the king." Gardiner, who

wished for nothing better, promised to do all he could; but it was of

no use. "I will have no excuses," said Henry. The wily courtier was

obliged to make up his mind to introduce the ingenuous and upright

man, to whom that station, which he himself had so coveted, was one

day to belong. Cranmer and Gardiner went down to Greenwich, both alike

dissatisfied.

[Sidenote: CRANMER'S INTERVIEW WITH HENRY.]

Cranmer was then forty years of age, with pleasing features, and mild

and winning eyes, in which the candour of his soul seemed to be

reflected. Sensible to the pains as well as to the pleasures of the

heart, he was destined to be more exposed than other men to anxieties

and falls; a peaceful life in some remote parsonage would have been

more to his taste than the court of Henry VIII. Blessed with a

generous mind, unhappily he did not possess the firmness necessary in

a public man; a little stone sufficed to make him stumble. His

excellent understanding showed him the better way; but his great

timidity made him fear the more dangerous. He was rather too fond of

relying upon the power of men, and made them unhappy concessions with

too great facility. If the king had questioned him, he would never

have dared advise so bold a course as that he had pointed out; the

advice had slipped from him at table during the intimacy of familiar

conversation. Yet he was sincere, and after doing everything to escape

from the consequences of his frankness, he was ready to maintain the

opinion he had given.

Henry, perceiving Cranmer's timidity, graciously approached him. "What

is your name," said the king endeavouring to put him at his ease? "Did

you not meet my secretary and my almoner at Waltham?" And then he

added: "Did you not speak to them of my great affair?"--repeating the

words ascribed to Cranmer. The latter could not retreat: "Sir, it is

true, I did say so."--"I see," replied the king with animation, "that

you have found the breach through which we must storm the fortress.

Now, Sir doctor, I beg you, and as you are my subject I command you,

to lay aside every other occupation, and to bring my cause to a

conclusion in conformity with the ideas you have put forth. All that I

desire to know is, whether my marriage is contrary to the laws of God

or not. Employ all your skill in investigating the subject, and thus

bring comfort to my conscience as well as to the queen's."[1064]

[1064] For the discharging of both our consciences. Foxe, VIII, p. 8.

Cranmer was confounded; he recoiled from the idea of deciding an

affair on which depended, it might be, the destinies of the nation,

and sighed after the lonely fields of Aslacton. But grasped by the

vigorous hand of Henry, he was compelled to advance. "Sir," said he,

"pray intrust this matter to doctors more learned than I am."--"I am

very willing," answered the king, "but I desire that you will also

give me your opinion in writing." And then summoning the earl of

Wiltshire to his presence, he said to him: "My lord, you will receive

Doctor Cranmer into your house at Durham Place, and let him have all

necessary quiet to compose a report for which I have asked him." After

this precise command, which admitted of no refusal, Henry withdrew.

[Sidenote: CRANMER MEETS ANNE BOLEYN.]

In this manner was Cranmer introduced by the king to Anne Boleyn's

father, and not, as some Romanist authors have asserted, by Sir

Thomas Boleyn to the king.[1065] Wiltshire conducted Cranmer to Durham

House (now the Adelphi in the Strand,) and the pious doctor on whom

Henry had imposed these quarters, soon contracted a close friendship

with Anne and her father, and took advantage of it to teach them the

value of the Divine word, as _the pearl of great price_.[1066] Henry,

while profiting by the address of a Wolsey and a Gardiner, paid little

regard to the men; but he respected Cranmer, even when opposed to him

in opinion, and until his death placed the learned doctor above all

his courtiers and all his clerks. The pious man often succeeds better,

even with the great ones of this world, than the ambitious and the

intriguing.

[1065] Sanders, p. 57; Lingard, vol. vi. chap. iii. Compare Foxe, vol.

viii, p. 8.

[1066] Teque nobilis illius margaritæ desiderio teneri. Erasm. Epp. p.

1754.

CHAPTER XIII.

Wolsey in the Court of Chancery--Accused by the

Dukes--Refuses to give up the Great Seal--His Despair--He

gives up the Seal--Order to depart--His

Inventory--Alarm--The Scene of Departure--Favourable Message

from the King--Wolsey's Joy--His Fool--Arrival at Esher.

While Cranmer was rising notwithstanding his humility, Wolsey was

falling in despite of his stratagems. The cardinal still governed the

kingdom, gave instructions to ambassadors, negotiated with princes,

and filled his sumptuous palaces with his haughtiness. The king could

not make up his mind to turn him off; the force of habit, the need he

had of him, the recollection of the services Henry had received from

him, pleaded in his favour. Wolsey without the seals appeared almost

as inconceivable as the king without his crown. Yet the fall of one of

the most powerful favourites recorded in history was inevitably

approaching, and we must now describe it.

[Sidenote: THE CARDINAL'S LAST SITTING.]

On the 9th of October, after the Michaelmas vacation, Wolsey, desirous

of showing a bold face, went and opened the high court of chancery

with his accustomed pomp; but he noticed, with uneasiness, that none

of the king's servants walked before him, as they had been accustomed

to do. He presided on the bench with an inexpressible depression of

spirits, and the various members of the court sat before him with an

absent air; there was something gloomy and solemn in this sitting, as

if all were taking part in a funeral: it was destined indeed to be the

last act of the cardinal's power. Some days before (Foxe says on the

1st of October) the dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, with other lords of

the privy-council, had gone down to Windsor, and denounced to the king

Wolsey's unconstitutional relations with the pope, his usurpations,

"his robberies, and the discords sown by his means between Christian

princes."[1067] Such motives would not have sufficed; but Henry had

stronger. Wolsey had not kept any of his promises in the matter of the

divorce; it would even appear that he had advised the pope to

excommunicate the king, and thus raise his people against him.[1068]

This enormity was not at that time known by the prince; it is even

probable that it did not take place until later. But Henry knew

enough, and he gave his attorney-general, Sir Christopher Hales,

orders to prosecute Wolsey.

[1067] Du Bellay to Montmorency, 22nd October. Le Grand, Preuves. p.

377.

[1068] Range, Deutsche Geschichte, iii. p. 140.

Whilst the heart-broken cardinal was displaying his authority for the

last time in the court of chancery, the attorney-general was accusing

him in the King's Bench for having obtained papal bulls conferring on

him a jurisdiction which encroached on the royal power; and calling

for the application of the penalties of _præmunire_. The two dukes

received orders to demand the seals from Wolsey; and the latter,

informed of what had taken place, did not quit his palace on the 10th,

expecting every moment the arrival of the messengers of the king's

anger; but no one appeared.

The next day the two dukes arrived: "It is the king's good pleasure,"

said they to the cardinal, who remained seated in his arm-chair, "that

you give up the broad seal to us and retire to Esher" (a country-seat

near Hampton Court.) Wolsey, whose presence of mind never failed him,

demanded to see the commission under which they were acting. "We have

our orders from his majesty's mouth," said they.--"That may be

sufficient for you," replied the cardinal, "but not for me. The great

seal of England was delivered to me by the hands of my sovereign; I

may not deliver it at the simple word of any lord, unless you can show

me your commission." Suffolk broke out into a passion, but Wolsey

remained calm, and the two dukes returned to Windsor. This was the

cardinal's last triumph.

[Sidenote: HE GIVES UP THE GREAT SEAL.]

The rumour of his disgrace created an immense sensation at court, in

the city, and among the foreign ambassadors. Du Bellay hastened to

York Place (Whitehall) to contemplate this great ruin and console his

unhappy friend. He found Wolsey, with dejected countenance and

lustreless eyes, "shrunk to half his wonted size," wrote the

ambassador to Montmorency, "the greatest example of fortune which was

ever beheld." Wolsey desired "to set forth his case" to him; but his

thoughts were confused, his language broken, "for heart and tongue

both failed him entirely;" he burst into tears. The ambassador

regarded him with compassion: "Alas!" thought he, "his enemies cannot

but feel pity for him." At last the unhappy cardinal recovered his

speech, but only to give way to despair. "I desire no more authority,"

he exclaimed, "nor the pope's legation, nor the broad seal of

England.... I am ready to give up every thing, even to my

shirt.[1069]... I can live in a hermitage, provided the king does not

hold me in disgrace." The ambassador "did all he could to comfort

him," when Wolsey, catching at the plank thrown out to him, exclaimed:

"Would that the king of France and madame might pray the king to

moderate his anger against me. But above all," he added in alarm,

"take care the king never knows that I have solicited this of you." Du

Bellay wrote indeed to France, that the king and madame alone could

"withdraw their affectionate servant from the gates of hell," and

Wolsey being informed of these despatches, his hopes recovered a

little. But this bright gleam did not last long.

[1069] Du Bellay to Montmorency. Le Grand, Preuves, p. 371.

[Sidenote: WOLSEY'S LAST HOPES.]

On Sunday the 17th of October, Norfolk and Suffolk re-appeared at

Whitehall, accompanied by Fitzwilliam, Taylor, and Gardiner, Wolsey's

former dependant. It was six in the evening; they found the cardinal

in an upper chamber, near the great gallery, and presented the king's

orders to him. Having read them he said: "I am happy to obey his

majesty's commands;" then having ordered the great seal to be brought

him, he took it out of the white leather case in which he kept it, and

handed it to the dukes, who placed it in a box, covered with crimson

velvet, and ornamented with the arms of England,[1070] ordered

Gardiner to seal it up with red wax, and gave it to Taylor to convey

to the king.

Wolsey was thunderstruck; he was to drink the bitter cup even to the

dregs: he was ordered to leave his palace forthwith, taking with him

neither clothes, linen, nor plate; the dukes had feared that he would

convey away his treasures. Wolsey comprehended the greatness of his

misery; he found strength however to say: "Since it is the kings' good

pleasure to take my house and all it contains, I am content to retire

to Esher." The dukes left him.

[1070] In quadam theca de veluto crimisino. Rymer, Act. p. 138.

Wolsey remained alone. This astonishing man, who had risen from a

butcher's shop to the summit of earthly greatness--who, for a word

that displeased him, sent his master's most faithful servants (Pace

for instance) to the Tower--and who had governed England as if he had

been its monarch, and even more, for he had governed without a

parliament: was driven out, and thrown, as it were, upon a dunghill. A

sudden hope flashed like lightning through his mind; perhaps the

magnificence of the spoils would appease Henry. Was not Esau pacified

by Jacob's present? Wolsey summoned his officers: "Set tables in the

great gallery," he said to them, "and place on them all I have

entrusted to your care, in order to render me an account." These

orders were executed immediately. The tables were covered with an

immense quantity of rich stuffs, silks and velvets of all colours,

costly furs, rich copes and other ecclesiastical vestures; the walls

were hung with cloth of gold and silver, and webs of a valuable stuff

named baudykin,[1071] from the looms of Damascus, and with tapestry,

representing scriptural subjects or stories from the old romances of

chivalry. The gilt chamber and the council chamber, adjoining the

gallery, were both filled with plate, in which the gold and silver

were set with pearls and precious stones: these articles of luxury

were so abundant that basketfulls of costly plate, which had fallen

out of fashion were stowed away under the tables. On every table was

an exact list of the treasures with which it was loaded, for the most

perfect order and regularity prevailed in the cardinal's household.

Wolsey cast a glance of hope upon this wealth, and ordered his

officers to deliver the whole to his majesty.

[1071] Baldekinum, pannus omnium ditissimus cujus utpote stamen ex

filo auri, subtegmen ex serico texitur, plumario opere intertextus.

(Ducange's Glossary.) Baudskin, the richest of all kinds of cloth,

inasmuch as its warp is of gold thread, the woof of silk, and the

whole interwoven with rich embroidery.

[Sidenote: WOLSEY LEAVES WHITEHALL.]

He then prepared to leave his magnificent palace. That moment of

itself so sad, was made sadder still by an act of affectionate

indiscretion. "Ah, my lord," said his treasurer, Sir William

Gascoigne, moved even to tears, "your grace will be sent to the

Tower." This was too much for Wolsey: to go and join his victims!...

He grew angry, and exclaimed: "Is this the best comfort you can give

your master in adversity? I would have you and all such blasphemous

reporters know that it is untrue."

It was necessary to depart; he put round his neck a chain of gold,

from which hung a pretended relic of the true cross; this was all he

took. "Would to God," he exclaimed, as he placed it on, "that I had

never had any other." This he said alluding to the legate's cross

which used to be carried before him with so much pomp. He descended

the back stairs, followed by his servants, some silent and dejected,

others weeping bitterly, and proceeded to the river's brink, where a

barge awaited him. But, alas! it was not alone. The Thames was covered

with innumerable boats full of men and women. The inhabitants of

London, expecting to see the cardinal led to the Tower, desired to be

present at his humiliation, and prepared to accompany him. Cries of

joy hailing his fall were heard from every side; nor were the

cruellest sarcasms wanting. "The butcher's dog will bite no more,"

said some; "look, how he hangs his head." In truth, the unhappy man,

distressed by a sight so new to him, lowered those eyes which were

once so proud, but now were filled with bitter tears. This man, who

had made all England tremble, was then like a withered leaf carried

along the stream. All his servants were moved; even his fool, William

Patch, sobbed like the rest. "O, wavering and newfangled multitude,"

exclaimed Cavendish, his gentleman usher.[1072] The hopes of the

citizens were disappointed; the barge, instead of descending the

river, proceeded upwards in the direction of Hampton Court; gradually

the shouts died away, and the flotilla dispersed.

[1072] Cavendish, Wolsey, p. 251.

[Sidenote: WOLSEY'S JESTER.]

The silence of the river permitted Wolsey to indulge in less bitter

thoughts; but it seemed as if invisible furies were pursuing him, now

that the people had left him. He left his barge at Putney, and

mounting his mule, though with difficulty, proceeded slowly with

downcast looks. Shortly after, upon lifting his eyes, he saw a

horseman riding rapidly down the hill towards them. "Whom do you think

it can be?" he asked of his attendants. "My lord," replied one of

them, "I think it is Sir Henry Morris." A flash of joy passed through

Wolsey's heart. Was it not Norris, who, of all the king's officers,

had shown him the most respect during his visit to Grafton? Norris

came up with them, saluted him respectfully, and said: "The king bids

me declare that he still entertains the same kindly feelings towards

you, and sends you this ring as a token of his confidence." Wolsey

received it with a trembling hand: it was that which the king was in

the habit of sending on important occasions. The cardinal immediately

alighted from his mule, and kneeling down in the road, raised his

hands to heaven with an indescribable expression of happiness. The

fallen man would have pulled off his velvet under-cap, but unable to

undo the strings, he broke them, and threw it on the ground. He

remained on his knees bareheaded praying fervently amidst profound

silence. God's forgiveness had never caused Wolsey so much pleasure as

Henry's.

Having finished his prayer, the cardinal put on his cap, and remounted

his mule. "Gentle Norris," said he to the king's messenger, "if I were

lord of a kingdom, the half of it would scarcely be enough to reward

you for your happy tidings; but I have nothing left except the clothes

on my back." Then taking off his gold chain: "Take this," he said, "it

contains a piece of the true cross. In my happier days I would not

have parted with it for a thousand pounds." The cardinal and Norris

separated: but Wolsey soon stopped, and the whole troop halted on the

heath. The thought troubled him greatly that he had nothing to send to

the king; he called Norris back, and looking round him saw mounted on

a sorry horse poor William Patch, who had lost all his gaiety since

his master's misfortune. "Present this poor jester to the king from

me," said Wolsey to Norris; "his buffooneries are a pleasure fit for a

prince; he is worth a thousand pounds." Patch, offended at being

treated thus, burst into a violent passion, his eyes flashed fire, he

foamed at the mouth, he kicked and fought, and bit all who approached

him;[1073] but the inexorable Wolsey, who looked upon him merely as a

toy, ordered six of his tallest yeomen to lay hold of him. They

carried off the unfortunate creature, who long continued to utter his

piercing cries. At the very moment when his master had had pity on

him, Wolsey, like the servant in the parable, had no pity on his poor

companion in misfortune.

[1073] The poor fool took on, and fired so in such a rage. Cavendish,

p. 237.

At last they reached Esher. What a residence compared with

Whitehall!... It was little more than four bare walls. The most urgent

necessaries were procured from the neighbouring houses, but Wolsey

could not adapt himself to this cruel contrast. Besides, he knew Henry

VIII; he knew that he might send Norris one day with a gold ring, and

the executioner the next with a rope. Gloomy and dejected, he remained

seated in his lonely apartments. On a sudden he would rise from his

seat, walk hurriedly up and down, speak aloud to himself, and then

falling back in his chair, he would weep like a child. This man who

formerly had shaken kingdoms, had been overthrown in the twinkling of

an eye, and was now atoning for his perfidies in humiliation and

terror,--a striking example of God's judgment.

CHAPTER XIV.

Thomas More elected Chancellor--A lay Government one of the

great Facts of the Reformation--Wolsey accused of

subordinating England to the Pope--He implores the King's

Clemency--His Condemnation--Cromwell at Esher--His

Character--He sets out for London--Sir Christopher Hales

recommends him to the King--Cromwell's Interview with Henry

in the Park--A new Theory--Cromwell elected Member of

Parliament--Opened by Sir Thomas More--Attack on

ecclesiastical Abuses--Reforms pronounced by the

Convocation--Three Bills--Rochester attacks them--Resistance

of the House of Commons--Struggles--Henry sanctions the

three Bills--Alarm of the Clergy and Disturbances.

[Sidenote: LORD CHANCELLOR MORE.]

During all this time everybody was in commotion at court. Norfolk and

Suffolk, at the head of the council, had informed the Star Chamber of

the cardinal's disgrace. Henry knew not how to supply his place. Some

suggested the archbishop of Canterbury; the king would not hear of

him. "Wolsey," says a French writer, "had disgusted the king and all

England with those subjects of two masters who, almost always, sold

one to the other. They preferred a lay minister." "I verily believe

the priests will never more obtain it," wrote Du Bellay. The name of

Sir Thomas More was pronounced. He was a layman, and that quality,

which a few years before would, perhaps, have excluded him, was now a

recommendation. A breath of Protestantism wafted to the summit of

honours one of its greatest enemies. Henry thought that More, placed

between the pope and his sovereign, would decide in favour of the

interests of the throne, and of the independence of England. His

choice was made.

[Sidenote: WOLSEY THREATENED WITH PRÆMUNIRE.]

More knew that the cardinal had been thrown aside because he was not a

sufficiently docile instrument in the matter of the divorce. The work

required of him was contrary to his convictions; but the honour

conferred on him was almost unprecedented--very seldom indeed had the

seals been intrusted to a mere knight.[1074] He followed the path of

ambition and not of duty; he showed, however, in after-days that his

ambition was of no common sort. It is even probable that, foreseeing

the dangers which threatened to destroy the papal power in England,

More wished to make an effort to save it. Norfolk installed the new

chancellor in the Star Chamber. "His majesty," said the duke, "has not

cast his eyes upon the nobility of the blood, but on the worth of the

person. He desires to show by this choice that there are among the

laity and gentlemen of England, men worthy to fill the highest offices

in the kingdom, to which, until this hour, bishops and noblemen alone

think they have a right."[1075] The Reformation which restored

religion to the general body of the church, took away at the same time

political power from the clergy. The priests had deprived the people

of Christian activity, and the governments of power; the Gospel

restored to both what the priests had usurped. This result could not

but be favourable to the interests of religion; the less cause kings

and their subjects have to fear the intrusion of clerical power into

the affairs of the world, the more will they yield themselves to the

vivifying influence of faith.

[1074] It has been often asserted that Sir Thomas More was the first

layman to whom the office of chancellor was intrusted; but there were

no less than _six_ between A.D. 1342 and 1410; viz. Sir Robert

Boucher, knight; Sir Robert de Thorp, knight; Sir R. de la Serope,

knight; Sir M. de la Pole; R. Neville, earl of Salisbury; and Sir T.

Beaufort, knight.

[1075] More's Life, p. 172.

More lost no time; never had lord-chancellor displayed such activity.

He rapidly cleared off the cases which were in arrear, and having been

installed on the 26th of October he called on Wolsey's cause on the

28th or 29th. "The crown of England," said the attorney-general, "has

never acknowledged any superior but God.[1076] Now, the said Thomas

Wolsey, legate _a latere_, has obtained from the pope certain bulls,

by virtue of which he has exercised since the 28th of August 1523 an

authority derogatory to his majesty's power, and to the rights of his

courts of justice. The crown of England cannot be put under the pope;

and we therefore accuse the said legate of having incurred the

penalties of _præmunire_."

[1076] The crown of England, free at all times, has been in no earthly

subjection, but immediately subject to God in all things. Herbert, p.

231. See also Articles of Impeachment, section 1.

[Sidenote: WOLSEY'S REAL CRIME.]

There can be no doubt that Henry had other reasons for Wolsey's

disgrace than those pointed out by the attorney-general; but England

had convictions of a higher nature than her sovereign's. Wolsey was

regarded as the pope's accomplice, and this was the cause of the great

severity of the public officer and of the people. The cardinal is

generally excused by alleging that both king and parliament had

ratified the unconstitutional authority with which Rome had invested

him; but had not the powers conferred on him by the pope produced

unjustifiable results in a constitutional monarchy? Wolsey, as papal

legate, had governed England without a parliament; and, as if the

nation had gone back to the reign of John, he had substituted _de

facto_, if not in theory, the monstrous system of the famous bull

_Unam Sanctum_[1077] for the institution of _Magna Charta_. The king,

and even the lords and commons, had connived in vain at these

illegalities; the rights of the constitution of England remained not

the less inviolable, and the best of the people had protested against

their infringement. And hence it was that Wolsey, conscious of his

crime, "put himself wholly to the mercy and grace of the king,"[1078]

and his counsel declared his ignorance of the statutes he was said to

have infringed. We cannot here allege, as some have done, the

prostration of Wolsey's moral powers; he could, even after his fall,

reply with energy to Henry VIII. When, for instance, the king sent to

demand for the crown his palace of Whitehall, which belonged to the

see of York, the cardinal answered: "Show his majesty from me that I

must desire him to call to his most gracious remembrance that there is

both a heaven and a hell;" and when other charges besides those of

complicity with the papal aggression were brought against him, he

defended himself courageously, as will be afterwards seen. If

therefore the cardinal did not attempt to justify himself for

infringing the rights of the crown, it was because his conscience bade

him be silent. He had committed one of the gravest faults of which a

statesman can be guilty. Those who have sought to excuse him have not

sufficiently borne in mind that, since the Great Charter, opposition

to Romish aggression has always characterized the constitution and

government of England. Wolsey perfectly recollected this; and this

explanation is more honourable to him than that which ascribes his

silence to weakness or to cunning.

[1077] Since the 13th of Nov. 1302, Raynold ad ann. Uterque ergo

gladius est in potestate ecclesiæ, spiritualis scilicet et materialis.

Both the one sword, and the other therefore, is, in the power of the

church, the spiritual undoubtedly and the material also.

[1078] Cavendish, p. 276.

The cardinal was pronounced guilty, and the court passed judgment,

that by the statute of _præmunire_ his property was forfeited, and

that he might be taken before the king in council. England, by

sacrificing a churchman who had placed himself above kings, gave a

memorable example of her inflexible opposition to the encroachments of

the papacy. Wolsey was confounded, and his troubled imagination

conjured up nothing but perils on every side.

While More was lending himself to the condemnation of his predecessor,

whose friend he had been, another layman of still humbler origin was

preparing to defend the cardinal, and by that very act to become the

appointed instrument to throw down the convents in England, and to

shatter the secular bonds which united this country to the Roman

pontiff.

[Sidenote: CROMWELL'S RESOLUTION.]

On the 1st of November, two days after Wolsey's condemnation, one of

his officers, with a prayer-book in his hand, was leaning against the

window in the great hall, apparently absorbed in his devotions.

"Good-morrow," said Cavendish as he passed him, on his way to the

cardinal for his usual morning duties. The person thus addressed

raided his head, and the gentleman-usher, seeing that his eyes were

filled with tears, asked him: "Master Cromwell, is my lord in any

danger?"--"I think not," replied Cromwell, "but it is hard to lose in

a moment the labour of a life." In his master's fall Cromwell

foreboded his own. Cavendish endeavoured to console him. "God willing,

this is my resolution," replied Wolsey's ambitious solicitor; "I

intend this afternoon, as soon as my lord has dined, to ride to

London, and so go to court, where I will either make or mar before I

come back again."[1079] At this moment Cavendish was summoned, and he

entered the cardinal's chamber.

[1079] Cavendish, p. 280.

Cromwell, devoured by ambition, had clung to Wolsey's robe in order to

attain power; but Wolsey had fallen, and the solicitor, dragged along

with him, strove to reach by other means the object of his desires.

Cromwell was one of those earnest and vigorous men whom God prepares

for critical times. Blessed with a solid judgment and intrepid

firmness, he possessed a quality rare in every age, and particularly

under Henry VIII,--fidelity in misfortune. The ability by which he was

distinguished was not at all times without reproach: success seems to

have been his first thought.

[Sidenote: CROMWELL'S INTERVIEW WITH HENRY.]

After dinner Cromwell followed Wolsey into his private room: "My lord,

permit me to go to London, I will endeavour to save you." A gleam

passed over the cardinal's saddened features.--"Leave the room," he

said to his attendants. He then had a long private conversation with

Cromwell,[1080] at the end of which the latter mounted his horse and

set out for the capital, riding to the assault of power with the same

activity as he had marched to the attack of Rome. He did not hide from

himself that it would be difficult to procure access to the king; for

certain ecclesiastics, jealous of Wolsey, had spoken against his

solicitor at the time of the secularization of the convents, and Henry

could not endure him. But Cromwell knew that fortune favours the bold,

and, carried away by his ambitious dreams, he galloped on, saying to

himself: "One foot in the stirrup, and my fortune is made!"

[1080] Long communication with my lord in secret. Ibid. p. 270.

Sir Christopher Hales, a zealous Roman-catholic, entertained a sincere

friendship for him; and to this friend Cromwell applied. Hales

proceeded immediately to the palace (2nd November), where he found a

numerous company talking about the cardinal's ruin. "There was one of

his officers," said Hales, "who would serve your majesty well."--"Who

is he?" asked Henry.--"Cromwell."--"Do not speak to me of that man, I

hate him," replied the king angrily;[1081] and upon that all the

courtiers chimed in with his majesty's opinion. This opening was not

very encouraging; but Lord Russell, earl of Bedford, advancing to the

midst of the group around the king, said boldly:[1082] "Permit me,

Sir, to defend a man to whom I am indebted for my life. When you sent

me privately into Italy, your majesty's enemies, having discovered me

at Bologna, would have put me to death, had not Thomas Cromwell saved

me. Sir, since you have now to do with the pope, there is no man (I

think) in all England who will be fitter for your purpose."--"Indeed!"

said the king; and after a little reflection, he said to Hales: "Very

well then, let your client meet me in Whitehall gardens." The

courtiers and the priests withdrew in great discomfiture.

[1081] The king began to detest the mention of him. Foxe, v. p. 368.

[1082] In a vehement boldness. Ibid. p. 367.

[Sidenote: LIBERTY SHOULD BE RESTORED TO THE CHURCH.]

The interview took place the same day at the appointed spot. "Sir,"

said Cromwell to his majesty, "the pope refuses your divorce.... But

why do you ask his consent? Every Englishman is master in his own

house, and why should not you be so in England? Ought a foreign

prelate to share your power with you? It is true, the bishops make

oath to your majesty, but they make another to the pope immediately

after, which absolves them from the former. Sir, you are but half a

king, and we are but half your subjects.[1083] This kingdom is a

two-headed monster. Will you bear with such an anomaly any longer?

What! are you not living in an age when Frederick the Wise and other

German princes have thrown off the yoke of Rome? Do likewise; become

once more a king; govern your kingdom in concert with your lords and

commons. Henceforward let Englishmen alone have any thing to say in

England; let not your subjects' money be cast any more into the

yawning gulf of the Tiber; instead of imposing new taxes on the

nation, convert to the general good those treasures which have

hitherto only served to fatten proud priests and lazy friars. Now is

the moment for action. Rely upon your parliament; proclaim yourself

the head of the church in England. Then shall you see an increase of

glory to your name, and of prosperity to your people."

[1083] Foxe, v. p. 367. See also Apol. Regin. Poli ad Car. i. p. 120,

121.

Never before had such language been addressed to a king of England. It

was not only on account of the divorce that it was necessary to break

with Rome; it was, in Cromwell's view, on account of the independence,

glory, and prosperity of the monarchy. These considerations appeared

more important to Henry than those which had hitherto been laid before

him; none of the kings of England had been so well placed as he was to

understand them. When a Tudor had succeeded to the Saxon, Norman, and

Plantagenet kings, a man of the free race of the Celts had taken on

the throne of England the place of princes submissive to the Roman

pontiffs. The ancient British church, independent of the papacy, was

about to rise again with this new dynasty, and the Celtic race, after

eleven centuries of humiliation, to recover its ancient heritage.

Undoubtedly, Henry had no recollections of this kind; but he worked in

conformity with the peculiar character of his race, without being

aware of the instinct which compelled him to act. He felt that a

sovereign, who submits to the pope, becomes, like King John, his

vassal; and now, after having been the second in his realm, he desired

to be the first.

The king reflected on what Cromwell had said; astonished and

surprised, he sought to understand the new position which his bold

adviser had made for him. "Your proposal pleases me much," he said;

"but can you prove what you assert?" "Certainly," replied this able

politician; "I have with me a copy of the oath the bishops make to the

Roman pontiff." With these words he drew a paper from his pocket, and

placed the oath before the king's eyes. Henry, jealous of his

authority even to despotism, was filled with indignation, and felt the

necessity of bringing down that foreign authority which dared dispute

the power with him, even in his own kingdom. He drew off his ring and

gave it to Cromwell, declaring that he took him into his service, and

soon after made him a member of his privy-council. England, we may

say, was now virtually emancipated from the papacy.

Cromwell had laid the first foundations of his greatness. He had

remarked the path his master had followed, and which had led to his

ruin,--complicity with the pope; and he hoped to succeed by following

the contrary course, namely, by opposing the papacy. He had the king's

support, but he wanted more. Possessing a clear and easy style of

eloquence, he saw what influence a seat in the great council of the

nation would give him. It was somewhat late, for the session began on

the next day (3rd November), but to Cromwell nothing was impossible.

The son of his friend, Sir Thomas Rush, had been returned to

parliament; but the young member resigned his seat, and Cromwell was

elected in his place.

[Sidenote: MEETING OF PARLIAMENT.]

Parliament had not met for seven years, the kingdom having been

governed by a prince of the Roman church. The reformation of the

church, whose regenerating influence began to be felt already, was

about to restore to the nation those ancient liberties of which a

cardinal had robbed it; and Henry being on the point of taking very

important resolutions, felt the necessity of drawing nearer to his

people. Everything betokened that a good feeling would prevail between

the parliament and the crown, and that "the priests would have a

terrible fright."[1084]

[1084] Du Bellay to Montmorency. Le Grand, Preuves, p. 378, 380.

While Henry was preparing to attack the Roman church in the papal

supremacy, the commons were getting ready to war against the numerous

abuses with which it had covered England. "Some even thought," says

Tyndale, "that this assembly would reform the church, and that the

golden age would come again."[1085] But it was not from acts of

parliament that the Reformation was destined to proceed, but solely

from the word of God. And yet the commons, without touching upon

doctrine, were going to do their duty manfully in things within the

province, and the parliament of 1529 may be regarded (Lord Herbert of

Cherbury observes) as the first protestant parliament of

England.[1086] "The bishops require excessive fines for the probates

of wills," said Tyndale's old friend, Sir Henry Guilford. "As

testamentary executor to Sir William Compton I had to pay a thousand

marks sterling."--"The spiritual men," said another member, "would

rather see the poor orphans die of hunger than give them the lean

cow, the only thing their father left them."[1087]--"Priests," said

another, "have farms, tanneries, and warehouses, all over the country.

In short, the clerks take everything from their flocks, and not only

give them nothing, but even deny them the word of God."

[1085] Works, i. p. 481.

[1086] It was the first step, a great and bold sally towards that

Reformation. Herbert, p. 320.

[1087] Rather than give to them the silly cow, if he had but only one.

Foxe, iv. p. 611.

The clergy were in utter consternation. The power of the nation seemed

to awaken in this parliament for the sole purpose of attacking the

power of the priest. It was important to ward off these blows. The

convocation of the province of Canterbury, assembling at Westminster

on the 5th of November, thought it their duty, in self-defence, to

reform the most crying abuses. It was therefore decreed, on the 12th

of November, that the priests should no longer keep shops or taverns,

play at dice or other forbidden games, pass the night in suspected

places, be present at disreputable shows,[1088] go about with sporting

dogs, or with hawks, falcons, or other birds of prey, on their

fist;[1089] or, finally, hold suspicious intercourse with women.[1090]

Penalties were denounced against these various disorders; they were

doubled in case of adultery; and still further increased in the case

of more abominable impurities.[1091] Such were the laws rendered

necessary by the manners of the clergy.

[1088] Quod non exerceant tabernas, nec ludant taxillis vel aliis

ludis prohibitis; quod non pernoctent in locis suspectis quod non

intersint inhonestis spectaculis, etc. Convocatio prælatorum. Wilkins,

Concilia, iii. p. 717.

[1089] Canes venaticos loris ducere ac accipitres manibus. Ibid, p.

723.

[1090] Mulierum colloquia suspecta nullatenus habeant. Ibid. p. 722.

[1091] Et in cæteris carnis spurcitiis pœna crescat. Ibid. p. 721.

[Sidenote: THREE BILLS OF REFORM.]

These measures did not satisfy the commons. Three bills were

introduced having reference to the fees on the probate of wills,

mortuaries, pluralities, non-residence, and the exercise of secular

professions. "The destruction of the church is aimed at," exclaimed

Bishop Fisher, when these bills were carried to the lords, "and if the

church falls, the glory of the kingdom will perish. Lutheranism is

making great progress amongst us, and the savage cry that has already

echoed in Bohemia, _Down with the church_, is now uttered by the

commons.... How does that come about? Solely from want of faith.--My

lords, save your country! save the church!" Sir Thomas Audley, the

speaker, with a deputation of thirty members, immediately went to

Whitehall. "Sir," they said to the king, "we are accused of being

without faith, and of being almost as bad as the _Turks_. We demand an

apology for such offensive language." Fisher pretended that he only

meant to speak of the _Bohemians_; and the commons, by no means

satisfied, zealously went on with their reforms.

These the king was resolved to concede; but he determined to take

advantage of them to present a bill making over to him all the money

borrowed of his subjects. John Petit, one of the members for the city,

boldly opposed this demand. "I do not know other persons' affairs," he

said, "and I cannot give what does not belong to me. But as regards

myself personally, I give without reserve all that I have lent the

king." The royal bill passed, and the satisfied Henry gave his consent

to the bills of the commons. Every dispensation coming from Rome,

which might be contrary to the statutes, was strictly forbidden. The

bishops exclaimed that the commons were becoming schismatical;

disturbances were excited by certain priests; but the clerical

agitators were punished, and the people, when they heard of it, were

delighted beyond measure.

CHAPTER XV.

The last hour--More's Fanaticism--Debates in

Convocation--Royal Proclamation--The Bishop of

Norwich--Sentences condemned--Latimer's Opposition--The New

Testament burnt--The Persecution

begins--Hitton--Bayfield--Tonstall and Packington--Bayfield

arrested--The Rector Patmore--Lollards' Tower--Tyndale and

Patmore--a Musician--Freese the Painter--Placards and

Martyrdom of Bennet--Thomas More and John Petit--Bilney.

The moment when Henry aimed his first blows at Rome was also that in

which he began to shed the blood of the disciples of the gospel.

Although ready to throw off the authority of the pope, he would not

recognise the authority of Christ: obedience to the Scriptures is,

however, the very soul of the Reformation.

[Sidenote: JOY OF THE BELIEVERS.]

The king's contest with Rome had filled the friends of Scripture with

hope. The artisans and tradesmen, particularly those who lived near

the sea, were almost wholly won over to the gospel. "The king is one

of us," they used to boast; "he wishes his subjects to read the New

Testament. Our faith, which is the true one, will circulate through

the kingdom, and by Michaelmas next those who believe as we do will be

more numerous than those of a contrary opinion. We are ready, if needs

be; to die in the struggle."[1092] This was indeed to be the fate of

many.

[1092] The bishop of Norwich to Primate Warham, 14th May 1530, Cotton

MSS. Cleopatra. E. v. folio 360; Bible Annals. i. p. 256.

[Sidenote: ALARM OF THE CLERGY--THE BISHOP'S DEMAND.]

Language such as this aroused the clergy: "The last hour has come,"

said Stokesley, who had been raised to the See of London after

Tonstall's translation to Durham; "if we would not have Luther's

heresy pervade the whole of England, we must hasten to throw it in the

sea." Henry was fully disposed to do so; but as he was not on very

good terms with the clergy, a man was wanted to serve as mediator

between him and the bishops. He was soon found.

Sir Thomas More's noble understanding was then passing from ascetic

practices to fanaticism, and the humanist turning into an inquisitor.

In his opinion, the burning of heretics was just and necessary.[1093]

He has even been reproached with binding evangelical Christians to a

tree in his garden, which he called "the tree of truth," and of having

flogged them with his own hand.[1094] More has declared that he never

gave "stripe nor stroke, nor so much as a fillip on the forehead," to

any of his religious adversaries;[1095] and we willingly credit his

denial. All must be pleased to think that if the author of the

_Utopia_ was a severe judge, the hand which held one of the most

famous pens of the sixteenth century never discharged the duties of an

executioner.

[1093] More's Works; A Dialogue concerning Heresies, p. 274.

[1094] Strype's Mem. vol. i. p. 315; Foxe, iv. p. 638.

[1095] Apology. ch. xxxvi, p. 901, 904.

The bishops led the attack. "We must clear the Lord's field of the

thorns which choke it," said the archbishop of Canterbury to

Convocation on the 29th of November 1529; immediately after which the

bishop of Bath read to his colleagues the list of books that he

desired to have condemned. There were a number of works by Tyndale,

Luther, Melancthon, Zwingle, Œcolampadius, Pomeranus, Brentius, Bucer,

Jonas, Francis Lambert, Fryth, and Fish.[1096] The Bible in particular

was set down. "It is impossible to translate the Scripture into

English," said one of the prelates.[1097]--"It is not lawful for the

laity to read it in their mother tongue," said another.--"If you

tolerate the Bible," added a third, "you will make us all

heretics."--"By circulating the Scriptures," exclaimed several, "you

will raise up the nation against the king." Sir T. More laid the

bishops' petition before the king, and some time after, Henry gave

orders by proclamation, that "no one should preach, or write any book,

or keep any school without his bishop's license;--that no one should

keep any heretical book in his house;--that the bishops should detain

the offenders in prison at their discretion, and then proceed to the

execution of the guilty;--and, finally, that the chancellor, the

justices of the peace, and other magistrates, should aid and assist

the bishops."[1098] Such was the cruel proclamation of Henry VIII,

"the _father_ of the English Reformation."

[1096] See the catalogue in Wilkins, Concilia, p. 713 to 720. Wilkins

is of opinion (p. 717, note) that this document belongs to the year

1529. There are, however, some portions of these statuta which have

evident reference to the year following.

[1097] Tyndale's Works, i, p. 1.

[1098] Foxe, iv. pp. 677, 678.

The clergy were not yet satisfied. The blind and octogenarian bishop

of Norwich, being more ardent than the youngest of his priests,

recommenced his complaints. "My diocese is _accumbered_ with such as

read the Bible," said he to the archbishop of Canterbury, "and there

is not a clerk from Cambridge but _savoureth of the frying-pan_. If

this continues any time, they will undo us all. We must have greater

authority to punish them than we have."

Consequently, on the 24th of May 1530, More, Warham, Tonstall, and

Gardiner, having been admitted into St. Edward's chamber at

Westminster, to make a report to the king concerning heresy, they

proposed forbidding, in the most positive manner, the New Testament

and certain other books in which the following doctrines were taught:

"That Christ has shed his blood for our iniquities, as a sacrifice to

the Father.--Faith only doth justify us.--Faith without good works is

no little or weak faith, it is no faith.--Labouring in good works to

come to heaven, thou dost shame Christ's blood."[1099]

[1099] Wilkins, Concilia, iii. pp. 728-731.

[Sidenote: LATIMER SEEKS CHRIST'S VOICE.]

Whilst nearly every one in the audience-chamber supported the prayer

of the petition, there were three or four doctors who kept silence. At

last one of them, it was Latimer, opposed the proposition. Bilney's

friend was more decided than ever to listen to no other voice than

God's. "Christ's sheep hear no man's voice but Christ's," he answered

Dr. Redman, who had called upon him to submit to the church; "trouble

me no more from the talking with the Lord my God."[1100] The church,

in Latimer's opinion, presumed to set up its own voice in the place of

Christ's, and the Reformation did the contrary; this was his

abridgement of the controversy. Being called upon to preach during

Christmas tide, he had censured his hearers because they celebrated

that festival by playing at cards, like mere worldlings, and then

proceeded to lay before their eyes Christ's _cards_, that is to say,

his laws.[1101] Being placed on the Cambridge commission to examine

into the question of the king's marriage, he had conciliated the

esteem of Henry's deputy, Doctor Butts, the court physician, who had

presented him to his master, by whose orders he preached at Windsor.

[1100] Latimer's Remains, p. 297.

[1101] Latimer's Sermons p. 8.

Henry felt disposed at first to yield something to Latimer. "Many of

my subjects," said he to the prelates assembled in St. Edward's hall,

"think that it is my duty to cause the Scriptures to be translated and

given to the people." The discussion immediately began between the two

parties;[1102] and Latimer concluded by asking "that the Bible should

be permitted to circulate freely in English."[1103]--"But the most

part overcame the better," he tells us.[1104] Henry declared that the

teaching of the priests was sufficient for the people, and was content

to add, "that he would give the Bible to his subjects when they

renounced the arrogant pretension of interpreting it according to

their own fancies."--"Shun these books," cried the priests from the

pulpit, "detest them, keep them not in your hands, deliver them up to

your superiors.[1105] Or, if you do not, your prince, who has received

from God the sword of justice, will use it to punish you." Rome had

every reason to be satisfied with Henry VIII. Tonstall, who still kept

under lock and key the Testaments purchased at Antwerp through

Packington's assistance, had them carried to St. Paul's Churchyard,

where they were publicly burnt. The spectators retired shaking the

head, and saying: "The teaching of the priests and of Scriptures must

be in contradiction to each other, since the priests destroy them."

Latimer did more: "You have promised us the word of God," he wrote

courageously to the king, "perform your promise now rather than

to-morrow! The day is at hand when you shall give an account of your

office, and of the blood that hath been shed with your sword."[1106]

Latimer well knew that by such language he hazarded his life; but that

he was ready to sacrifice, as he tells us himself.[1107]

[1102] Wilkins, Concilia, iii. p. 736.

[1103] Latimer's Remains, p. 305.

[1104] Ibid.

[1105] Wilkins, Concilia, iii. p.736.

[1106] Latimer's Remains, p. 308.

[1107] I had rather suffer extreme punishment. Ibid. p. 298.

[Sidenote: THE PERSECUTION BEGINS.]

Persecution soon came. Just as the sun appeared to be rising on the

Reformation, the storm burst forth. "There was not a stone the bishops

left unremoved," says the chronicler, "any corner unsearched, for the

diligent execution of the king's proclamation; whereupon ensued a

grievous persecution and slaughter of the faithful."[1108]

[1108] Foxe, iv. p. 679.

Thomas Hitton, a poor and pious minister of Kent, used to go

frequently to Antwerp to purchase New Testaments. As he was returning

from one of these expeditions, in 1529, the bishop of Rochester caused

him to be arrested at Gravesend, and put to the cruelest tortures, to

make him deny his faith.[1109] But the martyr repeated with holy

enthusiasm: "Salvation cometh by faith and not by works, and Christ

giveth it to whomsoever he willeth."[1110] On the 20th of February

1530, he was tied to the stake and there burnt to death.[1111]

[1109] Dieted and tormented him secretly. Tyndale's Works, vol. i. p.

485.

[1110] For the constant and manifest testimony of Jesus Christ and of

his free grace and salvation. Foxe, vol. iv. p. 619.

[1111] The bishops murdered him most cruelly. Tyndale, vol i. p. 485.

[Sidenote: BAYFIELD IMPORTS THE NEW TESTAMENT.]

Scarcely were Hitton's sufferings ended for bringing the Scriptures

into England, when a vessel laden with New Testaments arrived at

Colchester. The indefatigable Bayfield, who accompanied these books,

sold them in London, went back to the continent, and returned to

England in November; but this time the Scriptures fell into the hands

of Sir Thomas More. Bayfield, undismayed, again visited the Low

Countries, and soon reappeared, bringing with him the New Testament

and the works of almost all the Reformers. "How cometh it that there

are so many New Testaments from abroad?" asked Tonstall of Packington;

"you promised me that you would buy them all."--"They have printed

more since," replied the wily merchant; "and it will never be better

so long as they have letters and stamps [types and dies]. My lord, you

had better buy the stamps too, and so you shall be sure."[1112]

[1112] Foxe, vol. iv. p. 670.

Instead of the stamps, the priests sought after Bayfield. The bishop

of London could not endure this godly man. Having one day asked

Bainham (who afterwards suffered martyrdom) whether he knew _a single

individual_ who, since the days of the apostles, had lived according

to the true faith in Jesus Christ, the latter answered: "Yes, I know

Bayfield."[1113] Being tracked from place to place, he fled from the

house of his pious hostess, and hid himself at his binder's, where he

was discovered, and thrown into the Lollard's tower.[1114]

[1113] Ibid. p. 699.

[1114] Ibid. p. 681.

As he entered the prison, Bayfield noticed a priest named Patmore,

pale, weakened by suffering, and ready to sink under the ill-treatment

of his jailers. Patmore, won over by Bayfield's piety, soon opened his

heart to him. When rector of Haddam, he had found the truth in

Wickliffe's writings. "They have burnt his bones," he said, "but from

his ashes shall burst forth a well-spring of life."[1115] Delighting

in good works, he used to fill his granaries with wheat, and when the

markets were high, he would send his corn to them in such abundance as

to bring down the prices.[1116] "It is contrary to the law of God to

burn heretics," he said; and growing bolder, he added: "I care no more

for the pope's curse than for a bundle of hay."[1117]

[1115] Ibid vol. v. p. 34.

[1116] Ibid. vol. iv. p. 681.

[1117] Ibid.

His curate, Simon Smith, unwilling to imitate the disorderly lives of

the priests, and finding Joan Bennore, the rector's servant, to be a

discreet and pious person, desired to marry her. "God," said Patmore,

"has declared marriage lawful for _all men_; and accordingly it is

permitted to the priests in foreign parts."[1118] The rector alluded

to Wittemberg, where he had visited Luther. After his marriage Smith

and his wife quitted England for a season, and Patmore accompanied

them as far as London.

[1118] Yet it was in other countries beyond sea. Foxe, vol iv. p. 681.

The news of this marriage of a priest--a fact without precedent in

England--made Stokesley throw Patmore into the Lollards' tower, and

although he was ill, neither fire, light, nor any other comfort was

granted him. The bishop and his vicar-general visited him alone in his

prison, and endeavoured by their threats to make him deny his faith.

[Sidenote: BAYFIELD IN THE COAL-CELLAR.]

It was during these circumstances that Bayfield was thrust into the

tower. By his Christian words he revived Patmore's languishing

faith,[1119] and the latter complained to the king that the bishop of

London prevented his feeding the flock which God had committed to his

charge. Stokesley, comprehending whence Patmore derived his new

courage,[1120] removed Bayfield from the Lollards' tower, and shut him

up in the coal-house, where he was fastened upright to the wall by the

neck, middle, and legs.[1121] The unfortunate gospeller of Bury passed

his time in continual darkness, never lying down, never seated, but

nailed as it were to the wall, and never hearing the sound of human

voice. We shall see him hereafter issuing from this horrible prison to

die on the scaffold.

[1119] Confirmed by him in the doctrine. Ibid.

[1120] Ibid.

[1121] Ibid.

Patmore was not the only one in his family who suffered persecution;

he had in London a brother named Thomas, a friend of John Tyndale, the

younger brother of the celebrated reformer. Thomas had said that the

truth of Scripture was at last reappearing in the world, after being

hidden for many ages;[1122] and John Tyndale had sent five marks to

his brother William, and received letters from him. Moreover, the two

friends (who were both tradesmen) had distributed a great number of

Testaments and other works. But their faith was not deeply rooted, and

it was more out of sympathy for their brothers that they had believed;

accordingly, Stokesley so completely entangled them, that they

confessed their "crime." More, delighted at the opportunity which

offered to cover the name of Tyndale with shame, was not satisfied

with condemning the two friends to pay a fine of £100 each; he

invented a new disgrace. He sewed on their dress some sheets of the

New Testament which they had circulated, placed the two penitents on

horseback with their faces towards the tail, and thus paraded them

through the streets of London, exposed to the jeers and laughter of

the populace. In this, More succeeded better than in his refutation of

the reformer's writings.

[1122] Ibid. vol. v. p. 34.

[Sidenote: EDWARD FREESE GOES MAD.]

From that time the persecution became more violent. Husbandmen,

artists, tradespeople, and even noblemen, felt the cruel fangs of the

clergy and of Sir Thomas More. They sent to jail a pious musician who

used to wander from town to town, singing to his harp a hymn in

commendation of Martin Luther and of the Reformation.[1123] A painter,

named Edward Freese, a young man of ready wit, having been engaged to

paint some hangings in a house, wrote on the borders certain sentences

of the Scripture. For this he was seized and taken to the bishop of

London's palace at Fulham, and there imprisoned, where his chief

nourishment was bread made out of sawdust.[1124] His poor wife, who

was pregnant, went down to Fulham to see her husband; but the bishop's

porter had orders to admit no one, and the brute gave her so violent a

kick, as to kill her unborn infant, and cause the mother's death not

long after. The unhappy Freese was removed to the Lollards' tower,

where he was put into chains, his hands only being left free. With

these he took a piece of coal, and wrote some pious sentences on the

wall: upon this he was manacled; but his wrists were so severely

pinched, that the flesh grew up higher than the irons. His intellect

became disturbed; his hair in wild disorder soon covered his face,

through which his eyes glared fierce and haggard. The want of proper

food, bad treatment, his wife's death, and his lengthened

imprisonment, entirely undermined his reason. When brought to St.

Paul's, he was kept three days without meat; and when he appeared

before the consistory the poor prisoner, silent and scarce able to

stand, looked around and gazed upon the spectators, "like a wild man."

The examination was begun, but to every question put to him Freese

made the same answer: "My Lord is a good man." They could get nothing

from him but this affecting reply. Alas! the light shone no more upon

his understanding, but the love of Jesus was still in his heart. He

was sent back to Bearsy Abbey, where he did not remain long; but he

never entirely recovered his reason.[1125] Henry VIII and his priests

inflicted punishments still more cruel even than the stake.

[1123] His name was Robert Lambe. Foxe, vol. v. p. 34.

[1124] Fed with fine manchet made of sawdust, or at least a great part

thereof. Ibid. iv. p. 625.

[1125] Foxe, iv, p. 695.

[Sidenote: AGITATION IN EXETER.]

Terror began to spread far and wide. The most active evangelists had

been compelled to flee to a foreign land; some of the most godly were

in prison; and among those in high station there were many, and

perhaps Latimer was one, who seemed willing to shelter themselves

under an exaggerated moderation. But just as the persecution in London

had succeeded in silencing the most timid, other voices more

courageous were raised in the provinces. The city of Exeter was at

that time in great agitation; placards had been discovered on the

gates of the cathedral containing some of the principles "of the new

doctrine." While the mayor and his officers were seeking after the

author of these "blasphemies," the bishop and all his doctors, "as hot

as coals," says the chronicler,[1126] were preaching in the most fiery

style. On the following Sunday, during the sermon, two men who had

been the busiest of all the city in searching for the author of the

bills, were struck by the appearance of a person seated near them.

"Surely, this fellow is the heretic," they said. But their neighbour's

devotion, for he did not take his eyes off his book, quite put them

out; they did not perceive that he was reading the New Testament in

Latin.

[1126] Ibid. v. p. 19.

This man, Thomas Bennet, was indeed the offender. Being converted at

Cambridge by the preaching of Bilney, whose friend he was, he had gone

to Torrington for fear of the persecution, and thence to Exeter, and

after marrying to avoid unchastity (as he says)[1127] he became

schoolmaster. Quiet, humble, courteous to every body, and somewhat

timid, Bennet had lived six years in that city without his faith being

discovered. At last his conscience being awakened he resolved to

fasten by night to the cathedral gates certain evangelical placards.

"Every body will read the writing," he thought, "and nobody will know

the writer." He did as he had proposed.

[1127] Ut ne scortator aut immundus essem, uxorem duxi. Foxe, v. p.

19.

[Sidenote: THE GREAT CURSE.]

Not long after the Sunday on which he had been so nearly discovered,

the priests prepared a great pageant, and made ready to pronounce

against the unknown heretic the great curse "with book, bell, and

candle." The cathedral was crowded, and Bennet himself was among the

spectators. In the middle stood a great cross on which lighted tapers

were placed, and around it were gathered all the Franciscans and

Dominicans of Exeter. One of the priests having delivered a sermon on

the words: _There is an accursed thing in the midst of thee, O

Israel_,[1128] the bishop drew near the cross and pronounced the curse

against the offender. He took one of the tapers and said: "Let the

soul of the unknown heretic, if he be dead already, be quenched this

night in the pains of hell-fire, as this candle is now quenched and

put out;" and with that he put out the candle. Then, taking off a

second, he continued: "and let us pray to God, if he be yet alive,

that his eyes be put out, and that all the senses of his body may fail

him, as now the light of this candle is gone;" extinguishing the

second candle. After this, one of the priests went up to the cross and

struck it, when the noise it made in falling re-echoing along the

roof, so frightened the spectators that they uttered a shriek of

terror, and held up their hands to heaven, as if to pray that the

divine curse might not fall on them. Bennet, a witness of this comedy,

could not forbear smiling. "What are you laughing at?" asked his

neighbours; "here is the heretic, here is the heretic, hold him fast."

This created great confusion among the crowd, some shouting, some

clapping their hands, others running to and fro; but, owing to the

tumult, Bennet succeeded in making his escape.

[1128] Joshua, vii. 12.

The excommunication did but increase his desire to attack the Romish

superstitions; and accordingly, before five o'clock the next morning

(it was in the month of October 1530,) his servant-boy fastened up

again by his orders on the cathedral gates some placards similar to

those which had been torn down. It chanced that a citizen going to

early mass saw the boy, and running up to him, caught hold of him and

pulled down the papers; and then dragging the boy with the one hand,

and with the placards in the other, he went to the mayor of the city.

Bennet's servant was recognised; his master was immediately arrested,

and put in the stocks, "with as much favour as a dog would find," says

Foxe.

[Sidenote: BENNET'S MARTYRDOM.]

Exeter seemed determined to make itself the champion of sacerdotalism

in England. For a whole week, not only the bishop, but all the priests

and friars of the city, visited Bennet night and day. But they tried

in vain to prove to him that the Roman church, was the true one. "God

has given me grace to be of a better church," he said.--"Do you not

know that ours is built upon St. Peter?"--"The church that is built

upon a man," he replied, "is the devil's church and not God's." His

cell was continually thronged with visitors; and, in default of

arguments, the most ignorant of the friars called the prisoner a

heretic, and spat upon him. At length they brought to him a learned

doctor of theology, who, they supposed, would infallibly convert him.

"Our ways are God's ways," said the doctor gravely. But he soon

discovered that theologians can do nothing against the word of the

Lord. "He only is my way," replied Bennet, "who saith, _I am the way,

the truth, and the life_. In his _way_ will I walk;--his _truth_ will

I embrace;--his everlasting _life_ will I seek."

He was condemned to be burnt; and More having transmitted the order

_de comburendo_ with the utmost speed, the priests placed Bennet in

the hands of the sheriff on the 15th of January, 1531, by whom he was

conducted to the Livery-dole, a field without the city, where the

stake was prepared. When Bennet arrived at the place of execution, he

briefly exhorted the people, but with such unction, that the sheriff's

clerk, as he heard him, exclaimed: "Truly this is a servant of God."

Two persons, however, seemed unmoved: they were Thomas Carew and John

Barnehouse, both holding the station of gentlemen. Going up to the

martyr, they exclaimed in a threatening voice: "Say, _Precor sanctam

Mariam et omnes sanctos Dei_."--"I know no other advocate but Jesus

Christ," replied Bennet. Barnehouse was so enraged at these words,

that he took a furze-bush upon a pike, and setting it on fire, thrust

it into the martyr's face, exclaiming: "Accursed heretic, pray to our

Lady, or I will make you do it."--"Alas!" replied Bennet patiently,

"trouble me not;" and then holding up his hands, he prayed: "Father,

forgive them!" The executioners immediately set fire to the wood, and

the most fanatical of the spectators, both men and women, seized with

an indescribable fury, tore up stakes and bushes, and whatever they

could lay their hands on, and flung them all into the flames to

increase their violence. Bennet, lifting up his eyes to heaven,

exclaimed: "Lord, receive my spirit." Thus died, in the sixteenth

century, the disciples of the Reformation sacrificed by Henry VIII.

[Sidenote: JOHN PETIT, M. P. FOR LONDON.]

The priests, thanks to the king's sword, began to count on victory;

yet schoolmasters, musicians, tradesmen, and even ecclesiastics, were

not enough for them. They wanted nobler victims, and these were to be

looked for in London. More himself, accompanied by the lieutenant of

the Tower, searched many of the suspected houses.[1129] Few citizens

were more esteemed in London than John Petit, the same who, in the

house of commons, had so nobly resisted the king's demand about the

loan. Petit was learned in history and in Latin literature: he spoke

with eloquence, and for twenty years had worthily represented the

city. Whenever any important affair was debated in parliament, the

king, feeling uneasy, was in the habit of inquiring which side he

took? This political independence, very rare in Henry's parliaments,

gave umbrage to the prince and his ministers. Petit, the friend of

Bilney, Fryth, and Tyndale, had been one of the first in England to

taste the sweetness of God's word,[1130] and had immediately

manifested that beautiful characteristic by which the gospel-faith

makes itself known, namely, charity. He abounded in almsgiving,

supported a great number of poor preachers of the gospel in his own

country and beyond the seas; and whenever he noted down these generous

aids in his books, he wrote merely the words: "Lent unto

Christ."[1131] He, moreover, forbade his testamentary executors to

call in these debts.

[1129] Strype, i, p. 312.

[1130] Strype, i, p. 312.

[1131] Ibid. p. 314.

Petit was tranquilly enjoying the sweets of domestic life in his

modest home in the society of his wife and two daughters, Blanche and

Audrey, when he received an unexpected visit. One day, as he was

praying in his closet, a loud knock was heard at the street-door. His

wife ran to open it, but seeing Lord-chancellor More, she returned

hurriedly to her husband, and told him that the lord-chancellor wanted

him. More, who followed her, entered the closet, and with inquisitive

eye ran over the shelves of the library, but could find nothing

suspicious. Presently he made as if he would retire, and Petit

accompanied him. The chancellor stopped at the door and said to him:

"You assert that you have none of these new books?"--"You have seen my

library," replied Petit.--"I am informed, however," replied More,

"that you not only read them, but pay for the printing." And then he

added in a severe tone: "Follow the lieutenant." In spite of the tears

of his wife and daughters this independent member of parliament was

conducted to the Tower, and shut up in a damp dungeon where he had

nothing but straw to lie upon. His wife went thither each day in vain,

asking, with tears, permission to see him, or at least to send him a

bed. The jailors refused her every thing; and it was only when Petit

fell dangerously ill that the latter favour was granted him. This took

place in 1530, sentence was passed in 1531;[1132] we shall see Petit

again in his prison. He left it, indeed, but only to sink under the

cruel treatment he had there experienced.

[1132] Ibid. p. 312.

[Sidenote: BILNEY RECOVERS FROM HIS FALL.]

Thus were the witnesses to the truth struck down by the priests, by

Sir Thomas More, and by Henry VIII. A new victim was to be the cause

of many tears. A meek and humble man, one dear to all the friends of

the gospel, and whom we may regard as the spiritual father of the

Reformation in England was on the point of mounting the burning pile

raised by his persecutors. Some time prior to Petit's appearance

before his judges, which took place in 1531, an unusual noise was

heard in the cell above him; it was Thomas Bilney whom they were

conducting to the Tower.[1133] We left him at the end of 1528, after

his fall. Bilney had returned to Cambridge tormented by remorse; his

friends in vain crowded round him by night and by day; they could not

console him, and even the Scriptures seemed to utter no voice but that

of condemnation.[1134] Fear made him tremble constantly, and he could

scarcely eat or drink. At length a heavenly and unexpected light

dawned in the heart of the fallen disciple; a witness whom he had

vexed--the Holy Spirit--spoke once more in his heart. Bilney fell at

the foot of the cross, shedding floods of tears, and there he found

peace. But the more God comforted him, the greater seemed his crime.

One only thought possessed him, that of giving his life for the truth.

He had shrunk from before the burning pile; its flames must now

consume him. Neither the weakness of his body, which his long anguish

had much increased, nor the cruelty of his enemies, nor his natural

timidity, nothing could stop him: he strove for the martyr's crown. At

ten o'clock one night, when every person in Trinity Hall was retiring

to rest, Bilney called his friends round him, reminded them of his

fall, and added: "You shall see me no more.... Do not stay me: my

decision is formed, and I shall carry it out. My face is set to go to

Jerusalem."[1135] Bilney repeated the words used by the evangelist,

when he describes Jesus going up to the city where he was to be put to

death. Having shaken hands with his brethren, this venerable man, the

foremost of the evangelists of England in order of time, left

Cambridge under cover of the night, and proceeded to Norfolk, to

confirm in the faith those who had believed, and to invite the

ignorant multitude to the Saviour. We shall not follow him in this

last and solemn ministry; these facts and others of the same kind

belong to a later date. Before the year 1531 closed in, Bilney,

Bainham, Bayfield, Tewkesbury, and many others, struck by Henry's

sword, sealed by their blood the testimony rendered by them to the

perfect grace of Christ.

[1133] Strype, i, p. 313.

[1134] He thought that all the while the Scriptures were against him.

Latimer's Sermons, p. 52.

[1135] Foxe, iv. p. 642. See Luke ix, 51.

CHAPTER XVI.

Wolsey's Terror--Impeachment by the Peers--Cromwell saves

him--The Cardinal's Illness--Ambition returns to him--His

Practices in Yorkshire--He is arrested by

Northumberland--His departure--Arrival of the Constable of

the Tower--Wolsey at Leicester Abbey--Persecuting

Language--He dies--Three Movements: Supremacy Scripture, and

Faith.

[Sidenote: WOLSEY'S TERROR.]

While many pious Christians were languishing in the prisons of

England, the great antagonist of the Reformation was disappearing from

the stage of this world. We must return to Wolsey, who was still

detained at Esher.[1136]

[1136] Burnet and some more modern historians are, in my opinion,

mistaken when they state that Wolsey was present in parliament at the

close of 1529. See State Papers, i. p. 347, 351.

The cardinal, fallen from the summit of honours, was seized with those

panic-terrors usually felt after their disgrace by those who have made

a whole nation tremble, and he fancied an assassin lay hid behind

every door. "This very night," he wrote to Cromwell on one occasion,

"I was as one that should have died. If I might, I would not fail to

come on foot to you, rather than this my speaking with you shall be

put over and delayed. If the displeasure of my Lady Anne be somewhat

assuaged, as I pray God the same may be, then I pray you exert all

possible means of attaining her favour."[1137]

[1137] State Papers, vol. 1. p. 351, mutilated by fire.

In consequence of this, Cromwell hastened down to Esher two or three

days after taking his seat in parliament, and Wolsey, all trembling,

recounted his fears to him. "Norfolk, Suffolk, and Lady Anne perhaps,

desire my death.[1138] Did not Thomas a Becket, an archbishop like me,

stain the altar with his blood?"... Cromwell reassured him, and, moved

by the old man's fears, asked and obtained of Henry an order of

protection.

[1138] Timebat sibi damnum et periculum de corpore suo per quosdam

suos æmulos. (Rymer, Fœdera, p. 139.) He feared loss and bodily injury

at the hands of some of his rivals.

[Sidenote: GRIEVANCES OF THE PEERS AGAINST WOLSEY.]

Wolsey's enemies most certainly desired his death; but it was from the

justice of the three estates, and not by the assassin's dagger that

they sought it. The House of Peers authorized Sir Thomas More, the

dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, and fourteen other lords, to impeach the

cardinal-legate of high treason. They forgot nothing: that haughty

formula, _Ego et rex meus_, I and my king, which Wolsey had often

employed; his infringement of the laws of the kingdom; his

monopolizing the church revenues; the crying injustice of which he had

been guilty,--as, for instance, in the case of Sir John Stanley, who

was sent to prison until he gave up a lease to the son of a woman who

had borne the cardinal two children; many families ruined to satisfy

his avarice; treaties concluded with foreign powers without the king's

order; his exactions, which had impoverished England; and the foul

diseases and infectious breath with which he had polluted his

majesty's presence.[1139] These were some of the forty-four grievances

presented by the peers to the king, and which Henry sent down to the

lower house for their consideration.

[1139] Article vi. Herbert, p. 295.

It was at first thought that nobody in the commons would undertake

Wolsey's defence, and it was generally expected that he would be given

up to the vengeance of the law (as the bill of impeachment prayed),

or, in other words, to the axe of the executioner. But one man stood

up, and prepared, though alone, to defend the cardinal: this was

Cromwell. The members asked of each other who the unknown man was; he

soon made himself known. His knowledge of facts, his familiarity with

the laws, the force of his eloquence, and the moderation of his

language, surprised the house. Wolsey's adversaries had hardly aimed a

blow before the defender had already parried it. If any charge was

brought forward to which he could not reply, he proposed an

adjournment until the next day, departed for Esher at the end of the

sitting, conferred with Wolsey, returned during the night, and next

morning reappeared in the commons with fresh arms. Cromwell carried

the house with him; the impeachment failed, and Wolsey's defender took

his station among the statesmen of England. This victory, one of the

greatest triumphs of parliamentary eloquence at that period, satisfied

both the ambition and the gratitude of Cromwell. He was now firmly

fixed in the king's favour, esteemed by the commons, and admired by

the people: circumstances which furnished him with the means of

bringing to a favourable conclusion the emancipation of the church of

England.

[Sidenote: HENRY'S PRESENT TO WOLSEY.]

The ministry, composed of Wolsey's enemies, was annoyed at the

decision of the lower house, and appointed a commission to examine

into the matter. When the cardinal was informed of this he fell into

new terrors. He lost all appetite and desire of sleep,[1140] and a

fever attacked him at Christmas. "The cardinal will be dead in four

days," said his physician to Henry, "if he receives no comfort shortly

from you and Lady Anne."--"I would not loose him for twenty thousand

pounds," exclaimed the king. He desired to preserve Wolsey in case his

old minister's consummate ability should become necessary, which was

by no means unlikely. Henry gave the doctor his portrait in a ring,

and Anne, at the king's desire, added the tablet of gold that hung at

her girdle. The delighted cardinal placed the presents on his bed, and

as he gazed on them he felt his strength return. He was removed from

his miserable dwelling at Esher to the royal palace at Richmond; and

before long he was able to go into the park, where every night he read

his breviary.

[1140] Cum prostratione appetitus et continuo insomnio. (Wolsey to

Gardiner; Cavendish, Appendix, p. 474.) With loss of appetite and

continual want of sleep.

Ambition and hope returned with life. If the king desired to destroy

the papal power in England, could not the proud cardinal preserve it.

Might not Thomas Wolsey do under Henry VIII what Thomas a Becket had

done under Henry II. His see of York, the ignorance of the priests,

the superstition of the people, the discontent of the great,--all

would be of service to him; and indeed, six years later, 40,000 men

were under arms in a moment in Yorkshire to defend the cause of Rome.

Wolsey, strong in England by the support of the nation, (such, at

least was his opinion,) aided without by the pope and the continental

powers, might give the law to Henry and crush the Reformation.

The king having permitted him to go to York, Wolsey prayed for an

increase to his archiepiscopal revenues, which amounted, however, to

four thousand pounds sterling.[1141] Henry granted him a thousand

marks, and the cardinal, shortly before Easter 1530, departed with a

train of 160 persons. He thought it was the beginning of his triumph.

[1141] State Papers. vol. i. p. 354.

Wolsey took up his abode at Cawood Castle, Yorkshire, one of his

archiepiscopal residences, and strove to win the affections of the

people. This prelate, once "the haughtiest of men," says George

Cavendish, the man who knew him and served him best, became quite a

pattern of affability. He kept an open table, distributed bounteous

alms at his gate, said mass in the village-churches, went and dined

with the neighbouring gentry, gave splendid entertainments, and wrote

to several princes imploring their help. We are assured that he even

requested the pope to excommunicate Henry VIII.[1142] All being thus

prepared, he thought he might make his solemn entry into York,

preparatory to his enthronization, which was fixed for Monday the 5th

of November.

[1142] Hall, p. 773.

[Sidenote: WOLSEY IS ARRESTED BY NORTHUMBERLAND.]

Every movement of his was known at court; every action was canvassed,

and its importance exaggerated. "We thought we had brought him down,"

some said, "and here he is rising up again." Henry himself was

alarmed. "The cardinal, by his detestable intrigues," he said, "is

conspiring against my crown, and plotting both at home and abroad;"

the king even added, _where_ and _how_.[1143] Wolsey's destruction was

resolved upon.

[1143] Cosi mi disse el Re, che contra de S. M. el machinava nel regno

e fuori, et m'a detto dove e come. Le Grand, Preuves. p. 529.

The morning after All Saints day (Friday, 2nd November), the earl of

Northumberland, attended by a numerous escort, arrived at Cawood,

where the cardinal was still residing. He was the same Percy whose

affection for Anne Boleyn had been thwarted by Wolsey; and there may

have been design in Henry's choice. The cardinal eagerly moved forward

to meet this unexpected guest, and, impatient to know the object of

his mission, took him into his bedchamber, under the pretence of

changing his travelling dress.[1144] They both remained some time

standing at a window without uttering a word; the earl looked confused

and agitated, whilst Wolsey endeavoured to repress his emotion. But at

last, with a strong effort, Northumberland laid his hand upon the arm

of his former master, and with a low voice said: "My lord, I arrest

you for high treason." The cardinal remained speechless, as if

stunned. He was kept a prisoner in his room.

[1144] And there you may shift your apparel. Cavendish, p. 347.

It is doubtful whether Wolsey was guilty of the crime with which he

was charged. We may believe that he entertained the idea of some day

bringing about the triumph of the popedom in England, even should it

cause Henry's ruin; but perhaps this was all. But, an idea is not a

conspiracy, although it may rapidly expand into one.

[Sidenote: WOLSEY PREACHES PERSECUTION.]

More than three thousand persons (attracted, not by hatred, like the

Londoners, when Wolsey departed from Whitehall, but by enthusiasm)

collected the next day before the castle to salute the cardinal. "God

save your grace!" they shouted on every side, and a numerous crowd

escorted him at night; some carried torches in their hands, and all

made the air re-echo with their cries. The unhappy prelate was

conducted to Sheffield Park, the residence of the earl of Shrewsbury.

Some days after his arrival, the faithful Cavendish ran to him,

exclaiming: "Good news, my lord! Sir William Kingston and twenty-four

of the guard are come to escort you to his majesty."--"Kingston!"

exclaimed the cardinal, turning pale, "Kingston!" and then, slapping

his hand on his thigh, he heaved a deep sigh. This news had crushed

his mind. One day a fortune-teller, whom he consulted, had told him:

"_you shall have your end at Kingston_;" and from that time the

cardinal had carefully avoided the town of Kingston-on-Thames. But now

he thought he understood the prophecy.... Kingston, constable of the

Tower, was about to cause his death. They left Sheffield Park; but

fright had given Wolsey his death-blow. Several times he was near

falling from his mule, and on the third day, when they reached

Leicester Abbey, he said as he entered: "Father abbot, I am come

hither to leave my bones among you;" and immediately took to his bed.

This was on Saturday the 26th of November.

On Monday morning, tormented by gloomy forebodings, Wolsey asked what

was the time of day. "Past eight o'clock," replied Cavendish.--"That

cannot be," said the cardinal, "eight o'clock.... No! for by eight

o'clock you shall lose your master." At six on Tuesday, Kingston

having come to inquire about his health, Wolsey said to him: "I shall

not live long."--"Be of good cheer," rejoined the governor of the

Tower.--"Alas, Master Kingston", exclaimed the cardinal, "if I had

served God as diligently as I have served the king, he would not have

given me over in my gray hairs!" and then he added with downcast head:

"This is my just reward." What a judgment upon his own life!

On the very threshold of eternity (for he had but a few minutes more

to live) the cardinal summoned up all his hatred against the

Reformation, and made a last effort. The persecution was too slow to

please him: "Master Kingston," he said, "attend to my last request:

tell the king that I conjure him in God's name to destroy this new

pernicious sect of Lutherans." And then, with astonishing presence of

mind in this his last hour, Wolsey described the misfortunes which the

Hussites had, in his opinion, brought upon Bohemia; and then, coming

to England, he recalled the times of Wickliffe and Sir John Oldcastle.

He grew animated; his dying eyes yet shot forth fiery glances. He

trembled lest Henry VIII, unfaithful to the pope, should hold out his

hand to the reformers. "Master Kingston," said he, in conclusion, "the

king should know that if he tolerates heresy, God will take away his

power, and we shall then have mischief upon mischief ... barrenness,

scarcity, and disorder to the utter destruction of this realm."

[Sidenote: WOLSEY'S CHARACTER.]

Wolsey was exhausted by the effort. After a momentary silence, he

resumed with a dying voice: "Master Kingston, farewell! My time

draweth on fast. Forget not what I have said and charged you withal;

for when I am dead ye shall peradventure understand my words better."

It was with difficulty he uttered these words; his tongue began to

falter, his eyes became fixed, his sight failed him; he breathed his

last. At the same minute the clock struck _eight_, and the attendants

standing round his bed looked at each other in affright. It was the

29th of November 1530.

Thus died the man once so much feared. Power had been his idol: to

obtain it in the state, he had sacrificed the liberties of England;

and to win it or to preserve it in the church, he had fought against

the Reformation. If he encouraged the nobility in the luxuries and

pleasures of life, it was only to render them more supple and more

servile; if he supported learning, it was only that he might have a

clergy fitted to keep the laity in their leading-strings. Ambitious,

intriguing, and impure of life, he had been as zealous for the

sacerdotal prerogative as the austere Becket; and by a singular

contrast, a shirt of hair was found on the body of this voluptuous

man. The aim of his life had been to raise the papal power higher than

it had ever been before, at the very moment when the Reformation was

attempting to bring it down; and to take his seat on the pontifical

throne with more than the authority of a Hildebrand. Wolsey, as pope,

would have been the man of his age; and in the political world he

would have done for the Roman primacy what the celebrated Loyola did

for it soon after by his fanaticism. Obliged to renounce this idea,

worthy only of the middle ages, he had desired at least to save the

popedom in his own country; but here again he had failed. The pilot

who had stood in England at the helm of the Romish church was thrown

overboard, and the ship, left to itself, was about to founder. And

yet, even in death, he did not lose his courage. The last throbs of

his heart had called for victims; the last words from his failing

lips, the last message to his master, his last testament had been ...

Persecution. This testament was to be only too faithfully executed.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: AUTHORITY OF SCRIPTURE.]

The epoch of the fall and death of Cardinal Wolsey, which is the point

at which we halt, was not only important, because it ended the life of

a man who had presided over the destinies of England, and had

endeavoured to grasp the sceptre of the world, but it is of especial

consequence, because then three movements were accomplished, from

which the great transformation of the sixteenth century was to

proceed. Each of these movements has its characteristic result.

The first is represented by Cromwell. The supremacy of the pope in

England was about to be wrested from him, as it was in all the

reformed churches. But a step further was taken in England. That

supremacy was transferred to the person of the king. Wolsey had

exercised as vicar-general a power till then unknown. Unable to become

pope at the Vatican, he had made himself a pope at Whitehall. Henry

had permitted his minister to raise his hierarchical throne by the

side of his own. But he had soon discovered that there ought not to be

two thrones in England, or at least not two kings. He had dethroned

Wolsey; and resolutely seating himself in his place, he was about to

assume at Whitehall that tiara which the ambitious prelate had

prepared for himself. Some persons, when they saw this, exclaimed,

that if the papal supremacy were abolished, that of the word of God

ought alone to be substituted. And, indeed, the true Reformation is

not to be found in this first movement.

The second, which was essential to the renewal of the church, was

represented by Cranmer, and consisted particularly in re-establishing

the authority of holy Scripture. Wolsey did not fall alone, nor did

Cranmer rise alone: each of these two men carried with him the systems

he represented. The fabric of Roman traditions fell with the first;

the foundations of the holy Scriptures were laid by the second; and

yet, while we render all justice to the sincerity of the Cambridge

doctor, we must not be blind to his weaknesses, his subserviency, and

even a certain degree of negligence, which, by allowing parasitical

plants to shoot up here and there, permitted them to spread over the

living rock of God's word. Not in this movement, then, was found the

Reformation with all its energy and all its purity.

The third movement was represented by the martyrs. When the church

takes a new life, it is fertilized by the blood of its confessors; and

being continually exposed to corruption, it has constant need to be

purified by suffering.[1145] Not in the palaces of Henry VIII, nor

even in the councils where the question of throwing off the papal

supremacy was discussed, must we look for the true children of the

Reformation; we must go to the Tower of London, to the Lollards'

tower of St. Paul's and of Lambeth, to the other prisons of England,

to the bishops' cellars, to the fetters, the stocks, the rack, and the

stake. The godly men who invoked the sole intercession of Christ

Jesus, the only head of his people, who wandered up and down, deprived

of every thing, gagged, scoffed at, scourged, and tortured, and who,

in the midst of all their tribulations, preserved their Christian

patience, and turned, like their Master, the eyes of their faith

towards Jerusalem:--these were the disciples of the Reformation in

England. The purest church is the church under the cross.

[1145] 1 Peter iv, 17--Plerumque ecclesia est cœtus exiguus sustinens

varias et iugentes ærumnas. (Melancthon, loci.) The church for the

most part is a small company, enduring various and great sufferings.

[Sidenote: OUR FATHER IN HEAVEN.]

The father of this church in England was not Henry VIII. When the king

cast into prison or gave to the flames men like Hitton, Bennet,

Patmore, Petit, Bayfield, Bilney, and so many others, he was not "the

father of the Reformation of England," as some have so falsely

asserted; he was its executioner.

The church of England was foredoomed to be in its renovation a church

of martyrs; and the true father of this church is our Father which is

in heaven.

END OF VOLUME V.

GLASGOW: JAMES KAY, PRINTER.

* * * * *

Transcriber's note:

Variations in spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been retained

except in obvious cases of typographical error. For example: both

Cochlæus and Cochlœus appear.

Page 396: "understanding not only over her own sex"--The transcriber

has added the word "her".