AT THE PALACE OF PLACENTIA.
IN a splendidly-furnished chamber in the Palace of Placentia sat the
Cardinal Chancellor, who held the destinies of England in his hand, but
looking sadly perturbed and anxious. Earlier in the day his private
messenger from the continent had arrived; bringing full particulars of
how his master had been cheated of the popedom once more by the Queen's
nephew, Charles the Fifth.
"It was not for myself that I wanted it, but for England," he muttered.
"England should be the friend and adviser of both the French king and
German sovereign, and by holding the balance even between the two, be
superior to both; but the King grows more wilful every day, and this
war with France, which he is bent upon pursuing, spoils all my dreams
of power for him and England, and yet I cannot make him see it. Now, if
I could have been made Pope I could have held this sway for England,
and, by a due reform of the Church, could make it greater even than
the power of the King, though the people well-nigh adore him, as they
well may, for he is their hope against civil war, and a most goodly and
amiable prince," and again the Cardinal heaved a deep sigh, that told
of the pain that had begun to mingle with the sweetness of the love he
undoubtedly felt for his young master.
We, who only know of Henry the Eighth as the cruel, despotic tyrant
which he proved himself in his later middle life, can have no idea
of the almost adoring love he inspired in his subjects and courtiers
during the early years of his reign. Wolsey, who knew him before he
came to the throne, was one of his most devoted admirers, and, there is
no doubt, truly loved the King, even while he pursued his own ambitions.
Henry was a tall, handsome young man, with most winning manners, and a
suave, gracious demeanour to all who came in his way. Then he was one
of the most learned among his contemporaries, for his astute father,
seeing he was the second son, had educated him for the Church, so that
he was able to hold his own in a discussion with the great thinkers and
theologians who came to his Court. Added to this, he was the one hope
of the nation against the renewal of a civil war that had devastated
the country, and in which scarcely a family lived but had some
tradition of cruel suffering endured through the war.
All these causes combined made the people willing to yield to the
King's wishes in a fashion that is almost inconceivable to us. And
he had been almost as wax in the hands of his Chancellor, who ruled
the kingdom in his name, but now saw, for the first time, that the
power over this accomplished, winsome king was slipping from his hand,
and that a young girl of sixteen, who had lately come to Court in
attendance on the Queen, was likely to prove a formidable rival to his
power.
It was in the midst of these thoughts that one of his pages came to
tell him that Master Miles Paton had returned.
"Send him to me at once," said the Cardinal, shortly; and the next
minute Miles bowed before him, and apologised for being absent when he
was wanted.
Something in the appearance of the young secretary arrested the
attention of the Cardinal, and, instead of telling him the business he
wanted him for, he said, abruptly, "Have you too received bad news?"
"I have had my life blighted beyond remedy, unless your Eminence can
help me," said Miles, in a tone of trembling earnestness.
The Cardinal slowly shook his head. "Unless it is some Church affair, I
fear I may be powerless," he said, sadly, for just now he was in a very
despondent mood as to his power with the King.
"It is an affair of the Church," said Miles, eagerly. "A young girl
has been forced to enter a convent to please the Queen, against her
wish, and thereby our lives are both made sad and barren of all good,"
and as he spoke he fell on one knee, and poured out the whole story of
his love for Cicely Guildford, almost forgetting, in the eagerness of
his tale, that the Cardinal might have but trifling interest in such a
small affair.
But Wolsey, who was a student of men as well as affairs, was noting,
with an interest that drew his mind from his own anxieties for a time,
the change that a few hours had wrought in his young secretary. He was
a man now, ready to do and dare anything for the sake of the woman he
loved, and, in spite of himself, the Cardinal could not help showing
that he was greatly interested in what he heard.
"Ah! would that I were Pope, and I would put down half the convents and
monasteries that now exist. There are far too many of these houses for
the lazy and incompetent."
"Nay, but my Lady Cicely is not lazy. She is a most useful handmaid to
her mother and father," interjected Miles, rather indignantly.
The Cardinal smiled, and said, "How long think you she will be either a
useful or an industrious wench, shut up in a convent, which, you say,
she hates?"
"She will fret herself ill," said Miles, "and then slowly pine away and
die."
"Or else get into mischief and lead other sisters astray. Truly she has
little vocation for the life of a nun I should say. But be silent about
this matter, and of your having conferred with me upon it. I say not
that you shall have the maiden for your wife, but I will see what can
be done. Meanwhile, I want those letters answered with all despatch,
for the messenger returns at daybreak, and they must be ready."
"They shall be ready, my lord," said Miles. But for the Cardinal
interrupting him, he would have told him how he had given Mistress
Cicely Guildford portions of the New Testament, which he had translated
into English, and that the reading of God's Word would most certainly
unfit her for such a life as she would be required to live as a nun.
If he had had time to tell this, he might have gone further and taken
the Cardinal into his confidence as to the work going on in the city
at "The Sign of the Golden Fleece," but fortunately the Cardinal's
own action stopped this confidence, and Miles went to his own room,
greatly cheered, for he knew that slight as was the hope that had been
thus held out to him, his master would do his best to see that it was
fulfilled. There was one difficulty that might prove very hard to
overcome, and that was that Cicely had entered a convent the Queen was
greatly interested in,—the Convent of St. Francis, at Greenwich.
Miles had also learned that prayer will often bring help and guidance
when all other means fail, and so, before writing his despatches, he
committed his care and anxiety for Cicely to God in prayer, and then
he was better able to give his whole and undivided attention to the
writing of his master's letters.
Not a thought outside these was allowed to obtrude, for fear some error
should creep in and cause untold complications, as it might well do,
for the Cardinal was in communication with so many different people,
both in France and Germany, that a slip of the pen might lead to
unheard-of disasters. Here, in one of these confidential letters, he
was writing to a lady in France, asking her to use her influence that
the Lady Anne Boleyn, who had lately come to Court with her father,
might be invited to return to the Court of France with as little delay
as possible, and to further this the writer (Cardinal Wolsey) would do
all in his power to bring about an honourable peace as soon as possible.
Miles knew well enough that his master had always opposed the war with
France, and laboured incessantly to maintain the peace both with France
and Germany; and he often felt, when he heard his master decried,
that if people only knew as much about State secrets as he did, they
would see that the King they adored was responsible for the waste and
extravagance that made taxation necessary, and for which the Chancellor
was blamed, he choosing to stand between the King and the people for
all purposes, and to willingly take the blame that belonged of right to
Henry.
But Miles rubbed his eyes in astonishment when he read that Mistress
Anne Boleyn was likely to cause grave trouble with the King and Court
if she could not speedily be transferred to the Court of France again.
Of course he knew the young lady from hearing her talked of by most of
the young men who were in attendance upon the King. Full half-a-dozen
were in love with the gay, sprightly girl, who knew so well how to use
her Irish black eyes and raven locks, that half the Court were in love
with her, or fancied they were.
The most favoured of the lady herself was Lord Percy, a son of the Duke
of Northumberland. That much Miles had learned since he had come to
Greenwich, but what he did not know was that the King was so jealous of
young Lord Percy that he had actually told Wolsey he must try and get
this intrusive lover out of the way for him, as he was enamoured of the
Lady Anne himself!
Knowing all the difficulties of playing such a game as the King
desired, it was not wonderful that Wolsey should feel depressed, for
this was altogether a new element in the game of statecraft; and if
Anne Boleyn could be sent back to France it would leave his hands so
much more free to manipulate the other strings that he held, more
especially now that he had become convinced that the reform of the
Church must be the next step in his policy if England was even to hold
her own in the councils of Europe.
It was hard to frame and follow a policy in these transitional times. A
little time back, society as a whole was a much more simple thing. As
the Pope was the spiritual head of the Church—receiving his authority
and power from God, and handing it to the cardinals, and the cardinals
to the bishops and other dignitaries—so there had been a corresponding
State hierarchy, at the head of which was the Holy Roman Emperor, as he
was called. To the Emperor all the sovereigns of Europe owed titular
obedience, although it was of a somewhat shadowy kind, the kings
receiving their power from the will of the Emperor, and granting it in
turn to the feudal lords, who, in their turn, granted it to the people
on condition of certain service rendered. But this old-fashioned feudal
system was fast breaking up. Henry and the King of France had both put
themselves forward for election as Emperor; and now that Charles of
Spain had been chosen because he could bribe the electors more heavily
than his rivals, there seemed an end of the old orderly handing down
of power in the State, and who could tell how soon the same influence
would be at work in the Church?
There was Luther clamouring in Germany, and the best men among the
clergy in England were demanding reform of abuses of the Church. The
Cardinal had thought by getting himself elected Pope he could effect
these reforms in the Church without endangering the Papacy, and at the
same time secure for England more substantial power in the councils of
Europe.
But twice he had been disappointed of the tiara, and the chance was not
likely to recur again, so he must bend all his energies to the reform
of the Church, which his position as Cardinal Legate gave him, and to
effect this he did not want to be bothered with the lovesick ravings of
the King about Anne Boleyn, for whom he felt a profound contempt, if
not actual dislike, she having already come between him and the King on
more than one occasion.
It might be possible by-and-bye to set aside the King's marriage with
his brother's widow, for Queen Catherine had evidently ceased to charm
the King, much as he loved her at first. This, perhaps, would have been
a small matter if the royal couple had a family of healthy sons and
daughters, but the Queen's sons all died in a most mysterious fashion
as soon as they were born. Wolsey was quite aware of the anxiety of the
nation that there should speedily be an heir to the throne, about whose
title there could be no dispute. At the present time there was only the
Lady Mary,—a rather sad-looking girl,—who was being carefully educated
it is true, but whoever heard of a woman ruling this turbulent English
nation?
The idea was preposterous; and once again Wolsey wished, as many
another had, that he could hear of a rosy, healthy boy being born to
the King and Queen. It would set men's hearts at rest, and they would
turn to their trade or their farm with confidence that their labour
would not be wasted in another civil war. But, with no heir-apparent to
the crown, there were a dozen doors where sedition and treachery might
creep in; and Wolsey decided that unless Queen Catherine should present
the King with a son, likely to live, the question of the legality of
their marriage must be enquired into; and then, if possible, another
wife chosen for the King without delay. Wolsey had almost made up his
mind who this should be, but it was not the Lady Anne Boleyn. No! no!
the lady must bring dynastic power in securing a lasting peace with
France; and it might be in restoring the French crown to an English
king; and for this purpose he had fixed his hope on the sister of the
French king, the Lady Margaret of Valois, whose portrait he had had
sent over from Paris that he might judge whether she was likely to
prove a suitable partner for his master.
Of course that master knew nothing of the plans forming themselves in
the mind of his minister. He was content to live a day at a time, and
get as much enjoyment out of it as he could. He liked to be popular
with his subjects as well as with his Court, and loved to display his
skill in feats of arms, tournaments, and manly sports, that the people
were free to witness in Greenwich Park.
Wolsey too—a handsome man—if he did not actually take part in the
spectacles, was not averse to showing off his magnificence as well as
his master; and Henry was ready to welcome him at every frolic, for
snatches of graver business could be settled in the tournament ground
between the two, and save the trouble of discussion at the Council
Board.
Between the rush of some great feats of arms, Henry would say to his
minister, while the people were applauding his prowess, "Now, I want
ten thousand crowns, and you must get it out of the pockets of these
varlets." And the Chancellor knew that these light words meant a tax of
some kind; and he had to rack his brains as to what he should put the
tax upon, after the unheard-of rebuff he had received from the House of
Commons in the summer.
Never before had such a thing occurred to a Chancellor of England, and
the thought of it rankled in Wolsey's mind still, and he was not likely
to forget it. Doubtless the revenue of bishoprics, held by Wolsey,
often went to make up the deficit in the King's Exchequer. After this
rebuff from the Commons, Henry was lavish and extravagant, and would
squander money like water.
Not that he was a fool by any means. He was a keen-witted, capable man,
and, if he had only been compelled to use the faculties with which he
was endowed, would have made a better King in later life. But he was
flattered to the top of his bent, and his chief minister was only too
willing to take all the trouble of governing off his hands, that he
might enjoy the pleasure of its shadow.
It was for a taste of this shadowy glory that he had declared war with
France, but which he had small chance of carrying very far; and Wolsey
foresaw that he would soon be called upon to patch up a peace.
Then would be his time to moot the affair of the Princess Margaret of
Valois, and by this master stroke secure at once a lasting peace with
France, an heir to the throne of England, and a possible right to the
throne of France as well.
Secure of this, he could give his undivided attention to the reform of
the Church, which should forestall any such tampering with the power of
the Pope, as had occurred in the case of Germany.
He had not heard of the little room at "The Sign of the Golden
Fleece," and the work going on there. Possibly, if he had heard that
a thunderbolt was being forged there that should split the Papacy
from root to crown, he would have shaken his head, and smiled at the
credulity that could imagine any power great enough to effect this. And
yet it was silently being brought to perfection, almost within sound of
the Cardinal's chapel-bell, and no man was the wiser yet, or dreamed
that such a thing could be!