The prisoner was surrendered in due form to his diocesan, and was
brought to trial on the 4th of February; a series of articles being
alleged against him by Foxford, the bishop's vicar-general. The articles
were of the usual kind. The prisoner was accused of having used
unorthodox expressions on transubstantiation, on purgatory, pilgrimages,
and confession. It does not appear whether any witnesses were produced.
The vicar-general brought his accusations on the ground of general
rumour, and failed to maintain them. Whether there were witnesses or
not, neither the particular offences, nor even the fact of the general
rumour, could be proved to the satisfaction of the jury. Philips himself
encountered each separate charge with a specific denial, declaring that
he neither was, nor ever had been, other than orthodox; and the result
of the trial was, that no conviction could be obtained. The prisoner
"was found so clear from all manner of infamous slanders and suspicions,
that all the people before the said bishop, shouting in judgment as with
one voice, openly witnessed his good name and fame, to the great reproof
and shame of the said bishop, if he had not been ashamed to be
ashamed."[93] The case had broken down; the proceedings were over, and
by law the accused person was free. But the law, except when it was on
their own side, was of little importance to the church authorities. As
they had failed to prove Philips guilty of heresy, they called upon him
to confess his guilt by abjuring it; "as if," he says, "there were no
difference between a nocent and an innocent, between a guilty and a not
guilty."[94]

He refused resolutely, and was remanded to prison, in open violation of
the law. The bishop, in conjunction with Sir Thomas More,[95] sent for
him from time to time, submitting him to private examinations, which
again were illegal; and urged the required confession, in order, as
Philips says, "to save the bishop's credit."

[Sidenote: He is imprisoned unconvicted for three years.]

The further they advanced, the more difficult it was to recede; and the
bishop at length, irritated at his failure, concluded the process with
an arbitrary sentence of excommunication. From this sentence, whether
just or unjust, there was then no appeal, except to the pope. The
wretched man, in virtue of it, was no longer under the protection of the
law, and was committed to the Tower, where he languished for three
years, protesting, but protesting fruitlessly, against the tyranny which
had crushed him, and clamouring for justice in the deaf ears of pedants
who knew not what justice meant.

[Sidenote: He appeals at length to the House of Commons, and recovers
his liberty.]

If this had occurred at the beginning of the century, the prisoner would
have been left to die, as countless multitudes had already died,
unheard, uncared for, unthought of; the victim not of deliberate
cruelty, but of that frightfullest portent, folly armed with power.
Happily the years of his imprisonment had been years of swift
revolution. The House of Commons had become a tribunal where oppression
would not any longer cry wholly unheard; Philips appealed to it for
protection, and recovered his liberty.[96]

[Sidenote: The Bishop of London responsible in the first degree; but
More was severely censurable.]

The weight of guilt in this instance presses essentially on Stokesley;
yet a portion of the blame must be borne also by the chancellor, who
first placed Philips in Stokesley's hands; who took part in the illegal
private examinations, and who could not have been ignorant of the
prisoner's ultimate fate. If, however, it be thought unjust to charge a
good man's memory with an offence in which his part was only secondary,
the following iniquity was wholly and exclusively his own. I relate the
story without comment in the address of the injured person to More's
successor.[97]

[Sidenote: Case of John Field.]

  "_To the Right Hon. the Lord Chancellor of England
  (Sir T. Audeley) and other of the King's Council._

[Sidenote: Illegally imprisoned by More.]

"In most humble wise showeth unto your goodness your poor bedeman John
Field, how that the next morrow upon twelfth day,[98] in the
twenty-first year of our sovereign lord the King's Highness, Sir Thomas
More, Knight, then being Lord Chancellor of England, did send certain of
his servants, and caused your said bedeman, with certain others, to be
brought to his place at Chelsea, and there kept him (after what manner
and fashion it were now long to tell), by the space of eighteen
days;[99] and then set him at liberty, binding him to appear before him
again the eighth day following in the Star Chamber, which was Candlemas
eve; at which day your said bedeman appeared, and was then sent to the
Fleet, where he continued until Palm Sunday two years after, [in
violation of both the statutes,] kept so close the first quarter that
his keeper only might visit him; and always after closed up with those
that were handled most straitly; often searched, sometimes even at
midnight; besides snares and traps laid to take him in. Betwixt
Michaelmas and Allhalloween tide next after his coming to prison there
was taken from your bedeman a Greek vocabulary, price five shillings;
Saint Cyprian's works, with a book of the same Sir Thomas More's making,
named the _Supplication of Souls_. For what cause it was done he
committeth to the judgment of God, that seeth the souls of all persons.
The said Palm Sunday, which was also our Lady's day, towards night there
came two officers of the Fleet, named George Porter and John Butler, and
took your bedeman into a ward alone, and there, after long searching,
found his purse hanging at his girdle; which they took, and shook out
the money to the sum of ten shillings, which was sent him to buy such
necessaries as he lacked, and delivered him again his purse, well and
truly keeping the money to themselves, as they said for their fees; and
forthwith carried him from the Fleet (where he lost such poor bedding as
he then had, and could never since get it), and delivered him to the
Marshalsea, under our gracious sovereign's commandment and Sir Thomas
More's. When the Sunday before the Rogation week following, your bedeman
fell sick; and the Whitsun Monday was carried out on four men's backs,
and delivered to his friends to be recovered if it so pleased God. At
which time the keeper took for your bedeman's fees other ten shillings,
when four shillings should have sufficed if he had been delivered in
good health.

"Within three weeks it pleased God to set your bedeman on his feet, so
that he might walk abroad. Whereof when Sir Thomas More heard (who went
out of his chancellorship about the time your bedeman was carried out of
prison), although he had neither word nor deed which he could ever truly
lay to your bedeman's charge, yet made he such means by the Bishops of
Winchester and London, as your bedeman heard say, to the Hon. Lord
Thomas Duke of Norfolk, that he gave new commandment to the keeper of
the Marshalsea to attach again your said bedeman; which thing was
speedily done the Sunday three weeks after his deliverance. And so he
continued in prison again until Saint Lawrence tide following; at which
time money was given to the keeper, and some things he took which were
not given, and then was your bedeman re-delivered through the king's
goodness, under sureties bound in a certain sum, that he should appear
the first day of the next term following, and then day by day until his
dismission. And so hath your bedeman been at liberty now twelve months
waiting daily from term to term, and nothing laid to his charge as
before.

"Wherefore, the premises tenderly considered, and also your said
bedeman's great poverty, he most humbly beseecheth your goodness that he
may now be clearly discharged; and if books, money, or other things seem
to be taken or kept from him otherwise than justice would, eftsoons he
beseecheth you that ye will command it to be restored.

"As for his long imprisonment, with other griefs thereto appertaining,
he looketh not to have recompense of man; but committeth his whole cause
to God, to whom your bedeman shall daily pray, according as he is bound,
that ye may so order and govern the realm that it may be to the honour
of God and your heavenly and everlasting reward."

I do not find the result of this petition, but as it appeared that Henry
had interested himself in the story, it is likely to have been
successful. We can form but an imperfect judgment on the merits of the
case, for we have only the sufferer's _ex parte_ complaint, and More
might probably have been able to make some counter-statement. But the
illegal imprisonment cannot be explained away, and cannot be palliated;
and when a judge permits himself to commit an act of arbitrary tyranny,
we argue from the known to the unknown, and refuse reasonably to give
him credit for equity where he was so little careful of law.

[Sidenote: Contrast between Wolsey and More in the treatment of
heretics.]

[Sidenote: The Smithfield fires recommence.]

[Sidenote: Troubles of Bilney.]

Yet a few years of misery in a prison was but an insignificant
misfortune when compared with the fate under which so many other poor
men were at this time overwhelmed. Under Wolsey's chancellorship the
stake had been comparatively idle; he possessed a remarkable power of
making recantation easy; and there is, I believe, no instance in which
an accused heretic was brought under his immediate cognizance, where he
failed to arrange some terms by which submission was made possible. With
Wolsey heresy was an error--with More it was a crime. Soon after the
seals changed hands the Smithfield fires recommenced; and, the
chancellor acting in concert with them, the bishops resolved to
obliterate, in these edifying spectacles, the recollection of their
general infirmities. The crime of the offenders varied,--sometimes it
was a denial of the corporal presence, more often it was a reflection
too loud to be endured on the character and habits of the clergy; but
whatever it was, the alternative lay only between abjuration humiliating
as ingenuity could make it, or a dreadful death. The hearts of many
failed them in the trial, and of all the confessors those perhaps do not
deserve the least compassion whose weakness betrayed them, who sank and
died broken-hearted. Of these silent sufferers history knows nothing. A
few, unable to endure the misery of having, as they supposed, denied
their Saviour, returned to the danger from which they had fled, and
washed out their fall in martyrdom. Latimer has told us the story of his
friend Bilney--little Bilney, or Saint Bilney,[100] as he calls him, his
companion at Cambridge, to whom he owed his own conversion. Bilney,
after escaping through Wolsey's hands in 1527, was again cited in 1529
before the Bishop of London. Three times he refused to recant. He was
offered a fourth and last chance. The temptation was too strong, and he
fell. For two years he was hopelessly miserable; at length his braver
nature prevailed. There was no pardon for a relapsed heretic, and if he
was again in the bishop's hands he knew well the fate which awaited him.

[Sidenote: He "goes up to Jerusalem."]

He told his friends, in language touchingly significant, that "he would
go up to Jerusalem"; and began to preach in the fields. The journey
which he had undertaken was not to be a long one. He was heard to say in
a sermon, that of his personal knowledge certain things which had been
offered in pilgrimage had been given to abandoned women. The priests, he
affirmed, "take away the offerings, and hang them about their women's
necks; and after that they take them off the women, if they please them
not, and hang them again upon the images."[101] This was Bilney's
heresy, or formed the ground of his arrest; he was orthodox on the mass,
and also on the power of the keys; but the secrets of the sacred order
were not to be betrayed with impunity. He was seized, and hurried before
the Bishop of Norwich; and being found heterodox on the papacy and the
mediation of the saints, by the Bishop of Norwich he was sent to the
stake.

[Sidenote: James Bainham,]

Another instance of recovered courage, and of martyrdom consequent upon
it, is that of James Bainham, a barrister of the Middle Temple. This
story is noticeable from a very curious circumstance connected with it.

[Sidenote: The latitudinarian martyr.]

[Sidenote: On his first trial he recants.]

Bainham had challenged suspicion by marrying the widow of Simon Fish,
the author of the famous _Beggars' Petition_, who had died in 1528; and,
soon after his marriage, was challenged to give an account of his
faith. He was charged with denying transubstantiation, with questioning
the value of the confessional, and the power of the keys; and the
absence of authoritative Protestant dogma had left his mind free to
expand to a yet larger belief. He had ventured to assert, that "if a
Turk, a Jew, or a Saracen do trust in God and keep his law, he is a good
Christian man,"[102]--a conception of Christianity, a conception of
Protestantism, which we but feebly dare to whisper even at the present
day. The proceedings against him commenced with a demand that he should
give up his books, and also the names of other barristers with whom he
was suspected to have held intercourse. He refused; and in consequence
his wife was imprisoned, and he himself was racked in the Tower by order
of Sir Thomas More. Enfeebled by suffering, he was then brought before
Stokesley, and terrified by the cold merciless eyes of his judge, he
gave way, not about his friends, but about himself: he abjured, and was
dismissed heartbroken. This was on the seventeenth of February. He was
only able to endure his wretchedness for a month. At the end of it, he
appeared at a secret meeting of the Christian Brothers, in "a warehouse
in Bow Lane," where he asked forgiveness of God and all the world for
what he had done; and then went out to take again upon his shoulders the
heavy burden of the cross.

[Sidenote: He recovers his courage,]

The following Sunday, at the church of St. Augustine, he rose in his
seat with the fatal English Testament in his hand, and "declared openly,
before all the people, with weeping tears, that he had denied God,"
praying them all to forgive him, and beware of his weakness; "for if I
should not return to the truth," he said, "this Word of God would damn
me, body and soul, at the day of judgment." And then he prayed
"everybody rather to die than to do as he did, for he would not feel
such a hell again as he did feel for all the world's good."[103]

[Sidenote: And is arrested again.]

Of course but one event was to be looked for: he knew it, and himself
wrote to the bishop, telling him what he had done. No mercy was
possible: he looked for none, and he found none.

[Sidenote: The mercy of the church authorities.]

Yet perhaps he found what the wise authorities thought to be some act of
mercy. They could not grant him pardon in this world upon any terms; but
they would not kill him till they had made an effort for his soul. He
was taken to the Bishop of London's coal-cellar at Fulham, the favourite
episcopal penance-chamber, where he was ironed and put in the stocks;
and there was left for many days, in the chill March weather, to bethink
himself. This failing to work conviction, he was carried to Sir Thomas
More's house at Chelsea, where for two nights he was chained to a post
and whipped; thence, again, he was taken back to Fulham for another week
of torture; and finally to the Tower, for a further fortnight, again
with ineffectual whippings.

[Sidenote: He is burnt April 20, 1532.]

The demands of charity were thus satisfied. The pious bishop and the
learned chancellor had exhausted their means of conversion; they had
discharged their consciences; and the law was allowed to take its
course. The prisoner was brought to trial on the 20th of April, as a
relapsed heretic. Sentence followed; and on the last of the month the
drama closed in the usual manner at Smithfield. Before the fire was
lighted Bainham made a farewell address to the people, laying his death
expressly to More, whom he called his accuser and his judge.[104]

[Sidenote: The feelings with which these spectacles were witnessed by
the people.]

It is unfortunately impossible to learn the feelings with which these
dreadful scenes were witnessed by the people. There are stories which
show that, in some instances, familiarity had produced the usual effect;
that the martyrdom of saints was at times of no more moment to an
English crowd than the execution of ordinary felons,--that it was a mere
spectacle to the idle, the hardened, and the curious. On the other hand,
it is certain that the behaviour of the sufferers was the argument which
at last converted the nation; and an effect which in the end was so
powerful with the multitude must have been visible long before in the
braver and better natures. The increasing number of prosecutions in
London shows, also, that the leaven was spreading. There were five
executions in Smithfield between 1529 and 1533, besides those in the
provinces. The prisons were crowded with offenders who had abjured and
were undergoing sentence; and the list of those who were "troubled" in
various ways is so extensive, as to leave no doubt of the sympathy
which, in London at least, must have been felt by many, very many, of
the spectators of the martyrs' deaths. We are left, in this important
point, mainly to conjecture; and if we were better furnished with
evidence, the language of ordinary narrative would fail to convey any
real notion of perplexed and various emotions. We have glimpses,
however, into the inner world of men, here and there of strange
interest; and we must regret that they are so few.

[Sidenote: Suicide of a boy at Cambridge.]

A poor boy at Cambridge, John Randall, of Christ's College, a relation
of Foxe the martyrologist, destroyed himself in these years in religious
desperation; he was found in his study hanging by his girdle, before an
open Bible, with his dead arm and finger stretched pitifully towards a
passage on predestination.[105]

[Sidenote: Pavier, the town clerk of London, also destroys himself,
under strange circumstances.]

A story even more remarkable is connected with Bainham's execution.
Among the lay officials present at the stake, was "one Pavier," town
clerk of London. This Pavier was a Catholic fanatic, and as the flames
were about to be kindled he burst out into violent and abusive language.
The fire blazed up, and the dying sufferer, as the red flickering
tongues licked the flesh from off his bones, turned to him and said,
"May God forgive thee, and shew more mercy than thou, angry reviler,
shewest to me." The scene was soon over; the town clerk went home. A
week after, one morning when his wife had gone to mass, he sent all his
servants out of his house on one pretext or another, a single girl only
being left, and he withdrew to a garret at the top of the house, which
he used as an oratory. A large crucifix was on the wall, and the girl
having some question to ask, went to the room, and found him standing
before it "bitterly weeping." He told her to take his sword, which was
rusty, and clean it. She went away and left him; when she returned, a
little time after, he was hanging from a beam, dead. He was a singular
person. Edward Hall, the historian, knew him, and had heard him say,
that "if the king put forth the New Testament in English, he would not
live to bear it."[106] And yet he could not bear to see a heretic die.
What was it? Had the meaning of that awful figure hanging on the
torturing cross suddenly revealed itself? Had some inner voice asked him
whether, in the prayer for his persecutors with which Christ had parted
out of life, there might be some affinity with words which had lately
sounded in his own ears? God, into whose hands he threw himself,
self-condemned in his wretchedness, only knows the agony of that hour.
Let the secret rest where it lies, and let us be thankful for ourselves
that we live in a changed world.

[Sidenote: The two orders of martyrs.]

Thus, however, the struggle went forward; a forlorn hope of saints led
the way up the breach, and paved with their bodies a broad road into the
new era; and the nation the meanwhile was unconsciously waiting till the
works of the enemy were won, and they could walk safely in and take
possession. While men like Bilney and Bainham were teaching with words
and writings, there were stout English hearts labouring also on the
practical side of the same conflict, instilling the same lessons, and
meeting for themselves the same consequences. Speculative superstition
was to be met with speculative denial. Practical idolatry required a
rougher method of disenchantment.

[Sidenote: The worship of relics, in its origin and in its abuse.]

[Sidenote: Bishop Shaxton's inventory.]

[Sidenote: The wonder-working roods.]

[Sidenote: The rood of Boxley.]

[Sidenote: The rood of Dovercourt.]

Every monastery, every parish church, had in those days its special
relics, its special images, its special something, to attract the
interest of the people. The reverence for the remains of noble and pious
men, the dresses which they had worn, or the bodies in which their
spirits had lived, was in itself a natural and pious emotion; but it had
been petrified into a dogma; and like every other imaginative feeling
which is submitted to that bad process, it had become a falsehood, a
mere superstition, a substitute for piety, not a stimulus to it, and a
perpetual occasion of fraud. The people brought offerings to the shrines
where it was supposed that the relics were of greatest potency. The
clergy, to secure the offerings, invented the relics, and invented the
stories of the wonders which had been worked by them. The greatest
exposure of these things took place at the visitation of the religious
houses. In the meantime, Bishop Shaxton's unsavoury inventory of what
passed under the name of relics in the diocese of Salisbury, will
furnish an adequate notion of these objects of popular veneration. There
"be set forth and commended unto the ignorant people," he said, "as I
myself of certain which be already come to my hands, have perfect
knowledge, stinking boots, mucky combes, ragged rochettes, rotten
girdles, pyl'd purses, great bullocks' horns, locks of hair, and filthy
rags, gobbetts of wood, under the name of parcels of the holy cross, and
such pelfry beyond estimation."[107] Besides matters of this kind, there
were images of the Virgin or of the Saints; above all, roods or
crucifixes, of especial potency, the virtues of which had begun to grow
uncertain, however, to sceptical Protestants; and from doubt to denial,
and from denial to passionate hatred, there were but a few brief steps.
The most famous of the roods was that of Boxley in Kent, which used to
smile and bow, or frown and shake its head, as its worshippers were
generous or closehanded. The fortunes and misfortunes of this image I
shall by and bye have to relate. There was another, however, at
Dovercourt, in Suffolk, of scarcely inferior fame. This image was of
such power that the door of the church in which it stood was open at all
hours to all comers, and no human hand could close it. Dovercourt
therefore became a place of great and lucrative pilgrimage, much
resorted to by the neighbours on all occasions of difficulty.

[Sidenote: Its powers are submitted to trial,]

Now it happened that within the circuit of a few miles there lived four
young men, to whom the virtues of the rood had become greatly
questionable. If it could work miracles, it must be capable, so they
thought, of protecting its own substance; and they agreed to apply a
practical test which would determine the extent of its abilities.
Accordingly (about the time of Bainham's first imprisonment), Robert
King of Dedham, Robert Debenham of Eastbergholt, Nicholas Marsh of
Dedham, and Robert Gardiner of Dedham, "their consciences being burdened
to see the honour of Almighty God so blasphemed by such an idol,"
started off "on a wondrous goodly night" in February, with hard frost
and a clear full moon, ten miles across the wolds, to the church.

[Sidenote: And are found unequal to the emergency.]

[Sidenote: The rood is burnt.]

The door was open as the legend declared; but nothing daunted, they
entered bravely, and lifting down the "idol" from its shrine, with its
coat and shoes, and the store of tapers which were kept for the
services, they carried it on their shoulders for a quarter of a mile
from the place where it had stood, "without any resistance of the said
idol." There setting it on the ground, they struck a light, fastened the
tapers to the body, and with the help of them, sacrilegiously burnt the
image down to a heap of ashes; the old dry wood "blazing so brimly,"
that it lighted them a full mile of their way home.[108]

[Sidenote: Execution of three of the perpetrators.]

For this night's performance, which, if the devil is the father of lies,
was a stroke of honest work against him and his family, the world
rewarded these men after the usual fashion. One of them, Robert
Gardiner, escaped the search which was made, and disappeared till better
times; the remaining three were swinging in chains six months later on
the scene of their exploit. Their fate was perhaps inevitable. Men who
dare to be the first in great movements are ever self-immolated victims.
But I suppose that it was better for them to be bleaching on their
gibbets, than crawling at the feet of a wooden rood, and believing it to
be God.

[Sidenote: The Protestant Paladins.]

[Sidenote: The two greatest men on the side of the Reformation.]

[Sidenote: The approaching revulsion, and the use which was made of it.]

These were the first Paladins of the Reformation, the knights who slew
the dragons and the enchanters, and made the earth habitable for common
flesh and blood. They were rarely, as we have said, men of great
ability, still more rarely men of "wealth and station"; but men rather
of clear senses and honest hearts. Tyndal was a remarkable person, and
so Clark and Frith promised to become; but the two last were cut off
before they had found scope to show themselves; and Tyndal remaining
abroad, lay outside the battle which was being fought in England, doing
noble work, indeed, and ending as the rest ended, with earning a
martyr's crown; but taking no part in the actual struggle except with
his pen. As yet but two men of the highest order of power were on the
side of Protestantism--Latimer and Cromwell. Of them we have already
said something; but the time was now fast coming when they were to step
forward, pressed by circumstances which could no longer dispense with
them, into scenes of far wider activity; and the present seems a fitting
occasion to give some closer account of their history. When the breach
with the pope was made irreparable, and the papal party at home had
assumed an attitude of suspended insurrection, the fortunes of the
Protestants entered into a new phase. The persecution ceased; and those
who but lately were carrying fagots in the streets, or hiding for their
lives, passed at once by a sudden alternation into the sunshine of
political favour. The summer was but a brief one, followed soon by
returning winter; but Cromwell and Latimer had together caught the
moment as it went by; and before it was over, a work had been done in
England which, when it was accomplished once, was accomplished for ever.
The conservative party recovered their power, and abused it as before;
but the chains of the nation were broken, and no craft of kings or
priests or statesmen could weld the magic links again.

It is a pity that of two persons to whom England owes so deep a debt, we
can piece together such scanty biographies. I must attempt, however, to
give some outline of the little which is known.

[Sidenote: The family of Hugh Latimer. His father a Leicestershire
yeoman.]

The father of Latimer was a solid English yeoman, of Thurcaston, in
Leicestershire. "He had no lands of his own," but he rented a farm "of
four pounds by the year," on which "he tilled so much as kept half a
dozen men;" "he had walk for a hundred sheep, and meadow ground for
thirty cows."[109] The world prospered with him; he was able to save
money for his son's education and his daughters' portions; but he was
free-handed and hospitable; he kept open house for his poor neighbours;
and he was a good citizen, too, for "he did find the king a harness with
himself and his horse," ready to do battle for his country, if occasion
called. His family were brought up "in godliness and the fear of the
Lord;" and in all points the old Latimer seems to have been a worthy,
sound, upright man, of the true English mettle.

[Sidenote: The Reformer born about 1490,]

[Sidenote: And brought up in the farmhouse as a brave English boy.]

[Sidenote: He goes to Cambridge.]

There were several children.[110] The Reformer was born about 1490, some
five years after the usurper Richard had been killed at Bosworth.
Bosworth being no great distance from Thurcaston, Latimer the father is
likely to have been present in the battle, on one side or the
other,--the right side in those times it was no easy matter to
choose,--but he became a good servant of the new government,--and the
little Hugh, when a boy of seven years old, helped to buckle[111] on his
armour for him, "when he went to Blackheath field."[112] Being a soldier
himself, the old gentleman was careful to give his sons, whatever else
he gave them, a sound soldier's training. "He was diligent," says
Latimer, "to teach me to shoot with the bow: he taught me how to draw,
how to lay my body in the bow--not to draw with strength of arm, as
other nations do, but with the strength of the body. I had my bows
bought me according to my age and strength; as I increased in these, my
bows were made bigger and bigger."[113] Under this education, and in the
wholesome atmosphere of the farmhouse, the boy prospered well; and by
and bye, showing signs of promise, he was sent to school. When he was
fourteen, the promises so far having been fulfilled, his father
transferred him to Cambridge.[114]

[Sidenote: Is elected fellow of Clare Hall, and becomes a divinity
student.]

[Sidenote: Converted from "the shadow of death" by Bilney.]

[Sidenote: Sources of Latimer's knowledge, as evidenced in his sermons.]

He was soon known at the university as a sober, hard-working student. At
nineteen, he was elected fellow of Clare Hall; at twenty, he took his
degree, and became a student in divinity, when he accepted quietly, like
a sensible man, the doctrines which he had been brought up to believe.
At the time when Henry VIII. was writing against Luther, Latimer was
fleshing his maiden sword in an attack upon Melancthon;[115] and he
remained, he said, till he was thirty, "in darkness and the shadow of
death." About this time he became acquainted with Bilney, whom he calls
"the instrument whereby God called him to knowledge." In Bilney,
doubtless, he found a sound instructor; but a careful reader of his
sermons will see traces of a teaching for which he was indebted to no
human master. His deepest knowledge was that which stole upon him
unconsciously through the experience of life and the world. His words
are like the clear impression of a seal; the account and the result of
observations, taken first hand, on the condition of the English men and
women of his time, in all ranks and classes, from the palace to the
prison. He shows large acquaintance with books; with the Bible, most of
all; with patristic divinity and school divinity; and history, sacred
and profane: but if this had been all, he would not have been the
Latimer of the Reformation, and the Church of England would not,
perhaps, have been here to-day. Like the physician, to whom a year of
practical experience in a hospital teaches more than a life of closet
study, Latimer learnt the mental disorders of his age in the age itself;
and the secret of that art no other man, however good, however wise,
could have taught him. He was not an echo, but a voice; and he drew his
thoughts fresh from the fountain--from the facts of the era in which God
had placed him.

[Sidenote: His early reputation as a preacher at Cambridge.]

[Sidenote: Personal character of his addresses.]

[Sidenote: He offends the Bishop of Ely.]

[Sidenote: Wolsey's judgment on the bishop's complaint.]

He became early famous as a preacher at Cambridge, from the first, "a
seditious fellow," as a noble lord called him in later life, highly
troublesome to unjust persons in authority. "None, except the
stiff-necked and uncircumcised, ever went away from his preaching, it
was said, without being affected with high detestation of sin, and moved
to all godliness and virtue."[116] And, in his audacious simplicity, he
addressed himself always to his individual hearers, giving his words a
personal application, and often addressing men by name. This habit
brought him first into difficulty in 1525. He was preaching before the
university, when the Bishop of Ely came into the church, being curious
to hear him. He paused till the bishop was seated; and when he
recommenced, he changed his subject, and drew an ideal picture of a
prelate as a prelate ought to be; the features of which, though he did
not say so, were strikingly unlike those of his auditor. The bishop
complained to Wolsey, who sent for Latimer, and inquired what he had
said. Latimer repeated the substance of his sermon; and other
conversation then followed, which showed Wolsey very clearly the nature
of the person with whom he was speaking. No eye saw more rapidly than
the cardinal's the difference between a true man and an impostor; and he
replied to the Bishop of Ely's accusations by granting the offender a
licence to preach in any church in England. "If the Bishop of Ely cannot
abide such doctrine as you have here repeated," he said, "you shall
preach it to his beard, let him say what he will."[117]

[Sidenote: Practical character of Latimer's mind, which protected him
from speculative difficulties.]

Thus fortified, Latimer pursued his way, careless of the university
authorities, and probably defiant of them. He was still orthodox in
points of theoretic belief. His mind was practical rather than
speculative, and he was slow in arriving at conclusions which had no
immediate bearing upon action. No charge could be fastened upon him,
definitely criminal; and he was too strong to be crushed by that
compendious tyranny which treated as an act of heresy the exposure of
imposture or delinquency.

[Sidenote: On Wolsey's fall, he is appointed royal chaplain.]

[Sidenote: Latimer addresses Henry in behalf of the Protestants.]

On Wolsey's fall, however, he would have certainly been silenced: if he
had fallen into the hands of Sir Thomas More, he would have perhaps
been prematurely sacrificed. But, fortunately, he found a fresh
protector in the king. Henry heard of him, sent for him, and, with
instinctive recognition of his character, appointed him one of the royal
chaplains. He now left Cambridge and removed to Windsor, but only to
treat his royal patron as freely as he had treated the Cambridge
doctors,--not with any absence of respect, for he was most respectful,
but with that highest respect which dares to speak unwelcome truth where
the truth seems to be forgotten. He was made chaplain in 1530--during
the new persecution, for which Henry was responsible by a more than
tacit acquiescence. Latimer, with no authority but his own conscience,
and the strong certainty that he was on God's side, threw himself
between the spoilers and their prey, and wrote to the king, protesting
against the injustice which was crushing the truest men in his
dominions. The letter is too long to insert; the close of it may show
how a poor priest could dare to address the imperious Henry VIII.:

"I pray to God that your Grace may take heed of the worldly wisdom which
is foolishness before God; that you may do that [which] God commandeth,
and not that [which] seemeth good in your own sight, without the word of
God; that your Grace may be found acceptable in his sight, and one of
the members of his church; and according to the office that he hath
called your Grace unto, you may be found a faithful minister of his
gifts, and not a defender of his faith: for he will not have it defended
by man or man's power, but by his word only, by the which he hath
evermore defended it, and that by a way far above man's power or
reason.

"Wherefore, gracious king, remember yourself; have pity upon your soul;
and think that the day is even at hand when you shall give account for
your office, and of the blood that hath been shed by your sword. In
which day, that your Grace may stand steadfastly, and not be ashamed,
but be clear and ready in your reckoning, and have (as they say), your
_quietus est_ sealed with the blood of our Saviour Christ, which only
serveth at that day, is my daily prayer to Him that suffered death for
our sins, which also prayeth to his Father for grace for us continually;
to whom be all honour and praise for ever. Amen. The Spirit of God
preserve your Grace."[118]

[Sidenote: His intercession was ineffectual,]

[Sidenote: But earned the increased regard of the king.]

These words, which conclude an address of almost unexampled grandeur,
are unfortunately of no interest to us, except as illustrating the
character of the priest who wrote them, and the king to whom they were
written. The hand of the persecutor was not stayed. The rack and the
lash and the stake continued to claim their victims. So far it was
labour in vain. But the letter remains, to speak for ever for the
courage of Latimer; and to speak something, too, for a prince that could
respect the nobleness of the poor yeoman's son, who dared in such a
cause to write to him as a man to a man. To have written at all in such
a strain was as brave a step as was ever deliberately ventured. Like
most brave acts, it did not go unrewarded; for Henry remained ever
after, however widely divided from him in opinion, his unshaken friend.

[Sidenote: He retires from the court to West Kingston, but preaches
widely about the country.]

In 1531, the king gave him the living of West Kingston, in Wiltshire,
where for a time he now retired. Yet it was but a partial rest. He had
a special licence as a preacher from Cambridge, which continued to him
(with the king's express sanction)[119] the powers which he had received
from Wolsey. He might preach in any diocese to which he was invited; and
the repose of a country parish could not be long allowed in such stormy
times to Latimer. He had bad health, being troubled with headache,
pleurisy, colic, stone; his bodily constitution meeting feebly the
demands which he was forced to make upon it.[120] But he struggled on,
travelling up and down to London, to Kent, to Bristol, wherever
opportunity called him; marked for destruction by the bishops, if he was
betrayed into an imprudent word, and himself living in constant
expectation of death.[121]

[Sidenote: He is cited before Stokesley,]

[Sidenote: And expects death.]

At length the Bishop of London believed that Latimer was in his power.
He had preached at St. Abb's, in the city, "at the request of a company
of merchants,"[122] in the beginning of the winter of 1531; and soon
after his return to his living, he was informed that he was to be cited
before Stokesley. His friends in the neighbourhood wrote to him,
evidently in great alarm, and more anxious that he might clear himself
than expecting that he would be able to do so;[123] he himself, indeed,
had almost made up his mind that the end was coming.[124]

[Sidenote: January 10.]

[Sidenote: Method of prosecution in cases of suspected heresy.]

[Sidenote: The charge against Latimer submitted to convocation.]

[Sidenote: The efforts for his conviction baffled by his skill in
reply.]

The citation was delayed for a few weeks. It was issued at last, on the
10th of January, 1531-2,[125] and was served by Sir Walter Hungerford,
of Farley.[126] The offences with which he was charged were certain
"excesses and irregularities" not specially defined; and the practice of
the bishops in such cases was not to confine the prosecution to the acts
committed, but to draw up a series of articles, on which it was presumed
that the orthodoxy of the accused person was open to suspicion, and to
question him separately upon each. Latimer was first examined by
Stokesley; subsequently at various times by the bishops collectively;
and finally, when certain formulas had been submitted to him, which he
refused to sign, his case was transferred to convocation. The
convocation, as we know, were then in difficulty with their premunire;
they had consoled themselves in their sorrow with burning the body of
Tracy; and they would gladly have taken further comfort by burning
Latimer.[127] He was submitted to the closest cross-questionings, in
the hope that he would commit himself. They felt that he was the most
dangerous person to them in the kingdom, and they laboured with unusual
patience to ensure his conviction.[128] With a common person they would
have rapidly succeeded. But Latimer was in no haste to be a martyr; he
would be martyred patiently when the time was come for martyrdom; but he
felt that no one ought "to consent to die," as long as he could honestly
live;[129] and he baffled the episcopal inquisitors with their own
weapons. He has left a most curious account of one of his interviews
with them.

[Sidenote: Latimer before the bishops.]

"I was once in examination," he says,[130] "before five or six bishops,
where I had much turmoiling. Every week, thrice, I came to examination,
and many snares and traps were laid to get something. Now, God knoweth,
I was ignorant of the law; but that God gave me answer and wisdom what I
should speak. It was God indeed, for else I had never escaped them. At
the last, I was brought forth to be examined into a chamber hanged with
arras, where I was before wont to be examined, but now, at this time,
the chamber was somewhat altered: for whereas before there was wont ever
to be a fire in the chimney,[131] now the fire was taken away, and an
arras hanging hanged over the chimney; and the table stood near the
chimney's end, so that I stood between the table and the chimney's end.
There was among these bishops that examined me one with whom I had been
very familiar, and took him for my great friend, an aged man, and he
sate next the table end. Then, among all other questions, he put forth
one, a very subtle and crafty one, and such one indeed as I could not
think so great danger in. And when I would make answer, 'I pray you,
Master Latimer,' said he, 'speak out; I am very thick of hearing, and
here be many that sit far off.' I marvelled at this, that I was bidden
to speak out, and began to misdeem, and gave an ear to the chimney; and,
sir, there I heard a pen walking in the chimney, behind the cloth. They
had appointed one there to write all mine answers; for they made sure
work that I should not start from them: there was no starting from them:
God was my good Lord, and gave me answer; I could never else have
escaped it. The question was this: 'Master Latimer, do you not think, on
your conscience, that you have been suspected of heresy?'--a subtle
question--a very subtle question. There was no holding of peace would
serve. To hold my peace had been to grant myself faulty. To answer was
every way full of danger. But God, which hath always given me answer,
helped me, or else I could never have escaped it. _Ostendite mihi
numisma censûs._ Shew me, said he, a penny of the tribute money. They
laid snares to destroy him, but he overturneth them in their own
traps."[132]

[Sidenote: He appeals to the king, and is saved.]

The bishops, however, were not men who were nice in their adherence to
the laws; and it would have gone ill with Latimer, notwithstanding his
dialectic ability. He was excommunicated and imprisoned, and would soon
have fallen into worse extremities; but at the last moment he appealed
to the king, and the king, who knew his value, would not allow him to be
sacrificed. He had refused to subscribe the articles proposed to
him.[133] Henry intimated to the convocation that it was not his
pleasure that the matter should be pressed further; they were to content
themselves with a general submission, which should be made to the
archbishop, without exacting more special acknowledgments. This was the
reward to Latimer for his noble letter. He was absolved, and returned to
his parish, though snatched as a brand out of the fire.

Soon after, the tide turned, and the Reformation entered into a new
phase.

[Sidenote: Thomas Cromwell.]

Such is a brief sketch of the life of Hugh Latimer, to the time when it
blended with the broad stream of English history. With respect to the
other very great man whom the exigencies of the state called to power
simultaneously with him, our information is far less satisfactory.
Though our knowledge of Latimer's early story comes to us in fragments
only, yet there are certain marks in it by which the outline can be
determined with certainty. A cloud rests over the youth and early
manhood of Thomas Cromwell, through which, only at intervals, we catch
glimpses of authentic facts; and these few fragments of reality seem
rather to belong to a romance than to the actual life of a man.

[Sidenote: His father, one of the Cromwells of Lincolnshire, dies
early.]

[Sidenote: His mother re-marries, and her son becomes a vagabond.]

[Sidenote: Wild story of his journey to Rome.]

[Sidenote: His Italian wanderings.]

[Sidenote: The Florentine banker.]

Cromwell, the malleus monachorum, was of good English family, belonging
to the Cromwells of Lincolnshire. One of these, probably a younger
brother, moved up to London and conducted an ironfoundry, or other
business of that description, at Putney. He married a lady of
respectable connexions, of whom we know only that she was sister of the
wife of a gentleman in Derbyshire, but whose name does not appear.[134]
The old Cromwell dying early, the widow was remarried, to a
cloth-merchant; and the child of the first husband, who made himself so
great a name in English story, met with the reputed fortune of a
stepson, and became a vagabond in the wide world. The chart of his
course wholly fails us. One day in later life he shook by the hand an
old bellringer at Sion House before a crowd of courtiers, and told them
that "this man's father had given him many a dinner in his necessities."
And a strange random account is given by Foxe of his having joined a
party in an expedition to Rome to obtain a renewal from the pope of
certain immunities and indulgences for the town of Boston; a story which
derives some kind of credibility from its connexion with Lincolnshire,
but is full of incoherence and unlikelihood. Following still the popular
legend, we find him in the autumn of 1515 a ragged stripling at the door
of Frescobaldi's banking-house in Florence, begging for help.
Frescobaldi had an establishment in London,[135] with a large connexion
there; and seeing an English face, and seemingly an honest one, he asked
the boy who and what he was. "I am, sir," quoth he, "of England, and my
name is Thomas Cromwell; my father is a poor man, and by occupation a
clothshearer; I am strayed from my country, and am now come into Italy
with the camp of Frenchmen that were overthrown at Garigliano, where I
was page to a footman, carrying after him his pike and burganet."
Something in the boy's manner was said to have attracted the banker's
interest; he took him into his house, and after keeping him there as
long as he desired to stay, he gave him a horse and sixteen ducats to
help him home to England.[136] Foxe is the first English authority for
the story; and Foxe took it from Bandello, the novelist; but it is
confirmed by, or harmonizes with, a sketch of Cromwell's early life in a
letter of Chappuys, the imperial ambassador, to Chancellor Granvelle.
"Master Cromwell," wrote Chappuys in 1535, "is the son of a poor
blacksmith, who lived in a small village four miles from London, and is
buried in a common grave in the parish churchyard. In his youth, for
some offence, he was imprisoned, and had to leave the country. He went
to Flanders, and thence to Rome and other places in Italy."[137]

[Sidenote: He finds his way into the service of Wolsey.]

Returning to England, he married the daughter of a woollen-dealer, and
became a partner in the business, where he amassed or inherited a
considerable fortune.[138] Circumstances afterwards brought him, while
still young, in contact with Wolsey, who discovered his merit, took him
into service, and in 1525 employed him in the most important work of
visiting and breaking up the small monasteries, which the pope had
granted for the foundation of the new colleges. He was engaged with this
business for two years, and was so efficient that he obtained an
unpleasant notoriety, and complaints of his conduct found their way to
the king. Nothing came of these complaints, however, and Cromwell
remained with the cardinal till his fall.[139]

[Sidenote: Cromwell's noble conduct on Wolsey's fall.]

[Sidenote: Scene at Esher.]

[Sidenote: Cromwell's common saying, that he would either make or mar.]

[Sidenote: He defeats the attempted impeachment of Wolsey in the House
of Commons,]

It was then that the truly noble nature which was in him showed itself.
He accompanied his master through his dreary confinement at Esher,[140]
doing all that man could do to soften the outward wretchedness of it;
and at the meeting of parliament, in which he obtained a seat, he
rendered him a still more gallant service. The Lords had passed a bill
of impeachment against Wolsey, violent, vindictive, and malevolent. It
was to be submitted to the Commons, and Cromwell prepared to attempt an
opposition. Cavendish has left a most characteristic description of his
leaving Esher at this trying time. A cheerless November evening was
closing in with rain and storm. Wolsey was broken down with sorrow and
sickness; and had been unusually tried by parting with his retinue, whom
he had sent home, as unwilling to keep them attached any longer to his
fallen fortunes. When they were all gone, "My lord," says Cavendish,
"returned to his chamber, lamenting the departure of his servants,
making his moan unto Master Cromwell, who comforted him the best he
could, and desired my lord give him leave to go to London, where he
would either make or mar before he came again; which was always his
common saying. Then after long communication with my lord in secret, he
departed, and took his horse and rode to London; at whose departing I
was by, whom he bade farewell, and said, ye shall hear shortly of me,
and if I speed well I will not fail to be here again within these two
days."[141] He did speed well. "After two days he came again with a much
pleasanter countenance, and meeting with me before he came to my lord,
said unto me, that he had adventured to put in his foot where he trusted
shortly to be better regarded or all were done." He had stopped the
progress of the impeachment in the Lower House, and was answering the
articles one by one. In the evening he rode down to Esher for
instructions. In the morning he was again at his place in Parliament;
and he conducted the defence so skilfully, that finally he threw out the
bill, saved Wolsey, and himself "grew into such estimation in every
man's opinion, for his honest behaviour in his master's cause, that he
was esteemed the most faithfullest servant, [and] was of all men greatly
commended."[142]

[Sidenote: And passes into the service of the king.]

Henry admired his chivalry, and perhaps his talent. The loss of Wolsey
had left him without any very able man, unless we may consider Sir
Thomas More such, upon his council, and he could not calculate on More
for support in his anti-Roman policy; he was glad, therefore, to avail
himself of the service of a man who had given so rare a proof of
fidelity, and who had been trained by the ablest statesman of the
age.[143]

To Wolsey Cromwell could render no more service except as a friend, and
his warm friend he remained to the last. He became the king's secretary,
representing the government in the House of Commons, and was at once on
the high road to power. I cannot call him ambitious; an ambitious man
would scarcely have pursued so refined a policy, or have calculated on
the admiration which he gained by adhering to a fallen minister. He did
not seek greatness,--greatness rather sought him as the man in England
most fit to bear it. His business was to prepare the measures which were
to be submitted to Parliament by the government. His influence,
therefore, grew necessarily with the rapidity with which events were
ripening; and when the conclusive step was taken, and the king was
married, the virtual conduct of the Reformation passed into his hands.
His Protestant tendencies were unknown as yet, perhaps, even to his own
conscience; nor to the last could he arrive at any certain speculative
convictions. He was drawn towards the Protestants as he rose into power
by the integrity of his nature, which compelled him to trust only those
who were honest like himself.

NOTES:

[1] The origin of the word Lollards has been always a disputed question.
I conceive it to be from Lolium. They were the "tares" in the corn of
Catholicism.

[2] 35 Ed. I.; Statutes of Carlisle, cap. 1-4.

[3] 35 Ed. I. cap. 1-4.

[4] 25 Ed. III. stat. 4. A clause in the preamble of this act bears a
significantly Erastian complexion: _come seinte Eglise estoit founde en
estat de prelacie deins le royaulme Dengleterre par le dit Roi et ses
progenitours, et countes, barons, et nobles de ce Royaulme et lours
ancestres, pour eux et le poeple enfourmer de la lei Dieu._ If the
Church of England was held to have been founded not by the successors of
the Apostles, but by the king and the nobles, the claim of Henry VIII to
the supremacy was precisely in the spirit of the constitution.

[5] 38 Ed. III. stat. 2; 3 Ric. II. cap. 3; 12 Ric. II. cap. 15; 13 Ric.
II. stat. 2. The first of these acts contains a paragraph which shifts
the blame from the popes themselves to the officials of the Roman
courts. The statute is said to have been enacted en eide et confort du
pape qui moult sovent a estee trublez par tieles et semblables clamours
et impetracions, et qui y meist voluntiers covenable remedie, si sa
seyntetee estoit sur ces choses enfournee. I had regarded this passage
as a fiction of courtesy like that of the Long Parliament who levied
troops in the name of Charles I. The suspicious omission of the clause,
however, in the translation of the statutes which was made in the later
years of Henry VIII. justifies an interpretation more favourable to the
intentions of the popes.

[6] The abbots and bishops decently protested. Their protest was read in
parliament, and entered on the Rolls. _Rot. Parl._ III. [264] quoted by
Lingard, who has given a full account of these transactions.

[7] 13 Ric. II. stat. 2.

[8] See 16 Ric. II. cap. 5.

[9] This it will be remembered was the course which was afterwards
followed by the parliament under Henry VIII. before abolishing the
payment of first-fruits.

[10] Lingard says, that "there were rumours that if the prelates
executed the decree of the king's courts, they would be
excommunicated."--Vol. III. p. 172. The language of the act of
parliament, 16 Ric. II. cap. 5, is explicit that the sentence was
pronounced.

[11] 16 Ric. II. cap. 5.

[12] Ibid.

[13] 16 Ric. II. cap. 5.

[14] Lewis, _Life of Wycliffe_.

[15] If such _scientia media_ might be allowed to man, which is beneath
certainty and above conjecture, such should I call our persuasion that
he was born in Durham.--Fuller's _Worthies_, Vol. I. p. 479.

[16] _The Last Age of the Church_ was written in 1356. See Lewis, p. 3.

[17] Leland.

[18] Lewis, p. 287.

[19] 1 Ric. II. cap. 13.

[20] Walsingham, 206-7, apud Lingard. It is to be observed, however,
that Wycliffe himself limited his arguments strictly to the property of
the clergy. See Milman's _History of Latin Christianity_, Vol. V. p.
508.

[21] Walsingham, p. 275, apud Lingard.

[22] 5 Ric. II. cap. 5

[23] Wilkins, _Concilia_, III. 160-167.

[24] _De Heretico comburendo._ 2 Hen. IV. cap. 15.

[25] Stow, 330, 338.

[26] _Rot. Parl._ IV. 24, 108, apud Lingard; Rymer, IX. 89, 119, 129,
170, 193; Milman, Vol. V. p. 520-535.

[27] 2 Hen. V. stat. 1, cap. 7.

[28] There is no better test of the popular opinion of a man than the
character assigned to him on the stage; and till the close of the
sixteenth century Sir John Oldcastle remained the profligate buffoon of
English comedy. Whether in life he bore the character so assigned to
him, I am unable to say. The popularity of Henry V., and the splendour
of his French wars served no doubt to colour all who had opposed him
with a blacker shade than they deserved: but it is almost certain that
Shakspeare, though not intending Falstaff as a portrait of Oldcastle,
thought of him as he was designing the character; and it is altogether
certain that by the London public Falstaff was supposed to represent
Oldcastle. We can hardly suppose that such an expression as "my old lad
of the castle" should be accidental; and in the epilogue to the Second
Part of _Henry the Fourth_, when promising to reintroduce Falstaff once
more, Shakspeare says, "where for anything I know he shall die of the
sweat, for Oldcastle died a martyr, and this is not the man." He had,
therefore, certainly been supposed to _be the man_, and Falstaff
represented the English conception of the character of the Lollard hero.
I should add, however, that Dean Milman, who has examined the records
which remain to throw light on the character of this remarkable person
with elaborate care and ability, concludes emphatically in his favour.

[29] Two curious letters of Henry VI. upon the Lollards, written in
1431, are printed in the _Archæologia_, Vol. XXIII. p. 339, &c. "As God
knoweth," he says of them, "never would they be subject to his laws nor
to man's, but would be loose and free to rob, reve, and dispoil, slay
and destroy all men of thrift and worship, as they proposed to have done
in our father's days; and of lads and lurdains would make lords."

[30] Proceedings of an organized Society in London called the Christian
Brethren, supported by voluntary contributions, for the dispersion of
tracts against the doctrines of the Church: _Rolls House MS._

[31] Hale's _Precedents_. The London and Lincoln Registers, in Foxe,
Vol. IV.; and the MS. Registers of Archbishops Morton and Warham, at
Lambeth.

[32] Knox's _History of the Reformation in Scotland_.

[33] Also we object to you that divers times, and specially in Robert
Durdant's house, of Iver Court, near unto Staines, you erroneously and
damnably read in a great book of heresy, all [one] night, certain
chapters of the Evangelists, in English, containing in them divers
erroneous and damnable opinions and conclusions of heresy, in the
presence of divers suspected persons.--Articles objected against Richard
Butler--London Register: Foxe, Vol. IV. p. 178.

[34] Foxe, Vol. IV. p. 176.

[35] Michelet, _Life of Luther_, p. 71.

[36] Ibid.

[37] Ibid. p. 41.

[38] Wood's _Athenæ Oxonienses_.

[39] Foxe, Vol. IV. p. 618.

[40] The suspicious eyes of the Bishops discovered Tyndal's visit, and
the result which was to be expected from it.

On Dec. 2d, 1525, Edward Lee, afterwards Archbishop of York, then king's
almoner, and on a mission into Spain, wrote from Bordeaux to warn Henry.
The letter is instructive:

"Please your Highness to understand that I am certainly informed as I
passed in this country, that an Englishman, your subject, at the
solicitation and instance of Luther, with whom he is, hath translated
the New Testament into English; and within few days intendeth to return
with the same imprinted into England. I need not to advertise your Grace
what infection and danger may ensue hereby if it be not withstanded.
This is the next way to fulfil your realm with Lutherians. For all
Luther's perverse opinions be grounded upon bare words of Scripture, not
well taken, ne understanded which your Grace hath opened in sundry
places of your royal book. All our forefathers, governors of the Church
of England, hath with all diligence forbid and eschewed publication of
English Bibles, as appeareth in constitutions provincial of the Church
of England. Nowe, sire, as God hath endued your Grace with Christian
courage to sett forth the standard against these Philistines and to
vanquish them, so I doubt not but that he will assist your Grace to
prosecute and perform the same--that is, to undertread them that they
shall not now lift up their heads; which they endeavour by means of
English Bibles. They know what hurt such books hath done in your realm
in times past."--Edward Lee to Henry VIII.: Ellis, third series, Vol.
II. p. 71.

[41] Answer of the Bishops: _Rolls House MS._ See cap. 3.

[42] Answer of the Bishops, Vol. I. cap. 3.

[43] See, particularly, _State Papers_, Vol. VII. p. 302.

[44] Proceedings of the Christian Brethren: _Rolls House MS._

[45] See the letter of Bishop Fox to Wolsey: Strype's _Memorials_, Vol.
I. Appendix.

[46] Particulars of Persons who had dispersed Anabaptist and Lutheran
Tracts: _Rolls House MS._

[47] Dr. Taylor to Wolsey: _Rolls House MS._ Clark to Wolsey: _State
Papers_, Vol. VII. pp. 80, 81.

[48] Ellis, third series, Vol. II. p. 189.

[49] Memoirs of Latimer prefixed to Sermons, pp. 3, 4; and see Strype's
_Memorials_, Vol. I.

[50] Foxe, Vol. V. p. 416.

[51] Tunstall, Bishop of London, has had the credit hitherto of this
ingenious folly, the effect of which, as Sir Thomas More warned him,
could only be to supply Tyndal with money.--Hall, 762, 763. The
following letter from the Bishop of Norwich to Warham shows that
Tunstall was only acting in canonical obedience to the resolution of his
metropolitan:--

"In right humble manner I commend me unto your good Lordship, doing the
same to understand that I lately received your letters, dated at your
manor of Lambeth, the 26th day of the month of May, by the which I do
perceive that your Grace hath lately gotten into your hands all the
books of the New Testament, translated into English, and printed beyond
the sea; as well those with the glosses joined unto them as those
without the glosses.

"Surely, in myn opinion, you have done therein a gracious and a blessed
deed; and God, I doubt not, shall highly reward you therefore. And when,
in your said letters, ye write that, insomuch as this matter and the
danger thereof, if remedy had not been provided, should not only have
touched you, but all the bishops within your province; and that it is no
reason that the holle charge and cost thereof should rest only in you;
but that they and every of them, for their part, should advance and
contribute certain sums of money towards the same: I for my part will be
contented to advance in this behalf, and to make payment thereof unto
your servant, Master William Potkyn.

"Pleaseth it you to understand, I am well contented to give and advance
in this behalf ten marks, and shall cause the same to be delivered
shortly, the which sum I think sufficient for my part, if every bishop
within your province make like contribution, after the rate and
substance of their benefices. Nevertheless, if your Grace think this sum
not sufficient for my part in this matter, your further pleasure known,
I shall be as glad to conform myself thereunto in this, or any other
matter concerning the church, as any your subject within your province;
as knows Almighty God, who long preserve you. At Hoxne in Suffolk, the
14th day of June, 1527. Your humble obedience and bedeman,

  R. NORWICEN."

[52] Foxe, Vol. IV.

[53] The papal bull, and the king's licence to proceed upon it are
printed in _Rymer_, Vol. VI. Part II. pp. 8 and 17. The latter is
explicit on Wolsey's personal liberality in establishing this
foundation. Ultro et ex propriâ liberalitate et munificentiâ, nec sine
gravissimo suo sumptu et impensis collegium fundare conatur.

[54] Would God my Lord his Grace had never been motioned to call any
Cambridge man to his most towardly college. It were a gracious deed if
they were tried and purged and restored unto their mother from whence
they came, if they be worthy to come thither again. We were clear
without blot or suspicion till they came, and some of them, as Master
Dean hath known a long time, hath had a shrewd name.--Dr. London to
Archbishop Warham: _Rolls House MS._

[55] Dr. London to Warham: _Rolls House MS._

[56] Dalaber's _Narrative_.

[57] Clark seems to have taken pupils in the long vacation. Dalaber at
least read with him all one summer in the country.--Dr. London to
Warham: _Rolls House MS._

[58] The Vicar of Bristol to the Master of Lincoln College, Oxford:
_Rolls House MS._

[59] Dr. London to Warham: _Rolls House MS._

[60] Radley himself was one of the singers at Christchurch. London to
Warham. _MS._

[61] Dr. London to Warham: _Rolls House MS._

[62] On the site of the present Worcester College. It lay beyond the
walls of the town, and was then some distance from it across the field.

[63] Christchurch, where Dalaber occasionally sung in the quire. Vide
infra.

[64] Some part of which let us read with him. "I send you forth as sheep
in the midst of wolves; be ye therefore wise as serpents and harmless as
doves. But beware of men, for they will deliver you up to the councils,
and they will scourge you in their synagogues; and ye shall be brought
before governors and kings for my sake, for a testimony against them and
the gentiles. But when they deliver you up, take no thought how or what
ye shall speak, for it shall be given you in that same hour what ye
shall speak; for it is not ye that speak, but the Spirit of your Father
which speaketh in you. And the brother shall deliver up the brother to
death; and the father the child; and the children shall rise up against
their parents, and cause them to be put to death. And ye shall be hated
of all men for my name's sake: but he that endureth to the end shall be
saved. Whosoever shall confess me before men, him will I confess also
before my Father which is in heaven. Whosoever shall deny me before men,
him will I also deny before my Father which is in heaven. Think not that
I am come to send peace on earth; I came not to send peace, but a sword.
For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the
daughter against her mother, and the daughter-in-law against her
mother-in-law. And a man's foes shall be they of his own household. He
that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me. He that
loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. He that taketh
not his cross and followeth after me is not worthy of me. He that
findeth his life shall lose it, and he that loseth his life for my sake
shall find it."

[65] Rector of Lincoln.

[66] Warden of New College.

[67] The last prayer.

[68] Dr. Maitland, who has an indifferent opinion of the early
Protestants, especially on the point of veracity, brings forward this
assertion of Dalaber as an illustration of what he considers their
recklessness. It seems obvious, however, that a falsehood of this kind
is something different in kind from what we commonly mean by unveracity,
and has no affinity with it. I do not see my way to a conclusion; but I
am satisfied that Dr. Maitland's strictures are unjust. If Garret was
taken, he was in danger of a cruel death, and his escape could only be
made possible by throwing the bloodhounds off the scent. A refusal to
answer would not have been sufficient; and the general laws by which our
conduct is ordinarily to be directed cannot be made so universal in
their application as to meet all contingencies. It is a law that we may
not strike or kill other men, but occasions rise in which we may
innocently do both. I may kill a man in defence of my own life or my
friend's life, or even of my friend's property; and surely the
circumstances which dispense with obedience to one law may dispense
equally with obedience to another. _If_ I may kill a man to prevent him
from robbing my friend, why may I not deceive a man to save my friend
from being barbarously murdered? It is possible that the highest
morality would forbid me to do either. I am unable to see why, if the
first be permissible, the second should be a crime. Rahab of Jericho did
the same thing which Dalaber did, and on that very ground was placed in
the catalogue of saints.

[69] A cell in the Tower, the nature of which we need not inquire into.

[70] Foxe, Vol. V. p. 421.

[71] Dr. London to the Bishop of Lincoln: _Rolls House MS._

[72] Ibid.

[73] Dr. Forman, rector of All Hallows, who had himself been in trouble
for heterodoxy.

[74] Dr. London to the Bishop of Lincoln, Feb. 20. 1528: _Rolls House
MS._

[75] Now Cokethorpe Park, three miles from Stanton Harcourt, and about
twelve from Oxford. The village has disappeared.

[76] Vicar of All Saints, Bristol, to the Rector of Lincoln: _Rolls
House MS._

[77] The Vicar of All Saints to the Rector of Lincoln: _Rolls House MS._

[78] Dr. London to the Bishop of Lincoln: _Rolls House MS._

[79] Long extracts from it are printed in Foxe, Vol. IV.

[80] Another of the brethren, afterwards Bishop of St. David's, and one
of the Marian victims.

[81] Bishop of Lincoln to Wolsey, March 5, 1527-8: _Rolls House MS._;
and see Ellis, third series, Vol. II. p. 77.

[82] Ellis, third series, Vol. II. p. 77.

[83] With some others he "was cast into a prison where the salt-fish
lay, through the stink whereof the most part of them were infected; and
the said Clark, being a tender young man, died in the same
prison."--Foxe, Vol. IV. p. 615.

[84] London to Warham: _Rolls House MS._

[85] Petition of the Commons, Vol. I. cap. 3.

[86] Ibid. And, as we saw in the bishops' reply, they considered their
practice in these respects wholly defensible.--See _Reply of the
Bishops_, cap. 3.

[87] Petition of the Commons, cap 3.

[88] 2 Hen. V. stat. 1.

[89] He had been "troublesome to heretics," he said, and he had "done it
with a little ambition;" for "he so hated this kind of men, that he
would be the sorest enemy that they could have, if they would not
repent."--More's _Life of More_, p. 211.

[90] See Foxe, Vol. IV. pp. 689, 698, 705.

[91] 2 Hen V. stat 1.

[92] John Stokesley.

[93] Petition of Thomas Philips to the House of Commons: _Rolls House
MS._

[94] Ibid.

[95] Foxe, Vol. V. pp. 29, 30.

[96] The circumstances are curious. Philips begged that he might have
the benefit of the king's writ of corpus cum causâ, and be brought to
the bar of the House of Commons, where the Bishop of London should be
subpoenaed to meet him. [Petition of Thomas Philips: _Rolls House
MS._] The Commons did not venture on so strong a measure; but a digest
of the petition was sent to the Upper House, that the bishop might have
an opportunity of reply. The Lords refused to receive or consider the
case: they replied that it was too "frivolous an affair" for so grave an
assembly, and that they could not discuss it. [_Lords' Journals_, Vol.
I. p. 66.] A deputation of the Commons then waited privately upon the
bishop, and being of course anxious to ascertain whether Philips had
given a true version of what had passed, they begged him to give some
written explanation of his conduct, which might be read in the Commons'
House. [_Lords' Journals_, Vol. I. p. 71.] The request was reasonable,
and we cannot doubt that, if explanation had been possible, the bishop
would not have failed to offer it; but he preferred to shield himself
behind the judgment of the Lords. The Lords, he said, had decided that
the matter was too frivolous for their own consideration; and without
their permission, he might not set a precedent of responsibility to the
Commons by answering their questions.

This conduct met with the unanimous approval of the Peers. [_Lords'
Journals_, Vol. I. p. 71. Omnes proceres tam spirituales quam temporales
unâ voce dicebant, quod non consentaneum fuit aliquem procerum
prædictorum alicui in eo loco responsurum.] The demand for explanation
was treated as a breach of privilege, and the bishop was allowed to
remain silent. But the time was passed for conduct of this kind to be
allowed to triumph. If the bishop could not or would not justify
himself, his victim might at least be released from unjust imprisonment.
The case was referred to the king and by the king and the House of
Commons Philips was set at liberty.

[97] Petition of John Field: _Rolls House MS._

[98] Jan 1529-30.

[99] Illegal. See 2 Hen. V. Stat. 2.

[100] Seventh Sermon before King Edward. First Sermon before the Duchess
of Suffolk.

[101] Foxe, Vol. IV. p. 649.

[102] Articles against James Bainham: Foxe, Vol. IV. p. 703.

[103] Foxe, Vol. IV. p. 702.

[104] Foxe, Vol. IV. p. 705.

[105] Foxe, Vol. IV. p. 694.

[106] Hall, p. 806; and see Foxe, Vol. IV. p. 705.

[107] Instructions given by the Bishop of Salisbury: Burnet's
_Collectanea_, p. 493.

[108] From a Letter of Robert Gardiner: Foxe, Vol. IV. p. 706.

[109] Latimer's _Sermons_, p. 101.

[110] Latimer speaks of sons and daughters.--_Sermons_, p. 101.

[111] Ibid.

[112] Where the Cornish rebels came to an end in 1497.--Bacon's _History
of Henry the Seventh_.

[113] Latimer's _Sermons_, p. 197.

[114] On which occasion, old relations perhaps shook their heads, and
made objection to the expense. Some such feeling is indicated in the
following glimpse behind the veil of Latimer's private history:--

"I was once called to one of my kinsfolk," he says ("it was at that time
when I had taken my degree at Cambridge); I was called, I say, to one of
my kinsfolk which was very sick, and died immediately after my coming.
Now, there was an old cousin of mine, which, after the man was dead,
gave me a wax candle in my hand, and commanded me to make certain
crosses over him that was dead; for she thought the devil should run
away by and bye. Now, I took the candle, but I could not cross him as
she would have me to do; for I had never seen it before. She, perceiving
I could not do it, with great anger took the candle out of my hand,
saying, 'It is pity that thy father spendeth so much money upon thee;'
and so she took the candle, and crossed and blessed him; so that he was
sure enough."--Latimer's _Sermons_, p. 499.

[115] "I was as obstinate a papist as any was in England, insomuch that,
when I should be made Bachelor of Divinity, my whole oration went
against Philip Melancthon and his opinions."--Latimer's _Sermons_, p.
334.

[116] _Jewel of Joy_, p. 224, et seq.: Parker Society's edition.
Latimer's _Sermons_, p. 3.

[117] Latimer's _Remains_, pp. 27-31.

[118] Latimer's _Remains_, pp. 308-9.

[119] Latimer to Sir Edward Baynton: _Letters_, p. 329.

[120] _Letters_, p. 323.

[121] He thought of going abroad. "I have trust that God will help me,"
he wrote to a friend; "if I had not, I think the ocean sea should have
divided my Lord of London and me by this day."--_Remains_, p. 334.

[122] Latimer to Sir Edward Baynton.

[123] See Latimer's two letters to Sir Edward Baynton: _Remains_, pp.
322-351.

[124] "As ye say, the matter is weighty, and ought substantially to be
looked upon, even as weighty as my life is worth; but how to look
substantially upon it otherwise know not I, than to pray my Lord God,
day and night, that, as he hath emboldened me to preach his truth, so he
will strengthen me to suffer for it.

"I pray you pardon me that I write no more distinctly, for my head is
(so) out of frame, that it would be too painful for me to write it
again. If I be not prevented shortly, I intend to make merry with my
parishioners, this Christmas, for all the sorrow, _lest perchance I
never return to them again_; and I have heard say that a doe is as good
in winter as a buck in summer."--Latimer to Sir Edward Baynton, p. 334.

[125] Latimer's _Remains_, p. 334.

[126] Ibid. p. 350.

[127] "I pray you, in God's name, what did you, so great fathers, so
many, so long season, so oft assembled together? What went you about?
What would ye have brought to pass? Two things taken away--the one that
ye (which I heard) burned a dead man,--the other, that ye (which I felt)
went about to burn one being alive. Take away these two noble acts, and
there is nothing else left that ye went about that I know," &c.
&c.--Sermon preached before the Convocation: Latimer's _Sermons_, p. 46.

[128] "My affair had some bounds assigned to it by him who sent for me
up, but is now protracted by intricate and wily examinations, as if it
would never find a period; while sometimes one person, sometimes
another, ask me questions, without limit and without end."--Latimer to
the Archbishop of Canterbury: _Remains_, p. 352.

[129] _Remains_, p. 222.

[130] _Sermons_, p. 294.

[131] The process lasted through January, February, and March.

[132] _Sermons_, p. 294.

[133] He subscribed all except two--one apparently on the power of the
pope, the other I am unable to conjecture. Compare the Articles
themselves--printed in Latimer's _Remains_, p. 466--with the Sermon
before the Convocation.--_Sermons_, p. 46; and Burnet, Vol. III. p. 116.

[134] Nicholas Glossop to Cromwell: Ellis, third series, Vol. II. p.
237.

[135] Where he was known among the English of the day as Master
Friskyball.

[136] See Foxe, Vol. V. p. 392.

[137] Eustace Chappuys to Chancellor Granvelle: _MS. Archiv. Brussels:
Pilgrim_, p. 106.

[138] See Cromwell's will in an appendix to this chapter. This document,
lately found in the Rolls House, furnishes a clue at last to the
connexions of the Cromwell family.

[139] Are we to believe Foxe's story that Cromwell was with the Duke of
Bourbon at the storming of Rome in May, 1527? See Foxe, Vol. V. p. 365.
He was with Wolsey in January, 1527. See Ellis, third series, Vol. II.
p. 117. And he was again with him early in 1528. Is it likely that he
was in Italy on such an occasion in the interval? Foxe speaks of it as
one of the random exploits of Cromwell's youth, which is obviously
untrue; and the natural impression which we gather is, that he was
confusing the expedition of the Duke of Bourbon with some earlier
campaign. On the other hand Foxe's authority was Cranmer, who was likely
to know the truth: and it is not impossible that, in the critical state
of Italian politics, the English government might have desired to have
some confidential agent in the Duke of Bourbon's camp. Cromwell, with
his knowledge of Italy and Italian, and his adventurous ability, was a
likely man to have been sent on such an employment; and the story gains
additional probability from another legend about him, that he once saved
the life of Sir John Russell, in some secret affair at Bologna. See
Foxe, Vol. V. p. 367. Now, although Sir John Russell had been in Italy
several times before (he was at the Battle of Pavia, and had been
employed in various diplomatic missions), and Cromwell might thus have
rendered him the service in question on an earlier occasion, yet he
certainly was in the Papal States, on a most secret and dangerous
mission, in the months preceding the capture of Rome. _State Papers_,
Vol. VI. p. 560, &c. The probabilities may pass for what they are worth
till further discovery.

[140] A damp, unfurnished house belonging to Wolsey, where he was
ordered to remain till the government had determined upon their course
towards him. See Cavendish.

[141] Cavendish, pp. 269, 270.

[142] Cavendish, p. 276.

[143] Chappuys says, that a quarrel with Sir John Wallop first
introduced Cromwell to Henry. Cromwell, "not knowing how else to defend
himself, contrived with presents and entreaties to obtain an audience of
the king, whom he promised to make the richest sovereign that ever
reigned in England."--Chappuys to Granvelle: _The Pilgrim_, p. 107.

APPENDIX TO CHAPTER VI.

WILL OF THOMAS CROMWELL.--1529.

In the name of God, Amen. The 12th day of July, in the year of our Lord
God MCCCCCXXIX., and in the 21st year of the reign of our Sovereign
Lord, King Henry VIII., I, Thomas Cromwell, of London, Gentleman, being
whole in body and in good and perfect memory, lauded be the Holy
Trinity, make, ordain, and declare this my present testament, containing
my last will, in manner as following:--First I bequeath my soul to the
great God of heaven, my Maker, Creator, and Redeemer, beseeching the
most glorious Virgin and blessed Lady Saint Mary the Virgin and Mother,
with all the holy company of heaven to be mediators and intercessors for
me to the Holy Trinity, so that I may be able, when it shall please
Almighty God to call me out of this miserable world and transitory life,
to inherit the kingdom of heaven amongst the number of good Christian
people; and whensoever I shall depart this present life I bequeath my
body to be buried where it shall please God to ordain me to die, and to
be ordered after the discretion of mine executors undernamed. And for my
goods which our Lord hath lent me in this world, I will shall be ordered
and disposed in manner and form as hereafter shall ensue. First I give
and bequeath unto my son Gregory Cromwell six hundred threescore six
pounds, thirteen shillings, and fourpence, of lawful money of England,
with the which six hundred threescore six pounds, thirteen shillings,
and fourpence, I will mine executors undernamed immediately or as soon
as they conveniently may after my decease, shall purchase lands,
tenements, and hereditaments to the clear yearly value of 33_l._ 6_s._
8_d._ by the year above all charges and reprises to the use of my said
son Gregory, for term of his life; and after the decease of the said
Gregory to the heirs male of his body lawfully to be begotten, and for
lack of heirs male of the body of the said Gregory, lawfully begotten,
to the heirs general of his body lawfully begotten. And for lack of such
heirs to the right heirs of me the said Thomas Cromwell, in fee. I will
also that immediately and as soon as the said lands, tenements, and
hereditaments shall be so purchased after my death as is aforesaid by
mine executors, that the yearly profits thereof shall be wholly spent
and employed in and about the education and finding honestly of my said
son Gregory, in virtue, good learning, and manners, until such time as
he shall come to the full age of 24 years. During which time I heartily
desire and require my said executors to be good unto my said son
Gregory, and to see he do lose no time, but to see him virtuously
ordered and brought up according to my trust.

Item. I give and bequeath to my said son Gregory, (when he shall come to
his full age of 24 years,) two hundred pounds of lawful English money to
order them as our Lord shall give him grace and discretion, which
200_l._ I will shall be put in surety to the intent the same may come to
his hands at his said age of 24 years. Item. I give and bequeath to my
said son Gregory of such household stuff as God hath lent me, three of
my best featherbeds with their bolsters; 2_d._, the best pair of
blankets of fustian, my best coverlet of tapestry, and my quilt of
yellow Turkey satin; one pair of my best sheets, four pillows of down,
with four pair of the best pillowberes, four of my best table-cloths,
four of my best towels, two dozen of my finest napkins, and two dozen of
my other napkins, two garnish of my best vessel, three of my best brass
pots, three of my best brass pans, two of my best kettles, two of my
best spits, my best joined bed of Flanders work, with the best ---- and
tester, and other the appurtenances thereto belonging; my best press,
carven of Flanders work, and my best cupboard, carven of Flanders work,
with also six joined stools of Flanders work, and six of my best
cushions. Item. I give and bequeath to my said son Gregory a basin with
an ewer parcel-gilt, my best salt gilt, my best cup gilt, three of my
best goblets; three other of my goblets parcel-gilt, twelve of my best
silver spoons, three of my best drinking alepots gilt; all the which
parcels of plate and household stuff I will shall be safely kept to the
use of my said son Gregory till he shall come to his said full age of
24. And all the which plate, household stuff, napery, and all other the
premises, I will mine executors do put in safe keeping until my said son
come to the said years or age of 24. And if he die before the age of 24,
then I will all the said plate, vessel, and household stuff shall be
sold by mine executors. And the money thereof coming to be given and
equally divided amongst my poor kinsfolk, that is to say, amongst the
children as well of mine own sisters Elizabeth and Katherine, as of my
late wife's sister Joan, wife to John Williamson;[144] and if it happen
that all the children of my said sisters and sister-in-law do die before
the partition be made, and none of them be living, then I will that all
the said plate, vessel, and household stuff shall be sold and given to
other my poor kinsfolk then being in life, and other poor and indigent
people, in deeds of charity for my soul, my father and mother their
souls, and all Christian souls.

[[145]Item. I give and bequeath to my daughter Anne an hundred marks of
lawful money of England when she shall come to her lawful age or happen
to be married, and 40_l._ toward her finding until the time that she
shall be of lawful age or be married, which 40_l._ I will shall be
delivered to my friend John Cook, one of the six Clerks of the King's
Chancery, to the intent he may order the same and cause the same to be
employed in the best wise he can devise about the virtuous education and
bringing up of my said daughter till she shall come to her lawful age or
marriage. Then I will that the said 100 marks, and so much of the said
40_l._ as then shall be unspent and unemployed at the day of the death
of my said daughter Anne, I will it shall remain to Gregory my son, if
he then be in life; and if he be dead, the same hundred marks, and also
so much of the said 40_l._ as then shall be unspent, to be departed
amongst my sisters' children, in manner and form aforesaid. And if it
happen my said sisters' children then to be all dead, then I will the
said 100 marks and so much of the said 40_l._ as shall be unspent, shall
be divided amongst my kinsfolk, such as then shall be in life.] Item. I
give and bequeath unto my sister Elizabeth Wellyfed 40_l._, three
goblets without a cover, a mazer, and a nut. Item. I give and bequeath
to my nephew Richard Willyams [[146] servant with my Lord Marquess
Dorset, 66_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._], 40_l._ sterling, my [[146] fourth] best
gown, doublet, and jacket. Item. I give and bequeath to my nephew
Christopher Wellyfed 40_l._, [[146] 20_l._] my fifth gown, doublet, and
jacket. Item. I give and bequeath to my nephew William Wellyfed the
younger 20_l._, [[146] 40_l._] Item. I give and bequeath to my niece Alice
Wellyfed, to her marriage, 20_l._ And if it happen, her to die before
marriage, then I will that the said 20_l._ shall remain to her brother
Christopher. And if it happen him to die, the same 20_l._ to remain to
Wm. Wellyfed the younger, his brother. And if it happen them all to die
before their lawful age or marriage, then I will that all their parts
shall remain to Gregory my son. And if it happen him to die before them,
then I will all the said parts shall remain [[146] to Anne and Grace, my
daughters] to Richard Willyams and Walter Willyams, my nephews. And if
it happen them to die, then I will that all the said parts shall be
distributed in deeds of charity for my soul, my father's and mother's
souls, and all Christian souls. Item. I give and bequeath to my
mother-in-law Mercy Prior 40_l._ of lawful English money, and her
chamber, with certain household stuff; that is to say, a featherbed, a
bolster, two pillows with their beres, six pair of sheets, a pair of
blankets, a garnish of vessel, two pots, two pans, two spits, with such
other of my household stuff as shall be thought meet for her by the
discretion of mine executors, and such as she will reasonably desire,
not being bequeathed to other uses in this my present testament and last
will. Item. I give and bequeath to my said mother-in-law a little salt
of silver, a mazer, six silver spoons, and a drinking-pot of silver. And
also I charge mine executors to be good unto her during her life. Item.
I give and bequeath to my brother-in-law William Wellyfed, 20_l._, my
third gown, jacket, and doublet. Item. I give and bequeath to John
Willyams my brother-in-law, 100 marks, a gown, a doublet, a jacket, a
featherbed, a bolster, six pair of sheets, two table-cloths, two dozen
napkins, two towels, two brass pots, two brass pans, a silver pot, a nut
parcel-gilt; and to Joan, his wife, 40_l._ Item. I give and bequeath to
Joan Willyams, their daughter, to her marriage, 20_l._, and to every
other of their children 12_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ Item. I bequeath to Walter
Willyams, my nephew, 20_l._ Item. I give and bequeath to Ralph Sadler,
my servant, 200 marks of lawful English money, my second gown, jacket,
and doublet, and all my books. Item. I give and bequeath to Hugh
Whalley, my servant, 6_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ Item. I give and bequeath to
Stephen Vaughan, sometime my servant, 100 marks, a gown, jacket, and
doublet. Item. I give and bequeath to Page, my servant, otherwise called
John De Pount, 6_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ [[146] Item. I give and bequeath to
Elizabeth Gregory, sometime my servant, 20_l._, six pair of sheets, a
featherbed, a pair of blankets, a coverlet, two table-cloths, one dozen
napkins, two brass pots, two pans, two spits.] And also to Thomas
Averey, my servant, 6_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ [[146] Item. I give and bequeath to
John Cooke, one of the six Master Clerks of the Chancery, 10_l._, my
second gown, doublet, and jacket. Item. I give and bequeath to Roger
More, servant of the King's bakehouse, 6_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._, three yards
of satin; and to Maudelyn, his wife, 3_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._] Item. I give and
bequeath to John Horwood, 6_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ [[146] Item. I give and
bequeath to my little daughter Grace 100 marks of lawful English money
when she shall come to her lawful age or marriage; and also 40_l._
towards her exhibition and finding until such time she shall be of
lawful age or be married, which 40_l._ I will shall be delivered to my
brother-in-law, John Willyams, to the intent he may order and cause the
same to be employed in and about the virtuous education and bringing up
of my said daughter, till she shall come to her lawful age or marriage.
And if it happen my said daughter to die before she come to her lawful
age or marriage, then I will that the said 100 marks, and so much of the
said 40_l._ as shall then be unspent and unemployed about the finding of
my said daughter at the day of the death of my said daughter shall
remain and be delivered to Gregory my son, if he then shall happen to be
in life; and if he be dead, then the said 100 marks, and the said
residue of the said 40_l._, to be evenly departed among my grown
kinsfolk--that is to say, my sisters' children aforesaid.] Item. That
the rest of mine apparel before not given or bequeathed in this my
testament and last will shall be given and equally departed amongst my
servants after the order and discretion of mine executors. Item. I will
also that mine executors shall take the yearly profits above the charges
of my farm of Carberry, and all other things contained in my said lease
of Carberry, in the county of Middlesex, and with the profits thereof
shall yearly pay unto my brother-in-law William (Wellyfed) and Elizabeth
his wife, mine only sister, twenty pounds; give and distribute for my
soul quarterly 40 shillings during their lives and the longer of them;
and after the decease of the said William and Elizabeth, the profits of
the said farm over and above the yearly rent to be kept to the use of my
son Gregory till he be come to the age of 24 years. And at the years of
24 the said lease and farm of Carberry, I do give and bequeath to my son
Gregory, to have the same to him, his executors and assigns. And if it
fortune the said Gregory my son to die before, my said brother-in-law
and sister being dead, he shall come to the age of 24 years, then I will
my said cousin Richard Willyams shall have the farm with the
appurtenances to him and to his executors and assigns; and if it happen
my said brother-in-law, my sister, my son Gregory, and my said cousin
Richard, to die before the accomplishment of this my will touching the
said farm, then I will mine executors shall sell the said farm, and the
money thereof coming to employ in deeds of charity, to pray for my soul
and all Christian souls. Item. I will mine executors shall conduct and
hire a priest, being an honest person of continent and good living, to
sing for my soul by the space of seven years next after my death, and to
give him for the same 6_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ for his stipend. Item. I give
and bequeath towards the making of highways in this realm, where it
shall be thought most necessary, 20_l._ to be disposed by the discretion
of mine executors. Item. I give and bequeath to every the five orders of
Friars within the City of London, to pray for my soul, 20 shillings.
Item. I give and bequeath to 60 poor maidens in marriage, 40_l._, that
is to say, 13_s._ 4_d._ to every of the said poor maidens, to be given
and distributed by the discretion of mine executors. Item. I will that
there shall be dealt and given after my decease amongst poor people
householders, to pray for my soul, 20_l._, such as by mine executors
shall be thought most needful. Item. I give and bequeath to the poor
parishioners of the parish where God shall ordain me to have my
dwellingplace at the time of my death, 10_l._, to be truly distributed
amongst them by the discretion of mine executors. Item. I give and
bequeath to my parish church for my tithes forgotten, 20 shillings.
Item. To the poor prisoners of Newgate, Ludgate, King's Bench, and
Marshalsea, to be equally distributed amongst them, 10_l._ Willing,
charging, and desiring mine executors underwritten, that they shall see
this my will performed in every point according to my true meaning and
intent as they will answer to God, and discharge their consciences. The
residue of all my goods, chattels, and debts not bequeathed, my funeral
and burial performed, which I will shall be done without any earthly
pomp, and my debts paid, I will shall be sold, and the money thereof
coming, to be distributed in works of charity and pity, after the good
discretion of mine executors undernamed. Whom I make and ordain, Stephen
Vaughan, Ralph Sadler, my servants, and John Willyams my brother-in-law.
Praying and desiring the same mine executors to be good unto my son
Gregory, and to all other my poor friends and kinsfolk and servants
aforenamed in this my testament. And of this my present testament and
last will I make Roger More mine overseer; unto whom and also to every
of the other mine executors I give and bequeath 6_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ for
their pains to be taken in the execution of this my last will and
testament, over and above such legacies as herebefore I have bequeathed
them in this same testament and will. In witness whereof, to this my
present testament and last will I have set to my hand in every leaf
contained in this book, the day and year before limited.

  THOMAS CROMWELL.

Item. I give and bequeath to William Brabazon, my servant, 20_l._ 8_s._,
a gun, a doublet, a jacket, and my second gelding.

It. to John Avery, Yeoman of the Bedchamber with the King's Highness,
6_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._, and a doublet of satin.

It. to Thurston, my cook, 6_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._

It. to William Body, my servant, 6_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._

It. to Peter Mewtas, my servant, 6_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._

It. to Ric. Sleysh, my servant, 6_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._

It. to George Wilkinson, my servant, 6_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._

It. to my friend, Thomas Alvard, 10_l._, and my best gelding.

It. to my friend, Thomas Bush, 10_l._

It. to my servant, John Hynde, my horsekeeper, 3_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._

Item. I will that mine executors shall safely keep the patent of the
manor of Romney to the use of my son Gregory, and the money growing
thereof, till he shall come to his lawful age, to be yearly received to
the use of my said son, and the whole revenue thereof coming to be truly
paid unto him at such time as he shall come to the age of 24 years.

NOTES:

[144] Or Willyams. The words are used indifferently.

[145] The clause enclosed between brackets is struck through.

[146] Struck through.

CHAPTER VII.

THE LAST EFFORTS OF DIPLOMACY.

I have now to resume the thread of the political history where it was
dropped at the sentence of divorce pronounced by Cranmer, and the
coronation of the new queen. The effect was about to be ascertained of
these bold measures upon Europe; and of what their effect would be, only
so much could be foretold with certainty, that the time for trifling was
past, and the pope and Francis of France would be compelled to declare
their true intentions. If these intentions were honest, the
subordination of England to the papacy might be still preserved in a
modified form. The papal jurisdiction was at end, but the spiritual
supremacy of the Bishop of Rome, with a diminished but considerable
revenue attached to it, remained unaffected; and it was for the pope to
determine whether, by fulfilling at last his original engagements, he
would preserve these remnants of his power and privileges, or boldly
take up the gage, excommunicate his disobedient subjects, and attempt by
force to bring them back to their allegiance.

[Sidenote: April 22.]

[Sidenote: The king's marriage compels Clement to declare himself.]

The news of what had been done did not take him wholly by surprise. It
was known at Brussels at the end of April that the king had married. The
queen regent[147] spoke of it to the ambassador sternly and
significantly, not concealing her expectation of the mortal resentment
which would be felt by her brothers;[148] and the information was
forwarded with the least possible delay to the cardinals of the imperial
faction at Rome. The true purposes which underlay the contradiction of
Clement's language are undiscoverable. Perhaps in the past winter he had
been acting out a deep intrigue--perhaps he was drifting between rival
currents, and yielded in any or all directions as the alternate pressure
varied; yet whatever had been the meaning of his language, whether it
was a scheme to deceive Henry, or was the expression only of weakness
and good-nature desiring to avoid a quarrel to the latest moment, the
decisive step which had been taken in the marriage, even though it was
nominally undivulged, obliged him to choose his course and openly
adhere to it. After the experience of the past, there could be no doubt
what that course would be.

[Sidenote: May 12. The king is cited to appear at Rome.]

[Sidenote: The censures of the church suspended only till the emperor
can execute them.]

[Sidenote: The pope's resolution and the explanation of it.]

On the 12th of May a citation was issued against the King of England,
summoning him to appear by person or proxy at a stated day. It had been
understood that no step of such a kind was to be taken before the
meeting of the pope and Francis; Bennet, therefore, Henry's faithful
secretary, hastily inquired the meaning of this measure. The pope told
him that it could not be avoided, and the language which he used
revealed to the English agent the inevitable future. The king, he said,
had defied the inhibitory brief which had been lately issued, and had
incurred excommunication; the imperialists insisted that he should be
proceeded against for contempt, and that the excommunication should at
once be pronounced. However great might be his own personal reluctance,
it was not possible for him to remain passive; and if he declined to
resort at once to the more extreme exercise of his power, the hesitation
was merely until the emperor was prepared to enforce the censures of the
church with the strong hand. It stood not "with his honour to execute
such censures," he said, "and the same not to be regarded."[149] But
there was no wish to spare Henry; and if Francis could be detached from
his ally, and if the condition of the rest of Christendom became such as
to favour the enterprise, England might evidently look for the worst
which the pope, with the Catholic powers, could execute. If the papal
court was roused into so menacing a mood by the mere intimation of the
secret marriage, it was easy to foresee what would ensue when the news
arrived of the proceedings at Dunstable. Bennet entreated that the
process should be delayed till the interview; but the pope answered
coldly that he had done his best and could do no more; the imperialists
were urgent, and he saw no reason to refuse their petition.[150] This
was Clement's usual language, but there was something peculiar in his
manner. He had been often violent, but he had never shown resolution,
and the English agents were perplexed. The mystery was soon explained.
He had secured himself on the side of France; and Francis, who at Calais
had told Henry that his negotiations with the see of Rome were solely
for the interests of England, that for Henry's sake he was marrying his
son into a family beneath him in rank, that Henry's divorce was to form
the especial subject of his conference with the pope, had consented to
allow these dangerous questions to sink into a secondary place, and had
relinquished his intention, if he had ever seriously entertained it, of
becoming an active party in the English quarrel.

[Sidenote: Delay of the interview between the pope and Francis.]

[Sidenote: The true purposes of that interview.]

The long talked-of interview was still delayed. First it was to have
taken place in the winter, then in the spring; June was the date last
fixed for it, and now Bennet had to inform the king that it would not
take place before September; and that, from the terms of a communication
which had just passed between the parties who were to meet, the subjects
discussed at the conference would not be those which he had been led to
expect. Francis, in answer to a question from the pope, had specified
three things which he proposed particularly to "intreat." The first
concerned the defence of Christendom against the Turks, the second
concerned the general council, and the third concerned "the extinction
of the Lutheran sect."[151] These were the points which the Most
Christian king was anxious to discuss with the pope. For the latter good
object especially, "he would devise and treat for the provision of an
army." In the King of England's cause, he trusted "some means might be
found whereby it might be compounded;"[152] but if persuasion failed,
there was no fear lest he should have recourse to any other method.

It was this which had given back to the pope his courage. It was this
which Bennet had now to report to Henry. The French alliance, it was too
likely, would prove a broken reed, and pierce the hand that leant upon
it.

[Sidenote: Probable isolation of England.]

[Sidenote: Policy of Francis.]

Henry knew the danger; but danger was not a very terrible thing either
to him or to his people. If he had conquered his own reluctance to risk
a schism in the church, he was not likely to yield to the fear of
isolation; and if there was something to alarm in the aspect of affairs,
there was also much to encourage. His parliament was united and
resolute. His queen was pregnant. The Nun of Kent had assigned him but a
month to live after his marriage; six months had passed, and he was
alive and well; the supernatural powers had not declared against him;
and while safe with respect to enmity from above, the earthly powers he
could afford to defy. When he finally divorced Queen Catherine, he must
have foreseen his present position at least as a possibility, and if
not prepared for so swift an apostasy in Francis, and if not yet wholly
believing it, we may satisfy ourselves he had never absolutely trusted a
prince of metal so questionable.

The Duke of Norfolk was waiting at the French court, with a magnificent
embassy, to represent the English king at the interview. The arrival of
the pope had been expected in May. It was now delayed till September;
and if Clement came after all, it would be for objects in which England
had but small concern. It was better for England that there should be no
meeting at all, than a meeting to devise schemes for the massacre of
Lutherans. Henry therefore wrote to the Duke, telling him generally what
he had heard from Rome; he mentioned the three topics which he
understood were to form the matter of discussion; but he skilfully
affected to regard them as having originated with the imperialists, and
not with the French king. In a long paper of instructions, in which
earnestness and irony were strangely blended, he directed the ambassador
to treat his good brother as if he were still exclusively devoted to the
interests of England; and to urge upon him, on the ground of this fresh
delay, that the interview should not take place at all.[153]

[Sidenote: The king's instructions to the Duke of Norfolk to "disappoint
the interview."]

[Sidenote: The "Three Articles" proposed for discussion will be wholly
to the advantage of the Imperialists]

"Our pleasure is," he wrote, "that ye shall say ------ that we be not a
little moved in our heart to see our good brother and us, being such
princes or Christendom, to be so handled with the pope, so much to our
dishonour, and to the pope's and the emperor's advancement; seeming to
be at the pope's commandment to come or tarry as he or his cardinals
shall appoint; and to depend upon his pleasure when to meet--that is to
say, when he list or never. If our good brother and we were either
suitors to make request, the obtaining whereof we did much set by, or
had any particular matter of advantage to entreat with him, these
proceedings might be the better tolerated; but our good brother having
no particular matter of his own, and being ... that [no] more glory nor
surety could happen to the emperour than to obtain the effect of the
three articles moved by the pope and his cardinals, we think it not
convenient to attend the pleasure of the pope, to go or to abyde. We
could have been content to have received and taken at the pope's hand,
jointly with our good brother, pleasure and friendship in our great
cause; [but] on the other part, we cannot esteem the pope's part so
high, as to have our good brother an attendant suitor therefore ...
desiring him, therefore, in anywise to disappoint for his part the said
interview; and if he have already granted thereto--upon some new good
occasion, which he now undoubtedly hath--to depart from the same.

[Sidenote: He has found by experience that the friendship of the pope is
not vital to England.]

[Sidenote: King Henry knows the pope and himself also.]

"For we, ye may say, having the justness of our cause for us, with such
an entire and whole consent of our nobility and commons of our realm and
subjects, and being all matters passed, and in such terms as they now
be, do not find such lack and want of that the pope might do, with us or
against us, as we would for the obtaining thereof be contented to have a
French king our so perfect a friend, to be not only a mediator but a
suitor therein, and a suitor attendant to have audience upon liking and
after the advice of such cardinals as repute it among pastymes to play
and dally with kings and princes; whose honour, ye may say, is above
all things, and more dear to us in the person of our good brother, than
is any piece of our cause at the pope's hands. And therefore, if there
be none other thing but our cause, and the other causes whereof we be
advertised, our advice, counsel, special desire also and request is,
[that our good brother shall] break off the interview, unless the pope
will make suit to him; and [unless] our said good brother hath such
causes of his own as may particularly tend to his own benefit, honour
and profit--wherein he shall do great and singular pleasure unto us;
_giving to understand to the pope, that we know ourselves and him both
and look to be esteemed accordingly_."

Should it appear that on receipt of this communication, Francis was
still resolved to persevere, and that he had other objects in view to
which Henry had not been made privy, the ambassadors were then to remind
him of the remaining obligations into which he had entered; and to
ascertain to what degree his assistance might be calculated upon, should
the pope pronounce Henry deposed, and the emperor attempt to enforce the
sentence.

[Sidenote: Intended appeal to a general council.]

[Sidenote: The advantages of this measure.]

[Sidenote: June 29.]

After forwarding these instructions, the king's next step was to
anticipate the pope by an appeal which would neutralize his judgment
should he venture upon it; and which offered a fresh opportunity of
restoring the peace of Christendom, if there was true anxiety to
preserve that peace. The hinge of the great question, in the form which
at last it assumed, was the validity or invalidity of the dispensation
by which Henry had married his brother's widow. Being a matter which
touched the limit of the pope's power, the pope was himself unable to
determine it in his own favour; and the only authority by which the law
could be ruled, was a general council. In the preceding winter, the pope
had volunteered to submit the question to this tribunal; but Henry
believing that it was on the point of immediate solution in another way,
had then declined, on the ground that it would cause a needless delay.
He was already married, and he had hoped that sentence might be given in
his favour in time to anticipate the publication of the ceremony. But he
was perfectly satisfied that justice was on his side; and was equally
confident of obtaining the verdict of Europe, if it could be fairly
pronounced. Now, therefore, under the altered circumstances, he accepted
the offered alternative. He anticipated with tolerable certainty the
effect which would be produced at Rome, when the news should arrive
there of the Dunstable divorce; and on the 29th of June he appealed
formally, in the presence of the Archbishop of York, from the pope's
impending sentence, to the next general council.[154]

[Sidenote: Terms of the appeal. The king has no intention of derogating
from the lawful privileges of the See of Rome.]

Of this curious document the substance was as follows:--It commenced
with a declaration that the king had no intention of acting otherwise
than became a good Catholic prince; or of injuring the church or
attacking the privileges conceded by God to the Holy See. If his words
could be lawfully shown to have such a tendency, he would revoke, emend,
and correct them in a Catholic spirit.

[Sidenote: But Europe having declared in his favour in his great matter,
"by the inspiration of the Most High," he has married another wife.]

[Sidenote: He fears that the pope, who has injured him throughout, may
now pass the censures of the church against him.]

The general features of the case were then recapitulated. His marriage
with his brother's wife had been pronounced illegal by the principal
universities of Europe, by the clergy of the two provinces of the Church
of England, by the most learned theologians and canonists, and finally,
by the public judgment of the church.[155] He therefore had felt himself
free; and, "by the inspiration of the Most High, had lawfully married
another woman." Furthermore, "for the common weal and tranquillity of
the realm of England, and for the wholesome rule and government of the
same, he had caused to be enacted certain statutes and ordinances, by
authority of parliaments lawfully called for that purpose." "Now,
however," he continued, "we fearing that his Holyness the Pope ...
having in our said cause treated us far otherwise than either respect
for our dignity and desert, or the duty of his own office required at
his hands, and having done us many injuries which we now of design do
suppress, but which hereafter we shall be ready, should circumstances so
require, to divulge ... may now proceed to acts of further injustice,
and heaping wrong on wrong, may pronounce the censures and other
penalties of the spiritual sword against ourselves, our realm, and
subjects, seeking thereby to deprive us of the use of the sacraments,
and to cut us off, in the sight of the world, from the unity of the
church, to the no slight hurt and injury of our realm and subjects:

[Sidenote: He appeals from any such censures to the next general
council.]

"Fearing these things, and desiring to preserve from detriment not only
ourselves, our own dignity and estimation, but also our subjects,
committed to us by Almighty God; to keep them in the unity of the
Christian faith, and in the wonted participation in the sacraments;
that, when in truth they be not cut off from the integrity of the
church, nor can nor will be so cut off in any manner, they may not
appear to be so cut off in the estimation of men; [desiring further] to
check and hold back our people whom God has given to us, lest, in the
event of such injury, they refuse utterly to obey any longer the Roman
Pontiff, as a hard and cruel pastor: [for these causes] and believing,
from reasons probable, conjectures likely, and words used to our injury
by his Holiness the Pope, which in divers manners have been brought to
our ears, that some weighty act may be committed by him or others to the
prejudice of ourselves and of our realm;--We, therefore, in behalf of
all and every of our subjects, and of all persons adhering to us in this
our cause, do make our appeal to the next general council, which shall
be lawfully held, in place convenient, with the consent of the Christian
princes, and of such others as it may concern--not in contempt of the
Holy See, but for defence of the truth of the Gospel, and for the other
causes afore rehearsed. And we do trust in God that it shall not be
interpreted as a thing ill done on our part, if preferring the salvation
of our soul and the relief of our conscience to any mundane respects or
favours, we have in this cause regarded more the Divine law than the
laws of man, and have thought it rather meet to obey God than to obey
man."[156]

By the appeal and the causes which were assigned for it, Henry
preoccupied the ground of the conflict; he entrenched himself in the
"debatable land" of legal uncertainty; and until his position had been
pronounced untenable by the general voice of Christendom, any sentence
which the pope could issue would have but a doubtful validity. It was,
perhaps, but a slight advantage; and the niceties of technical fencing
might soon resolve themselves into a question of mere strength; yet, in
the opening of great conflicts, it is well, even when a resort to force
is inevitable, to throw on the opposing party the responsibility of
violence; and Henry had been led, either by a refinement of policy, or
by the plain straightforwardness of his intentions, into a situation
where he could expect without alarm the unrolling of the future.

[Sidenote: The news of the divorce pronounced at Dunstable arrives at
Rome.]

[Sidenote: General indignation in the consistory.]

[Sidenote: Bonner is impertinent. The pope threatens to boil him in
lead. He writes in terror to England.]

[Sidenote: Henry comforts him.]

The character of that future was likely soon to be decided. The appeal
was published on the 29th of June; and as the pope must have heard, by
the middle of the month at latest, of the trial and judgment at
Dunstable, a few days would bring an account of the manner in which he
had received the intelligence. Prior to the arrival of the couriers,
Bennet, with the assistance of Cardinal Tournon, had somewhat soothed
down his exasperation. Francis, also, having heard that immediate
process was threatened, had written earnestly to deprecate such a
measure;[157] and though he took the interference "very
displeasantly,"[158] the pope could not afford to lose, by premature
impatience, the fruit of all his labour and diplomacy, and had yielded
so far as to promise that nothing of moment should be done. To this
state of mind he had been brought one day in the second week of June.
The morning after, Bennet found him "sore altered." The news of "my Lord
of Canterbury's proceedings" had arrived the preceding night; and "his
Holiness said that [such] doings were too sore for him to stand still at
and do nothing."[159] It was "against his duty towards God and the world
to tolerate them." The imperialist cardinals, impatient before,
clamoured that the evil had been caused by the dilatory timidity with
which the case had been handled from the first.[160] The consistory sate
day after day with closed doors;[161] and even such members of it had
before inclined to the English side, joined in the common indignation.
"Some extreme process" was instantly looked for, and the English agents,
in their daily interviews with the pope, were forced to listen to
language which it was hard to bear with equanimity. Bennet's well-bred
courtesy carried him successfully through the difficulty; his companion
Bonner was not so fortunate. Bonner's tongue was insolent, and under bad
control. He replied to menace by impertinence; and on one occasion was
so exasperating, that Clement threatened to burn him alive, or boil him
in a caldron of lead.[162] When fairly roused, the old man was
dangerous; and the future Bishop of London wrote to England in
extremity of alarm. His letter has not been found, but the character of
it may be perceived from the reassuring reply of the king. The agents,
Henry said, were not to allow themselves to be frightened; they were to
go on calmly, with their accustomed diligence and dexterity, disputing
the ground from point to point, and trust to him. Their cause was good,
and, with God's help, he would be able to defend them from the malice of
their adversaries.[163]

[Sidenote: The consistory cools into prudence.]

[Sidenote: July 12. The pope declares the divorce illegal, and commands
Henry to cancel the process. If he fails to obey, he is declared
excommunicated.]

Fortunately for Bonner, the pope's passion was of brief duration, and
the experiment whether Henry's arm could reach to the dungeons of the
Vatican remained untried. The more moderate of the cardinals, also,
something assuaged the storm; and angry as they all were, the majority
still saw the necessity of prudence. In the heat of the irritation,
final sentence was to have been pronounced upon the entire cause, backed
by interdict, excommunication, and the full volume of the papal
thunders. At the close of a month's deliberation they resolved to
reserve judgment on the original question, and to confine themselves for
the present to revenging the insult to the pope by "my Lord of
Canterbury." Both the king and the archbishop had disobeyed a formal
inhibition. On the 12th of July, the pope issued a brief, declaring
Cranmer's judgment to have been illegal, the English process to have
been null and void, and the king, by his disobedience, to have incurred,
_ipso facto_, the threatened penalties of excommunication. Of his
clemency he suspended these censures till the close of the following
September, in order that time might be allowed to restore the respective
parties to their old positions: if within that period the parties were
not so restored, the censures would fall.[164] This brief was sent into
Flanders, and fixed in the usual place against the door of a church in
Dunkirk.

[Sidenote: Henry again urges Francis to decline to meet the pope.]

Henry was prepared for a measure which was no more than natural. He had
been prepared for it as a possibility when he married. Both he and
Francis must have been prepared for it on their meeting at Calais, when
the French king advised him to marry, and promised to support him
through the consequences. His own measures had been arranged beforehand,
and he had secured himself in technical entrenchments by his appeal.
After the issue of the brief, however, he could allow no English embassy
to compliment Clement by its presence on his visit to France. He "knew
the pope," as he said. Long experience had shown him that nothing was to
be gained by yielding in minor points; and the only chance which now
remained of preserving the established order of Christendom, was to
terrify the Vatican court into submission by the firmness of his
attitude. For the present complications, the court of Rome, not he, was
responsible. The pope, with a culpable complacency for the emperor, had
shrunk from discharging a duty which his office imposed upon him; and
the result had been that the duty was discharged by another. Henry
could not blame himself for the consequences of Clement's delinquency.
He rather felt himself wronged in having been driven to so extreme a
measure against his will. He resolved, therefore, to recal the embassy,
and once more, though with no great hope that he would be successful, to
invite Francis to fulfil his promise, and to unite with himself in
expressing his resentment at the pope's conduct.

[Sidenote: August 8.]

His despatch to the Duke of Norfolk on this occasion was the natural
sequel of what he had written a few weeks previously. That letter had
failed wholly of its effect. The interview was resolved upon for quite
other reasons than those which were acknowledged, and therefore was not
to be given up. A promise, however, had been extracted, that it should
be given up, if in the course of the summer the pope "innovated
anything" against the King of England; and Henry now required, formally,
that this engagement should be observed. "A notorious and notable
innovation" had been made, and Francis must either deny his words, or
adhere to them. It would be evident to all the world, if the interview
took place under the present circumstances, that the alliance with
England was no longer of the importance with him which it had been; that
his place in the struggle, when the struggle came, would be found on the
papal side.

[Sidenote: The cause at issue is the independence of princes.]

[Sidenote: He has been required to repeal the Act of Appeals,]

[Sidenote: Which is impossible.]

[Sidenote: He, therefore, and the pope are as far asunder as yea and
nay,]

[Sidenote: And he trusts that Francis will agree with him as to the
pope's conduct.]

[Sidenote: For himself, he is satisfied that he can retract nothing
which he has justly done,]

The language of Henry throughout this paper was very fine and noble. He
reminded Francis that substantially the cause at issue was the cause of
all princes; the pope claiming a right to summon them to plead in the
courts of Rome, and refusing to admit their exemption as sovereign
rulers. He had been required not only to undo his marriage, and cancel
the sentence of divorce, but, as a condition of reconciliation with the
Holy See, to undo also the Act of Appeals, and to restore the papal
jurisdiction. He desired it to be understood, with emphasis, that these
points were all equally sacred, and the repeal of the act was as little
to be thought of as the annulling the marriage. "The pope," he said,
"did inforce us to excogitate some new thing, whereby we might be healed
and relieved of that continual disease, to care for our cause at Rome,
where such defence was taken from us, as by the laws of God, nature, and
man, is due unto us. Hereupon depended the wealth of our realm; hereupon
consisted the surety of our succession, which by no other means could be
well assured." "And therefore," he went on, "you [the Duke] shall say to
our good brother, that the pope persisting in the ways he hath entered,
ye must needs despair in any meeting between the French king and the
pope, to produce any such effect as to cause us to meet in concord with
the pope; but we shall be even as far asunder as is between yea and nay.
For to the pope's enterprise to revoke or put back anything that is done
here, either in marriage, statute, sentence, or proclamation[165]--of
which four members is knit and conjoined the surety of our matter, nor
any can be removed from the other, lest thereby the whole edifice should
be destroyed--we will and shall, by all ways and means say nay, and
declare our nay in such sort as the world shall hear, and the pope feel
it. Wherein ye may say our firm trust, perfect hope, and assured
confidence is, that our good brother will agree with us: as well for
that it should be partly dishonourable for him to see decay the thing
that was of his own foundation and planting; as also that it should be
too much dishonourable for us--having travelled so far in this matter,
and brought it to this point, that all the storms of the year passed, it
is now come to harvest, trusting to see shortly the fruit of our
marriage, to the wealth, joy, and comfort of all our realm, and our own
singular consolation--that anything should now be done by us to impair
the same, and to put our issue either in peril of bastardy, or otherwise
disturb that [which] is by the whole agreement of our realm established
for their and our commodity, wealth, and benefit. And in this
determination ye know us to be so fixed, and the contrary hereof to be
so infeasible, either at our hands, or by the consent of the realm, that
ye must needs despair of any order to be taken by the French king with
the pope. For if any were by him taken wherein any of these four pieces
should be touched--that is to say, the marriage of the queen our wife,
the revocation of the Bishop of Canterbury's sentence, the statute of
our realm, or our late proclamation, which be as it were one--and as
walls, covering, and foundation make a house, so they knit together,
establish, and make one matter--ye be well assured, and be so
ascertained from us, that in no wise we will relent, but will, as we
have before written, withstand the same. Whereof ye may say that ye have
thought good to advertise him, to the intent he make no farther promise
to the pope therein than may be performed."

[Sidenote: And the pope must be made to understand his folly.]

The ambassadors were the more emphatically to insist on the king's
resolution, lest Francis, in his desire for conciliation, might hold
out hopes to the pope which could not be realized. They were to say,
however, that the King of England still trusted that the interview would
not take place. The see of Rome was asserting a jurisdiction which, if
conceded, would encourage an unlimited usurpation. If princes might be
cited to the papal courts in a cause of matrimony, they might be cited
equally in other causes at the pope's pleasure; and the free kingdoms of
Europe would be converted into dependent provinces of the see of Rome.
It concerned alike the interest and the honour of all sovereigns to
resist encroachments which pointed to such an issue; and, therefore,
Henry said he hoped that his good brother would use the pope as he had
deserved, "doing him to understand his folly, and [that] unless he had
first made amends, he could not find in his heart to have further amity
with him."