The death of Louis XII. was a severe blow to Wolsey. The French alliance was not popular in England, and was bitterly opposed by the Duke of Norfolk and the party of the old nobility, who saw with dislike the growing influence of Wolsey. They now had an opportunity of reversing his policy and securing his downfall. It required all Wolsey's sagacity to devise a means of solving the difficulties which the death of Louis created. The new King of France, Francis I., was aged twenty-one, and was as ambitious of distinction as was Henry. The treaty between France and England had not yet been carried out, and it would require much dexterity to modify its provisions. The kings of the sixteenth century were keen men of business, and never let money slip through their hands. The widowed Queen of France must, of course, return to England, but there were all sorts of questions about her dowry and the jewels which Louis had given her. Henry claimed that she should bring back with her everything to which any title could be urged: Francis I. wished to give up as little as possible. The two monarchs haggled like two hucksters, and neither of them had any care of the happiness or reputation of the young girl round whom they bickered. In the background stood Wolsey's enemies, who saw that if they could create a rupture between France and England Wolsey's influence would be at an end.

In these dangerous conditions Wolsey had to seek an ally in Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, and had to trust to his private knowledge of the character of Queen Mary. She had the strong will of the Tudors, and had also their craving for admiration. These two qualities seem to have drawn her in opposite directions. While her marriage with Prince Charles was talked of she professed the greatest admiration for him, and gazed with rapture on a very bad portrait of her intended husband. But this did not prevent her from being attracted by the personal fascinations of the Duke of Suffolk, as Wolsey knew. When he negotiated the French alliance he had some difficulty in overcoming Mary's repugnance to an old husband; but she viewed the proposal in a business-like way, and was not indifferent to the position of Queen of France. She looked forward to a speedy widowhood, and extracted from Henry a promise that, if she undertook to marry for the first time to please him, she might choose her second husband to please herself. When Mary was free the hopes of the Duke of Suffolk revived, and Wolsey knowing this, chose him as the best instrument for clearing away the difficulties raised by Francis I., and bringing back Mary honourably to England.

Francis, on his side, used his knowledge of the current rumour to extract from Mary her confidences about Suffolk, and with this knowledge approached Suffolk as a friend. By alternately encouraging Suffolk and terrifying Mary he turned Wolsey's ambassador into an anxious lover. Still Wolsey trusted that Suffolk would the more bestir himself to bring Mary back, and would make such terms with Francis as would commend his suit to Henry. But Wolsey's enemies led Henry to make exorbitant demands, which Francis met by redoubling his persecution of Mary. At last she asked Suffolk to marry her, which he did in secret. After this Francis was free from any further need of conciliating Henry, who must take back his sister on any terms, and Wolsey was left to appease Henry as best he could. In April Mary and Suffolk returned to England, and in May the luckless pair were publicly married. Wolsey manfully befriended Suffolk in this matter, but the calculations of his diplomacy were hopelessly upset by private feelings and the rashness of passion.

However, Mary received part of her dowry and some of her jewels. Francis I. had no wish to quarrel with England, but only to make the best terms for himself. He was bent upon gathering laurels in Italy, and on 5th April renewed the alliance between France and England. This time, however, the treaty was little more than a truce, and many questions were left untouched; no mention was made of the return of Tournai, and the question of Mary's jewels was left undecided. Francis I. counted on keeping England quiet by an alliance which he formed at the same time with Ferdinand, while he won over the Flemish counsellors of Prince Charles, who betrothed himself to the infant daughter of Louis XII., RenÉe, a child of four. Thus he had cleared the way for an expedition to Italy, where he longed to claim for France the Duchy of Milan, that had been won and lost by Louis XII. In July he set out contentedly, knowing that Henry was powerless to interfere. He treated England with neglect, and gave Henry no information of his movements. England looked on with growing jealousy while Francis crossed the Alps and in September defeated the Swiss mercenaries who held Milan in the name of the last Sforza Duke. The battle of Marignano (14th September) was a splendid success for Francis, who there beat back the Swiss infantry, hitherto considered invincible in Europe. The star of France had risen, and Francis could look round with proud superiority.

The princes of Europe were alarmed beyond measure at the completeness of the French success. They had looked with equanimity at the preparations of Francis, because they expected that he would be delayed, or, if he attacked the Swiss, would be defeated. But his rapid march soon convinced men that he was in earnest, and especially excited the fear of Pope Leo X., whose ingenious policy of being secretly allied with everybody was disturbed by this display of unexpected vigour. The alarm of the Pope was useful to Wolsey. It awakened him to the need of making the English king his friend, and fulfilling his desire to have Wolsey created cardinal. Wolsey had not ceased, through his agent, the Bishop of Worcester, to urge this point upon the Pope, and when Francis was well advanced on his road to Milan the pleadings of Wolsey were irresistible. "If the King of England forsake the Pope," wrote Wolsey to the Bishop of Worcester, "he will be in greater danger on this day two years than ever was Pope Julius." Leo X. had no wish to run the risks which the impetuous Julius II. faced with unbroken spirit. He prepared to keep himself supplied with allies to protect him against all emergencies, and on 10th September nominated Wolsey cardinal sole, a special mark of favour, as cardinals were generally created in batches at intervals.

Wolsey's creation was not popular in the Roman Court. Cardinal Bainbridge had been overbearing in manner and hasty in temper, and the English were disliked for their outspokenness. England was regarded as a political upstart, and Wolsey was considered to be a fitting emblem of the country which he represented. Moreover, the attitude of England in ecclesiastical matters was not marked by that subservience which the Papacy wished to exact, and many doubted the expediency of exalting in ecclesiastical authority an English prelate of such far-reaching views as Wolsey was known to hold. An official of the Roman Court gives the following account of the current opinion:—

"Men say that an English Cardinal ought not to be created lightly, because the English behave themselves insolently in that dignity, as was shown in the case of Cardinal Bainbridge just dead. Moreover, as Wolsey is the intimate friend of the king, he will not be contented with the Cardinalate alone, but, as is the custom of these barbarians, will wish to have the office of legate over all England. If this be granted the influence of the Roman Court will be at an end; if it be not granted the Cardinal will be the Pope's enemy and will favour France. But despite all this the Pope, in whose hands alone the matter was, created him Cardinal on the seventh of September."

This elevation of Wolsey was due to the strong expression of desire on the part of Henry, who further asked that legatine powers should be given to the new cardinal. This Leo refused for the present; he had done enough to induce Henry to enter into a secret league for the protection of the Church, which meant a convenient pretext for attacking Francis if he became too powerful in Italy. When this was arranged the red hat was sent to England, and its reception gave Wolsey an opportunity of displaying his love for magnificent ceremonial. On 17th November it was placed on his head by Archbishop Warham in Westminster Abbey.

Ceremonial, however splendid, was but an episode in Wolsey's diplomatic business. The news of the French victory at Marignano was so unpleasant that Henry VIII. for some time refused to believe it to be true. When at last it was impossible to doubt any longer, the necessity became urgent to put a spoke in the wheel of Francis I. England was not prepared to go to war with France without allies, and Wolsey developed his cleverness in attaining his ends by secret means. Nothing could be done by uniting with the cautious Ferdinand; but the flighty Maximilian was a more hopeful subject. The only troops that could be used against France were the German and Swiss mercenaries, men who made war a trade, and were trained and disciplined soldiers. The first means of injuring France was to prevent her from hiring Swiss soldiers, and the second was to induce Maximilian to undertake an Italian expedition in his own interests. As regards the Swiss, it was merely a matter of money, for they were ready to sell themselves to the highest bidder. In like manner it was easy to subsidise Maximilian, but it was difficult to hold him to his promise and be sure that he would spend the money on the right purpose. Wolsey, however, resolved to try and use Maximilian; he offered him the aid of a large contingent of the Swiss if he would attack Milan. Knowing the delicacy of the enterprise and the slipperiness of Maximilian, Wolsey entrusted this matter to a man whose pertinacity had been already tried,—Richard Pace, secretary of Cardinal Bainbridge, who had stubbornly insisted on an investigation of the circumstances of his master's death, and had annoyed the Roman Court by his watchful care of his master's effects. Pace was sent to hire soldiers amongst the Swiss, and Wolsey's ingenuity was sorely tried to supply him with money secretly and safely.

The hindrances which beset Pace in carrying out his instructions decorously were very many. Not the least troublesome was the want of intelligence displayed by Sir Robert Wingfield, the English envoy to Maximilian. Wingfield belonged to the old school of English officials, honest and industrious, but entirely incapable of finesse. He did not understand what Pace was about; he could not comprehend Wolsey's hints, but was a blind admirer of Maximilian, and was made his tool in his efforts to get the gold of England and do nothing in return. But Pace was deaf to the entreaties of Maximilian and to the lofty remonstrances of Wingfield. He raised 17,000 Swiss soldiers, who were to serve under their own general, and whose pay was not to pass through Maximilian's hands. Maximilian was sorely disappointed at this result, but led his troops to join the Swiss in an attack on Milan. On 24th March 1516, the combined army was a few miles from Milan, which was poorly defended, and victory seemed secure. Suddenly Maximilian began to hesitate, and then drew off his forces and retired. We can only guess at the motive of this strange proceeding; perhaps he had never been in earnest, and only meant to extract money from England. When Pace refused to pay he probably negotiated with Francis I., and obtained money from him. Anyhow his withdrawal was fatal to the expedition. The Germans at Brescia seized the money which was sent to Pace for the payment of the Swiss. The Swiss in anger mutinied, and Pace was for some days thrown into prison. Maximilian vaguely promised to return, but the Swiss troops naturally disbanded. Such was Maximilian's meanness that he threatened Pace, now deserted and broken by disappointment, that if he did not advance him money he would make peace with France. Pace, afraid to run the risk, pledged Henry VIII. to pay 60,000 florins. All this time Wingfield was convinced that it was Pace's ill-judged parsimony that had wrought this disaster, and he continued to write in a strain of superior wisdom to Wolsey. He even, at Maximilian's bidding, forged Pace's name to receipts for money. Never was diplomat in more hopeless plight than the unlucky Pace.

Wolsey saw that his plan had failed, but he put a good face upon his failure. Maximilian enjoyed the advantage which consummate meanness always gives for a moment. He put down the failure to niggardliness in the supplies, and showed his goodwill towards Henry by treating him to fantastic proposals. If Henry would only cross to Flanders with 6000 men, Maximilian would meet him with his army, set him up as Duke of Milan, and resign the Empire in his favour. This preposterous scheme did not for a moment dazzle the good sense of the English counsellors. Pace, in announcing it to Wolsey, pointed out that the Emperor spoke without the consent of the Electors, that Maximilian was thoroughly untrustworthy, and that Henry in such an enterprise might imperil his hold upon the English Crown, "which," writes Pace with pardonable pride, "is this day more esteemed than the Emperor's crown and all his empire." Henry was of the same opinion; and Maximilian failed on this plea "to pluck money from the king craftily." Pace remained, and jingled English money in Maximilian's ear, as a means of preventing him from turning to France; but not a penny was Maximilian allowed to touch, to Sir Robert Wingfield's great annoyance. Pace so far succeeded, that when, in November 1516, Francis I. made an alliance with the Swiss, five of the cantons stood aloof. Pace was rewarded for his labours and sufferings by being made a secretary of state. Sir Robert Wingfield received a severe rebuke from the king, which sorely disturbed his self-complacency. But it is characteristic of Wolsey's absence of personal feeling that Wingfield was not recalled from his post. Wolsey saw that he had been no more foolish than most other Englishmen would have been in his place.

Meanwhile a change had taken place in the affairs of Europe which turned the attention of France and England alike in a new direction. Ferdinand the Catholic died in January 1516, and the preponderance of France had so alarmed him that he laid aside his plan of dividing the power of the House of Austria by instituting his second grandson, Ferdinand, King of Spain. After the battle of Marignano he changed his will in favour of his eldest grandson, the Archduke Charles, who now added the Spanish kingdoms to his possession of the Netherlands. The young prince had just emancipated himself from the tutelage of Maximilian, but was under the influence of ministers who pursued a purely Flemish policy, and longed to give peace to the Netherlands by an alliance with France. England was connected with Flanders by commercial interests, and long negotiations had been conducted with the Flemish Government for a close alliance. But Charles's advisers were won over by France, and Charles himself was attracted by the hope of a French marriage. His position was difficult, as he was poor and helpless; he could not even go to take possession of the Spanish Crowns without help from one side or the other. Had he been older and wiser he would have seen that it was safer to accept the gold of Henry VIII., from whose future projects he had nothing to fear, rather than try and secure a precarious peace for the Netherlands by an alliance with France. However, Charles turned a cold ear to the English ambassadors, and his ministers secretly brought about a treaty with France, which was signed at Noyon in August 1516.

The Treaty of Noyon was a further rebuff to Wolsey, England was passed by in silence, and a tempting bait was laid to draw Maximilian also into the French alliance, and so leave England entirely without allies. Maximilian had been for some time at war with Venice about the possession of the towns of Brescia and Verona. The Treaty of Noyon provided that the Venetians should pay the Emperor 200,000 crowns and remain in possession of the disputed territory. Maximilian used this offer to put himself up to auction; he expressed his detestation of the peace of Noyon, but pleaded that unless Henry came to his help he would be driven by poverty to accept the proffered terms. Henry answered by a proposal that Maximilian should earn the price he fixed upon his services: let him come into the Netherlands, and work the overthrow of the unworthy ministers who gave such evil advice to their sovereign. Maximilian stipulated for the allowance which he was to receive for the expenses of a journey to the Netherlands, for which he began to make preparations. He raised all possible doubts and difficulties, and received all the money he could extract on any pretext from Henry VIII.; at last he secretly signed the Treaty of Noyon in December, and drew his payments from both parties so long as he could keep his game unsuspected.

But Wolsey was not so much deceived as Maximilian thought, and showed no discomfiture when Maximilian's shiftiness at length came to light. If Maximilian would not be faithful it was well that his untrustworthiness should be openly shown, and Francis I., who was watching his manoeuvres, could not feel proud of his new ally. He knew what he had to expect from Maximilian when the 200,000 crowns were spent. The money that had been spent on Maximilian was not wasted if it gave him an encouragement to display his feebleness to the full. So Henry maintained a dignified attitude, and showed no resentment. He received Maximilian's excuses with cold politeness, and waited for Francis I. to discover the futility of his new alliances. Maximilian was clearly of no account. Charles had gained all that he could gain from his league with France towards quieting the Netherlands; for his next step, a journey to Spain, he needed the help of England, and soon dropped his attitude of indifference. After thwarting England as much as he could, he was driven to beg for a loan to cover the expenses of his journey, and England showed no petty resentment for his past conduct. The loan was negotiated, Charles's ambassadors were honourably received, it was even proposed that he should visit Henry on his way. This honour Charles cautiously declined on the ground of ill health; but all the other marks of Henry's goodwill were accepted with gratitude, and in September 1517 Charles set out on his voyage to Spain, where he found enough to employ his energies for some time.

This conciliatory attitude of England was due to a perception that the time had come when simple opposition to France was no longer useful. England had so far succeeded as to prevent the French ascendency from being complete; she had stemmed the current, had shown Francis I. the extent of her resources, and had displayed unexpected skill. Moreover, she had made it clear that neither she nor France could form a combination sufficiently powerful to enable the one to crush the other, and had given Francis I. a lesson as to the amount of fidelity he might expect from his allies. When it was clear to both sides that there was no hope for far-reaching schemes, it was natural for the two powers to draw together, and seek a reasonable redress for the grievances which immediately affected them.

Chief amongst these on the French side was the possession of Tournai by the English, glorious, no doubt, as a trophy of English valour, but of very doubtful advantage to England. Negotiations about its restoration were begun as early as March 1517, and were conducted with profound secrecy. Of course Charles hoped to get Tournai into his own hands, and did not wish it to be restored to France. It was necessary to keep him in ignorance of what was going on, and not till he had sailed to Spain were there any rumours of what was passing.

Wolsey and Henry VIII. deceived the ambassadors of Charles and of Venice by their repeated professions of hostility against France, and Charles's remonstrances were answered by equivocations, so that he had no opportunity for interfering till the matter had been agreed upon as part of a close alliance between England and France. The negotiations for this purpose were long and intricate, and form the masterpiece of Wolsey's diplomatic skill. They were made more difficult by the outbreak in England of a pestilence, the sweating sickness, before which Henry fled from London and moved uneasily from place to place. Wolsey was attacked by it in June so seriously that his life was despaired of; scarcely was he recovered when he suffered from a second attack, and soon after went on a pilgrimage to Walsingham to perform a vow and enjoy change of air. But with this exception, he stuck manfully to his work in London, where, beside his manifold duties in internal administration, he directed the course of the negotiations with France.

In fact Wolsey alone was responsible for the change of policy indicated by the French alliance. He had thoroughly carried the king with him; but he was well aware that his course was likely to be exceedingly unpopular, and that on him would fall the blame of any failure. Henry did not even inform his Council of his plans. He knew that they would all have been opposed to such a sudden change of policy, which could only be justified in their eyes by its manifest advantage in the end. Wolsey was conscious that he must not only conclude an alliance with France, but must show beyond dispute a clear gain to England from so doing.

Wolsey's difficulties were somewhat lessened by the birth of an heir to the French Crown in February 1518. France could now offer, as a guarantee for her close alliance with England, a proposal of marriage between the Dauphin and Henry's only daughter Mary. Still the negotiations cautiously went on while Wolsey drove the hardest bargain that he could. They were not finished till September, when a numerous body of French nobles came on a splendid embassy to London. Never had such magnificence been seen in England before as that with which Henry VIII. received his new allies. Even the French nobles admitted that it was beyond their power to describe. Wolsey entertained the company at a sumptuous supper in his house at Westminster, "the like of which," says the Venetian envoy, "was never given by Cleopatra or Caligula, the whole banqueting hall being decorated with huge vases of gold and silver." After the banquet a band of mummers, wearing visors on their faces, entered and danced. There were twelve ladies and twelve gentlemen, attended by twelve torch-bearers; all were clad alike "in fine green satin, all over covered with cloth of gold, undertied together with laces of gold." They danced for some time and then removed their masks, and the evening passed in mirth. Such were the festivities of the English Court, which Shakespeare has reproduced, accurately enough, in his play of Henry VIII.

But these Court festivities were only preliminary to the public ceremonies whereby Wolsey impressed the imagination of the people. The proclamation of the treaty and the marriage of the Princess Mary by proxy were both the occasions of splendid ceremonies in St. Paul's Cathedral. The people were delighted by pageantry and good cheer; the opposition of old-fashioned politicians was overborne in the prevailing enthusiasm; and men spoke only of the triumph of a pacific policy which had achieved results such as warfare could not have won. Indeed, the advantages which England obtained were substantial. France bought back Tournai for 600,000 crowns, and entered into a close alliance with England, which cut it off from interference in the affairs of Scotland, which was included in the peace so long as it abstained from hostilities. But more important than this was the fact that Wolsey insisted on the alliance between France and England being made the basis of a universal peace. The Pope, the Emperor, the King of Spain, were all invited to join, and all complied with the invitation.

None of them, however, complied with goodwill, least of all Pope Leo X., whose claim to be the official pacifier of Europe was rudely set aside by the audacious action of Wolsey. Leo hoped that the bestowal of a cardinal's hat had established a hold on Wolsey's gratitude; but he soon found that he was mistaken, and that his cunning was no match for Wolsey's force. No sooner had Wolsey obtained the cardinalate than he pressed for the further dignity of papal legate in England. Not unnaturally Leo refused to endow with such an office a minister already so powerful as to be almost independent; but Wolsey made him pay for his refusal. Leo wanted money, and the pressure of the Turk on Southern Europe lent a colour to his demand of clerical taxation for the purposes of a crusade. In 1517 he sent out legates to the chief kings of Christendom; but Henry refused to admit Cardinal Campeggio, saying that "it was not the rule of this realm to admit legates À latere." Then Wolsey intervened and suggested that Campeggio might come if he would exercise no exceptional powers, and if his dignity were shared by himself. Leo was forced to yield, and Campeggio's arrival was made the occasion of stately ceremonies which redounded to Wolsey's glorification. Campeggio got little for the crusade, but served to grace the festivities of the French alliance, and afterwards to convey the Pope's adhesion to the universal peace. Wolsey had taken matters out of the Pope's hand, and Leo was driven to follow his lead with what grace he could muster. Perhaps as he sighed over his discomfiture he consoled himself with the thought that the new peace would not last much longer than those previously made: if he did, he was right in his opinion.