When the storm broke over his head Wolsey had no hope of escape. His position as an English minister was due entirely to the king's favour, and when that favour was withdrawn he was entirely helpless. Outside the king there was no motive power in English politics at this period. There was no party in the State strong enough to bring any influence to bear upon him: he was likely to be moved by nothing save the dread of a popular rising, and there was no chance of a popular rising in Wolsey's favour. On the other hand, Wolsey had been contented to take upon his own shoulders the responsibility of all that was most unpopular in the king's proceedings. The demands created by the king's extravagance were put down to his extortionate nature; the debts incurred by a policy which he disapproved were supposed to be the results of his influence; even the divorce was attributed to his ill-will against the Emperor and his love for France. The current of popular opinion ran strong against Wolsey. He had made few friends and many enemies. His enemies were powerful, his friends were powerless. No one in England could lend him any help.

It is true that the charge brought against him was most iniquitous. He had obtained his legatine authority through the king's urgent request; he had used it solely at the king's orders, and in the king's behalf. But he knew that such a plea would not be regarded, as the king's courts would simply register the king's will. There was no other course than entire submission, and before the king Wolsey had no thought of personal dignity. He wrote to Henry as a lowly suppliant, "For surely, most gracious king, the remembrance of my folly, with the sharp sword of your Highness's displeasure, hath so penetrated my heart that I cannot but lamentably cry, It is enough; now stay, most merciful king, your hand." Such loyalty, such entire submission, is to our minds inconceivable, and only shows how the possession of absolute power debases not only those who are invested with it but those who are brought in contact with them. Wolsey might indeed lament his "folly" in putting any trust in princes; he had served his master only too well, and met with the basest ingratitude for all the sacrifices of his own wishes and his own principles.

Still he hoped by his submission to save something. If sentence were pronounced against him, under the charge of prÆmunire, his goods would be forfeited, and his acts invalidated. If he threw himself upon the king's mercy he might at least save his two colleges, and might be permitted to serve his country on a smaller scale. What was coming he could not foresee. There would be open war between Henry and the Papacy, waged with new weapons and fraught with danger to the English Church. "It is the intention of these lords," wrote the French ambassador, "when Wolsey is dead or destroyed, to get rid of the Church and spoil the goods of both. I suppose they mean to do grand things." The days of revolution were at hand, and Wolsey might still have some power to check its excesses.

His submission led to no immediate results. On 16th October the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk demanded the surrender of the great seal, and ordered Wolsey to depart to his house at Esher. Wolsey would humble himself before the king, but not before others, and calmly asked them for their authority. They answered that they had the king's commission by word of mouth. "The great seal of England," said Wolsey, "was delivered me by the king's own person, to enjoy during my life, with the ministration of the office and high room of chancellorship of England; for my surety whereof I have the king's letters-patent to show." High words were used by the dukes, but in the end they departed, and reappeared next day with letters from the king. On reading them Wolsey delivered up the seal, and expressed himself content to withdraw to Esher.

Before departing he made an inventory of all his plate and tapestries, that it might be ready for the king to take possession. He further signed an indenture acknowledging that on the authority of bulls obtained from Rome, which he published in England contrary to the statute, he had unlawfully vexed the prelates of the realm and other of the king's subjects, thereby incurring the penalties of prÆmunire, by which also he deserved to suffer perpetual imprisonment at the king's pleasure, and to forfeit all his lands, offices, and goods. He besought the king, in part recompense of his offences, to take into his hands all his temporal possessions. Then he entered his barge in the presence of a crowd, which was sorely disappointed not to see him take the way to the Tower.

When Wolsey arrived at Putney he was greeted by a messenger from the king, who brought him as a token a ring, with a message "that the king bade him be of good cheer, for he should not lack. Although the king hath dealt with you unkindly, he saith that it is for no displeasure that he beareth you, but only to satisfy the minds of some which he knoweth be not your friends. Also ye know right well that he is able to recompense you with twice as much as your goods amounteth unto: and all this he bade me that I should show you. Therefore, sir, take patience; and for my part, I trust to see you in better estate than ever ye were." When Wolsey heard this he dismounted from his mule and knelt in the mud in sign of thankfulness. He gave a present to the messenger, and grieved that he had no worthy gift to send to the king. Presently he bethought himself of a jester belonging to his household. "If ye would at my request present the king with this poor fool, I trust his Highness would accept him well, for surely for a nobleman's pleasure he is worth a thousand pounds." It is a relief to find in this dismal story some signs of human feeling. "The poor fool took on so, and fired so in such a rage when he saw that he must needs depart from my lord," that six tall yeomen had to be sent as an escort to convey him safely to the Court.

It is needless to seek for a motive for Henry's conduct in sending this delusive message; probably he did it through an amiable desire to make himself generally agreeable. No man likes to feel that he is acting villainously; perhaps Henry's conscience felt all the pleasure of having performed a virtuous action when he heard of Wolsey's gratitude for such a small mercy. Henry VIII. was nothing if he was not conscientious; but he made large drafts on his conscience, and paid them back in small coin. Probably we have here the record of such a payment.

Certainly Henry did nothing to give his goodwill towards Wolsey any practical expression; he did not even send him any money to provide his household with the necessaries of life. For a month they remained "without beds, sheets, tablecloths, cups, and dishes to eat their meat or lie in," and ultimately had to borrow them. What most distressed Wolsey, who had been accustomed to munificence, was that he had not even money to pay the wages of his household before he dismissed them sadly from his service. In his straits one of his officials came to his aid, and showed his tact and management in affairs of business. Thomas Cromwell, the son of a London citizen, spent an adventurous youth in business on the Continent, and settled in London as a small attorney and a money-lender. Wolsey had found out his ability, and employed him to manage the dissolution of the monasteries, and transact the business connected with the foundation of his colleges. No doubt this gave him opportunities of spreading his own business, and making himself useful friends. In anticipation of the future he contrived to get himself elected as member of the Parliament for which Henry VIII. issued writs upon the suspension of the legatine court. Cromwell accompanied Wolsey to Esher, and was much moved by the thought of the loss which his patron's fall was likely to inflict upon himself. On 1st November Cavendish found him leaning in the window "with a primer in his hand, saying our Lady mattins. He prayed not more earnestly than the tears distilled from his eyes." He lamented that he was in disdain with most men for his master's sake, and surely without just cause; but he was resolved that afternoon to ride to London, and so to the Court, "where I will either make or mar, or I come again." After dinner he talked with Wolsey about his household, and then showed his power of gaining popularity at the expense of others. "Have you not," he exclaimed, "a number of chaplains, to whom ye have departed very liberally with spiritual promotions? and yet have your poor servants taken much more pains for you in one day than all your idle chaplains have done in a year. Therefore if they will not freely and frankly consider your liberality, and depart with you of the same goods gotten in your service, now in your great indigence and necessity, it is pity that they live." Wolsey agreed; he summoned his household, and addressed them in a dignified speech; he gave them a month's holiday, that they might seek some more profitable service. Then Cromwell said that they lacked money, and himself tendered five pounds towards their payment, adding, "Now let us see what your chaplains will do." The example was contagious, and contributions poured in. The household was paid, and departed full of thankfulness to Cromwell. Then, after a private conversation with Wolsey, Cromwell rode off to London to "make or mar." Parliament met on 3d November, and Wolsey's enemies hoped that its first business would be Wolsey's impeachment. For this, however, Henry VIII. was not prepared, though he did not openly forbid it. He was not sure of the capacity of his new advisers, and perhaps felt that he might have further need of Wolsey's services. Anyhow it was better to keep his opponents in constant fear of his return to power. They were bound together rather by opposition to Wolsey than by any agreement amongst themselves; and Henry was not very sanguine about their administrative success. The Duke of Norfolk, the uncle of Anne Boleyn, was president of the Council, and Suffolk was vice-president. The chancellorship was given to Sir Thomas More, who was well fitted by his literary reputation and high character to calm the fears of moderate men, and show Europe that the English king had no lack of eminent servants. The chancellorship of the duchy of Lancashire was given to the treasurer of the household, Sir William Fitzwilliam, a capable official. Gardiner preferred an ecclesiastical post, and succeeded to the bishopric of Winchester, which Wolsey was bidden to resign. It still remained to be seen if Norfolk, Suffolk, and More could fill the place of Wolsey.

Parliament was opened by the king; and the chancellor, according to custom, made a speech. In the course of it More showed that a man of letters does not necessarily retain his literary taste in politics, and that high character does not save a statesman from the temptation to catch a passing cheer by unworthy taunts at his defeated adversary. He spoke of the king as shepherd of his people, and went on, "As you see that amongst a great flock of sheep some be rotten and faulty, which the good shepherd sendeth from the good sheep, so the great wether which is of late fallen, as you all know, so craftily, so scabbedly, yea, and so untruly juggled with the king, that all men must needs guess and think that he thought in himself that he had no wit to perceive his crafty doing, or else that he presumed that the king would not see nor know his fraudulent juggling and attempts. But he was deceived; for his Grace's sight was so quick and penetrating that he saw him, yea, and saw through him, both within and without, so that all things to him were open; and according to his deserts he hath had a gentle correction."

This speech of More served as introductory to a Bill which was brought into the Upper House for disabling Wolsey from being restored to his former dignities and place in the king's Council. It was founded upon a series of articles which had been drawn up by his enemies long before, and were a tissue of frivolous or groundless charges. The Bill passed the Lords, but on its introduction into the Commons was opposed by Cromwell, who knew that the king did not wish it to be passed. It answered its purpose of casting a stigma on Wolsey, and justifying Henry's conduct towards him; but Henry did not intend to deprive himself of the power of employing Wolsey again if he should prove useful. So Cromwell served the king while he served Wolsey, and served himself at the same time by a display of zeal for his fallen master which raised him in men's esteem, "so that at length, for his honest behaviour in his master's cause, he grew into such estimation in every man's opinion, that he was esteemed to be the most faithfullest servant to his master of all others, wherein he was of all men greatly commended." Moreover, he managed to make friends by the sure tie of self-interest. He advised Wolsey to buy off the hostility of important men by granting them pensions out of the revenues of his see: as he chose the recipients of the money and negotiated the grants he gained more gratitude than Wolsey gained profit out of the transaction. Wolsey believed that his prospects depended on Cromwell's zeal, and the great cardinal became submissive to the direction of one whom he had raised. He abode at Esher in a state of feverish anxiety, sometimes receiving a present and a gracious message from the king, often irritated by Cromwell, who deluded him by a cheap display of zeal, grieving most of all at the uncertainty of the fortunes of his great colleges, which he still wished to leave as a memorial to posterity of the schemes which he intended.

Parliament was prorogued in the middle of December, and the Bill against Wolsey was allowed to drop. The king and Anne Boleyn were delighted with the cardinal's house at York Place, of which they took possession, and Wolsey was still left in uncertainty about his future. Anxiety preyed upon his health, and at Christmas he fell ill. The news of his illness seems to have brought some remorse to Henry, who sent his own physician, and eagerly asked for tidings, saying, "I would not lose him for twenty thousand pounds." Doctor Buttes answered, "Then must your Grace send him some comfortable message as shortly as is possible." The king gave Buttes a favourite ring from his own finger, saying, "Tell him that I am not offended with him in my heart nothing at all, and that shall he perceive, and God send him life very shortly." He asked Anne Boleyn to send also a "token with comfortable words," and Anne at his command obeyed, overcoming her reluctance by the thought that the cardinal was on his deathbed.

Doctor Buttes's prescription was a good one, and with revived hopes Wolsey speedily recovered. On 2d February 1530 the king sent him some furniture for his house and chapel. On 12th February he received a full pardon for his offences, and on 14th February was restored to the archbishopric of York and its possessions excepting York Place, which the king retained for himself. He entreated to be allowed to keep also the bishopric of Winchester and the Abbey of St. Alban's; but Gardiner had his eye on Winchester, and the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk were anxious that Wolsey should not hold a post which might bring him into the neighbourhood of the king. He was compelled to resign both these offices, and recognised in this the power of his foes.

The damp air of Esher was hurtful to his health, and he received permission to change his residence to Richmond Lodge. There he stayed until the state of the roads allowed him to take his journey northwards, which the Duke of Norfolk pressed him to do in forcible language. "Show him," he said to Cromwell, "that if he go not away shortly, I will, rather than he should tarry still, tear him with my teeth." When Wolsey heard this he said, "Marry, Thomas, then it is time to be going, if my lord of Norfolk take it so. Therefore I pray you go to the king and say that I would with all my heart go to my benefice at York but for want of money." Wolsey's immediate necessities were grudgingly supplied by the lords of the Council, and in the beginning of Passion Week he began his journey to York. He was received with courtesy by the gentry on the way. The manor-house at Southwell, where he resolved to live, required some repairs, and he could not occupy it till 5th June.

In his house at Southwell Wolsey received the neighbouring gentry, and made himself popular amongst them. He lived simply, and applied himself to the discharge of the duties of his office with great success. A pamphlet published in 1536 says of him: "Who was less beloved in the north than my lord cardinal before he was amongst them? Who better beloved after he had been there a while? He gave bishops a right good example how they might win men's hearts. There were few holy days but he would ride five or six miles from his house, now to this parish church, now to that, and there cause one or other of his doctors to make a sermon unto the people. He sat amongst them and said mass before all the parish; he saw why churches were made; he began to restore them to their right and proper use; he brought his dinner with him, and bade divers of the parish to it. He inquired whether there were any debate or grudge between any of them. If there were, after dinner he sent for the parties to the church and made them all one." It is an attractive picture of episcopal activity which is here set before us. We wish that Wolsey had been great enough to realise the pleasure of these simple duties so thoroughly as to wean himself from the allurements of political ambition. But Wolsey in his retirement was something like Machiavelli in exile: he found some satisfaction for his activity in the doings of peasants, but he went home and hankered for the great life of politics which was denied him. He meditated still how he could overthrow his enemies and return to the more complex problems in which he had been trained.

At the end of the summer Wolsey removed from Southwell to another manor-house at Scrooby, where he continued the same mode of life. All this time his actions were jealously watched by his enemies, who suspected him of trying to gain popularity and raise up a party in his favour. They did their best to keep him in perpetual annoyance by threats of legal proceedings touching the possessions of the see of York. The king paid no heed to him save to exact all the money he could from his forfeiture. Amongst other things which the king claimed was the payment of Wolsey's pension from the French king; and his care for Wolsey's health at Christmas may have been due to the fact that he thought that Wolsey's life had a pecuniary value to himself. He presently dissolved Wolsey's college at Ipswich, and seized all its lands and possessions. It was a bitter blow to Wolsey to see his plans thus overthrown. He had hoped to found an institution which should promote education where it was sorely needed in the eastern counties. It was the beginning of a project which would have led to the foundation of local universities, which it has been reserved to our own day to revive. If Wolsey had remained in power monastic revenues would have been increasingly diverted to educational purposes, and England would have been provided with colleges which would have grown with local needs. The dissolution of the college at Ipswich checked this process at the beginning, and negatived any scheme for the slow transformation of the monasteries into institutions which were in accordance with national needs.

Cardinal College at Oxford met with better fortune. Wolsey pleaded hard for its preservation, and the authorities of the college made a stand in its behalf. The king was not yet prepared to seize the lands of the dissolved monastery of St. Frideswyde, or of the old Canterbury Hall, which had been absorbed, and it could be shown that he would lose as much as he would gain by attempting an accurate division of the property of the college. He agreed to "have an honourable college there, but not so great and of such magnificence as my lord cardinal intended to have, for it is not thought meet for the common weal of our realm." The site of the college and a portion of its revenues were saved from the commissioners who were realising Wolsey's forfeiture; but the name of Christ Church obliterated that of Cardinal College, and Henry VIII. endeavoured as far as he could to associate the foundation with himself and dissociate it from Wolsey.

This persistent disregard of the ideas which Wolsey had striven to put forward weighed heavily on his spirits. "I am put from my sleep and meat," he wrote, "for such advertisements as I have had of the dissolution of my colleges." It was not only the sense of personal disappointment which afflicted him; it was the hopeless feeling that all his policy was being reversed. Wolsey was in his way a churchman, and hoped as a statesman to bring the Church into accordance with the national needs. He saw that only in this way could the existing resources of the Church be saved from the hand of the spoiler. The king's desire to seize upon the revenues of his colleges showed him that Henry had cast away the principles which Wolsey had striven to enforce, that he had broken through the limits which Wolsey had endeavoured to set, and that when once he had tasted his prey his appetite was likely to be insatiable. This taught Wolsey that his own future was hopeless. On the lower level to which the king had sunk he was not likely to need the cardinal's aid. Wolsey's great schemes for the future were to make way for a policy mainly dictated by present greed. Henry VIII. had discovered how great his power was, and intended to use it for the satisfaction of his own desires.

So Wolsey turned himself more attentively to the duties of his episcopal office, hoping thereby to make some amends for past neglect, and fill up with useful work the remainder of his days. His poverty had prevented him from taking possession of his cathedral, as he had no money to defray the expenses of his installation. By the end of September he had managed to scrape together £1500, and set out from Scrooby to York. On his way he was busied with confirmations. At St. Oswald's Abbey he confirmed children from eight in the morning till noon; after dinner he returned to the church at one, and continued his confirmation till four, when he was constrained for weariness to sit down in a chair. Next morning before his departure he confirmed a hundred children more; and as he rode on his way he found at Ferrybridge two hundred children waiting for confirmation at a stone cross standing upon the green. It was late in the evening before he reached Cawood Castle, seven miles from York. There he was visited by the Dean of York, and made arrangements for his installation.

This ceremony, however, was not to take place. Wolsey's enemies were implacable, especially the Duke of Norfolk, who was alarmed at the renewal of Wolsey's popularity in the north, and at the signs of vigour which he showed. His actions were jealously watched and eagerly criticised to find some opportunity for a charge against him, which was at last found in Wolsey's communications with foreign envoys. It would seem that Wolsey could not reconcile himself to political inactivity, and trusted that the influence of Francis I., for whom he had done so much, would be used in his favour. But Francis treated Wolsey with the proverbial ingratitude of politicians. Wolsey had been a friend of France, but his friendship had been costly, and Francis I. found that the new ministers were equally friendly to France, and did not demand so much in return. In truth, Henry, though he had abandoned Wolsey for his failure in the matter of the divorce, had not been better served by his new advisers, who had no other course to follow than that which Wolsey had marked out—to use the close alliance with France as a means of bringing pressure to bear upon the Pope. So Norfolk was obsequious to Francis, who preferred to deal with a man of Norfolk's calibre rather than acknowledge a master in Wolsey.

Of this Wolsey was ignorant; and he no longer showed his old dexterity in promoting his own interests. He made the mistake of trusting to the old methods of diplomacy when his position was no longer that of a minister, and when he had been removed from actual touch of current affairs. He opened up communications with the French envoy by means of a Venetian physician, Agostino, who was a member of his household. He even communicated with the imperial envoy as well. However harmless these communications might be, they were certainly indiscreet, and were capable of being represented to the king as dangerous. Norfolk gained some information, either from the French envoy or from Agostino, and laid before the king charges against Wolsey, "that he had written to Rome to be reinstated in his possessions, and to France for its favour; and was returning to his ancient pomp, and corrupting the people." There was not much in these charges; but Norfolk was afraid of Wolsey in the background, and quailed before the king's bursts of petulance, in which he said that the cardinal knew more about the business of the State than any of his new advisers. Henry was quite satisfied with the proceeds of spoiling Wolsey, and was glad to keep him in reserve; but the suggestion that Wolsey was intriguing with foreign Courts sorely angered him, and he gave orders that Wolsey be brought to trial to answer for his conduct.

So Sir Walter Walshe was sent with a warrant to the Earl of Northumberland, and arrived as Wolsey was busied at Cawood with the preliminaries of his installation. On 4th November, when Wolsey had retired from dinner and was sitting in his own room over his dessert, the Earl of Northumberland appeared, and demanded the keys of the castle from the porter. He entered the hall, and posted his servants to guard all the doors. Wolsey, in ignorance of what was in store for him, met Northumberland and offered him hospitality, expressing his delight at the unexpected visit. When they were alone the Earl, "trembling, said, with a very faint and soft voice, unto my lord, laying his hand upon his arm, 'My lord, I arrest you of high treason.'" For a time Wolsey stood speechless with astonishment, then he asked to see the warrant, which Northumberland had not brought with him. As he was speaking Sir Walter Walshe opened the door and thrust into the room the physician Agostino, whom he had made prisoner. Wolsey asked him about the warrant, and when he recognised him as one of the gentlemen of the king's privy chamber, he submitted to the royal commands without asking further for the production of the warrant. Then he delivered up his keys to Northumberland.

Agostino was at once sent to London tied under a horse's belly—a mode of conveyance which was doubtless calculated to refresh his memory. When he arrived in London he was taken to the Duke of Norfolk's house, and showed himself ready to bear witness against Wolsey. "Since they have had the cardinal's physician in their hands," writes the imperial envoy, "they have found what they sought. Since he has been here he has lived in the Duke of Norfolk's house like a prince, and is singing the tune they wished."

There was not the same need of haste in bringing Wolsey to London, for even with Agostino's help Norfolk was doubtful if the evidence against Wolsey would be sufficient to ensure his condemnation to death; and he did not wish to give Wolsey the opportunity of a trial when he might still be formidable. His imprisonment in the Tower at the royal pleasure would only bring him nearer to the king, who might at any moment make use of him as he threatened. Really, Norfolk was somewhat embarrassed at the success of his scheme; and Wolsey, in a conversation with Cavendish, showed a flash of his old greatness. "If I may come to my answer," he said, "I fear no man alive; for he liveth not upon the earth that shall look upon this face and shall be able to accuse me of any untruth; and that know my enemies full well, which will be an occasion that I shall not have indifferent justice, but they will rather seek some other sinister way to destroy me."

It was this thought that unnerved Wolsey, worn out as he was by disappointment, humiliated by his helplessness, and harassed by a sense of relentless persecution. Still he retained his dignity and kindliness, and when on the evening of 7th November he was told to prepare for his journey, he insisted upon bidding farewell to his household. The Earl of Northumberland wished to prevent this, and only gave way through fear of a tumult if he persisted in his refusal. The servants knelt weeping before Wolsey, who "gave them comfortable words and worthy praises for their diligent faithfulness and honest truth towards him, assuring them that what chance soever should happen unto him, that he was a true man and a just to his sovereign lord." Then shaking each of them by the hand he departed.

Outside the gate the country folk had assembled to the number of three thousand, who cried, "God save your grace. The foul evil take all them that hath thus taken you from us; we pray God that a very vengeance may light upon them." Thus they ran crying after him through the town of Cawood, they loved him so well. After this moving farewell Wolsey rode through the gathering darkness to Pomfret, where he was lodged in the abbey. Thence he proceeded through Doncaster to Sheffield Park, where he was kindly received by the Earl of Shrewsbury, whose guest he was for eighteen days. Once a day the earl visited him and tried to comfort him, but Wolsey refused all human comfort, and applied himself diligently to prayer. While he was at Sheffield Park his health, which never had been good, began to give way, and he suffered from dysentery, which was aggravated by an unskilful apothecary.

As he was thus ailing there arrived Sir William Kingston, Constable of the Tower, with a guard of twenty-four soldiers; he had received a commission from the king to bring Wolsey as a prisoner to the Tower. It would seem from this that Agostino's confessions had been skilfully raised to fan the royal wrath, and Henry gave this sign that he was prepared to treat his former minister as a traitor. The Earl of Shrewsbury did his best to treat the coming of Kingston as a trivial incident, and sent Cavendish to break the news gently to his master. Cavendish gave the message as he was bidden. "Forsooth my lord of Shrewsbury, perceiving by your often communication that ye were always desirous to come before the king's Majesty, and now as your assured friend, hath travailed so with his letters unto the king, that the king hath sent for you by Master Kingston and twenty-four of the guard to conduct you to his Highness." Wolsey was not deceived. "Master Kingston," he repeated, and smote his thigh. When Cavendish made a further attempt to cheer him he cut him short by saying, "I perceive more than you can imagine or can know. Experience hath taught me." When Kingston was introduced and knelt before him, Wolsey said, "I pray you stand up, and leave your kneeling unto a very wretch replete with misery, not worthy to be esteemed, but for a vile object utterly cast away, without desert; and therefore, good Master Kingston, stand up, or I will myself kneel down by you." After some talk Wolsey thanked Kingston for his kind words. "Assure yourself that if I were as able and as lusty as I have been but of late, I would not fail to ride with you in post. But all these comfortable words which ye have spoken be but for a purpose to bring me to a fool's paradise; I know what is provided for me."

With a mind thus agitated the sufferings of the body increased. When Wolsey took his journey next day all regarded him as a dying man. The soldiers of the guard, "as soon as they espied their old master in such a lamentable estate, lamented him with weeping eyes. Whom my lord took by the hands, and divers times by the way as he rode he would talk with them, sometime with one and sometime with another." That night he reached Hardwick Hall, in Notts, a house of the Earl of Shrewsbury, and the next day rode to Nottingham. On the way from thence to Leicester he was so feeble that he could scarcely sit upon his mule. It was dark on Saturday night when he reached Leicester Abbey, where the abbot greeted him by torchlight. "Father Abbot," he said, "I am come hither to leave my bones among you." Kingston had to carry him upstairs to his bed, which he never quitted again.

All Sunday his malady increased, and on Monday morning Cavendish, as he watched his face, thought him drawing fast to his end. "He perceiving my shadow upon the wall by his bedside asked who was there. 'Sir, I am here,' quoth I. 'What is it of the clock?' said he. 'Forsooth, sir,' said I, 'it is past eight of the clock in the morning.'—'Eight of the clock, eight of the clock,' said he, rehearsing divers times. 'Nay, nay, it cannot be eight of the clock; for by eight of the clock ye shall lose your master, for my time draweth near that I must depart out of this world.'"

But the dying man was not to depart without a reminder of the pitiless character of the master whom he had served so well. When Wolsey left Cawood the Earl of Northumberland remained behind to examine his papers; amongst them he found a record that Wolsey had in his possession £1500, but he reported to the king that he could not find the money. Such was Henry's keenness as his own minister of finance that he could not await Wolsey's arrival in London, but wrote off instantly to Kingston, bidding him examine Wolsey how he came by the money, and discover where it was. In obedience to the royal command Kingston reluctantly visited the dying man, who told him that he had borrowed the money of divers friends and dependants whom he did not wish to see defrauded; the money was in the keeping of an honest man, and he asked for a little time before disclosing where it was.

In the night he often swooned, but rallied in the morning and asked for food. Some chicken broth was brought him, but he remembered that it was a fast-day, being St. Andrew's Eve. "What though it be," said his confessor, "ye be excused by reason of your sickness."—"Yea," said he, "what though? I will eat no more." After this he made his confession, and about seven in the morning Kingston entered to ask further about the money. But seeing how ill Wolsey was, Kingston tried to comfort him. "Well, well," said Wolsey, "I see the matter against me how it is framed, but if I had served God so diligently as I have done the king, he would not have given me over in my gray hairs. Howbeit, this is the just reward that I must receive for my worldly diligence and pains that I had to do him service, only to satisfy his vain pleasure, not regarding my godly duty. Wherefore, I pray you, with all my heart, to have me most humbly commended unto his royal Majesty, beseeching him in my behalf to call to his most gracious remembrance all matters proceeding between him and me from the beginning of the world unto this day, and the progress of the same, and most chiefly in the weighty matter now depending (i.e. the divorce); then shall his conscience declare whether I have offended him or no. He is sure a prince of a royal courage, and hath a princely heart; and rather than he will either miss or want any part of his will or appetite he will put the loss of one-half of his realm in danger. For I assure you I have often kneeled before him in his privy chamber on my knees the space of an hour or two, to persuade him from his will and appetite; but I could never bring to pass to dissuade him therefrom. Therefore, Master Kingston, if it chance hereafter you to be one of his Privy Council, as for your wisdom and other qualities ye are meet to be, I warn you to be well advised and assured what matter ye put in his head, for ye shall never put it out again." He went on to bid him warn the king against the spread of the pernicious sect of Lutherans as harmful to the royal authority and destructive of the order of the realm. Then as his tongue failed him he gasped out, "Master Kingston, farewell. I can no more, but wish all things to have good success. My time draweth on fast. I may not tarry with you. And forget not, I pray you, what I have said and charged you withal, for when I am dead ye shall peradventure remember my words much better." His breath failed him and his eyes grew fixed. The abbot came to administer supreme unction, and as the clock struck eight Wolsey passed away. "And calling to our remembrance his words the day before, how he said that at eight of the clock we should lose our master, one of us looked upon another supposing that he prophesied of his departure."

Kingston sent a message to tell the king of Wolsey's death, and hastened the preparations for his funeral. His body was placed in a coffin of boards, vested in his archiepiscopal robes, with his mitre, cross, and ring. It lay in state till five in the afternoon, when it was carried into the church and was placed in the Lady Chapel, where it was watched all night. At four in the morning mass was sung, and by six the grave had closed over the remains of Wolsey.

It would be consoling to think that a pang of genuine sorrow was felt by Henry VIII. when he heard of the death of Wolsey; but unfortunately there is no ground for thinking so, and all that is on record shows us that Henry's chief care still was to get hold of the £1500, which was all that remained of Wolsey's fortune. Cavendish was taken by Kingston to Hampton Court, where he was summoned to the king, who was engaged in archery in the park. As Cavendish stood against a tree sadly musing Henry suddenly came behind him and slapped him on the back, saying, "I will make an end of my game, and then I will talk with you." Soon he finished his game and went into the garden, but kept Cavendish waiting for some time outside. The interview lasted more than an hour, "during which time he examined me of divers matters concerning my lord, wishing that liever than twenty thousand pounds that he had lived. Then he asked me for the fifteen hundred pounds which Master Kingston moved to my lord before his death." Cavendish told him what he knew about it, and said that it was deposited with a certain priest. "Well, then," said the king, "let me alone, and keep this gear secret between yourself and me, and let no man be privy thereof; for if I hear more of it, then I know by whom it is come to knowledge. Three may keep counsel if two be away; and if I thought that my cap knew my counsel I would cast it into the fire and burn it." Henry spoke freely, and these words disclose the secret of his strength. Every politician has a method of his own by which he hides his real character and assumes a personality which is best fitted for his designs. Henry VIII. beneath an air of frankness and geniality concealed a jealous and watchful temperament, full of crafty designs for immediate gain, resolute, avaricious, and profoundly self-seeking.

As we have been so much indebted to Cavendish for an account of Wolsey's private life, especially in his last days, it is worth while to follow Cavendish's fortunes. The king promised to take him into his own service, and to pay him his wages for the last year, amounting to £10. He bade him ask it of the Duke of Norfolk. As he left the king he met Kingston coming from the Council, whither Cavendish also was summoned. Kingston implored him to take heed what he said. The Council would examine him about Wolsey's last words; "and if you tell them the truth you shall undo yourself." He had denied that he heard anything, and warned Cavendish to do the same. So Cavendish answered the Duke of Norfolk that he was so busied in waiting on Wolsey that he paid little heed to what he said. "He spoke many idle words, as men in such extremities do, the which I cannot now remember." He referred them to Kingston's more accurate memory. It is a dismal picture of Court life which is here presented to us. On every side was intrigue, suspicion, and deceit. Wolsey's last words were consigned to oblivion; for the frankness that was begotten of a retrospect in one who had nothing more to hope or fear was dangerous in a place whence truth was banished.

When the Council was over Norfolk talked with Cavendish about his future. Cavendish had seen enough of public life, and had no heart to face its dangers. The figure of Wolsey rose before his eyes, and he preferred to carry away into solitude his memories of the vanity of man's ambition. His only request was for a cart and horse to carry away his own goods, which had been brought with Wolsey's to the Tower. The king was gracious, and allowed him to choose six cart-horses and a cart from Wolsey's stable. He gave him five marks for his expenses, paid him £10 for arrears of wages, and added £20 as a reward. "I received all these things accordingly, and then I returned into my country." It says much for Wolsey that he chose as his personal attendant a man of the sweet, sensitive, retiring type of George Cavendish, though it was not till after his fall from power that he learned the value of such a friend. No less significant of the times is the profound impression which Wolsey's fate excited on the mind of Cavendish, who in the retirement of his own county of Suffolk lived with increasing sadness through the changes which befell England and destroyed many of the memories which were dearest to his heart. No one then cared to hear about Wolsey, nor was it safe to recall the thought of the great Cardinal of England to the minds of men who were busied in undoing his work. Not till the days of Mary did Cavendish gather together his notes and sketch the fortunes of one whose figure loomed forth from a distant past, mellowed by the mists of time, and hallowed by the pious resignation which was the only comfort that reflection could give to the helpless recluse. The calm of a poetic sadness is expressed in the pages of Cavendish's Memoir. Wolsey has become to him a type of the vanity of human endeavour, and points the moral of the superiority of a quiet life with God over the manifold activities of an aspiring ambition. But Cavendish did not live to see the time when such a sermon, preached on such a text, was likely to appeal to many hearers. His work remained in manuscript, of which copies circulated amongst a few. One such copy, it is clear, must have reached the hands of Shakespeare, who, with his usual quickness of perception, condensed as much as his public could understand into his portrait of Wolsey in the play of Henry VIII. When the Memoir was first printed in 1641 it was garbled for party purposes. The figure of Wolsey was long left to the portraiture of prejudice, and he was regarded only as the type of the arrogant ecclesiastic whom it was the great work of the Reformation to have rendered impossible in the future. Wolsey, the most patriotic of Englishmen, was branded as the minion of the Pope, and the upholder of a foreign despotism. When Fiddes, in 1724, attempted, on the strength of documents, to restore Wolsey to his due position amongst England's worthies, he was accused of Popery. Not till the mass of documents relating to the reign of Henry VIII. was published did it become possible for Dr. Brewer to show the significance of the schemes of the great cardinal, and to estimate his merits and his faults.