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being brought her; while Henry shed tears to her memory and ordered his household to wear mourning, she dressed herself in some of her gayest robes of yellow silk, and openly proclaimed her joy at being fairly rid of her rival. But ere six short months had elapsed, these yellow robes were to be tinged with a deeper dye.
On the 23d of July, the court held its last session; and as a decision in favour of the king was anticipated, the hall was crowded. Henry himself was present, but concealed behind the hangings, where he could hear all that passed. When the cardinals had taken their seats, his majesty's counsel demanded judgment. But Campeggio replied: that judgment must be deferred till the whole of the proceedings had been laid before the sovereign pontiff, and for that purpose he pronounced the court adjourned to the commencement of the next term, in the beginning of October. This announcement produced a great sensation in the court, and the reader can easily imagine what were the feelings of the personage behind the arras. Sympathising in his mortification, the Duke of Suffolk started from his seat, and striking the table, exclaimed with vehemence: "That never had they been merry in England, since a cardinal came among them!" Though Wolsey was aware of the risk he incurred of offending the royalty behind the curtain, yet he could not suffer this personal insult to pass unnoticed. Rising with dignity, he, with consummate address, uttered these words, which contain at once a spirited rebuke against Suffolk, and an apology for his own conduct. "Sir, of all men within this realm, ye have the least reason to dispraise cardinals; for, but for me, simple cardinal as I am, you at this moment would have had no head upon your shoulders, and no tongue within your lips to make such a brag in disrepute of us, who intended you no manner of displeasure. Know you, then, proud lord, that I, and
my brother here, will give place neither to you nor to any other in honourable intentions to the king, and a desire to accomplish his lawful wishes. Bethink ye, my lord, were ye the king's commissioner in a foreign country, having a weighty matter to treat upon, would you venture to decide without first consulting your sovereign? Doubtless ye would consent, and right carefully too; and, therefore, I advise you to banish all hasty malice, and consider that we here are nothing but commissioners for a time; and dare not proceed to judgment without the knowledge of our supreme head. It is for this cause that we do no more nor less than our commission alloweth. Therefore, my lord, take my counsel; hold your peace, pacify yourself, and frame your words like a man of honour and of wisdom. know best what friendship ye have received at my hands, and which I never before this time revealed to any one alive, either to my own glory, or to your dishonour." Suffolk, by his silence, seems to have acknowledged the truth of these secret circumstances to which the cardinal alluded, and the court broke up without further interruption.
A letter from Secretary Gardiner to Wolsey, dated early in September, will show the nervous state of solicitude in which the king lived at this period.
"And whereas your grace at the end of your letter, writeth that ye have certain things to show to the king's highness, which your grace thinketh not convenient to be committed to writing; I assure your grace, that at the reading thereof, his highness seemed altered and moved. Whereupon, as being troubled for the desire of further knowledge, and vainly conjecturing what it is that your grace doth not think convenient to be put into writing, the roads being sure, and without fear of interruption, and his highness knowing that your grace is not wont to spare any labours or pains in writing, when the case so requireth. Musing and marvelling, there
fore, more and more what the matter should be, he willed me with all diligence to despatch his grace's servant Curson, this bearer, with these letters to your grace, to desire you incontinently [directly] to signify to the same the caput rei-the heads of the matter, which your grace meaneth." He concludes by repeating his request, that he would send him "the summum et effectum, the head and bearing of your gracious mind, to the intent his highness may somewhat quiet his mind and cogitation, and muse no further than needs, upon occasion of the obscure words at the end of your grace's letter."
"I that he con
In September Campeggio prepared for his departure, leaving the affair of the divorce in much the same position as when he came. Henry's patience was worn out, his mistress was ready at hand to foster the growing discontent, and the unsuccessful negotiator with Rome was destined to bear the whole weight of the king's disappointment; and that with Henry, was but another word for ruin and disgrace. The symptoms of Wolsey's approaching fall were evident to every one but himself, for he trusted the hollow professions of men, who, though they had served him faithfully in his prosperity, were ready to betray his confidence in his declining fortunes. see," says the Bishop of Bayonne, fides in certain persons, who were the creatures of his hand, but who, I feel assured, have turned their backs upon him; and the worst of the business is, that he is unaware of all that is passing." But his greatest cause for fear, were the arts of a woman, whom we have just seen so solemnly assuring him that her gratitude "should last unfeignedly during her life." An occasion soon presented itself for Anne to weigh her influence with his, and his scale "kicked the beam." For some offence, Wolsey had driven Sir Thomas Cheney from court; he appealed to the king's mistress, and Henry reprimanded the cardinal, and recalled the exile. She now no longer
disguised her hostility; and eagerly seconded the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, and her father the Viscount Rochford, in their united efforts to precipitate the cardinal's downfal. We learn from the Bishop of Bayonne that they had other motives, more substantial than merely their hatred to Wolsey; "The object of these noblemen is, that, when the minister is out of the way, or dead, to seize immediately upon the estates of the church-they talk of this freely over their cups. I fancy they will play up a fine game when he is gone."
Previous to Campeggio's departure, he went, accompanied by Wolsey, to Grafton in Northamptonshire, to take his leave of the king. Then it was that the cardinal's pride and hopes received their death-blow. On reaching the country seat where Henry was staying, being then on a progress with his mistress, Campeggio was immediately conducted to an apartment prepared for him, while Wolsey had the mortfication to learn that no orders for his accommodation had been given. Sir Henry Norris, pitying his embarrassment, entreated him to make use of his room, where he learned from some of his friends the secret of the king's displeasure. Shortly after, he was summoned to the presence chamber. The meeting is thus admirably described by Caven. dish. "At this time, the chamber was filled with noblemen, who were only intent on observing the countenance of the king and him, and what reception he would give him. Immediately after came the king into the chamber, and standing under the cloth of state, my lord kneeled down before him, who took my lord by the hand, and so did he the other cardinal. Then he took up my lord by both arms, and caused him to stand with as amiable a cheer as ever he did. He then called him aside, and led him by the hand to a great window, where he talked with him, and caused him to be covered. Then," continues this minute observer, "could you have beheld
the countenances of those who made their wagers to the contrary, it would have made you smile; and thus were they all deceived, as well worthy for their presumption." Yet, though the courtiers lost their wagers, it was but a gleam of favour; and Wolsey soon discovered that the star of his high fortunes had set for ever. It was observed that Henry used angry words; and he was seen to pluck a letter from his bosom, and hold it up to the cardinal's face, as if demanding whether he could deny his hand-writing. The accused minister seemed to pacify him for the moment, and the conference ended with apparent courtesy on the part of the monarch. On taking leave, he requested him to return the following morning; but the king dined that same day with Anne Boleyn in her chamber, and her influence was irresistible. She took upon her to be offended at the cordial reception which Wolsey had obtained; painted him in the worst colours to Henry, and dwelt with peculiar bitterness upon the delays which he had occasioned in the progress of the divorce. Henry was too much infatuated by his criminal passion, to use his better judgment; and before he rose from table, to use the Bishop of Bayonne's words: "Mademoiselle de Boulan had extorted a promise from her friend, that he would never more speak to Wolsey." This promise he faithfully kept, and he never again beheld the face of his old friend, and adviser. When Wolsey next morning presented himself at the appointed time, he had the mortification to learn that the royal cavalcade had departed an hour earlier than had been arranged the evening previous, evidently with a view to balk him of his intended audience with the king. Henry and Anne had gone to spend the day at Harewell Park, and did not return home till the cardinal, in consequence of a hint which he had received, had departed for London.
This, however, was but the beginning of sorrows. On his return two bills were filed against him in the