The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

QUEEN ANNE BOLEYN.
ENGRAVED BY E. SCRIVEN, AFTER
THE ORIGINAL PICTURE BY HOLBEIN.
London, Published Jan. 1, 1825, by Harding, Triphook & Lepard.

THE
LIFE
OF
CARDINAL WOLSEY.

BY

GEORGE CAVENDISH,

HIS GENTLEMAN USHER.

FROM THE ORIGINAL AUTOGRAPH MANUSCRIPT.

WITH

NOTES AND OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS,

BY

SAMUEL WELLER SINGER, F.S.A.

SECOND EDITION.

LONDON:

PRINTED BY THOMAS DAVISON,

FOR HARDING AND LEPARD, PALL MALL EAST.

MDCCCXXVII.

TO HIS GRACE

THE DUKE OF DEVONSHIRE,

THIS REVIVAL OF A MOST INTERESTING

SPECIMEN OF COTEMPORARY BIOGRAPHY,

BY HIS COLLATERAL ANCESTOR

GEORGE CAVENDISH,

IS WITH PERMISSION DEDICATED

BY HIS GRACE’S OBLIGED AND

OBEDIENT HUMBLE SERVANT,

S. W. SINGER.

PREFACE.

Perhaps few periods of English history are more remarkable than that which comprised the fortunes of Wolsey; a period which had to boast the most illustrious potentates who have ever filled the thrones of Europe. The age of Henry was also that of Leo, of Charles, and of Francis:—a period big with political events of singular interest:—the captivity of the French monarch and of the Roman Pontiff,—the sacking of Rome,—the divorce of Queen Katherine,—and the train of circumstances which led the way to the Reformation,—Events in which Wolsey’s hand may be often traced, and in some of which he was a principal actor. The record of his life and its vicissitudes,—his humble origin—his towering fortunes, and his sudden fall,—could not well fail of interesting even in ordinary hands:—But he has been extremely fortunate in his biographer. The narrative contained in the following pages, of course, only affords a glance at these events; it is not the work of a professed historiographer, but the production of a simple-hearted and honest eyewitness of what he relates. George Cavendish was the faithful attendant of this princely prelate in his triumphant as well as in his declining fortunes:—One who failed him not in his adversity, but shed over his fallen master the tears of affection, performed for him the last sad offices of humanity, and then in his retirement sat down with honest indignation to vindicate him from slander, and to transmit to future ages a faithful picture of his life, with a sacred regard to truth.

It is this circumstance which renders his work so much more interesting than any thing of a similar kind with which I am acquainted. We are here occasionally introduced to the secret recesses of the private life of one of the most distinguished statesmen the world ever saw; of one who not only divided the sway of empire with his monarch, but who governed or influenced the conduct alternately of France and Spain; whose power for a time was almost unlimited, and whose magnificence has never been exceeded.

There is a sincere and impartial adherence to truth, a reality in Cavendish’s narrative, which bespeaks the confidence of his reader, and very much increases his pleasure. It is a work without pretension, but full of natural eloquence, devoid of the formality of a set rhetorical composition, unspoiled by the affectation of that classical manner in which all biography and history of old time was prescribed to be written, and which often divests such records of the attraction to be found in the conversational style of Cavendish. There is an unspeakable charm in the naïveté of his language—his occasional appeals to his reader—and the dramatic form of his narration, in which he gives the very words of the interlocutors, and a lively picture of their actions, making us as it were spectators of the scenes he describes. Indeed our great poet has literally followed him in several passages of his King Henry VIII. merely putting his language into verse. Add to this the historical importance of the work, as the only sure and authentic source of information upon many of the most interesting events of that reign; from which all historians have largely drawn, (through the secondary medium of Holinshed and Stowe, who adopted Cavendish’s narrative,) and its intrinsic value need not be more fully expressed.

Upon the death of the Cardinal his master, Cavendish relates that the king gave him the same appointment, of Gentleman Usher, in his service, which he had filled in the household of Wolsey: yet at the close of his work he tells us that he returned to his own home in the country. Whether his retirement was only temporary, or whether he then took his final leave of the court, we have no exact means of ascertaining. In his poems he does not mention having served the king, yet dwells upon his faithful services to the Cardinal; but the information he displays upon the principal subsequent events of the reign of Henry, and that of Edward VI. seems to lead to the conclusion that he was a spectator of them. In retirement he would have hardly been able to obtain the acquaintance with public affairs which his poems show that he possessed. The circumstance of his sitting down to write in the reign of Philip and Mary[1], “to eschewe all ociosite,” would seem to point to that as the period of his retirement, or otherwise his conscience had long slumbered before it accused him that his “tyme he spent in idelnes.”

The fate of this Life of Wolsey has been indeed singularly unfortunate; after remaining in manuscript nearly a century, it was first printed in 1641, for party purposes, but in such a garbled form as to be hardly recognized for the same work, abridgment and interpolation having been used with an unsparing hand. Its author too had been robbed of his literary honours, which were bestowed upon his younger and more fortunate brother Sir William Cavendish, until the year 1814, when his cause was ably advocated in a Dissertation by the Rev. Joseph Hunter, F.A.S. author of the History of Hallamshire. I am indebted to the kind intervention of my friend J. H. Markland, Esq. for the privilege of reprinting that Dissertation, which the reader will find at the commencement of the volume, and will, I doubt not, be gratified in the perusal. It affords the best example of clear argumentative solution of a literary paradox from circumstantial evidence with which I am acquainted, at the same time it is so skilfully interwoven with curious matter bearing upon the question, as not only to divest it of the sterile character with which disquisitions of the same kind from less able hands have been marked, but to render it very interesting. I owe Mr. Hunter my best acknowledgements for the ready manner in which the favour was conferred, and I look to have the thanks of those, who are yet unacquainted with it, for uniting this tract with the work of George Cavendish, from which it should never again be disjoined. For all that relates to the Life of Wolsey and its author, therefore, I shall beg leave to refer to this source of information; and it will only remain for me to give an account of the present edition.

Having purchased two valuable ancient manuscript copies of the work, one of them from among the duplicates of the late Duke of Norfolk’s library[2], I conceived that the text might be very much improved by collation of these and the several manuscripts in private and public libraries. Upon naming the design to my friend Mr. Douce, he mentioned to me a very curious copy in the possession of Mr. Lloyd, which contained some verses apparently by the same author, and which from this circumstance might have some claim to be considered the author’s original autograph. Upon application to that gentleman, he, with a liberality which calls for my warmest thanks, immediately placed the manuscript in my hands. I at once saw that its pretensions were undoubted, and that it contained not only a more valuable text of the Life, but a series of poems, evidently in the hand writing of the author, with occasional corrections and interlineations, and thus attested:—“per le Auctor G. C.” in numerous places. On the first blank leaf is written in the same hand with the body of the manuscript, “Vincit qui patitur q^d G. C. Maxima vindicta paciencia;” and then “Cavendysh de Cavendysh in Com. Suff. gent.” and beneath, “I began this booke the 4. day of Novemb^r.” On the reverse of the same leaf is another Latin sentence and the motto of Cavendish, Cavendo tutus. On a succeeding blank leaf is the name of a former possessor, C. Rossington[3], under which is written in another hand, “i. e. Clement Rossington of Dronfield, Gent. whose son Mr. James Rossington gave me this MS.” It is remarkable that it should have passed into the possession of a person in Derbyshire. Those who have made Sir William Cavendish the author would have seized upon this circumstance with avidity as lending colour to their assertion, and would probably have argued that the initials G. C. by which George Cavendish has attested it as his production in so many places, were intended to designate Gulielmus Cavendish. Mr. Hunter has, however, settled the question beyond the possibility of dispute; it is sufficient to remark here that Sir William Cavendish died in 1557, and that this manuscript affords unequivocal evidence that the writer survived Queen Mary, who died at the close of 1558. Unfortunately the first leaf of the text of the Life is wanting. At the end of the Author’s Address to his Book, with which the poems conclude, is the date of the completion of the manuscript, which will be found on the plate of fac-similes:

Finie et compilé le xxiiij jour de Junij.

A^o. Regnor. Philippi Rex & Regine Marie iiij^to. & v^to.

Per le Auctor G. C.

Novus Rex, nova lex, Nova sola Regina, probz. pene ruina.

This invaluable acquisition made me at once change my plan, and proceed earnestly to the work of transcription; feeling convinced that all other manuscripts were, in comparison, of little authority, I determined to follow this, as most entitled to confidence. Upon comparing it with my own manuscript copies and the text of Dr. Wordsworth, I found that it supplied the chasm which, for some unknown reason, is found in all the manuscripts that have come under my notice. The suppressed passages contain the description of a boar hunt, and an account of the libels written against Wolsey by the French[4]; the imperfection is generally indicated by a blank space being left, which in Mr. Douce’s MS. is accompanied by a note saying, “in this vacante place there wanteth copy.” It was at first my intention to give various readings, but upon closer comparison I found this would have been impracticable, because the text, as it appears in Dr. Wordsworth’s edition and in the common manuscript copies, has been almost entirely rewritten; changes in the structure of the phrase and verbal discrepancies occur in almost every line. Under such circumstances I was obliged to content myself with indicating the most important variations, I mean such as in any way affected the meaning of the text. I have however availed myself of my own manuscript copies, or of Dr. Wordsworth’s edition, to supply an occasional word or phrase which seemed necessary to the sense of a passage, but have always carefully distinguished these additions, by enclosing them in brackets.

It is not easy to account for the extraordinary difference in the language of the original autograph copy and the later manuscripts, by any other means than a supposition that the copyist thought he could improve the style of Cavendish, which is indeed sometimes involved and obscure, but many of the discrepancies have clearly arisen from the difficulty of reading his hand-writing, and the substitutions most frequently occur where the original manuscript is the most illegible. It is scarcely probable that Cavendish wrote another copy, for he was already, as he himself says, old, and probably did not survive the date of the completion of this MS. above a year. There are no additions of the least importance in the more recent copies; the few which occur have been carefully noted.

Of the Poems, to which I have given the title of Metrical Visions, no other copy is known to exist. They have little or no merit as verses, being deficient in all the essential points of invention, expression and rhythm, and it is to be regretted that Cavendish, who knew so well how to interest us by his artless narration of facts in prose, should have invoked the muse in vain. He seems to have been sensible of his deficiency, and says very truly

“I must write plain, colours I have none to paint.”

In the former limited impression these Metrical Visions were printed, but as they have little in them to interest the general reader, it has been deemed advisable to give only a specimen in the Appendix to the present edition; the omission enabling the publishers to compress the work into one volume, and thereby to make it more generally accessible.

I have ventured to take the spelling and pointing into my own hands; but in no instance have I presumed to alter the disposition of the text. I have reason to think that the judicious reader will not be displeased at what is done in this respect; it is no more than what has been effected for Shakspeare and other of our ancient classics. The orthography of Cavendish, as the specimen given from his poems will evince, was exceedingly uncouth and unsettled; retaining it could have answered no good end; those who wish to have recourse to the work for philological purposes would most assuredly prefer the authority of manuscripts; and the disguise of old spelling might have deterred many from reading this interesting narrative, to whom it will now afford pleasure.

The remaining portion of the volume comprises a very curious Memoir of Queen Anne Boleyn by George Wyatt, grandson of Sir Thomas Wyatt, the poet, containing some particulars relating to that unfortunate lady not elsewhere noted. It must be considered a valuable supplement to the notice of her contained in the Life of Wolsey. In the Appendix is also given a Parallel between Wolsey and Laud, written at the time when Cavendish’s work first issued from the press; though its purpose was to excite prejudice against Laud, it is not deficient in interest, and is conducted with tolerable temper. The original being of extreme rarity, and of sufficient brevity, I have thought that it would be an agreeable addition to this work. The few letters and papers which are added were necessary illustrations of passages in the text and notes, and though some of them are to be found in books readily accessible, they are not placed in connexion with the work to which they relate without sufficient reasons, which the reader will find stated in the preliminary notices; it is therefore unnecessary to repeat them in this place. A few notes on the Life of Wolsey which have been adopted from Dr. Wordsworth’s edition are distinguished by the letter W.

It is not generally known that a very curious edition of this Life was printed by the zealous biographer of Wolsey, Mr. Grove of Richmond, as long since as the year 1761. He had first adopted the old spurious copy, which he printed in the form of notes to his own work in 1742-4; but afterwards meeting with a manuscript, he was so indignant upon finding by comparison the forgeries and scandalous interpolations of the old editions, that he printed off a small impression with a preface and notes; but it is one of the rarest of English books. For the loan of this curious volume[5] I am indebted to the kindness of Richard Heber, Esq. M.P. for the University of Oxford, whose liberality, in imparting the inexhaustible treasures of the richest and most comprehensive library ever formed by one individual, it has been my good fortune frequently to experience.

My excellent and highly valued friend Francis Douce, Esq. with his accustomed kindness, threw open to me his valuable library, and placed in my hands a very curious manuscript[6] of this Life, embellished with spirited drawings in outline of some of the principal occurrences, from which three prints have been accurately copied as appropriate embellishments of the book. With these advantages, I have reason to hope that this edition will be found in all respects worthy of the singular merit of the work, and of the auspices under which it goes forth to the world.

Box Hill,

June 1, 1825.

CONTENTS.

ILLUSTRATIVE DOCUMENTS.

DIRECTIONS FOR PLACING THE PLATES.

Fac simile of the Original Autograph M.S. of Cavendish’s Life of Wolsey.
N^o. 1.
N^o. 2.
N^o. 3.
Engraved by J. Swaine.

WHO WROTE CAVENDISH’S LIFE OF WOLSEY?

FIRST PRINTED IN MDCCCXIV.

When a writer undertakes to give cuique suum in a question of literary property, if he would avoid the ridicule which they deservedly incur who raise a controversy only that they may have the honour of settling it, he must show that there are more claimants than one on the property he means to assign.

This then will be our first object.

To whom the Biographia attributes it.

Let the reader turn to the ‘Biographia Britannica,’ and look out the article ‘Sir William Cavendish.’ He will find in either of the editions what follows in the words of Dr. Campbell, the original projector of that work, or rather of his friend Mr. Morant, the historian of Essex, for it does not appear that the later editors have either reconsidered the article, or added to it any thing material. Sir William Cavendish, we are told, “had a liberal education given him by his father, who settled upon him also certain lands in the county of Suffolk; but made a much better provision for him by procuring him to be admitted into the family of the great Cardinal Wolsey, upon whom he waited in quality of gentleman usher of his chamber.”——“As Mr. Cavendish was the Cardinal’s countryman, and the Cardinal had a great kindness for his father, he took him early into his confidence, and showed him upon all occasions very particular marks of kindness and respect[7]” Several extracts from the Life of Wolsey are then produced to show the honourable nature of this employment. Mr. Cavendish’s faithful adherence to Wolsey in his fall receives due encomium: and we are then favoured with a detail of Mr. Cavendish’s public services after the Cardinal’s death, his rich rewards, his knighthood, marriages, and issue, in which the writer of the article has followed Sir William Dugdale, and the Peerages. Towards the conclusion Cavendish is spoken of in his character of an author, a character which alone could entitle him to admission into that temple of British worthies. We are told that "he appears from his writings to have been a man of great honour and integrity, a good subject to his prince, a true lover of his country, and one who preserved to the last a very high reverence and esteem for his old master and first patron Cardinal Wolsey, whose life he wrote in the latter part of his own, and there gives him a very high character."——"This work of his remained long in manuscript, and the original some years ago was in the hands of the Duke of Kingston, supposed to be given by the author to his daughter, who married into that family. It had been seen and consulted by the Lord Herbert when he wrote his history of the Reign of King |To whom, Lord Herbert.| Henry VIII., but he was either unacquainted with our author’s Christian name, or mistook him for his elder brother George Cavendish of Glemsford in the county of Suffolk, Esq. for by that name his lordship calls him: but it appears plainly from what he says that the history he made use of was our author’s." p. 324.

Such is the reputation in which the Biographia Britannica is held in the world, and indeed not undeservedly, that most writers of English biography have recourse to it for information: and with its authority those among them are usually well satisfied, who neither value, nor are willing to undertake, the toilsome researches of the genealogist and the antiquary. Another such work, for an illustrious class of English worthies, is ‘The Peerage of England,’ begun by the respectable and ill rewarded Arthur Collins, and continued by successive editors with as much exactness as could reasonably have been expected. |To whom the Peerages.| The several editions of this work, from that of 1712, in one volume, to that of 1812, in nine, contain the same account of Sir William Cavendish’s attendance upon Wolsey, of his tried attachment to him, and of his lasting gratitude to the memory of his old master, displayed in writing apologetical memoirs of his life. At the very opening of the pages devoted to the Devonshire family, in the recent edition of this work, we are told that “the potent and illustrious family of Cavendish, of which, in the last century, two branches arrived at dukedoms, laid the foundation of their future greatness, first, on the share of abbey lands obtained at the dissolution of monasteries by Sir William Cavendish, who had been gentleman usher to Cardinal Wolsey, who died in 1557, and afterwards by the abilities, the rapacity, and the good fortune of Elizabeth his widow, who remarried George Earl of Shrewsbury, and died in 1607[8].” And afterwards, in the account of the said Sir William Cavendish, we are told nearly in the words used by Morant, that “to give a more lasting testimony of his gratitude to the Cardinal, he drew up a fair account of his life and death, which he wrote in the reign of Queen Mary: whereof the oldest copy is in the hands of the noble family of Pierrepoint, into which the author’s daughter was married. Lord Herbert of Cherbury, in the Life and Reign of King Henry VIII., quotes the manuscript in many places, but mentions George Cavendish to be the author of it; which, from divers circumstances, we may conclude to be a mistake. In the year 1641 it was printed, and again in 1667[9].” A full account is then given of the public employments and honourable rewards of Sir William Cavendish; and the descent of the two ducal families of Devonshire and Newcastle from this most fortunate subject is set forth with all due regard to genealogical accuracy.

Sir William Cavendish generally understood to be the author;

From these two great public reservoirs of English biography this account of Sir William Cavendish, both as an author and a man, has been drawn off into innumerable other works. Writers of high authority in affairs of this nature have adopted it; and even historians of the life of Wolsey, upon whom it appeared to be incumbent to make accurate inquiry into this subject, have retailed as unquestioned truth what the Biographia and the Peerages have told us concerning an author to whose most faithful and interesting narrative |but erroneously.| they have been so largely indebted. Sir William Cavendish may therefore be regarded as the tenant in possession of this property: nor, as far as I know, hath his right ever been formally controverted. Before the reader has got to the last page of this little treatise he will probably have seen reason to conclude that this account is all fable: for that Sir William Cavendish could not possibly have been the Cardinal’s biographer, nor, of course, the faithful attendant upon him; that circumstance of his history proceeding entirely upon the supposition that he was the writer of the work in question[10].

While we have thus brought before the public the person who may be considered as the presumed proprietor of this work, we have also made good our promise to show that there are more claimants than one upon this piece of literary property. Lord Herbert, we have seen, quotes the manuscript as the production of a George |A third claimant.| Cavendish. Other writers of no mean authority, as will be seen in the course of this disquisition, have attributed it to another member of the house of Cavendish whose name was Thomas.

The editors of the Biographia and the Peerages have made very light of my Lord Herbert’s testimony. What those divers circumstances were which led the latter to reject it, as they have not informed us, so we must be content to remain in ignorance. The noble historian of the life and reign of Henry VIII. is not accustomed to quote his authorities at random. If he sometimes endeavour too much to palliate enormities which can neither be excused nor softened down, he is nevertheless generally correct as to the open fact, as he is always ingenious and interesting. Supported by so respectable an authority, the pretensions of this George Cavendish of Glemsford to have been the faithful attendant upon Wolsey, and the lively historian of his rise and fall, ought to have received a more patient examination. Descended of the same parents with Sir William, and by birth the elder, in fortune he was far behind him. At a period of great uncertainty the two brothers took opposite courses. William was for reform, George for existing circumstances. Contrary to the ordinary course of events, the first was led to wealth and honours, the latter left in mediocrity and obscurity. The former yet lives in a posterity not less distinguished by personal merit than by the splendour cast upon them by the highest rank in the British peerage, the just reward of meritorious services performed by a |George Cavendish the real author.| race of patriots their ancestors. Of the progeny from the other, history has no splendid deeds to relate; and, after the third generation, they are unknown to the herald and the antiquary. But this is to anticipate. I contend that the wreath which he has justly deserved, who produces one of the most beautiful specimens of unaffected faithful biography that any language contains, has been torn from this poor man’s brow, to decorate the temples of his more fortunate brother. To replace it is the object of the present publication. It will, I trust, be shown, to the satisfaction of the reader, that this George Cavendish was the author of the work in question, and the disinterested attendant upon the fallen favourite. The illustrious house of Devonshire needs no borrowed merit to command the respect and admiration of the world.

Let it not however be supposed that the writer is meaning to arrogate to himself the credit of being the first to dispute the right of Sir William Cavendish, and to advance the claim of the real owner. The possession which Sir William has had has not been an undisturbed one: so that were there any statute of limitations applicable |Writers who have advanced his claim.| to literary property, that statute would avail him nothing. The manuscript of this work, which now forms a part of the Harleian library, is described by the accurate Wanley as being from the pen of a |Wanley.| George Cavendish[11]. In 1742 and the two following years, ‘A History of the Life and Times of Cardinal Wolsey’ was published in four volumes |Grove.| octavo by Mr. Joseph Grove, who subjoined, in the form of notes, the whole of what was then known to the public of these Memoirs; describing them in a running title, ‘The Secret History of the Cardinal, by George Cavendish, Esq.:’ but, as if to show that no one who touched this subject should escape defilement from the errors of the Biographia and the Peerages, he confounds together the two brothers in the account he gives of the author at the 98th page of his third volume. During the remainder of the last century it does not appear that Sir William Cavendish suffered any material molestation in his possession of this property: |Douce.| but in the present century Mr. Francis Douce, in his most curious ‘Illustrations of Shakspeare,’ restores to George Cavendish the honour of having produced this work, and marks by significative Italics that it was an honour which |Wordsworth.| another had usurped[12]. Dr. Wordsworth may also be ranked amongst those writers who have ventured to put a spade into Sir William’s estate. To this gentleman belongs the merit of having first presented to the public an impression of this work, which conveys any just idea of the original[13]. In an advertisement he expresses himself thus cautiously as to the name of the author: “The following life was written by the Cardinal’s gentleman-usher, Cavendish, whose Christian name in the superscription to some of the manuscript copies is George, but by Bishop Kennet, in his Memoirs of the family of Cavendish, by Collins in his Peerage, and by Dr. Birch (No. 4233, Ayscough’s Catalogue Brit. Museum) he is called William[14].” Had the learned editor pursued the question thus started, it is probable he would have been led to the conclusion which will here be brought out, and have thus rendered wholly unnecessary the disquisition now tendered to the notice of the public. But here he has suffered the matter to rest.

Doubts of Sir William Cavendish’s right to this work gained not much credit in the world.

And indeed, to say the truth, though there may possibly have been two or three other writers who have intimated a doubt as to the right of Sir William Cavendish to the work in question, these doubts seem never to have gained hold on the public attention. It would be an invidious task to collect together the many modern supporters of his claim: there are, amongst them, names who have deservedly attained a high degree of celebrity in the walks of biography, history, antiquities, and topography. All the writer wishes is, that he may stand excused with the public in offering what he has collected upon this point: and if the concession is made that the suspicions of Sir William Cavendish’s right to this piece of biography have never gained much hold on the public mind, and that it is a prevailing opinion in the world that the greatness in which we now behold the house of Devonshire owes its origin to a train of fortunate circumstances resulting out of an attendance on Cardinal Wolsey, he must consider himself as amply excused.

Let us now hear the evidence.

Authorities in his favour,

The learned editor of the ‘Ecclesiastical Biography’ has mentioned several names as supporters of Sir William’s claim. And indeed, if names might carry the day, Kennet and Collins, Birch and Morant, are in themselves a host. But who is there accustomed to close and minute investigation, that has not discovered for himself, of how little moment is simple authority in any question? It is, especially, of little weight in historical and antiquarian discussion. The most laborious may sometimes overlook evidence which is afterwards accidentally discovered to another of far inferior pretensions: the most accurate may mistake: the most faithful may be bribed into inattention by supposititious facts, which give a roundness and compactness to what, without them, forms but an imperfect narration. The case before us may possibly come under the latter head. Take away the attendance upon Wolsey, and we have several years unaccounted for in the life of Sir William Cavendish; and lose what the mind perceives to be a step by which a private gentleman, as he was, might advance himself into the councils of princes, and the possession of important offices of state. There is in this what might lay a general biographer, who was a very Argus, asleep. But these authorities, it must also be |all modern.| observed, are all moderns: they lived a century and a half after both the Cavendishes had been gathered to their fathers; and earlier biographers, who have made mention of this founder of two ducal houses, have said nothing of any attendance upon the Cardinal, never ascribed the flourishing state of his fortunes to any recommendation of him to the king from his old master, nor taken any notice of what is so much to his honour, that he adhered faithfully to Wolsey in his fall, and produced this beautiful tribute to his memory. Negative evidence of this kind, it may be said, is of no great weight. It will be allowed, however, to be of some, when it is recollected who they are that have omitted these leading particulars in Sir William Cavendish’s history. They are no other than the author |Dugdale and the Duchess of Newcastle do not ascribe it to him.| of ‘The Baronage of England,’ and Margaret Duchess of Newcastle, who has given a laboured genealogy of the ancestors and kindred of her lord, a grandson of Sir William Cavendish, annexed to the very entertaining memoirs which she left of his life. The omissions of two such writers, living at the time when this work was first made public, and whose duty as well as inclination it would have been to have mentioned the fact, had it been so, will at least serve to weigh against the positive but unsupported testimonies of the abovementioned respectable writers, all of whom lived much too late to be supposed to have received any information by private tradition.

The original MS. said to be in the hands of the Pierrepoint family.

But the original manuscript was in the hands of the Pierrepoint family, and into that family Sir William Cavendish’s daughter was married. Possibly; but were it even so, it is obvious that this lays but a very insufficient foundation for believing that Sir William was the author. Why might it not have been given to Frances Cavendish by George Cavendish her uncle? But Doctor Kennet, upon whose authority this statement has been made, has not informed us by what criterion he was guided in assigning that priority to the Pierrepoint manuscript which this statement assumes. There are so many manuscripts of this work abroad, that it must, I presume, be exceedingly difficult to decide which has the best claim to be the author’s autograph, if indeed that autograph be in existence[15]. Scarcely any work of this magnitude, composed after the invention of printing, has been so often transcribed. There |Manuscripts;| is a copy in the cathedral library at York which once belonged to Archbishop Matthew; another very valuable one in the library of the College of Arms, presented to that learned society by Henry Duke of Norfolk; another in Mr. Douce’s collection; another in the public library at Cambridge; another in the Bodleian. There are two in Mr. Heber’s library; two at Lambeth; two in the British Museum[16]. |reason for their multiplication.| The reason of this multiplication of copies by the laborious process of transcription seems to have been this: the work was composed in the days of Queen Mary by a zealous catholic, but not committed to the press during her short reign. It contained a very favourable representation of the conduct of a man who was held in but little esteem in the days of her successor, and whom it was then almost treason to praise. The conduct of several persons was reflected on who were flourishing themselves, or in their immediate posterity, in the court of Queen Elizabeth: and it contained also the freest censures of the Reformation, and very strong remarks upon the conduct and character of Anne Boleyn, the Cardinal’s great enemy. It is probable that no printer could be found who had so little fear of the Star-Chamber before his eyes as to venture the publication of a work so obnoxious: while such was the gratification which all persons of taste and reading would find in it, from its fidelity, its curious minuteness, its lively details, and above all, from that unaffected air of sweet natural eloquence in which it is composed, that many among them must have been desirous of possessing it. Can we wonder then that so many copies should have been taken between the time when it was written and the year 1641, when it was first sent to the press: or that one of these copies should have found its way into the library of Henry Pierrepoint, Marquis of Dorchester, who was an author, and a man of some taste and learning[17]? It cannot surely be difficult to divine how it came into his possession, without supposing that it was brought into his family by Sir William’s daughter, his grandmother, Frances Cavendish.

Trifling as it appears, we have now had nearly all that has ever been alleged as rendering it |No evidence in his favour from the MSS.| probable that Sir William Cavendish was the author of this work. We have no evidence in his favour from any early catalogue of writers in English history: nor any testimony in inscription or title upon any of the manuscripts, except a modern one by Dr. Birch, upon one of the Museum copies. But in appropriating any literary composition to its author, that evidence is the most conclusive which is derived from the work itself. This is the kind of proof to which it is proposed to bring the claims of the two competitors. It is contended that there are passages in the work, and self-notices, which are absolutely inconsistent with the supposition that it was the production of the person to whom it has usually been ascribed. Let us attend to these.

Time when the work was written.

It will be of some importance to us to have clearly ascertained the period at which this work was composed. We have information sufficient for this purpose. At page 350[18] of Dr. Wordsworth’s impression, we read that the Cardinal “was sent twice on an embassage unto the Emperor Charles the Fifth that now reigneth, and father unto King Philip, now our soveraign lord.” Mary queen of England was married to Philip of Spain on the 25th of July, 1554. Again, at page 401, we hear of "Mr. Ratcliffe, who was sonne and heire to the Lord Fitzwalter, and nowe[19] Earle of Sussex." The Earl of Sussex of Queen Mary’s reign, who had been son and heir to a Lord Fitzwalter in the days of King Henry VIII., could be no other than Henry Radcliffe, the second earl of that name, who died on the 17th of February, 1557[20]. Without incurring any risk by following older authorities, when so much misconception is abroad, we may set down as fairly proved that the Life of Wolsey was composed about the middle of the reign of Queen Mary[21].

The author a neglected man.

Now we may collect that the author, whoever he was, thought himself a neglected man at the time of writing. He tells us that he engaged in the work to vindicate the memory of his master from “diverse sondrie surmises and imagined tales, made of his proceedings and doings,” which he himself had “perfectly knowen to be most untrue.” We cannot however but discover, that he was also stimulated by the desire of attracting attention to himself, the old and faithful domestic of a great man whose character was then beginning to retrieve itself in the eyes of an abused nation, and whose misfortunes had prevented him from advancing his servants in a manner accordant to his own wishes, and to the dignity of his service. He dwells with manifest complacency upon the words of commendation he received on different occasions from his master; and relates towards the conclusion how kindly he had been received by the king after the death of Wolsey, and what promises had been made to him both by Henry and the Duke of Norfolk, who yet suffered him to depart into his own country. But what shows most strikingly that he was an unsatisfied man, and thought that he had by no means had the reward due to his faithful services, is a remark he makes after having related the sudden elevation of Wolsey to the deanery of Lincoln. “Here,” says he, “may all men note the chaunces of fortune that followethe some whome she intendeth to promote, and to some her favor is cleane contrary, though they travaille never so much, with all the painfull diligence that they can devise or imagine: whereof for my part I have tasted of the experience.” p. 332[22].

Not so Sir William Cavendish.

There are persons whom nothing will satisfy, and they are sometimes the most importunate in obtruding their supposed neglects upon the public: but it must surely have been past all endurance to have had such a complaint |His employments, promotions, and rewards.| as this preferred by Sir William Cavendish in the days of Queen Mary. His life had been a continual series of promotions and lucrative employments. In 1530, the very year in the November of which the Cardinal died, he was constituted one of the commissioners for visiting and taking the surrenders of divers religious houses. In 1539 he was made one of the Auditors of the Court of Augmentations, then lately established. At this period of his life he was living luxuriously at his mansion of North Awbrey near Lincoln, as appears by the inventory of his furniture there, which is preserved in manuscript[23]. In the next year he had a royal grant of several lordships in the county of Hertford. In 1546 he was knighted; constituted treasurer of the chamber to the king, a place of great trust and honour; and was soon afterwards admitted of the privy council. He continued to enjoy all these honours till his death, a space of eleven years, in which time his estate was much increased by the grants he received from King Edward VI. in seven several counties[24]. It was not surely for such a man as this to complain of the ludibria fortunæ, or of the little reward all his “painful diligence” had received. Few men, as Sylvius says, would have such a “poverty of grace” that they would not

“——think it a most plenteous crop

To glean the broken ears after the man

That such a harvest reaps.”

Sir William Cavendish began the world the younger son of a family of some respectability, but of no great wealth or consequence; and he left it, at about the age of fifty, a knight, a privy counsellor, and the owner of estates which, managed and improved as they were by his prudent relict, furnished two houses with the means of supporting in becoming splendour the very first rank in the British peerage.

But an ambitious man is not to be contented; and men do form erroneous estimates of their own deserts: let us see, then, if the work will not supply us with something more conclusive.

Zealous against the Reformation.

The writer is fond of bringing forward his religious sentiments. The reader will be amused with the following sally against the Reformation, its origin, and favourers. He who is disposed may find in it matter for serious reflection. When Cavendish has related that the king submitted to be cited by the two legates, and to appear in person before them, to be questioned touching the matter of the divorce, he breaks out into this exclamation:—“Forsoothe it is a world to consider the desirous will of wilfull princes, when they be set and earnestly bent to have their wills fulfilled, wherein no reasonable persuasions will suffice; and how little they regard the dangerous sequell that may ensue, as well to themselves as to their subjects. And above all things, there is nothing that maketh them more wilfull than carnall love and sensuall affection of voluptuous desire, and pleasures of their bodies, as was in this case; wherein nothing could be of greater experience than to see what inventions were furnished, what lawes were enacted, what costly edifications of noble and auncient monasteries were overthrowne, what diversity of opinions then rose, what executions were then committed, how many noble clerkes and good men were then for the same put to deathe, what alteration of good, auncient, and holesome lawes, customes, and charitable foundations were tourned from reliefe of the poore, to utter destruction and desolation, almost to the subversion of this noble realme. It is sure too much pitty to heare or understand the things that have since that time chaunced and happened to this region. The profe thereof hath taught us all Englishmen the experience, too lamentable of all good men to be considered. If eyes be not blind men may see, if eares be not stopped they may heare, and if pitty be not exiled the inward man may lament the sequell of this pernicious and inordinate love. Although it lasted but a while, the plague thereof is not yet ceased, which our Lorde quenche and take his indignation from us! Qui peccavimus cum patribus nostris, et injuste egimus.” p. 420 and 421.

Not so Sir William Cavendish.

This passage, warm from the heart, could have been written by none but a zealous anti-reformist. That certainly was not Sir William Cavendish. He had been one of the principal instruments in effecting what I must be allowed to call a necessary and glorious work. Men are not accustomed to record their own condemnation with such a bold, untrembling hand. That hand, which is supposed to have penned these words, had been once extended to receive the conventual seal of the Priory of Sheen, and the Abbey of St. Alban’s. The person by whom we are to believe they were written had been an officer in that court which was purposely erected to attend to the augmentation of the king’s revenue by the sequestration of ecclesiastical property; the proceedings of which court were too often unnecessarily harsh and arbitrary, if not unjust and oppressive. Nay, more, at the very time these words were written, Sir William Cavendish was living on the spoils of those very monasteries whose overthrow is so deeply deplored; and rearing out of them a magnificent mansion at Chatsworth in Derbyshire, to be the abode of himself and his posterity. After so long and so decided a passage, it has been thought unnecessary to quote any other: but throughout the work appears the same zeal in the writer to signalize himself as a friend to the old profession. May not this be considered as amounting to something almost conclusive against the supposition that the attendant upon Wolsey and Sir William Cavendish were the same person?

Sir William Cavendish did not change with the times.

Will it be said that he turned with the times; that he who, in the Protestant reigns, had been zealous for the Gospel, in the Catholic reign was equally zealous for the Mass: and that this work was his amende to the offended party? I know not of any authority we have for charging this religious tergiversation upon Sir William Cavendish, who, for any thing that appears in his history, was animated by other views in promoting the cause of reform, than the desire of personal advancement, and of obtaining the favour of his prince: and I am prepared with two facts in his history, not mentioned by former writers, which are unfavourable to such a supposition. The first shows that he was in some disgrace at the court of Queen Mary as late as the fourth year of her reign; the second, that he did not seek to ingratiate himself there. On the 17th of August, 1556, a very peremptory order of council was issued, commanding his “indelaid repaire” to the court to answer on “suche matters as at his cōmyng” should be declared unto him. The original, subscribed by seven of the Queen’s council, is among the Wilson collections mentioned in the [note at page 22]. What the particular charges were it is not material to our argument to inquire. The next year also, the year in which he died, he ungraciously refused a loan of one hundred pounds required of him and other Derbyshire gentlemen by the Queen, when her majesty was in distress for money to carry on the French war. These facts show that though he was continued in the offices of treasurer of the chamber and privy counsellor, he was in no very high esteem with Queen Mary, nor sought to conciliate her favourable regards. To which we may add, that his lady, whose spirit and masculine understanding would probably give her very considerable influence in the deliberations of his mind, was through life a firm friend to the Reformation, and in high favour with Queen Elizabeth.

Whatever effect the preceding facts and argument may have had upon the reader’s mind, there is a piece of evidence still to be brought out, which is more conclusive against the claim of Sir William Cavendish. Soon after the Cardinal was arrested at his house of Cawood in Yorkshire, Cavendish tells us that he resorted to his lord, "where he was in his chamber sitting in a chaire, the tables being spred for him to goe to dinner. But as soone as he perceived me to come in, he fell out into suche a wofull lamentation, with suche ruthefull teares and watery eies, that it would have caused a flinty harte to mourne with him. And as I could, I with others comforted him; but it would not be. For, quoth he, nowe I lament that I see this gentleman (meaning me) how faithefull, how dilligent, and how painefull he hath served me, abandonning his owne country, wife and children, his house and family, his rest and quietnesse, |The author married and a father before 1530.| only to serve me, and I have nothinge to rewarde him for his highe merittes." p. 517.

Hence it appears that the Cavendish who wrote this work was married, and had a family probably before he entered into the Cardinal’s service, certainly while he was engaged in it. At what precise period he became a member of the Cardinal’s household cannot be collected from his own writings. Grove says it was as early as 1519[25]; the Biographia tells us that the place was procured for him by his father, who died in 1524. This however is certain, that the first mention of himself, as one in attendance upon the Cardinal, is in the exceedingly curious account he has given of the means used to break the growing attachment between the Lord Percy and Anne Boleyn, in order to make way for the king. Cavendish was present when the Earl of Northumberland took his son to task. This must have been before the year 1527; for in that year the Lord Percy became himself Earl of Northumberland; and probably it was at least a twelvemonth before; for ere the old Earl’s departure, a marriage had been concluded between Lord Percy and the Lady Mary Talbot, a daughter of the Earl of Shrewsbury[26]. In 1526 then, the Cavendish who wrote this work was a member of Wolsey’s household. Now, |Not so Sir William Cavendish.| fortunately for this inquiry, it happens that an exact account has been preserved of the several marriages and the numerous issue of Sir William Cavendish. It is to be found in the funeral certificate, which, according to a laudable custom of those times, was entered by his relict among the records of the College of Arms. This document, subscribed by her own hand, sets forth that her husband’s first-born child came into the world on the 7th of January, in the 25th year of King Henry VIII. This answers to 1534: that is at least seven years after the Cavendish, for whom we are inquiring, had become a member of Wolsey’s family, and more than three years after the Cardinal had remarked that his gentleman usher had left “wife and children, his home and family, his rest and quietnesse,” only to serve him. This is decisive.

The funeral certificate where to be found.

The document which contains these family particulars of the Cavendishes is not known only to those gentlemen who have access to the arcana of the College of Arms. It has been published: and it is remarkable that Arthur Collins, who has been a principal cause of the error concerning the author of this work, gaining such firm hold on the public mind, should have been the first to lay before the public a record which proves beyond dispute that the Cavendish who wrote the Life of Wolsey could not be the Cavendish who was the progenitor of the house of Devonshire. It is printed in his ‘Noble Families,’ where is a more complete account of the Cavendishes than is to be found in his Peerage, and which might have been transferred with advantage into the later editions of that work. This document has also been printed by Guthrie and Jacob, whose account of the nobility of this nation may often be consulted with advantage, after having read any of the editions of Collins. Of its authenticity, the only point material to this inquiry, no suspicion can reasonably be entertained.

We have now brought to a conclusion our inquiry into the right of the tenant in possession. It has been questioned, examined, and, I think, disproved. It is not contended that the common opinion respecting Sir William Cavendish’s attendance upon Wolsey does not harmonize well enough with what is known of his real history, and to render our proof absolutely complete, it might seem to be almost incumbent upon us to show how Sir William Cavendish was engaged while Wolsey’s biographer was discharging the duties of his office as an attendant upon the Cardinal. Could we do this, we should also disclose the steps by which he attained to his honourable state employments, and the favour |How the early years of Sir William Cavendish may have been spent.| of successive monarchs. In the absence of positive testimony I would be permitted to hazard the conjecture, that in early life he followed the steps of his father, who had an office in the court of Exchequer. Such an education as he would receive in that court would render him a most fit instrument for the purpose in which we first find his services used, the suppression of the monasteries, and the appropriation of the lands belonging to them to his royal master. Having signalized his zeal, and given proof of his ability in this service, so grateful to the King, we may easily account for his further employments, and the promotions and rewards which followed them. Let it however be observed, that this is no essential part of our argument; nor shall I pursue the inquiry any further, mindful of the well known and sage counsel of the Lord Chancellor Bacon.

I would however be permitted to say something on that very extraordinary woman, the lady of Sir William Cavendish, and the sharer with him in raising the family to that state of affluence and honour in which we now behold it. Indeed she was a more than equal sharer. He laid the foundation, she raised the superstructure; as she finished the family palace at Chatsworth, of which he had laid the first stone.

His lady an extraordinary character.

This lady was Elizabeth Hardwick, a name familiar to all visitors of the county of Derby, where she lived more than half a century with little less than sovereign authority, having first adorned it with two most splendid mansions. The daughter, and the virgin widow of two Derbyshire gentlemen of moderate estates, she first stepped into consequence by her marriage with Sir William Cavendish, a gentleman much older than herself. The ceremony was performed at the house of the Marquis of Dorset[28], father to the Lady Jane Grey, who, with the Countess of Warwick and the Earl of Shrewsbury, was a sponsor at the baptism of her second child. Cavendish left her a widow with six children in 1557. Shortly after his death |Marries Sir William St. Lowe;| she united herself to Sir William St. Lowe, one of the old attendants of the Princess Elizabeth, on whose accession to the throne he was made captain of her guard. In 1567, being a third time a widow, she was raised to the bed of the most powerful peer |becomes Countess of Shrewsbury.| of the realm, George Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury. He had been a friend of Sir William Cavendish, and it is possible that the magnificent state which he displayed in the immediate neighbourhood of this lady had more than once excited her envy. She loved pomp and magnificence and personal splendour, as much as she enjoyed the hurry and engagement of mind which multiplied worldly business brings with it. She had a passion for jewels, which was appealed to and gratified by the unhappy |Has a present of jewels from Mary Queen of Scots.| Mary Queen of Scotland[29], who lived many years under the care of the Earl of Shrewsbury, her husband. She united herself to this nobleman more, as it should seem, from motives of ambition, than as the consequence of any real affection she had for him. He had unquestionably the sincerest regard for her: and, though she forgot many of the duties of a wife, it continued many years in the midst of all that reserve and perfidity, and even tyranny, if such a word may be allowed, which she thought proper to exercise towards him. The decline of this good and great man’s life affords a striking lesson how utterly insufficient are wealth and splendour and rank to secure happiness even in a case where there is no experience of the more extraordinary vicissitudes of fortune, the peculiar danger of persons in elevated situations. Probably the happiest days of the last three and twenty years of his life were those in which he was employing himself in preparing his own sepulchre. This he |Death of the Earl.| occupied in 1590. But the effect of his ill advised nuptials extended beyond his life. His second countess had drawn over to her purposes some of his family, who had assisted her in the designs she carried on against her husband. She had drawn them closely to her interest by alliances with her own family. Hence arose family animosities, which appeared in the most frightful forms, and threatened the most deadly consequences[30]. Much may be seen respecting this extraordinary woman in the Talbot papers published by Mr. Lodge. A bundle of her private correspondence has been preserved, and forms a curious and valuable part of that collection of manuscripts which we have had occasion more than once to mention. These let in much light upon her conduct. It is impossible to contemplate her character in this faithful mirror without being convinced that Mr. Lodge has drawn the great outlines of it correctly, when he describes her as “a |Mr. Lodge’s character of her.| woman of masculine understanding and conduct; proud, furious, selfish, and unfeeling[31].” Yet she was a favourite of Queen Elizabeth, who paid her this compliment soon after her last marriage, that “she had been glad |Anecdote of Queen Elizabeth.| to see my Lady Saint Lowe, but was more desirous to see my Lady Shrewsbury, and that there was no lady in the land whom she better loved and liked.” These flattering expressions were used to Mr. Wingfield, who was a near relation of this lady, and who lost no time in reporting them to her. Most of these letters are upon private affairs: a few only are from persons whom she had engaged to send her the news of the day, as was usual with the great people of that age when absent from court. There are several of the letters which |Letters to her.| she received from Saint Lowe and Shrewsbury, which show how extraordinary was the influence she had gained over their minds. There is one from Sir William Cavendish. Having laboured to show what the knight did not compose, I shall transcribe in the note below this genuine fragment of his writing, though in no respect worthy of publication, except as having passed between these two remarkable characters[32]. It is expressed in a strain of familiarity to which neither of his successors ever dared aspire. To conclude the history of this lady, she survived her last husband about seventeen years, which were spent for the most part at Hardwick, the place of her birth, and where she had built the present noble mansion. There she died in 1607, and was interred in the great church at Derby.

The courteous reader will, it is hoped, pardon this digression; and now set we forth on the second stage of our inquiry, Who wrote Cavendish’s Life of Wolsey?

Claim of Thomas Cavendish.

When there are only two claimants upon any property, if the pretensions of one can be shown to be groundless, those of the other seem to be established as a necessary consequence. But here we have a third party. Beside Sir William and his elder brother George, a claimant has been found in a Thomas Cavendish. In the account of Wolsey given in the Athenæ[33], Wood calls the author by this name: and Dodd, a Catholic divine, who published a Church History of England in 3 vols. folio, (Brussels, 1737.) in a list of historians and manuscripts used in the preparation of his work, enumerates “Cavendish Thomas, Life of Cardinal Wolsey, Lond. 1590.” It is very probable that Dodd may have contented himself with copying the name of this author from the Athenæ, a book he used: and it is with the utmost deference, and the highest possible respect, for the wonderful industry and the extraordinary exactness of the Oxford antiquary, I would intimate my opinion that, in this instance, he has been misled. To subject the pretensions of Thomas Cavendish to such a scrutiny as that to which those of Sir William have been brought is quite out of the question: for neither Wood nor Dodd have thrown any light whatever on his history or character. He appears before us like Homer, nomen, et præterea nihil. There was a person of both his names, of the Grimstone family, a noted navigator, and an author in the days of Queen Elizabeth; but he lived much too late to have ever formed a part of the household of Cardinal Wolsey.

We must now state the evidence in favour of George Cavendish. The reader will judge for himself whether the testimony of Anthony Wood, and that of the Catholic church-historian, supposing them to be distinct and independent testimonies, is sufficient to outweigh what is to be advanced in support of George Cavendish’s claim. We shall first state on what grounds the work is attributed to a Cavendish whose name was George; and secondly, the reasons we have for believing that he was the George Cavendish of Glemsford in Suffolk, to whom my Lord Herbert ascribes the work.

That the writer’s name was George.

On the former point the evidence is wholly external. It lies in a small compass; but it is of great weight. It consists in the testimony of all the ancient manuscripts which bear any title of an even date with themselves[34]: and in that of the learned herald and antiquary Francis Thinne, a contemporary of the author’s, who, in the list of writers of English history which he subjoined to Hollinshead’s Chronicle, mentions “George Cavendish, Gentleman Vsher vnto Cardinal Woolseie, whose life he did write.”

Four circumstances of the author’s condition discovered in the work.

Now to our second point. Four circumstances of the author’s situation are discovered to us in the work itself: viz. that his life was extended through the reigns of Henry VIII. Edward VI. and Queen Mary; that while he was in the Cardinal’s service he was a married man, and had a family: that he was in but moderate circumstances when he composed this memoir; and that he retained a zeal for the old profession of religion. If we find these circumstances concurring in a George Cavendish, it is probable we have found the person for whom we are in search.

Scanty as is the information afforded us concerning a simple esquire of the days of the Tudors, it will probably be made apparent that these circumstances do concur in the person to whom my Lord Herbert ascribes the work. Men of little celebrity in their lives, and whose track through the world cannot be discovered by the light of history, are sometimes found attaining a faint and obscure “life after death” in the herald’s visitation books and the labours of the scrivener. Those rolls of immortality are open to every man. They transmit to a remote posterity the worthless and the silly with as much certainty as the name of one who was instinct with the fire of genius, and whom a noble ambition to be good and great distinguished from the common herd of men. It is in these rolls only that the name of George Cavendish of Glemsford is come down to us: he forms a link in the pedigree: he is a medium in the transmission of manorial property.

Obscurity of George Cavendish a presumption in his favour.

But this very obscurity creates a presumption in favour of his claim. What employment that should raise him into notice would be offered in the days of Henry and Edward to the faithful and affectionate attendant upon a character so unpopular among the great as the haughty, low-born Wolsey? What should have placed his name upon public record who did not, like Cromwell and some other of Wolsey’s domestics, “find himself a way out of his master’s wreck to rise in” by throwing himself upon the court, but retired, as Cavendish at the conclusion of the Memoirs tells us he did, to his own estate in the country, with his wages, a small gratuity, and a present of six of the Cardinal’s horses to convey his furniture? That, living at a distance from the court, he should have been overlooked on the change of the times, cannot be surprising: he was only one among many who would have equal claims upon Mary and her ministry. Had she lived indeed till his work had been published, we might then reasonably have expected to have seen a man of so much virtue, and talent, and religious zeal, drawn from his obscurity, and his name might have been as well known to our history as that of his brother the reformist. But Mary died too soon for his hopes and those of many others of his party, though not too soon for the interests of religion and humanity. All expectation of seeing the admirer and apologist of Wolsey emerge from his obscurity must end with the accession of the protestant princess Elizabeth.

What is known of George Cavendish of Glemsford.

It is therefore not surprising, and on the whole rather favourable to our argument, that nearly all which can now be collected of George Cavendish of Glemsford is contained in the following passage extracted from certain “Notices of the manor of Cavendish in Suffolk, and of the Cavendish family while possessed of that manor,” which was communicated to the Society of Antiquaries by Thomas Ruggles, Esq., the owner of the said manor[35]. Cavendish, it will be recollected, is a manor adjoining to Glemsford, and which belonged to the same parties.

George Cavendish is stated to be the eldest son of Thomas Cavendish, Esq. who was clerk of the pipe in the Exchequer. He "was in possession of the manor of Cavendish Overhall, and had two sons; William was the eldest, to whom, in the fourth year of Philip and Mary, 1558, he granted by deed enrolled in Chancery this manor in fee, on the said William, releasing to his father one annual payment of twenty marks, and covenanting to pay him yearly for life, at the site of the mansion-house of Spains-hall, in the parish of Finchingfield, in the county of Essex, forty pounds, at the four usual quarterly days of payment. When George Cavendishe died is uncertain: but it is apprehended in 1561 or 1562.

“William Cavendishe his son was in possession of the manor in the fourth year of Elizabeth.”... “He was succeeded in this estate by his son William Cavendysh of London, mercer, who, by that description, and reciting himself to be the son of William Cavendishe, gentleman, deceased, by deed dated the 25th of July, in the eleventh year of the reign of Elizabeth, 1569, released all his right and title to this estate, and to other lands lying in different parishes, to William Downes of Sudbury, in Suffolk, Esq.”

His fortune decayed.

This detail plainly intimates that decay of the consequence and circumstances of a family which we might expect from the complaints in the Memoirs of Wolsey, of the unequal dealings of fortune, and of the little reward all the writer’s “painfull diligence” had received. We see George Cavendish, for a small annual payment in money, giving up the ancient inheritance of his family, a manor called after his own name: and only eleven years after, that very estate passed to strangers to the name and blood of the Cavendishes by his grandson and next heir, who was engaged in trade in the city of London. We find also what we have the |Married before 1526.| concurrent testimony of the heralds of that time to prove, that this George Cavendish was married, and the father of sons: but on a closer inspection we find more than this: we discover that he must have been married as early as 1526, when we first find the biographer of Wolsey a member of the Cardinal’s household[36]. William Cavendish, the younger, grandson to George Cavendish, must have been of full age before he could convey the estate of his forefathers. He was born therefore as early as 1548. If from this we take a presumed age of his father at the time of his birth, we shall arrive at this conclusion, that George Cavendish the grandfather was a family-man at least as early as 1526.

A Catholic.

To another point, namely, the religious profession of this Suffolk gentleman, our proof, it must be allowed, is not so decisive. I rely however, with some confidence, upon this fact, for which we are indebted to the heralds, that he was nearly allied to Sir Thomas More, the idol of the Catholic party in his own time, and the object of just respect with good men in all times, Margery his wife being a daughter of William Kemp of Spains-hall in Essex, Esq. by Mary Colt his wife, sister to Jane, first wife of the Chancellor[37]. Indeed it seems as if the Kemps, in whose house the latter days of this George Cavendish were spent, were of the old profession. The extraordinary penance to which one of this family subjected himself savours strongly of habits and opinions generated by the |Lived in the three reigns.| Roman Catholic system. It is perhaps unnecessary, in the last place, to remind the reader, that what Mr. Ruggles has discovered to us of the owner of Cavendish shows that his life was extended through the reigns of the second, third, and fourth monarchs of the house of Tudor: now the family pedigrees present us with no other George Cavendish of whom this is the truth. And here the case is closed.

Genealogy.

It has been thought proper to annex the following genealogical table, which exhibits the relationship subsisting among the several members of the house of Cavendish whose names have been mentioned in the preceding treatise.

Origin of the mistaken appropriation of this work.

Supposing that the reader is convinced by the preceding evidence and arguments, that this work could not be the production of Sir William Cavendish, and that he was not the faithful attendant upon Cardinal Wolsey, I shall give him credit for a degree of curiosity to know how it happened that a story so far from the truth gained possession of the public mind, and established itself in so many works of acknowledged authority. That desire I shall be able to gratify, and will detain him but a little while longer, when the disclosure has been made of a process by which error has grown up to the exclusion of truth, in which it will be allowed that there is something of curiosity and interest. Error, like rumour, often appears parva metu primo, but, like her also, vires acquirit eundo. So it has been in the present instance. What was at first advanced with all the due modesty of probability and conjecture, was repeated by another person as something nearer to certain truth: soon every thing which intimated that it was only conjecture became laid aside, and it appeared with the broad bold front in which we now behold it.

Kennet.

The father of this misconception was no other than Dr. White Kennet. In 1708, being then only Archdeacon of Huntingdon, this eloquent divine published a sermon which he had delivered in the great church at Derby, at the funeral of William the first Duke of Devonshire. Along with it he gave to the world Memoirs of the Family of Cavendish, in which nothing was omitted that, in his opinion, might tend to set off his subject to the best advantage. He lauds even the Countess of Shrewsbury, and this at a time when he was called to contemplate the virtues and all womanly perfections of Christian Countess of Devonshire. It was not to be expected that he should forget the disinterested attendant upon Wolsey, and the ingenious memorialist of that great man’s rise and fall; whose work had then recently been given to the public in a third edition. After reciting from it some particulars of Cavendish’s attendance upon the Cardinal, and especially noticing his faithful adherence to him when others of his domestics had fled to find a sun not so near its setting, he concludes in these words: “To give a more lasting testimony of his gratitude to the Cardinal, he drew up a fair account of his life and death, of which the oldest copy is in the hands of the noble family of Pierrepoint, into which the author’s daughter was married: for without express authority we may gather from circumstances, that this very writer was the head of the present family; the same person with the immediate founder of the present noble family, William Cavendish of Chatsworth, com. Derb. Esq.” p. 63.

Collins.

The editors of the Peerages, ever attentive to any disclosure that may add dignity to the noble families whose lives and actions are the subjects of their labours, were not unmindful of this discovery made by the learned Archdeacon. The book so popular in this country under the name of Collins’s Peerage was published by the industrious and highly respectable Arthur Collins, then a bookseller at the Black Boy in Fleet-street, in a single volume, in the year 1709. In the account of the Devonshire family no more is said of Sir William Cavendish than had been told by Dugdale, and than is the undoubted truth[38]. But when, in 1712, a new edition appeared, we find added to the account of Sir William Cavendish all that the Archdeacon had said of Mr. Cavendish, the attendant upon Wolsey: but with this remarkable difference, arising probably in nothing more blameworthy than inattention, that while Kennet had written “for without express authority we may gather from circumstances, &c.” Collins says, “for with express authority we may gather from circumstances, &c.[39]” A third edition appeared in 1715, in two volumes, in which no change is made in the Cavendish article[40]. In 1735 the Peerage had assumed a higher character, and appeared with the arms engraven on copper-plates, in four handsome octavo volumes. In this edition we find the whole article has been recomposed; and we no longer hear of the gathering from circumstances, or the with or without express authority; but the account of Sir William Cavendish’s connexion with the Cardinal is told with all regularity, dovetailed with authentic particulars of his life, forming a very compact and, seemingly, consistent story[41]. The only material change that has been introduced in the successive editions of a work which has been so often revised and reprinted, has arisen from the discovery made by some later editor, that my Lord Herbert had quoted the work as the production of a George Cavendish. The gentle editors were not however to be deprived of what tended in their opinion so much to the credit of the house of Cavendish, and rendered the account they had to give of its founder so much more satisfactory. Without ceremony, therefore, they immediately put down the quotation to the inaccuracy and inattention of that noble author.

The Biographia.

Having once gained an establishment in a work so highly esteemed and so widely dispersed, and carrying a primâ facie appearance of truth, it is easy to see how the error would extend itself, especially as in this country the number of persons is so small who attend to questions of this nature, and as the means of correcting it were not so obvious as since the publication of the “Ecclesiastical Biography.” But it assumed its most dangerous consequence by its introduction into the Biographia. The greatest blemish of that extremely valuable collection of English lives seems to be that its pages are too much loaded with stale genealogy taken from the commonest of our books. Wherever Collins afforded them information, the writers of that work have most gladly accepted of it, and have

“—————whisper’d whence they stole

Their balmy sweets,”

by using in many instances his own words. His facts they seem to have generally assumed as indubitable. In the present instance nothing more was done than to new-mould the account given of Sir William Cavendish in the later editions of the Peerage, and, by an unprofitable generalization of the language, to make his mixture of truth and fable more palatable to the taste of their readers.

Bragg the bookseller.

Poor Arthur Collins was not the only bookseller who took advantage of the learned archdeacon’s unfortunate conjecture. There was one Bragg, a printer, at the Blue Ball in Ave Maria Lane, a man of no very high character in his profession, who published in 1706 an edition of Cavendish’s Life of Wolsey, taken from the second edition by Dorman Newman, and with all the errors and omissions of that most unfaithful impression. Copies were remaining upon his shelves when Kennet’s sermon made its appearance. Rightly judging that this must cause inquiries to be made after a book, the production of one who was the progenitor of a person and family at that particular period, from a concurrence of circumstances, the subject of universal conversation, he cancelled the anonymous title-page of the remaining copies, and issued what he called a “Second Edition,” with a long Grub-street title beginning thus:

Sir William Cavendish’s
Memoirs of the Life of Cardinal Wolsey,
&c.

This has sometimes been mistaken for a really new edition of the work.

Editions of the work.

And having thus adverted to the different editions, it may not be improper to add a few words on the impressions which have been issued of this curious biographical fragment. Till Dr. Wordsworth favoured the public with his “Ecclesiastical Biography,” what we had was rather an abridgement than the genuine work. But even in its mutilated form it was always popular, and the copies were marked at considerable prices in the booksellers’ catalogues.

The first edition, it is believed, is that in 4to, London, 1641, for William Sheeres, with the title “The Negotiations of Thomas Woolsey, the great Cardinall of England, &c. composed by one of his own Servants, being his Gentleman-Usher.” The second was in 12mo, London, 1667, for Dorman Newman, and is entitled “The Life and Death of Thomas Woolsey, Cardinal, &c. written by one of his own Servants, being his Gentleman-Usher.” The third is the one just mentioned in 8vo, London, 1706, for B. Bragg, and having for its title “The Memoirs of that great Favourite Cardinal Woolsey, &c.” It is supposed that it was first made public in order to provoke a comparison between Wolsey and the unpopular Archbishop Laud. These are the only editions known to the writer.

It is printed in the form of notes to Grove’s History of the Life and Times of Cardinal Wolsey[42], again in the Harleian Miscellany, and in the selection from that work. And last of all, it forms a most valuable part of the “Ecclesiastical Biography,” published by Dr. Wordsworth.

The supposed edition of 1590.

It must not however be concealed that mention has been made of a still earlier edition than any of those above described. Bishop Nicholson, in his English Historical Library[43], asserts that it was published at London in 4to, 1590; and in this he is followed by Dodd the Catholic historian. Nicholson’s authority is not very high in respect of bibliographical information; and there is great reason to believe that he has here described an edition to be found only in the Bibliotheca abscondita of Sir Thomas Brown. This however is certain, that the commentators on Shakspeare are agreed, that though the labours of Cavendish must have been known in part to our great Dramatist, he has followed them so closely in many of his scenes, it could have been only by a perusal of them in manuscript, or by the ample quotations made from them in the pages of Hollinshead and Stowe. Mr. Malone indeed expressly affirms that they were not sent to the press before 1641. The earliest edition known to the editor of the Censura Literaria, whose intimate acquaintance with early English literature every one acknowledges, and whose attention has been peculiarly drawn to this work, was of that date. The catalogues, published and unpublished, of most of our principal libraries have been consulted, and no earlier edition than that of 1641 found in any one of them. No earlier edition than that is to be found in the Royal Library at Paris. It appears, therefore, on the whole, most probable that though there are undoubtedly black-letter stores, which the diligence of modern bibliomaniacs has not brought to light, no such edition exists, as that which the author of the English Historical Library tells us was published in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and during the height of the persecutions which she authorized against the Catholics. Under this persuasion the succeeding sheets have been composed.

It is possible that Bishop Nicholson may have been misled by another work on the same subject; The Aspiring, Triumph, and Fall of Wolsey, by Thomas Storer, Student of Christ Church. This appeared in quarto, 1599.

Conclusion.

The writer now lays down his pen with something like a persuasion that it will be allowed he has proved his two points,—that Sir William Cavendish of Chatsworth could not have been the author of the Life of Wolsey, and that we owe the work to his brother George Cavendish of Glemsford. The necessary inference also is, that the foundation of the present grandeur of the house of Cavendish was not laid, as is commonly understood, in an attendance upon Cardinal Wolsey, and in certain favourable circumstances connected with that service. The inquiry, even in all its bearings, like many other literary inquiries, cannot be considered as of very high importance. The writer will not however affect to insinuate that he considers it as of no consequence. In works so universally consulted as the Biographia and the Peerages, it is desirable that no errors of any magnitude should remain undetected and unexposed. Error begets error, and truth begets truth: nor can any one say how much larger in both cases may be the offspring than the sire. I do not indeed scruple to acknowledge, that, though not without a relish for inquiries which embrace objects of far greater magnitude, and a disposition justly to appreciate their value, I should be thankful to the man who should remove my uncertainty, as to whose countenance was concealed by the Masque de Fer, or would tell me whether Richard was the hunch-backed tyrant, and Harry “the nimble-footed mad-cap” exhibited by our great dramatist; whether Charles wrote the Εικων Βασιλικη, and Lady Packington “The whole Duty of Man.” Not that I would place this humble disquisition on a level with the inquiries which have been instituted and so learnedly conducted into these several questions. In one material point, however, even this disquisition may challenge an equality with them. There is a much nearer approach made to certainty than in the discussions of any of the abovementioned so much greater questions.

There are amongst readers of books some persons whose minds being every moment occupied in the contemplation of objects of the highest importance, look down with contempt upon the naturalist at his leucophræ, the critic at his μεν and δε work, the astronomer at his nebulæ, and the toiling antiquary at every thing. One word to these gentlemen before we part. To them may be recommended the words of a writer of our own day, a man of an enlarged and highly cultivated mind:—

“He who determines with certainty a single species of the minutest moss, or meanest insect, adds so far to the general stock of human knowledge, which is more than can be said of many a celebrated name. No one can tell of what importance that simple fact may be to future ages: and when we consider how many millions of our fellow-creatures pass through life without furnishing a single atom to augment that stock, we shall learn to think with more respect of those who do.”

THE END.

The Life of Thomas Wolsey,

sometime Archbishop of Yorke
and Cardinal,

intituled Sanctæ Ceciliæ trans Tiberim,
Presbiter Cardinalis, and L. Chancellor of England.

Written by

George Cavendish, sometime his Gentleman Usher.

——————This Cardinal,

Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly

Was fashion’d to much honour from his cradle.

He was a scholar, and a ripe, and good one;

Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading:

Lofty, and sour, to them that lov’d him not,

But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer.

And though he were unsatisfied in getting,

(Which was a sin), yet in bestowing—

He was most princely: Ever witness for him

Ipswich and Oxford! one of which fell with him,

Unwilling to outlive the good that did it;

The other, though unfinish’d, yet so famous,

So excellent in art, and yet so rising,

That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue.

His overthrow heap’d happiness upon him;

For then, and not till then, he felt himself,

And found the blessedness of being little:

And, to add greater honours to his age

Than man could give him, he died fearing God.

Shakspeare.

CARDINAL WOLSEY.
ENGRAVED BY E. SCRIVEN.
AFTER THE ORIGINAL PICTURE.

London, Published Jan^y. 1, 1825, by Harding, Triphook & Lepard.]

THE

LIFE

OF

CARDINAL WOLSEY.

THE PROLOGUE.

[Meseems it were no wisdom to credit every light tale, blasted abroad by the blasphemous mouth of the rude commonalty. For we daily hear how, with their blasphemous trump, they spread abroad innumerable lies, without either shame or honesty, which primâ facie showeth forth a visage of truth, as though it were a perfect verity and matter indeed, whereas there is nothing more untrue. And amongst the wise sort so it is esteemed, with whom those babblings be of small force and effect.

Forsooth I have read the exclamations of divers worthy and notable authors, made against such false rumours and fond opinions of the fantastical commonalty, who delighteth in nothing more than to hear strange things, and to see new alterations of authorities; rejoicing sometimes in such new fantasies, which afterwards give them more occasion of repentance than of joyfulness. Thus may all men of wisdom and discretion understand the temerous madness of the rude commonalty, and not give to them too hasty credit of every sudden rumour, until the truth be perfectly known by the report of some approved and credible person, that ought to have thereof true intelligence. I have heard and also seen set forth in divers printed books some untrue imaginations, after the death of divers persons, which in their life were of great estimation, that were invented rather to bring their honest names into infamy and perpetual slander of the common multitude, than otherwise.

The occasion therefore that maketh me to rehearse all these things is this; for as much as I intend, God willing, to write here some part of the proceedings of][44] Legate and Cardinal Wolsey, Archbishop of York, and of his ascending and descending from honorous estate; whereof some part shall be of mine own knowledge, and some of other person’s information.

Forsooth this cardinal was my lord and master, whom in his life I served, and so remained with him, after his fall, continually, during the term of all his trouble, until he died; as well in the south as in the north parts, and noted all his demeanor and usage in all that time; as also in his wealthy triumph and glorious estate. And since his death I have heard diverse sundry surmises and imagined tales, made of his proceedings and doings, which I myself have perfectly known to be most untrue; unto the which I could have sufficiently answered according to truth, but, as me seemeth, then it was much better for me to suffer, and dissemble the matter, and the same to remain still as lies, than to reply against their untruth, of whom I might, for my boldness, sooner have kindled a great flame of displeasure, than to quench one spark of their malicious untruth. Therefore I commit the truth to Him who knoweth all things. For, whatsoever any man hath conceived in him when he lived, or since his death, thus much I dare be bold to say, without displeasure to any person, or of affection, that in my judgment I never saw this realm in better order, quietness, and obedience, than it was in the time of his authority and rule, ne justice better ministered with indifferency; as I could evidently prove, if I should not be accused of too much affection, or else that I set forth more than truth. I will therefore here desist to speak any more in his commendation, and proceed farther to his original beginning [and] ascending by fortune’s favour to high honours, dignities, promotions, and riches.

Finis quod G. C.

Truth it is, Cardinal Wolsey, sometime Archbishop of York, was an honest poor man’s son[45], born in Ipswich, within the county of Suffolk; and being but a child, was very apt to learning; by means whereof his parents, or his good friends and masters, conveyed him to the University of Oxford, where he prospered so in learning, that, as he told me [in] his own person, he was called the boy-bachellor, forasmuch as he was made Bachellor of Arts at fifteen years of age, which was a rare thing, and seldom seen.

Thus prospering and increasing in learning, [he] was made Fellow of Magdalen College, and after appointed, for his learning, to be schoolmaster there; at which time the Lord Marquess Dorset had three of his sons there at school with him, committing as well unto him their virtuous education, as their instruction and learning. It pleased the said marquess against a Christmas season, to send as well for the schoolmaster as for his children, home to his house, for their recreation in that pleasant and honourable feast. They being then there, my lord their father perceived them to be right well employed in learning, for their time: which contented him so well, that he having a benefice[46] in his gift, being at that time void, gave the same to the schoolmaster, in reward for his diligence, at his departing after Christmas upon his return to the University. And having the presentation thereof [he] repaired to the ordinary for his institution and induction; then being fully furnished of all necessary instruments at the ordinary’s hands for his preferment, he made speed without any farther delay to the said benefice to take thereof possession. And being there for that intent, one Sir Amyas Pawlet, knight, dwelling in the country thereabout, took an occasion of displeasure against him, upon what ground I know not[47]: but, sir, by your leave, he was so bold to set the schoolmaster by the feet during his pleasure; the which was afterward neither forgotten nor forgiven. For when the schoolmaster mounted the dignity to be Chancellor of England, he was not oblivious of the old displeasure ministered unto him by master Pawlet, but sent for him, and after many sharp and heinous words, enjoined him to attend upon the council until he were by them dismissed, and not to depart without license, upon an urgent pain and forfeiture: so that he continued within the Middle Temple, the space of five or six years, or more; whose lodging there was in the gate-house next the street, which he reedified very sumptuously, garnishing the same, on the outside thereof, with cardinals’ hats and arms, badges and cognisaunces of the cardinal, with divers other devices, in so glorious a sort, that he thought thereby to have appeased his old unkind displeasure.

Now may this be a good example and precedent to men in authority, which will sometimes work their will without wit, to remember in their authority, how authority may decay; and [those] whom they punish of will more than of justice, may after be advanced in the public weal to high dignities and governance, and they based as low, who will then seek the means to be revenged of old wrongs sustained wrongfully before. Who would have thought then, when Sir Amyas Pawlet punished this poor scholar, that ever he should have attained to be Chancellor of England, considering his baseness in every condition. These be wonderful works of God, and fortune. Therefore I would wish all men in authority and dignity to know and fear God in all their triumphs and glory; considering in all their doings, that authorities be not permanent, but may slide and vanish, as princes’ pleasures do alter and change.

Then as all living things must of very necessity pay the due debt of nature, which no earthly creature can resist, it chanced my said Lord Marquess to depart out of this present life[48]. After whose death this schoolmaster, considering then with himself to be but a small beneficed man, and to have lost his fellowship in the College (for, as I understand, if a fellow of that college be once promoted to a benefice he shall by the rules of the house be dismissed of his fellowship), and perceiving himself also to be destitute of his singular good lord, thought not to be long unprovided of some other succour or staff, to defend him from all such harms, as he lately sustained.

And in his travail thereabout, he fell in acquaintance with one Sir John Nanphant[49], a very grave and ancient knight, who had a great room[50] in Calais under King Henry the Seventh. This knight he served, and behaved him so discreetly, and justly, that he obtained the especial favour of his said master; insomuch that for his wit, gravity, and just behaviour, he committed all the charge of his office unto his chaplain. And, as I understand, the office was the treasurership of Calais, who was, in consideration of his great age, discharged of his chargeable room, and returned again into England, intending to live more at quiet. And through his instant labour and especial favour his chaplain was promoted to the king’s service, and made his chaplain. And when he had once cast anchor in the port of promotion, how he wrought, I shall somewhat declare.

He, having then a just occasion to be in the present sight of the king daily, by reason he attended, and said mass before his grace in his private closet, and that done he spent not the day forth in vain idleness, but gave his attendance upon those whom he thought to bear most rule in the council, and to be most in favour with the king, the which at that time were Doctor Fox, Bishop of Winchester, then secretary and lord privy seal, and also Sir Thomas Lovell, knight, a very sage counsellor, and witty; being master of the king’s wards, and constable of the Tower[51].

These ancient and grave counsellors in process of time after often resort, perceived this chaplain to have a very fine wit, and what wisdom was in his head, thought [him] a meet and an apt person to be preferred to witty affairs.

It chanced at a certain season that the king had an urgent occasion to send an ambassador unto the emperor Maximilian[52], who lay at that present in the Low Country of Flanders, not far from Calais. The Bishop of Winchester, and Sir Thomas Lovell, whom the king most highly esteemed, as chief among his counsellors (the king one day counselling and debating with them upon this embassy), saw they had a convenient occasion to prefer the king’s chaplain, whose excellent wit, eloquence[53], and learning they highly commended to the king. The king giving ear unto them, and being a prince of an excellent judgment and modesty, commanded [them] to bring his chaplain, whom they so much commended, before his grace’s presence. At whose repair [thither] to prove the wit of his chaplain, the king fell in communication with him in matters of weight and gravity: and, perceiving his wit to be very fine, thought him sufficient to be put in authority and trust with this embassy; [and] commanded him thereupon to prepare himself to this enterprise and journey, and for his depeche[54], to repair to his grace and his trusty counsellors aforesaid, of whom he should receive his commission and instructions. By means whereof he had then a due occasion to repair from time to time into the king’s presence, who perceived him more and more to be a very wise man, and of a good entendment[55]. And having his depeche, [he] took his leave of the king at Richmond about noon, and so came to London with speed [about four of the clock[56]], where then the barge of Gravesend was ready to launch forth, both with a prosperous tide and wind. Without any farther abode he entered the barge, and so passed forth. His happy speed was such that he arrived at Gravesend within little more than three hours; where he tarried no longer than his post horses were provided; and travelling so speedily with post horses, that he came to Dover the next morning early, whereas the passengers[57] were ready under sail displayed, to sail to Calais. Into which passengers without any farther abode he entered, and sailed forth with them, [so] that he arrived at Calais within three hours, and having there post horses in a readiness, departed incontinent, making such hasty speed, that he was that night with the emperor; who, having understanding of the coming of the King of England’s ambassador, would in no wise defer the time, but sent incontinent for him (his affection unto King Henry the Seventh was such, that he rejoiced when he had an occasion to show him pleasure). The ambassador having opportunity, disclosed the sum of his embassy unto the emperor, of whom he required speedy expedition, the which was granted; so that the next day he was clearly dispatched, with all the king’s requests fully accomplished. At which time he made no farther tarriance, but with post horses rode incontinent that night toward Calais again, conducted thither with such number of horsemen as the emperor had appointed, and [was] at the opening of the gates there, where the passengers were as ready to return into England as they were before in his advancing; insomuch that he arrived at Dover by ten of the clock before noon; and having post horses in a readiness, came to the court at Richmond that night. Where he taking his rest for that time until the morning, repaired to the king at his first coming out of his grace’s bedchamber, toward his closet to hear mass. Whom (when he saw) [he] checked him for that he was not past on his journey. “Sir,” quoth he, “if it may stand with your highness’ pleasure, I have already been with the emperor, and dispatched your affairs, I trust, to your grace’s contentation.” And with that delivered unto the king the emperor’s letters of credence. The king, being in a great confuse and wonder of his hasty speed with ready furniture of all his proceedings, dissimuled all his imagination and wonder in that matter, and demanded of him, whether he encountered not his pursuivant, the which he sent unto him (supposing him not to be scantly out of London) with letters concerning a very necessary cause, neglected in his commission and instructions, the which the king coveted much to be sped. “Yes, forsooth, Sire,” quoth he, “I encountered him yesterday by the way: and, having no understanding by your grace’s letters of your pleasure therein, have, notwithstanding, been so bold, upon mine own discretion (perceiving that matter to be very necessary in that behalf) to dispatch the same. And for as much as I have exceeded your grace’s commission, I most humbly require your gracious remission and pardon.” The king rejoicing inwardly not a little, said again, “We do not only pardon you thereof, but also give you our princely thanks, both for the proceeding therein, and also for your good and speedy exploit[58],” commanding him for that time to take his rest, and to repair again to him after dinner, for the farther relation of his embassy. The king then went to mass; and after at convenient time he went to dinner.

It is not to be doubted but that this ambassador hath been since his return with his great friends, the Bishop of Winchester, and Sir Thomas Lovell, to whom he hath declared the effect of all his speedy progress; nor yet what joy they conceived thereof. And after his departure from the king in the morning, his highness sent for the bishop, and Sir Thomas Lovell; to whom he declared the wonderful expedition of his ambassador, commending therewith his excellent wit, and in especial the invention and advancing of the matter left out of his commission and instructions. The king’s words rejoiced these worthy counsellors not a little, for as much as he was of their preferment.

Then when this ambassador remembered the king’s commandment, and saw the time draw fast on of his repair before the king and his council, [he] prepared him in a readiness, and resorted unto the place assigned by the king, to declare his embassy. Without all doubt he reported the effect of all his affairs and proceedings so exactly, with such gravity and eloquence that all the council that heard him could do no less but commend him, esteeming his expedition to be almost beyond the capacity of man. The king of his mere motion, and gracious consideration, gave him at that time for his diligent and faithful service, the deanery of Lincoln[59], which at that time was one of the worthiest spiritual promotions that he gave under the degree of a bishoprick. And thus from thenceforward he grew more and more into estimation and authority, and after [was] promoted by the king to be his almoner. Here may all men note the chances of fortune, that followeth some whom she listeth to promote, and even so to some her favour is contrary, though they should travail never so much, with [all the] urgent diligence and painful study, that they could devise or imagine: whereof, for my part, I have tasted of the experience.

Now ye shall understand that all this tale that I have declared of his good expedition in the king’s embassy, I received it of his own mouth and report, after his fall, lying at that time in the great park of Richmond, I being then there attending upon him; taking an occasion upon divers communications, to tell me this journey, with all the circumstances, as I have here before rehearsed.

HENRY THE EIGHTH.
FROM AN ORIGINAL PICTURE BY HOLBEIN.
IN THE COLLECTION OF BARRET BRYDGES ESQ.
AT LEE PRIORY IN KENT.

London, Published Jan^y. 1, 1825; by Harding, Triphook & Lepard.

When death (that favoureth none estate, king or keiser) had taken that prudent prince Henry the Seventh out of this present life (on whose soul Jesu have mercy!) who for his inestimable wisdom was noted and called, in every Christian region, the second Solomon, what practices, inventions, and compasses were then used about that young prince, King Henry the Eighth, his only son, and the great provision made for the funerals of the one, and the costly devices for the coronation of the other, with that virtuous Queen Catherine[60], then the king’s wife newly married. I omit and leave the circumstances thereof to historiographers of chronicles of princes, the which is no part mine intendment.

After all these solemnities and costly triumphs finished, and that our natural, young, lusty and courageous prince and sovereign lord, King Henry the Eighth, entering into the flower of pleasant youth, had taken upon him the regal sceptre and the imperial diadem of this fertile and plentiful realm of England (which at that time flourished in all abundance of wealth and riches, whereof he was inestimably garnished and furnished), called then the golden world, such grace of plenty reigned then within this realm. Now let us return again unto the almoner (of whom I have taken upon me to write), whose head was full of subtil wit and policy, [and] perceiving a plain path to walk in towards promotion, [he] handled himself so politicly, that he found the means to be made one of the king’s council, and to grow in good estimation and favour with the king, to whom the king gave a house at Bridewell, in Fleet Street, sometime Sir Richard Empson’s[61], where he kept house for his family, and he daily attended upon the king in the court, being in his especial grace and favour, [having][62] then great suit made unto him, as counsellors most commonly have that be in favour. His sentences and witty persuasions in the council chamber [were][63] always so pithy that they, always as occasion moved them, assigned him for his filed tongue and ornate eloquence, to be their expositor unto the king’s majesty in all their proceedings. In whom the king conceived such a loving fantasy, and in especial for that he was most earnest and readiest among all the council to advance the king’s only will and pleasure, without any respect to the case; the king, therefore, perceived him to be a meet instrument for the accomplishment of his devised will and pleasure, called him more near unto him, and esteemed him so highly that his estimation and favour put all other ancient counsellors out of their accustomed favour, that they were in before; insomuch that the king committed all his will and pleasure unto his disposition and order. Who wrought so all his matters, that all his endeavour was only to satisfy the king’s mind, knowing right well, that it was the very vein and right course to bring him to high promotion. The king was young and lusty, disposed all to mirth and pleasure, and to follow his desire and appetite, nothing minding to travail in the busy affairs of this realm. The which the almoner perceiving very well, took upon him therefore to disburden the king of so weighty a charge and troublesome business, putting the king in comfort that he shall not need to spare any time of his pleasure, for any business that should necessarily happen in the council, as long as he, being there and having the king’s authority and commandment, doubted not to see all things sufficiently furnished and perfected; the which would first make the king privy of all such matters as should pass through their hands before he would proceed to the finishing or determining of the same, whose mind and pleasure he would fulfill and follow to the uttermost, wherewith the king was wonderly pleased. And whereas the other ancient counsellors would, according to the office of good counsellors, diverse times persuade the king to have sometime an intercourse in to the council, there to hear what was done in weighty matters, the which pleased the king nothing at all, for he loved nothing worse than to be constrained to do any thing contrary to his royal will and pleasure; and that knew the almoner very well, having a secret intelligence of the king’s natural inclination, and so fast as the other counsellors advised the king to leave his pleasure, and to attend to the affairs of his realm, so busily did the almoner persuade him to the contrary; which delighted him much, and caused him to have the greater affection and love to the almoner. Thus the almoner ruled all them that before ruled him; such [things] did his policy and wit bring to pass. Who was now in high favour, but Master Almoner? Who had all the suit but Master Almoner? And who ruled all under the king, but Master Almoner? Thus he proceeded still in favour; at last, in came presents, gifts, and rewards so plentifully, that I dare say he lacked nothing that might either please his fantasy or enrich his coffers; fortune smiled so upon him; but to what end she brought him, ye shall hear after. Therefore let all men, to whom fortune extendeth her grace, not trust too much to her fickle favour and pleasant promises, under colour whereof she carrieth venemous gall. For when she seeth her servant in most highest authority, and that he assureth himself most assuredly in her favour, then turneth she her visage and pleasant countenance unto a frowning cheer, and utterly forsaketh him: such assurance is in her inconstant favour and sugared promise. Whose deceitful behaviour hath not been hid among the wise sort of famous clerks, that have exclaimed her and written vehemently against her dissimulation and feigned favour, warning all men thereby, the less to regard her, and to have her in small estimation of any trust or faithfulness.

This almoner, climbing thus hastily on fortune’s wheel, that no man was of that estimation with the king as he was, for his wisdom and other witty qualities, he had a special gift of natural eloquence[64], with a filed tongue to pronounce the same, that he was able with the same to persuade and allure all men to his purpose. Proceeding thus in fortune’s blissfulness, it chanced the wars between the realms of England and France to be open, but upon what occasion I know not, in so much as the king, being fully persuaded, and resolved in his most royal person to invade his foreign enemies with a puissant army, to delay their hault[65] brags, within their own territory: wherefore it was thought very necessary, that this royal enterprise should be speedily provided and plentifully furnished in every degree of things apt and convenient for the same; the expedition whereof, the king’s highness thought no man’s wit so meet, for policy and painful travail, as his wellbeloved almoner’s was, to whom therefore he committed his whole affiance and trust therein. And he being nothing scrupulous in any thing, that the king would command him to do, although it seemed to other very difficile, took upon him the whole charge and burden of all this business, and proceeded so therein, that he brought all things to a good pass and purpose in a right decent order, as of all manner of victuals, provisions, and other necessaries, convenient for so noble a voyage and puissant army.

All things being by him perfected, and furnished, the king, not minding to delay or neglect the time appointed, but with noble and valiant courage advanced to his royal enterprise, passed the seas between Dover and Calais, where he prosperously arrived[66]; and after some abode there of his Grace, as well for the arrival of his puissant army royal, provisions and munitions, as to consult about his princely affairs, marched forward, in good order of battle, through the Low Country, until he came to the strong town of Terouanne. To the which he laid his assault, and assailed it so fiercely with continual assaults, that within short space he caused them within to yield the town. Unto which place the Emperor Maximilian repaired unto the king our sovereign Lord, with a puissant army, like a mighty and friendly prince, taking of the king his Grace’s wages[67], as well for his own person as for his retinue, the which is a rare thing seldom seen, heard, or read, that an emperor should take wages, and fight under a king’s banner. Thus after the king had obtained the possession of this puissant fort, and set all things in due order, for the defence and preservation of the same to his highness’ use, he departed from thence, and marched toward the city of Tournay, and there again laid his siege; to the which he gave so fierce and sharp assaults, that they within were constrained of fine force[68] to yield up the town unto his victorious majesty. At which time he gave the Almoner the bishoprick of the same See, for some part of recompense of his pains sustained in that journey. And when the King had established all things there agreeable to his princely pleasure, and furnished the same with noble valiant captains and men of war, for the safeguard of the town against his enemies, he returned again into England, taking with him divers worthy persons of the peers of France, as the Duke of Longueville, and Countie Clermont, and divers other taken there in a skirmish most victoriously. After whose return immediately, the See of Lincoln fell void by the death of Doctor Smith, late bishop of that dignity, the which benefice and promotion his Grace gave unto his Almoner[69], Bishop elect of Tournay, who was not negligent to take possession thereof, and made all the speed he could for his consecration: the solemnization whereof ended, he found the means to get the possession of all his predecessor’s goods into his hands, whereof I have seen divers times some part thereof furnish his house. It was not long after that Doctor Bambridge[70], Archbishop of York, died at Rome, being there the king’s ambassador unto the Pope Julius; unto which benefice the king presented his new Bishop of Lincoln; so that he had three bishopricks[71] in one year given him. Then prepared he again of new as fast for his translation from the See of Lincoln, unto the See of York. After which solemnization done, and he being in possession of the Archbishoprick of York, and Primas Angliæ, thought himself sufficient to compare with Canterbury; and thereupon erected his cross in the court, and in every other place, as well in the presence of the Archbishop of Canterbury, and in the precinct of his jurisdiction as elsewhere. And forasmuch as Canterbury claimeth superiority and obedience of York, as he doth of all other bishops within this realm, forasmuch as he is primus totius Angliæ, and therefore claimeth, as a token of an ancient obedience, of York to abate the advancing of his cross, in the presence of the cross of Canterbury; notwithstanding York, nothing minding to desist from bearing of his cross in manner as is said before, caused his cross to be advanced[72] and borne before him, as well in the presence of Canterbury as elsewhere. Wherefore Canterbury being moved therewith, gave York a certain check for his presumption; by reason whereof there engendered some grudge between Canterbury and York. And York perceiving the obedience that Canterbury claimed to have of York, intended to provide some such means that he would rather be superior in dignity to Canterbury than to be either obedient or equal to him. Wherefore he obtained first to be made Priest Cardinal, and Legatus de latere; unto whom the Pope sent a Cardinal’s hat, with certain bulls for his authority in that behalf[73]. Yet by the way of communication ye shall understand that the Pope sent him this hat as a worthy jewel of his honour, dignity, and authority, the which was conveyed hither in a varlet’s budget, who seemed to all men to be but a person of small estimation. Whereof York being advertised, of the baseness of the messenger, and of the people’s opinion and rumour, thought it for his honour meet, that so high a jewel should not be conveyed by so simple a messenger; wherefore he caused him to be stayed by the way, immediately after his arrival in England, where he was newly furnished in all manner of apparel, with all kind of costly silks, which seemed decent for such an high ambassador. And that done, he was encountered upon Blackheath, and there received with a great assembly of prelates, and lusty gallant gentlemen, and from thence conducted and conveyed through London, with great triumph. Then was great and speedy provision[74] and preparation made in Westminster Abbey for the confirmation of his high dignity; the which was executed by all the bishops and abbots nigh or about London, in rich mitres and copes, and other costly ornaments; which was done in so solemn a wise as I have not seen the like unless it had been at the coronation of a mighty prince or king.

Obtaining this dignity [he] thought himself meet to encounter with Canterbury in his high jurisdiction before expressed; and that also he was as meet to bear authority among the temporal powers, as among the spiritual jurisdictions. Wherefore remembering as well the taunts and checks before sustained of Canterbury, which he intended to redress, having a respect to the advancement of worldly honour, promotion, and great benefits, [he] found the means with the king, that he was made Chancellor of England; and Canterbury thereof dismissed, who had continued in that honourable room and office, since long before the death of King Henry the Seventh[75].

Now he being in possession of the chancellorship, endowed with the promotion of an Archbishop, and Cardinal Legate de latere, thought himself fully furnished with such authorities and dignities, that he was able to surmount Canterbury in all ecclesiastical jurisdictions, having power to convocate Canterbury, and other bishops, within his precincts, to assemble at his convocation, in any place within this realm where he would assign; taking upon him the correction of all matters in every diocese, having there through all the realm all manner of spiritual ministers, as commissaries, scribes, apparitors, and all other officers to furnish his courts; visited also all spiritual houses, and presented by prevention whom he listed to their benefices. And to the advancing of his Legatine honours and jurisdictions, he had masters of his faculties, masters Ceremoniarum, and such other like officers to the glorifying of his dignity. Then had he two great crosses of silver, whereof one of them was for his Archbishoprick, and the other for his Legacy, borne always before him whither soever he went or rode, by two of the most tallest and comeliest priests that he could get within all this realm[76]. And to the increase of his gains he had also the bishoprick of Durham, and the Abbey of St. Albans in commendam; howbeit after, when Bishop Fox, of Winchester, died, he surrendered Durham into the King’s hands, and in lieu thereof took the Bishoprick of Winchester. Then he held also, as it were in ferme, Bath, Worcester, and Hereford, because the incumbents thereof were strangers[77], born out of this realm, continuing always beyond the seas, in their own native countries, or else at Rome, from whence they were sent by the Pope in legation into England to the king. And for their reward, at their departure, the prudent King Henry the Seventh thought it better to reward them with that thing, he himself could not keep, than to defray or disburse any thing of his treasure. And then they being but strangers, thought it more meet for their assurance, and to have their jurisdictions conserved and justly used, to permit the Cardinal to have their benefices for a convenient yearly sum of money to be paid them by exchanges in their countries, than to be troubled, or burdened with the conveyance thereof unto them: so that all their spiritual promotions and jurisdictions of their bishopricks were clearly in his domain and disposition, to prefer or promote whom he listed unto them. He had also a great number daily attending upon him, both of noblemen and worthy gentlemen, of great estimation and possessions, with no small number of the tallest yeomen, that he could get in all this realm, in so much that well was that nobleman and gentleman, that might prefer any tall and comely yeoman unto his service.

Now to speak of the order of his house and officers, I think it necessary here to be remembered. First ye shall understand, that he had in his hall, daily, three especial tables furnished with three principal officers; that is to say, a Steward, which was always a dean or a priest; a Treasurer, a knight; and a Comptroller, an esquire; which bare always within his house their white staves. Then had he a cofferer, three marshals, two yeomen ushers, two grooms, and an almoner. He had in the hall-kitchen two clerks of his kitchen, a clerk comptroller, a surveyor of the dresser, a clerk of his spicery. Also there in his hall-kitchen he had two master cooks, and twelve other labourers, and children as they called them; a yeoman of his scullery, and two other in his silver scullery; two yeomen of his pastry, and two grooms[78].

Now in his privy kitchen he had a Master Cook who went daily in damask satin, or velvet, with a chain of gold about his neck; and two grooms, with six labourers and children to serve in that place; in the Larder there, a yeoman and a groom; in the Scalding-house, a yeoman and two grooms; in the Scullery there, two persons; in the Buttery, two yeomen and two grooms, with two other pages; in the Pantry, two yeomen, two grooms, and two other pages; and in the Ewery likewise: in the Cellar, three yeomen, two grooms, and two pages; beside a gentleman for the month: in the Chaundery, three persons: in the Wafery, two; in the Wardrobe of beds, the master of the wardrobe, and ten other persons; in the Laundry, a yeoman, a groom, and three pages: of purveyors, two, and one groom; in the Bakehouse, a yeoman and two grooms; in the Wood-yard, a yeoman and a groom; in the Garner, one; in the Garden, a yeoman and two labourers. Now at the gate, he had of porters, two tall yeomen and two grooms; a yeoman of his barge: in the stable, he had a master of his horse, a clerk of the stable, a yeoman of the same; a Saddler, a Farrier, a yeoman of his Chariot, a Sumpter-man, a yeoman of his stirrup; a Muleteer; sixteen grooms of his stable, every of them keeping four great geldings: in the Almeserie, a yeoman and a groom.

Now I will declare unto you the officers of his chapel, and singing men of the same. First, he had there a Dean, who was always a great clerk and a divine; a Sub-dean; a Repeater of the quire; a Gospeller[79], a Pisteller; and twelve singing Priests: of Scholars, he had first, a Master of the children; twelve singing children; sixteen singing men; with a servant to attend upon the said children. In the Revestry[80], a yeoman and two grooms: then were there divers retainers of cunning singing men, that came thither at divers sundry principal feasts. But to speak of the furniture of his chapel passeth my capacity to declare the number of the costly ornaments and rich jewels, that were occupied in the same continually. For I have seen there, in a procession, worn forty-four copes of one suit, very rich, besides the sumptuous crosses, candlesticks, and other necessary ornaments to the comely furniture of the same. Now shall ye understand that he had two cross bearers, and two pillar bearers: and in his chamber, all these persons; that is to say: his high Chamberlain, his Vice Chamberlain; twelve Gentlemen ushers, daily waiters; besides two in his privy chamber; and of Gentlemen waiters in his privy chamber he had six; and also he had of Lords nine or ten[81], who had each of them allowed two servants; and the Earl of Derby had allowed five men. Then had he of Gentlemen, as cup-bearers, carvers, sewers, and Gentlemen daily waiters, forty persons; of yeomen ushers he had six; of grooms in his chamber he had eight; of yeomen of his chamber he had forty-six daily to attend upon his person; he had also a priest there which was his Almoner, to attend upon his table at dinner. Of doctors and chaplains attending in his closet to say daily mass before him, he had sixteen persons: and a clerk of his closet. Also he had two secretaries, and two clerks of his signet; and four counsellors learned in the laws of the realm.

And for as much as he was Chancellor of England, it was necessary for him to have divers officers of the Chancery to attend daily upon him, for the better furniture of the same. That is to say: first, he had the Clerk of the Crown, a Riding Clerk, a Clerk of the Hanaper, a Chafer of Wax. Then had he a Clerk of the Check, as well to check his Chaplains, as his Yeomen of the Chamber; he had also four Footmen, which were apparelled in rich running coats, whensoever he rode any journey. Then had he an herald at Arms, and a Sergeant at Arms; a Physician; an Apothecary; four Minstrels; a Keeper of his Tents, an Armourer; an Instructor of his Wards; two Yeomen in his Wardrobe; and a Keeper of his Chamber in the court. He had also daily in his house the Surveyor of York, a Clerk of the Green Cloth; and an Auditor. All this number of persons were daily attendant upon him in his house, down-lying and up-rising. And at meals, there was continually in his chamber a board kept for his Chamberlains, and Gentlemen Ushers, having with them a mess of the young Lords[82], and another for gentlemen. Besides all these, there was never an officer and gentleman, or any other worthy person in his house, but he was allowed some three, some two servants; and all other one at the least; which amounted to a great number of persons. Now have I showed you the order of his house, and what officers and servants he had, according to his checker roll, attending daily upon him; besides his retainers, and other persons being suitors, that most commonly were fed in his hall. And whensoever we shall see any more such subjects within this realm, that shall maintain any such estate and household, I am content he be advanced above him in honour and estimation. Therefore here I make an end of his household; whereof the number was about the sum of five hundred[83] persons according to his checker roll.

You have heard of the order and officers of his house; now I do intend to proceed forth unto other of his proceedings; for, after he was thus furnished, in manner as I have before rehearsed unto you, he was twice sent in embassy unto the Emperor Charles the Fifth, that now reigneth; and father unto King Philip, now our sovereign lord. Forasmuch as the old Emperor Maximilian was dead, and for divers urgent causes touching the king’s majesty, it was thought good that in so weighty a matter, and to so noble a prince, that the Cardinal was most meet to be sent on so worthy an embassy. Wherefore he being ready to take upon him the charge thereof, was furnished in all degrees and purposes most likest a great prince, which was much to the high honour of the king’s majesty, and of this realm. For first in his proceeding he was furnished like a cardinal of high estimation, having all things thereto correspondent and agreeable. His gentlemen, being in number very many, clothed in livery coats of crimson velvet of the most purest colour that might be invented, with chains of gold about their necks; and all his yeomen and other mean officers were in coats of fine scarlet, guarded with black velvet a hand broad. He being thus furnished in this manner, was twice sent unto the emperor into Flanders, the emperor lying then in Bruges; who entertained our ambassador very highly[84], discharging him and all his train of their charge; for there was no house within all Bruges, wherein any gentlemen of the Lord Ambassador’s lay, or had recourse, but that the owners of the houses were commanded by the emperor’s officers, that they, upon pain of their lives, should take no money for any thing that the cardinal’s servants should take or dispend in victuals; no, although they were disposed to make any costly banquets: furthermore commanding their said hosts, to see that they lacked no such thing as they desired or required to have for their pleasures. Also the emperor’s officers every night went through the town, from house to house, where as any English men lay or resorted, and there served their liveries[85] for all night; which was done after this manner: first, the emperor’s officers brought in to the house a cast of fine manchet bread[86], two great silver pots, with wine, and a pound of fine sugar; white lights and yellow; a bowl or goblet of silver, to drink in; and every night a staff torch. This was the order of their liveries every night. And then in the morning, when the officers came to fetch away their stuff, then would they accompt with the host for the gentlemen’s costs spent in that night and day before. Thus the emperor entertained the cardinal and all his train, for the time of his embassy there. And that done, he returned home again into England, with great triumph, being no less in estimation with the king than he was before, but rather much more.

Now will I declare unto you his order in going to Westminster Hall, daily in the term season. First, before his coming out of his privy chamber, he heard most commonly every day two masses in his privy closet; and there then said his daily service with his chaplain: and as I heard his chaplain say, being a man of credence and of excellent learning, that the cardinal, what business or weighty matters soever he had in the day, he never went to his bed with any part of his divine service unsaid, yea not so much as one collect; wherein I doubt not but he deceived the opinion of divers persons. And after mass he would return in his privy chamber again, and being advertised of the furniture of his chambers without, with noblemen, gentlemen, and other persons, would issue out into them, appareled all in red, in the habit of a cardinal; which was either of fine scarlet, or else of crimson satin, taffety, damask, or caffa, the best that he could get for money: and upon his head a round pillion, with a noble of black velvet set to the same in the inner side; he had also a tippet of fine sables about his neck; holding in his hand a very fair orange, whereof the meat or substance within was taken out, and filled up again with the part of a sponge, wherein was vinegar, and other confections against the pestilent airs; the which he most commonly smelt unto, passing among the press, or else when he was pestered with many suitors. There was also borne before him first, the great seal of England, and then his cardinal’s hat, by a nobleman or some worthy gentleman, right solemnly, bareheaded. And as soon as he was entered into his chamber of presence, where there was attending his coming to await upon him to Westminster Hall, as well noblemen and other worthy gentlemen, as noblemen and gentlemen of his own family; thus passing forth with two great crosses of silver borne before him[87]; with also two great pillars of silver, and his pursuivant at arms with a great mace of silver gilt. Then his gentlemen ushers cried, and said: “On, my lords and masters, on before; make way for my Lord’s Grace!” Thus passed he down from his chamber through the hall; and when he came to the hall door, there was attendant for him his mule, trapped all together in crimson velvet, and gilt stirrups. When he was mounted, with his cross bearers, and pillar bearers[88], also upon great horses trapped with [fine] scarlet. Then marched he forward, with his train and furniture in manner as I have declared, having about him four footmen, with gilt pollaxes in their hands; and thus he went until he came to Westminster Hall door. And there alighted, and went after this manner, up through the hall into the chancery; howbeit he would most commonly stay awhile at a bar, made for him, a little beneath the chancery [on the right hand], and there commune some time with the judges, and sometime with other persons. And that done he would repair into the chancery, sitting there till eleven of the clock, hearing suitors, and determining of divers matters. And from thence, he would divers times go into the star chamber, as occasion did serve; where he spared neither high nor low, but judged every estate according to their merits and deserts.

He used every Sunday to repair to the court, being then for the most part at Greenwich, in the term; with all his former order, taking his barge at his privy stairs, furnished with tall yeomen standing upon the bayles, and all gentlemen being within with him; and landed again at the Crane in the vintry. And from thence he rode upon his mule, with his crosses, his pillars, his hat, and the great seal, through Thames Street, until he came to Billingsgate, or thereabout; and there took his barge again, and rowed to Greenwich, where he was nobly received of the lords and chief officers of the king’s house, as the treasurer and comptroller, with others; and so conveyed to the king’s chamber: his crosses commonly standing for the time of his abode in the court, on the one side of the king’s cloth of estate. He being thus in the court, it was wonderly furnished with noblemen and gentlemen, much otherwise than it was before his coming. And after dinner, among the lords, having some consultation with the king, or with the council, he would depart homeward with like state[89]: and this order he used continually, as opportunity did serve.

Thus in great honour, triumph, and glory, he reigned a long season, ruling all things within this realm, appertaining unto the king, by his wisdom, and also all other weighty matters of foreign regions, with which the king of this realm had any occasion to intermeddle. All ambassadors of foreign potentates were always dispatched by his discretion, to whom they had always access for their dispatch. His house was also always resorted and furnished with noblemen, gentlemen, and other persons, with going and coming in and out, feasting and banqueting all ambassadors diverse times, and other strangers right nobly.

And when it pleased the king’s majesty, for his recreation, to repair unto the cardinal’s house, as he did divers times in the year, at which time there wanted no preparations, or goodly furniture, with viands of the finest sort that might be provided for money or friendship. Such pleasures were then devised for the king’s comfort and consolation, as might be invented, or by man’s wit imagined. The banquets were set forth, with masks and mummeries, in so gorgeous a sort, and costly manner, that it was a heaven to behold. There wanted no dames, or damsels, meet or apt to dance with the maskers, or to garnish the place for the time, with other goodly disports. Then was there all kind of music and harmony set forth, with excellent voices both of men and children. I have seen the king suddenly come in thither in a mask, with a dozen of other maskers, all in garments like shepherds, made of fine cloth of gold and fine crimson satin paned, and caps of the same, with visors of good proportion of visnomy; their hairs, and beards, either of fine gold wire, or else of silver, and some being of black silk; having sixteen torch bearers, besides their drums, and other persons attending upon them, with visors, and clothed all in satin, of the same colours. And at his coming, and before he came into the hall, ye shall understand, that he came by water to the water gate, without any noise; where, against his coming, were laid charged many chambers[90], and at his landing they were all shot off, which made such a rumble in the air, that it was like thunder. It made all the noblemen, ladies, and gentlewomen, to muse what it should mean coming so suddenly, they sitting quietly at a solemn banquet; under this sort: First, ye shall perceive that the tables were set in the chamber of presence, banquet-wise covered, my Lord Cardinal sitting under the cloth of estate, and there having his service all alone; and then was there set a lady and a nobleman, or a gentleman and gentlewoman, throughout all the tables in the chamber on the one side, which were made and joined as it were but one table. All which order and device was done and devised by the Lord Sands, Lord Chamberlain to the king; and also by Sir Henry Guilford, Comptroller to the king. Then immediately after this great shot of guns, the cardinal desired the Lord Chamberlain, and Comptroller, to look what this sudden shot should mean, as though he knew nothing of the matter. They thereupon looking out of the windows into Thames, returned again, and showed him, that it seemed to them there should be some noblemen and strangers arrived at his bridge, as ambassadors from some foreign prince. With that, quoth the cardinal, "I shall desire you, because ye can speak French, to take the pains to go down into the hall to encounter and to receive them, according to their estates, and to conduct them into this chamber, where they shall see us, and all these noble personages sitting merrily at our banquet, desiring them to sit down with us, and to take part of our fare and pastime. Then [they] went incontinent down into the hall, where they received them with twenty new torches, and conveyed them up into the chamber, with such a number of drums and fifes as I have seldom seen together, at one time in any masque. At their arrival into the chamber, two and two together, they went directly before the cardinal where he sat, saluting him very reverently; to whom the Lord Chamberlain for them said: "Sir, for as much as they be strangers, and can speak no English, they have desired me to declare unto your Grace thus: they, having understanding of this your triumphant banquet, where was assembled such a number of excellent fair dames, could do no less, under the supportation of your good grace, but to repair hither to view as well their incomparable beauty, as for to accompany them at mumchance[91], and then after to dance with them, and so to have of them acquaintance. And, sir, they furthermore require of your Grace licence to accomplish the cause of their repair." To whom the cardinal answered, that he was very well contented they should so do. Then the maskers went first and saluted all the dames as they sat, and then returned to the most worthiest, and there opened a cup full of gold, with crowns, and other pieces of coin, to whom they set divers pieces to cast at. Thus in this manner perusing all the ladies and gentlewomen, and to some they lost, and of some they won. And thus done, they returned unto the cardinal, with great reverence, pouring down all the crowns in the cup, which was about two hundred crowns. “At all,” quoth the cardinal, and so cast the dice, and won them all at a cast; whereat was great joy made. Then quoth the cardinal to my Lord Chamberlain, “I pray you,” quoth he, “show them that it seemeth me that there should be among them some noble man, whom I suppose to be much more worthy of honour to sit and occupy this room and place than I; to whom I would most gladly, if I knew him, surrender my place according to my duty.” Then spake my Lord Chamberlain unto them in French, declaring my Lord Cardinal’s mind, and they rounding[92] him again in the ear, my Lord Chamberlain said to my Lord Cardinal, “Sir, they confess,” quoth he, “that among them there is such a noble personage, whom, if your Grace can appoint him from the other, he is contented to disclose himself, and to accept your place most worthily.” With that the cardinal, taking a good advisement among them, at the last, quoth he, “Me seemeth the gentleman with the black beard should be even he.” And with that he arose out of his chair, and offered the same to the gentleman in the black beard, with his cap in his hand. The person to whom he offered then his chair was Sir Edward Neville, a comely knight of a goodly personage, that much more resembled the king’s person in that mask, than any other. The king, hearing and perceiving the cardinal so deceived in his estimation and choice, could not forbear laughing; but plucked down his visor, and Master Neville’s also, and dashed out with such a pleasant countenance and cheer, that all noble estates there assembled, seeing the king to be there amongst them, rejoiced very much. The cardinal eftsoons desired his highness to take the place of estate, to whom the king answered, that he would go first and shift his apparel; and so departed, and went straight into my lord’s bedchamber, where was a great fire made and prepared for him; and there new apparelled him with rich and princely garments. And in the time of the king’s absence, the dishes of the banquet were clean taken up, and the tables spread again with new and sweet perfumed cloths; every man sitting still until the king and his maskers came in among them again, every man being newly apparelled. Then the king took his seat under the cloth of estate, commanding no man to remove, but sit still, as they did before. Then in came a new banquet before the king’s majesty, and to all the rest through the tables, wherein, I suppose, were served two hundred dishes or above, of wondrous costly meats and devices, subtilly devised. Thus passed they forth the whole night with banqueting, dancing, and other triumphant devices, to the great comfort of the king, and pleasant regard of the nobility there assembled.

All this matter I have declared at large, because ye shall understand what joy and delight the cardinal had to see his prince and sovereign lord in his house so nobly entertained and pleased, which was always his only study, to devise things to his comfort, not passing of the charges or expenses. It delighted him so much, to have the king’s pleasant princely presence, that no thing was to him more delectable than to cheer his sovereign lord, to whom he owed so much obedience and loyalty; as reason required no less, all things well considered.

Thus passed the cardinal his life and time, from day to day, and year to year, in such great wealth, joy, and triumph, and glory, having always on his side the king’s especial favour; until Fortune, of whose favour no man is longer assured than she is disposed, began to wax something wroth with his prosperous estate, [and] thought she would devise a mean to abate his high port; wherefore she procured Venus, the insatiate goddess, to be her instrument. To work her purpose, she brought the king in love with a gentlewoman, that, after she perceived and felt the king’s good will towards her, and how diligent he was both to please her, and to grant all her requests, she wrought the cardinal much displeasure; as hereafter shall be more at large declared. This gentlewoman, the daughter of Sir Thomas Boleyn, being at that time but only a bachelor knight, the which after, for the love of his daughter, was promoted to higher dignities. He bare at divers several times for the most part all the rooms of estimation in the king’s house; as Comptroller, Treasurer, Vice Chamberlain, and Lord Chamberlain. Then was he made Viscount Rochford; and at the last created Earl of Wiltshire, and Knight of the noble Order of the Garter; and, for his more increase of gain and honour, he was made Lord Privy Seal, and most chiefest of the king’s privy council. Continuing therein until his son and daughter did incur the king’s indignation and displeasure. The king fantasied so much his daughter Anne, that almost all things began to grow out of frame and good order[93].

To tell you how the king’s love began to take place, and what followed thereof, I will even as much as in me lieth, declare [unto] you. This gentlewoman, Mistress Anne Boleyn, being very young[94] was sent into the realm of France, and there made one of the French[95] queen’s women, continuing there until the French queen died. And then was she sent for home again; and being again with her father, he made such means that she was admitted to be one of Queen Katharine’s maids, among whom, for her excellent gesture and behaviour, [she] did excel all other; in so much, as the king began to kindle the brand of amours; which was not known to any person, ne scantly to her own person.

In so much [as] my Lord Percy, the son and heir of the Earl of Northumberland, then attended upon the Lord Cardinal, and was also his servitor; and when it chanced the Lord Cardinal at any time to repair to the court, the Lord Percy would then resort for his pastime unto the queen’s chamber, and there would fall in dalliance among the queen’s maidens, being at the last more conversant with Mistress Anne Boleyn than with any other; so that there grew such a secret love between them that, at length, they were insured together[96], intending to marry. The which thing came to the king’s knowledge, who was then much offended. Wherefore he could hide no longer his secret affection, but revealed his secret intendment unto my Lord Cardinal in that behalf; and consulted with him to infringe the precontract between them: insomuch, that after my Lord Cardinal was departed from the court, and returned home to his place at Westminster, not forgetting the king’s request and counsel, being in his gallery, called there before him the said Lord Percy unto his presence, and before us his servants of his chamber, saying thus unto him. “I marvel not a little,” quoth he, "of thy peevish folly, that thou wouldest tangle and ensure thyself with a foolish girl yonder in the court, I mean Anne Boleyn. Dost thou not consider the estate that God hath called thee unto in this world? For after the death of thy noble father, thou art most like to inherit and possess one of the most worthiest earldoms of this realm. Therefore it had been most meet, and convenient for thee, to have sued for the consent of thy father in that behalf, and to have also made the king’s highness privy thereto; requiring therein his princely favour, submitting all thy whole proceeding in all such matters unto his highness, who would not only accept thankfully your submission, but would, I assure thee, provide so for your purpose therein, that he would advance you much more nobly, and have matched you according to your estate and honour, whereby ye might have grown so by your wisdom and honourable behaviour into the king’s high estimation, that it should have been much to your increase of honour. But now behold what ye have done through your wilfulness. Ye have not only offended your natural father, but also your most gracious sovereign lord, and matched yourself with one, such as neither the king, ne yet your father will be agreeable with the matter. And hereof I put you out of doubt, that I will send for your father, and at his coming, he shall either break this unadvised contract, or else disinherit thee for ever. The king’s majesty himself will complain to thy father on thee, and require no less at his hand than I have said; whose highness intended to have preferred [Anne Boleyn] unto another person, with whom the king hath travelled already, and being almost at a point with the same person, although she knoweth it not, yet hath the king, most like a politic and prudent prince, conveyed the matter in such sort, that she, upon the king’s motion, will be (I doubt not) right glad and agreeable to the same." “Sir,” (quoth the Lord Percy, all weeping), "I knew nothing of the king’s pleasure therein, for whose displeasure I am very sorry. I considered that I was of good years, and thought myself sufficient to provide me of a convenient wife, whereas my fancy served me best, not doubting but that my lord my father would have been right well persuaded. And though she be a simple maid, and having but a knight to her father, yet is she descended of right noble parentage. As by her mother she is nigh of the Norfolk blood: and of her father’s side lineally descended of the Earl of Ormond, he being one of the earl’s heirs general[97]. Why should I then, sir, be any thing scrupulous to match with her, whose estate of descent is equivalent with mine when I shall be in most dignity? Therefore I most humbly require your grace of your especial favour herein; and also to entreat the king’s most royal majesty most lowly on my behalf for his princely benevolence in this matter, the which I cannot deny or forsake." “Lo, sirs,” quoth the cardinal, “ye may see what conformity and wisdom is in this wilful boy’s head. I thought that when thou heardest me declare the king’s intended pleasure and travail herein, thou wouldest have relented and wholly submitted thyself, and all thy wilful and unadvised fact, to the king’s royal will and prudent pleasure, to be fully disposed and ordered by his grace’s disposition, as his highness should seem good.” “Sir, so I would,” quoth the Lord Percy, “but in this matter I have gone so far, before many so worthy witnesses, that I know not how to avoid my self nor to discharge my conscience.” “Why, thinkest thou,” quoth the cardinal, "that the king and I know not what we have to do in as weighty a matter as this? Yes (quoth he), I warrant thee. Howbeit I can see in thee no submission to the purpose." “Forsooth, my Lord,” quoth the Lord Percy, “if it please your grace, I will submit myself wholly unto the king’s majesty and [your] grace in this matter, my conscience being discharged of the weighty burthen of my precontract.” “Well then,” quoth the cardinal, “I will send for your father out of the north parts, and he and we shall take such order for the avoiding of this thy hasty folly as shall be by the king thought most expedient. And in the mean season I charge thee, and in the king’s name command thee, that thou presume not once to resort into her company, as thou intendest to avoid the king’s high indignation.” And this said he rose up and went into his chamber.

Then was the Earl of Northumberland sent for in all haste, in the king’s name, who upon knowledge of the king’s pleasure made quick speed to the court. And at his first coming out of the north he made his first repair unto my Lord Cardinal, at whose mouth he was advertised of the cause of his hasty sending for; being in my Lord Cardinal’s gallery with him in secret communication a long while. And after their long talk my Lord Cardinal called for a cup of wine, and drinking together they brake up, and so departed the earl, upon whom we were commanded to wait to convey him to his servants. And in his going away, when he came to the gallery’s end, he sat him down upon a form that stood there for the waiters some time to take their ease. And being there set called his son the Lord Percy unto him, and said in our presence thus in effect. “Son,” quoth he, "thou hast always been a proud, presumptuous, disdainful, and a very unthrift waster, and even so hast thou now declared thyself. Therefore what joy, what comfort, what pleasure or solace should I conceive in thee, that thus without discretion and advisement hast misused thyself, having no manner of regard to me thy natural father, ne in especial unto thy sovereign lord, to whom all honest and loyal subjects bear faithful and humble obedience; ne yet to the wealth of thine own estate, but hast so unadvisedly ensured thyself to her, for whom thou hast purchased thee the king’s displeasure, intolerable for any subject to sustain! But that his grace of his mere wisdom doth consider the lightness of thy head, and wilful qualities of thy person, his displeasure and indignation were sufficient to cast me and all my posterity into utter subversion and dissolution: but he being my especial and singular good lord and favourable prince, and my Lord Cardinal my good lord hath and doth clearly excuse me in thy lewd fact, and doth rather lament thy lightness than malign the same; and hath devised an order to be taken for thee; to whom both thou and I be more bound than we be able well to consider. I pray to God that this may be to thee a sufficient monition and warning to use thyself more wittier hereafter; for thus I assure thee, if thou dost not amend thy prodigality, thou wilt be the last earl of our house. For of thy natural inclination thou art disposed to be wasteful prodigal, and to consume all that thy progenitors have with great travail gathered together and kept with honour. But having the king’s majesty my singular good and gracious lord, I intend (God willing) so to dispose my succession, that ye shall consume thereof but a little. For I do not purpose, I assure thee, to make thee mine heir; for, praises be to God, I have more choice of boys who, I trust, will prove themselves much better, and use them more like unto nobility, among whom I will choose and take the best and most likeliest to succeed me. Now, masters and good gentlemen," (quoth he unto us), "it may be your chances hereafter, when I am dead, to see the proof of these things that I have spoken to my son prove as true as I have spoken them. Yet in the mean season I desire you all to be his friends, and to tell him his fault when he doth amiss, wherein ye shall show yourselves to be much his friends." And with that he took his leave of us. And said to his son thus: “Go your ways, and attend upon my lord’s grace your master, and see that you do your duty.” And so departed, and went his way down through the hall into his barge.

Then after long debating and consultation upon the Lord Percy’s assurance, it was devised that the same should be infringed and dissolved, and that the Lord Percy should marry with one of the Earl of Shrewsbury’s daughters[98]; (as he did after); by means whereof the former contract was clearly undone. Wherewith Mistress Anne Boleyn was greatly offended, saying, that if it lay ever in her power, she would work the cardinal as much displeasure; as she did in deed after. And yet was he nothing to blame, for he practised nothing in that matter, but it was the king’s only device. And even as my Lord Percy was commanded to avoid her company, even so was she commanded to avoid the court, and sent home again to her father for a season; whereat she smoked[99]: for all this while she knew nothing of the king’s intended purpose.

But ye may see when fortune beginneth to lower, how she can compass a matter to work displeasure by a far fetch. For now, mark, good reader, the grudge, how it began, that in process [of time] burst out to the utter undoing of the cardinal. O Lord, what a God art thou! that workest thy secrets so wonderfully, which be not perceived until they be brought to pass and finished. Mark this history following, good reader, and note every circumstance, and thou shaft espy at thine eye the wonderful work of God, against such persons as forgetteth God and his great benefits! Mark, I say, mark them well!

After that all these troublesome matters of my Lord Percy’s were brought to a good stay, and all things finished that were before devised, Mistress Anne Boleyn was revoked unto the court[100], where she flourished after in great estimation and favour; having always a privy indignation unto the cardinal, for breaking off the precontract made between my Lord Percy and her, supposing that it had been his own device and will, and none other, not yet being privy to the king’s secret mind, although that he had a great affection unto her. Howbeit, after she knew the king’s pleasure, and the great love that he bare her in the bottom of his stomach, then she began to look very hault and stout, having all manner of jewels, or rich apparel, that might be gotten with money. It was therefore judged by-and-bye through all the court of every man, that she being in such favour, might work masteries with the king, and obtain any suit of him for her friend.

And all this while, she being in this estimation in all places, it is no doubt but good Queen Katharine, having this gentlewoman daily attending upon her, both heard by report, and perceived before her eyes, the matter how it framed against her (good lady), although she showed ne to Mistress Anne, ne unto the king, any spark or kind of grudge or displeasure; but took and accepted all things in good part, and with wisdom and great patience dissimuled the same, having Mistress Anne in more estimation for the king’s sake than she had before, declaring herself thereby to be a perfect Griselda, as her patient acts shall hereafter more evidently to all men be declared[101].

The king waxed so far in amours with this gentlewoman that he knew not how much he might advance her. This perceiving, the great lords of the council, bearing a secret grudge against the cardinal, because that they could not rule in the scene well for him as they would, who kept them low, and ruled them as well as other mean subjects, whereat they caught an occasion to invent a mean to bring him out of the king’s high favour, and them into more authority of rule and civil governance. After long and secret consultation amongst themselves, how to bring their malice to effect against the cardinal, they knew right well that it was very difficile for them to do any thing directly of themselves. Wherefore, they perceiving the great affection that the king bare lovingly unto Mistress Anne Boleyn, fantasying in their heads that she should be for them a sufficient and an apt instrument to bring their malicious purpose to pass, with her they often consulted in this matter. And she having both a very good wit, and also an inward desire to be revenged of the cardinal[102], was as agreeable to their requests as they were themselves. Wherefore there was no more to do but only to imagine some presented circumstances to induce their malicious accusations. Insomuch that there was imagined and invented among them diverse imaginations and subtle devices, how this matter should be brought about. The enterprise thereof was so dangerous, that though they would fain have often attempted the matter with the king, yet they durst not; for they knew the great loving affection and especial favour that the king bare to the cardinal, and also they feared the wonderous wit of the cardinal. For this they understood very well, that if their matter that they should propone against him were not grounded upon a just and an urgent cause, the king’s favour being such towards him, and his wit such, that he would with policy vanquish all their purpose and travail, and then lye in a-wait to work them an utter destruction and subversion. Wherefore they were compelled, all things considered, to forbear their enterprise until they might espy a more convenient time and occasion.

And yet the cardinal, espying the great zeal that the king had conceived in this gentlewoman, ordered himself to please as well the king as her, dissimuling the matter that lay hid in his breast, and prepared great banquets and solemn feasts to entertain them both at his own house. And thus the world began to grow into wonderful inventions, not heard of before in this realm. The love between the king and this gorgeous lady grew to such a perfection, that divers imaginations were imagined, whereof I leave to speak until I come to the place where I may have more occasion.

Then began a certain grudge to arise between the French king and the Duke of Bourbon, in so much as the Duke, being vassal to the house of France, was constrained for the safeguard of his person to flee his dominions, and to forsake his territory and country, doubting the king’s great malice and indignation. The cardinal, having thereof intelligence, compassed in his head, that if the king our sovereign lord (having an occasion of wars with the realm of France), might retain the duke to be his general in the wars there: in as much as the duke was fled unto the emperor, to invite him also, to stir wars against the French king. The cardinal having all this imagination in his head thought it good to move the king in this matter. And after the king was once advertised hereof, and conceived the cardinal’s imagination and invention, he dreamed of this matter more and more, until at the last it came in question among the council in consultation, so that it was there finally concluded that an embassy should be sent to the emperor about this matter; with whom it was concluded that the king and the emperor should join in these wars against the French king, and that the Duke of Bourbon should be our sovereign lord’s champion and general in the field; who had appointed him a great number of good soldiers over and besides the emperor’s army, which was not small, and led by one of his own noblemen; and also that the king should pay the duke his wages, and his retinue monthly. In so much as Sir John Russel, (who was after Earl of Bedford), lay continually beyond the seas in a secret place, assigned both for to receive the king’s money and to pay the same monthly to the duke. So that the duke began fierce war with the French king in his own territory and dukedom, which the French king had confiscated and seized into his hands; yet not known to the duke’s enemies that he had any aid of the king our sovereign lord. And thus he wrought the French king much trouble and displeasure; in so much as the French king was compelled of fine force to put harness on his back, and to prepare a puissant army royal, and in his own person to advance to defend and resist the duke’s power and malice. The duke having understanding of the king’s advancing was compelled of force to take Pavia, a strong town in Italy, with his host, for their security; where as the king besieged him, and encamped him wondrous strongly, intending to enclose the Duke within this town, that he should not issue. Yet notwithstanding the duke would and did many times issue and skirmish with the king’s army.

Now let us leave the king in his camp before Pavia, and return again to the Lord Cardinal, who seemed to be more French than Imperial. But how it came to pass I cannot declare [unto] you: but the [French] king lying in his camp, sent secretly into England a privy person, a very witty man, to entreat of a peace between him and the king our sovereign lord, whose name was John Joachin[103]; he was kept as secret as might be, that no man had intelligence of his repair; for he was no Frenchman, but an Italian born, a man before of no estimation in France, or known to be in favour with his master, but to be a merchant, and for his subtle wit elected to entreat of such affairs as the king had commanded him by embassy. This Joachin after his arrival here in England was secretly conveyed unto the king’s manor of Richmond, and there remained until Whitsuntide, at which time the cardinal resorted thither, and kept there the said feast very solemnly. In which season my lord caused this Joachin divers times to dine with him, whose talk and behaviour seemed to be witty, sober, and wondrous discreet. [He] continued in England long after, until he had (as it seemed) brought his purposed embassy to pass which he had in commission. For after this there was sent out immediately a restraint unto Sir John Russell, into those parts where he made his abiding beyond the seas, that he should retain and keep back that month’s wages still in his hands, which should have been paid unto the Duke of Bourbon, until the king’s pleasure were to him further known; for want of which money at the day appointed of payment, the duke and his retinue were greatly dismayed and sore disappointed; and when they saw that their money was not brought unto them as it was wont to be. And being in so dangerous a case for want of victuals, which were wondrous scant and dear, there were many imaginations what should be the cause of the let thereof. Some said this, and some said they wist never what; so that they mistrusted no thing less than the very cause thereof. In so much at the last, what for want of victual and other necessaries which could not be gotten within the town, the captains and soldiers began to grudge and mutter; and at the last, for lack of victuals, were like all to perish. They being in this extremity came before the Duke of Bourbon their captain, and said, “Sir, we must be of very force and necessity compelled to yield us in to the danger of our enemies; and better it were for us so to do than here to starve like dogs.” When the duke heard the lamentations, and understood the extremities that they were brought unto for lack of money, he said again unto them, “Sirs,” quoth he, "ye are both valiant men and of noble courage, who have served here under me right worthily; and for your necessity, whereof I am participant, I do not a little lament. (Howbeit) I shall desire you, as ye are noble in hearts and courage, so to take patience for a day or twain: and if succour come not then from the King of England, as I doubt nothing that he will deceive us, I will well agree that we shall all put ourselves and all our lives unto the mercy of our enemies;" wherewith they were all agreeable. And expecting the coming of the king’s money the space of three days, (the which days passed), the duke seeing no remedy called his noble men, and captains, and soldiers before him, and all weeping said, "O ye noble captains and valiant men, my gentle companions, I see no remedy in this necessity but either we must yield us unto our enemies, or else famish. And to yield the town and ourselves, I know not the mercy of our enemies. As for my part I pass not of their cruelties, for I know very well I shall suffer most cruel death if I come once into their hands. It is not for myself therefore that I do lament, but it is for your sakes; it is for your lives; it is also for the safeguard of your persons. For so that ye might escape the danger of your enemies’ hands, I would most gladly suffer death. Therefore, good companions and noble soldiers, I shall require you all, considering the dangerous misery and calamity that we stand in at this present, to sell our lives most dearly rather than to be murdered like beasts. If ye will follow my counsel we will take upon us this night to give our enemies an assault in their camp, and by that means we may either escape, or else give them an overthrow. And thus it were better to die in the field like men, than to live in captivity and misery as prisoners." To the which they all agreed. “Then,” quoth the duke, "Ye perceive that our enemy hath encamped us with a strong camp, and that there is no way to enter but one, which is so planted with great ordnance, and force of men, that it is not possible to enter that way to fight with our enemies without great danger. And also, ye see that now of late they have had small doubt of us, insomuch as they have kept but slender watch. Therefore my policy and advice shall be this: That about the dead time of the night, when our enemies be most quiet at rest, there shall issue from us a number of the most deliverest soldiers to assault their camp; who shall give the assault right secretly, even directly against the entry of the camp, which is almost invincible. Your fierce and sharp assault shall be to them in the camp so doubtful, that they shall be compelled to turn the strength of their entry that lyeth over against your assault, to beat you from the assault. Then will I issue out at the postern, and come to the place of their strength newly turned, and there, or they be ware, will I enter and fight with them at the same place where their guns and strength lay before, and so come to the rescue of you of the assault, and winning their ordnance which they have turned, beat them with their own pieces. And then we joining together in the field, I trust we shall have a fair hand of them. This device pleased them wondrous well. Then prepared they all that day for the purposed device, and kept them secret and close, without any noise or shot of piece within the town, which gave their enemies the less fear of any trouble that night, but every man went to their rest within their tents and lodgings quietly, nothing mistrusting that after ensued.

Then when all the king’s host was at rest, the assailants issued out of the town without any noise, according to the former appointment, and gave a fierce and cruel assault at the place appointed; that they within the camp had as much to do to defend it as was possible: and even as the duke had before declared to his soldiers, they within were compelled to turn their shot that lay at the entry against the assailants. With that issued the duke, and with him about fifteen or sixteen thousand men or more, and secretly in the night, his enemies being not privy of his coming until he was entered the field. And at his first entry he was master of all the ordnance that lay there, and slew the gunners; and charged the said pieces and bent them against his enemies, [of] whom he slew wondrously a great number. He cut down tents and pavilions, and murdered them within them, or they wist of [his] coming, suspecting nothing less than the duke’s entry; so that he won the field or ever the king could arise to the rescue: who was taken in his lodging or ever he was armed. And when the duke had obtained the field, and the French king taken prisoner, his men slain, and his tents robbed and spoiled, which were wondrous rich. And in the spoil, searching of the king’s treasure in his coffers there was found among them the league newly concluded between the King of England and the French king, under the great seal of England; which once by [the duke] perceived, he began to smell the impediment of his money which should have come to him from the king. Having upon due search of this matter further intelligence that all this matter and his utter undoing was concluded and devised by the Cardinal of England, the duke conceived such an indignation hereupon against the cardinal, that after he had established all things there in good order and security, he went incontinent unto Rome, intending there to sack the town, and to have taken the pope prisoner: where, at his first assault of the walls, he was the first man that was there slain. Yet, notwithstanding, his captains continued there the assault, and in conclusion won the town, and the pope fled unto Castle Angell, where he continued long after in great calamity.

I have written thus this history at large because it was thought that the cardinal gave the chief occasion of all this mischief[104]. Ye may perceive what thing soever a man purposeth, be he prince or prelate, yet notwithstanding God disposeth all things at his will and pleasure. Wherefore it is great folly for any wise man to take any weighty enterprise of himself, trusting altogether to his own wit, not calling for grace to assist him in all his proceedings.

I have known and seen in my days that princes and great men [who] would either assemble at any parliament, or in any other great business, first would most reverently call to God for his gracious assistance therein. And now I see the contrary. Wherefore me seems that they trust more in their own wisdoms and imaginations than they do to God’s help and disposition; and therefore often they speed thereafter, and their matters take no success. Therefore not only in this history, but in divers others, ye may perceive right evident examples. And yet I see no man almost in authority or high estate regard or have any respect to the same; the greater is the pity, and the more to be lamented. Now will I desist from this matter and proceed to other.

Upon the taking of the French king, many consultations and divers opinions were then in argument among the council here in England. Whereof some held opinion that if the king would invade the realm of France in proper person, with a puissant army royal, he might easily conquer the same; considering that the French king, and the most part of the noble peers of France, were then prisoners with the emperor. Some again said how that were no honour for the king our sovereign lord, (the king being in captivity). But some said that the French king ought by the law of arms to be the king’s prisoner, forasmuch as he was taken by the king’s champion and general captain, the Duke of Bourbon, and not by the emperor. So that some moved the king to take war thereupon with the emperor, unless he would deliver the French king out of his hands and possession; with divers many other imaginations and inventions, even as men’s fantasies served them, too long here to be rehearsed: the which I leave to the writers of chronicles.

Thus continuing long in debating upon the matter, and every man in the court had their talk, as will without wit led their fantasies; at the last it was devised by means of divers embassies sent into England out of the realm of France, desiring the king our sovereign lord to take order with the emperor for the French king’s deliverance, as his royal wisdom should seem good, wherein the cardinal bare the stroke; so that after long deliberation and advice taken in this matter, it was thought good by the cardinal that the emperor should redeliver out of his ward the French king, upon sufficient pledges. And that the king’s two sons, that is to say, the Dolphin and the Duke of Orleans should be delivered in hostage for the king their father; which was in conclusion brought to pass.

After the king’s deliverance out of the emperor’s bondage, and his two sons received in hostage to the emperor’s use, and the king our sovereign lord’s security for the recompense of all such demands and restitutions as should be demanded of the French king, the cardinal, lamenting the French king’s calamity, and the pope’s great adversity, who yet remained in castle Angell, either as a prisoner, or else for his defence and safeguard (I cannot tell whether), travailed all that he could[105] with the king and his council to take order as well for the delivery of the one as for the quietness of the other. At last, as ye have heard here before, how divers of the great estates and lords of the council lay in a-wait with my Lady Anne Boleyn, to espy a convenient time and occasion to take the cardinal in a brake[106]; [they] thought then, now is the time come that we have expected, supposing it best to cause him to take upon him the king’s commission, and to travel beyond the seas in this matter, saying, to encourage him thereto, that it were more meet for his high discretion, wit, and authority, to compass and bring to pass a perfect peace among these great and most mighty princes of the world than any other within this realm or elsewhere. Their intent and purpose was only but to get him out of the king’s daily presence, and to convey him out of the realm, that they might have convenient leisure and opportunity to adventure their long desired enterprise, and by the aid of their chief mistress, my Lady Anne, to deprave him so unto the king in his absence, that he should be rather in his high displeasure than in his accustomed favour, or at the least to be in less estimation with his majesty. Well! what will you have more? This matter was so handled that the cardinal was commanded to prepare himself to this journey; the which he was fain to take upon him; but whether it was with his good will or no, I am not well able to tell you. But this I know, that he made a short abode after the determined resolution thereof, but caused all things to be prepared onward toward his journey. And every one of his servants were appointed that should attend upon him in the same.

Etched by I Harris Jun^r.

CARDINAL WOLSEY AND HIS SUITE IN PROGRESS.
From a M.S. in the Collection of Francis Douce Esq.^r F.S.A.
Published by Harding, Triphook, & Lepard, 1824.

When all things were fully concluded, and for this noble embassy provided and furnished, then was no lett, but advance forwards in the name of God. My Lord Cardinal had with him such of the lords and bishops and other worthy persons as were not privy of the conspiracy.

Then marched he forward out of his own house at Westminster, passing through all London[107], over London Bridge, having before him of gentlemen a great number, three in a rank, in black velvet livery coats, and the most part of them with great chains of gold about their necks. And all his yeomen, with noblemen’s and gentlemen’s servants following him in French tawny livery coats; having embroidered upon the backs and breasts of the said coats these letters: T. and C., under the cardinal’s hat. His sumpter mules, which were twenty in number and more, with his carts and other carriages of his train, were passed on before, conducted and guarded with a great number of bows and spears. He rode like a cardinal, very sumptuously, on a mule trapped with crimson velvet upon velvet, and his stirrups of copper, and gilt; and his spare mule following him with like apparel. And before him he had his two great crosses of silver, two great pillars of silver, the great seal of England, his cardinal’s hat, and a gentleman that carried his valaunce, otherwise called a cloakbag; which was made altogether of fine scarlet cloth, embroidered over and over with cloth of gold very richly, having in it a cloak of fine scarlet. Thus passed he through London, and all the way of his journey, having his harbingers passing before to provide lodging for his train.

The first journey he made to Dartford in Kent, unto Sir Richard Wiltshire’s house, which is two miles beyond Dartford; where all his train were lodged that night, and in the country thereabouts. The next day he rode to Rochester, and lodged in the bishop’s palace there; and the rest of his train in the city, and in Stroud on this side the bridge. The third day he rode from thence to Feversham, and there was lodged in the abbey, and his train in the town, and some in the country thereabouts. The fourth day he rode to Canterbury, where he was encountered with the worshipfullest of the town and country, and lodged in the abbey of Christchurch, in the prior’s lodging. And all his train in the city, where he continued three or four days; in which time there was the great jubilee, and a fair in honour of the feast of St. Thomas their patron. In which day of the said feast, within the abbey there was made a solemn procession; and my Lord Cardinal went presently in the same, apparelled in his legantine ornaments, with his Cardinal’s hat on his head; who commanded the monks and all their quire to sing the litany after this sort, Sancta Maria ora pro papa nostro Clemente; and so perused the litany through, my Lord Cardinal kneeling at the quire door, at a form covered with carpets and cushions. The monks and all the quire standing all that while in the midst of the body of the church. At which time I saw the Lord Cardinal weep very tenderly; which was, as we supposed, for heaviness that the pope was at that present in such calamity and great danger of the Lance Knights[108]. The next day I was sent with letters from my Lord Cardinal unto Calais, by empost, insomuch as I was that same night at Calais. And at my landing I found standing upon the pier, without [the] Lantern Gate, all the council of the town, to whom I delivered and dispatched my message and letters or ever I entered the town; where I lay two days or my lord came thither; who arrived in the haven the second day after my coming, about eight of the clock in the morning: where he was received in procession with all the worshipfullest persons of the town in most solemn wise. And in the Lantern Gate was set for him a form, with carpets and cushions, whereat he kneeled and made his prayers before his entry any further in the town; and there he was censed with two great censers of silver, and sprinkled with holy water. That done he arose up and passed on, with all that assembly before him, singing, unto St. Mary’s church, where he standing at the high altar, turning himself to the people, gave them his benediction and clean remission. And then they conducted him from thence unto a house called the Checker, where he lay and kept his house as long as he abode in the town; going immediately to his naked bed, because he was somewhat troubled with sickness in his passage upon the seas.

That night, unto this place of the Checker, resorted to him Mons. du Biez, captain of Boulogne, with a number of gallant gentlemen, who dined with him; and after some consultation with the cardinal, he with the rest of the gentlemen departed again to Boulogne. Thus the cardinal was daily visited with one or other of the French nobility.

Then when all his train and his carriages were landed at Calais, and every thing prepared in a readiness for his journey, he called before him all his noblemen and gentlemen into his privy chamber; where they being assembled, [he] said unto them in this wise in effect: "I have called you hither to this intent, to declare unto you, that I considering the diligence that ye minister unto me, and the good will that I bear you again for the same, intending to remember your diligent service hereafter, in place where ye shall receive condign thanks and rewards. And also I would show you further what authority I have received directly from the king’s highness; and to instruct you somewhat of the nature of the French men; and then to inform you what reverence ye shall use unto me for the high honour of the king’s majesty, and also how ye shall entertain the French men, whensoever ye shall meet at any time. First, ye shall understand that the king’s majesty, upon certain weighty considerations, hath for the more advancement of his royal dignity, assigned me in this journey to be his lieutenant-general; and what reverence belongeth to the same I will tell you. That for my part I must, by virtue of my commission of lieutenantship, assume and take upon me, in all honours and degrees, to have all such service and reverence as to his highness’ presence is meet and due: and nothing thereof to be neglected or omitted by me that to his royal estate is appurtenant. And for my part ye shall see me that I will not omit one jot thereof. Therefore, because ye shall not be ignorant in that behalf, is one of the special causes of this your assembly, willing and commanding you as ye entend my favour not to forget the same in time and place, but every of you do observe this information and instruction as ye will at my return avoid the king’s indignation, but to obtain his highness’ thanks, the which I will further for you as ye shall deserve.

“Now to the point of the Frenchmen’s nature, ye shall understand that their disposition is such, that they will be at the first meeting as familiar with you as they had been acquainted with you long before, and commune with you in the French tongue as though ye understood every word they spake: therefore in like manner, be ye as familiar with them again as they be with you. If they speak to you in the French tongue, speak you to them in the English tongue; for if you understand not them, they shall no more understand you.” And my lord speaking merrily to one of the gentlemen there, being a Welshman, “Rice,” quoth he, "speak thou Welsh to him, and I am well assured that thy Welsh shall be more diffuse[109] to him than his French shall be to thee." And then quoth he again to us all, "let all your entertainment and behaviour be according to all gentleness and humanity, that it may be reported, after your departure from thence, that ye be gentlemen of right good behaviour, and of much gentleness, and that ye be men that know your duty to your sovereign lord, and to your master, allowing much your great reverence. Thus shall ye not only obtain to yourselves great commendation and praise for the same, but also advance the honour of your prince and country. Now go your ways admonished of all these points, and prepare yourselves against to-morrow, for then we intend, God willing, to set forward." And thus, we being by him instructed and informed, departed to our lodgings, making all things in a readiness against the next day to advance forth with my lord.

The next morrow, being Mary Magdalen’s day, all things being furnished, my Lord Cardinal rode out of Calais with such a number of black velvet coats as hath not been seen with an ambassador. All the spears of Calais, Guines, and Hammes, were there attending upon him in that journey, in black velvet coats, and many great and massy chains of gold were worn there.

Thus passed he forth with three gentlemen in a rank, which occupied the length of three quarters of a mile or more, having all his accustomed and glorious furniture carried before him, as I before have rehearsed, except the broad seal, the which was left with Doctor Taylor, in Calais, then Master of the Rolls, until his return[110]. Passing thus on his way, and being scant a mile of his journey, it began to rain so vehemently that I have not seen the like for the time; that endured until we came to Boulogne; and or we came to Sandyngfeld, the Cardinal of Loraine, a goodly young gentleman, encountered my lord, and received him with great reverence and joy; and so passed forth together, until they came to Sandyngfeld, which is a place of religion, standing between the French, English, and the Emperor’s dominions, being neuter, holding of neither of them. And being come thither, met with him there Le Countie Brion, Captain of Picardy, with a great number of men of arms, as Stradiots and Arbenois[111] with others standing in array, in a great piece of oats, all in harness, upon light horses, passing with my lord, as it were in a wing, all his journey through Picardy; for my lord somewhat doubted the emperor, lest he would lay an ambush to betray him; for which cause the French king commanded them to await upon my lord for the assurance of his person out of the danger of his enemies. Thus rode he accompanied until he came to the town of Boulogne, where he was encountered within a mile thereof, with the worshipfullest citizens of the town, having among them a learned man, that made to him an oration in Latin; unto the which my lord made answer semblably in Latin. And that done, Monsieur du Biez, Captain of Boulogne, with the retinue there of gentlemen, met him on horseback; which conveyed him into the town with all this assembly, until he came to the abbey gate, where he lighted and went directly into the church, and made his prayers before the image of our Lady, to whom he made his offering. And that done, he gave there his blessing to the people, with certain days of pardon[112]. Then went he into the abbey where he was lodged, and his train were lodged in the high and basse towns.

The next morning, after he heard mass, he rode unto Montreuil sur la mer, where he was encountered in like case as he was the day before, with the worshipfullest of the town, all in one livery, having one learned that made an oration before him in Latin, whom he answered in like manner in Latin; and as he entered in to the town, there was a canopy of silk embroidered with the letters and hat that was on the servants coats, borne over him [by] the persons of most estimation within the town. And when he was alighted his footmen seized the same as a fee due to their office. Now was there made divers pageants for joy of his coming, who was called there, and in all other places within the realm of France as he travelled, Le Cardinal Pacifique; and in Latin Cardinalis Pacificus. [He] was accompanied all that night with divers worthy gentlemen of the country there about[113].

The next day he rode toward Abbeville, where he was encountered with divers gentlemen of the town and country, and so conveyed unto the town, where he was most honourably received with pageants of divers kinds, wittily and costly invented, standing in every corner of the streets as he rode through the town; having a like canopy borne over him, being of more richer sort than the other at Montreuil, or at Boulogne was; they brought him to his lodging, which was, as it seemed, a very fair house newly built with brick. At which house King Louis married my Lady Mary, King Henry the VIIIth sister; which was after married to the Duke of Suffolk, Charles Brandon. And being within, it was in manner of a gallery, yet notwithstanding it was very necessary. In this house my lord remained eight or ten days; to whom resorted, daily, divers of the council of France, feasting them, and other noble men, and gentlemen that accompanied the council, both at dinners and suppers.

Then when the time came that he should depart from thence, he rode to a castle beyond the waters of Somme, called Pincquigny Castle, adjoining unto the said water, standing upon a great rock or hill, within the which was a goodly college of priests; the situation whereof was most like unto the castle of Windsor in England; and there he was received with a solemn procession, conveying him first into the church, and after unto his lodging within the castle. At this castle King Edward the Fourth met with the French king, upon the bridge that goeth over the water of Somme, as ye may read in the chronicles of England.

When my lord was settled within his lodging, it was reported unto me that the French king should come that day into Amiens, which was within six English miles of Pincquigny Castle; and being desirous to see his first coming into the town, [I] axed license and took with me one or two gentlemen of my lord’s, and rode incontinent thither, as well to provide me of a necessary lodging as to see the king. And when we came thither, being but strangers, [we] took up our inn (for the time) at the sign of the Angel, directly against the west door of the cathedral church de notre Dame Sainte Marie. And after we had dined there, tarrying until three or four of the clock, expecting the king’s coming, in came Madame Regent, the king’s mother, riding in a very rich chariot; and in the same with her was her daughter, the Queen of Navarre, furnished with a hundred ladies and gentlewomen or more following, riding upon white palfreys; over and besides divers other ladies and gentlewomen that rode some in rich chariots, and some in horse litters; who lighted at the west door with all this train, accompanied with many other noblemen and gentlemen besides her guard, which was not small in number. Then, within two hours after, the king came into the town with a great shot of guns and divers pageants, made for the nonce at the king’s bien venue; having about his person both before him and behind him, besides the wonderful number of noblemen and gentlemen, three great guards diversely apparelled. The first was of Soutches[114] and Burgonyons, with guns and havresacks. The second was of Frenchmen, some with bows and arrows, and some with bills. The third guard was pour le corps, which was of tall Scots, much more comelier persons than all the rest. The French guard and the Scots had all one livery, which was rich coats of fine white cloth, with a guard of silver bullion embroidered an handful broad. The king came riding upon a goodly genet, and lighted at the west door of the said church, and so [was] conveyed into the church up to the high altar, where he made his prayers upon his knees, and [was] then conveyed into the bishop’s palace, where he was lodged, and also his mother.

The next morning I rode again to Pincquigny to attend upon my lord, at which time my lord was ready to take his mule towards Amiens; and passing on his journey thitherward, he was encountered from place to place with divers noble and worthy personages, making to him divers orations in Latin, to which he made answer again extempore; at whose excellent learning and pregnant wit they wondered very much. Then was word brought my lord that the king was coming to encounter him; with that, he having none other shift, was compelled to alight in an old chapel that stood by the high way, and there newly apparelled him into more richer apparel; and then mounted upon a new mule very richly trapped, with a footcloth and traps of crimson velvet upon velvet, purled with gold, and fringed about with a deep fringe of gold very costly, his stirrups of silver and gilt, the bosses and cheeks of his bridle of the same[115]. And by that time that he was mounted again after this most gorgeous sort, the king was come very near, within less than a quarter of a mile English, mustering upon an hill side, his guard standing in array along the same, expecting my lord’s coming; to whom my lord made as much haste as conveniently it became him; until he came within a pair of butt lengths, and there he staid awhile. The king perceiving that, stood still; and having two worthy gentlemen young and lusty [with him], both brethren to the Duke of Lorraine, and to the Cardinal of Lorraine; whereof one of them was called Monsieur de Guise, and the other Monsieur Vaudemont: they were both apparelled like the king, in purple velvet lined with cloth of silver, and their coats cut, the king caused Monsieur Vaudemont to issue from him, and to ride unto my lord to know the cause of his tracting. [This monsieur] rode upon a fair courser, taking his race in a full gallop, even until he came unto my lord; and there caused his horse to come aloft once or twice so nigh my lord’s mule, that he was in doubt of his horse; and with that he lighted from his courser, and doing his message to my lord with humble reverence; which done, he mounted again, and caused his horse to do the same at his departing as he did before, and so repaired again to the king; and, after his answer made, the king advanced forward. That seeing my lord did the like, and in the mid way they met, embracing each other on horseback, with most amiable countenance entertaining each other right nobly. Then drew into the place all noblemen and gentlemen on both sides, with wonderful cheer made one to another, as they had been of an old acquaintance. The prease was such and [so] thick, that divers had their legs hurt with horses. Then the king’s officers cried “Marche, marche, devant, allez devant.” And the king, and my Lord Cardinal on his right hand, rode together to Amiens, every English gentleman accompanied with another of France. The train of French and English endured two long miles, that is to say from the place of their encounter unto Amiens; where they were very nobly received with shot of guns and costly pageants, until the king had brought my lord to his lodging, and there departed asunder for that night, the king being lodged in the bishop’s palace. The next day after dinner, my lord with a great train of noblemen and gentlemen of England, rode unto the king’s court; at which time the king kept his bed, being somewhat diseased, yet notwithstanding my lord came into his bedchamber, where sat on the one side of his bed his mother, Madam Regent, and on the other side the Cardinal of Lorraine, with divers other noblemen of France. And after a short communication, and drinking of a cup of wine with the king’s mother, my lord departed again to his lodging, accompanied with divers gentlemen and noblemen of France, who supped with him. Thus continued the king and my lord in Amiens the space of two weeks and more, consulting[116] and feasting each other divers times. [And in the feast of the Assumption of our Lady, my lord rose betimes and went to the cathedral

church de notre Dame, and there before my Lady Regent and the Queen of Navarre, in our Lady Chapel, he said his service and mass; and after mass, he himself ministered the sacrament unto my Lady Regent and to the Queen of Navarre. And that done, the king resorted unto the church, and was conveyed into a rich travers at the high altar; and directly against him, on the other side of the altar, sat my Lord Cardinal in another rich travers[117], three gressis[118] higher than the king’s. And at the altar, before them both, a bishop sang high mass, and at the fraction of the host the same bishop divided the sacrament between the king and the cardinal, for the performance of the peace concluded between them; which mass was sung solemnly by the king’s chapel, having among them cornets and sackbuts. And after mass was done the trumpeters blew in the roodeloft[119] until the king was past inward to his lodging out of the church. And at his coming in to the bishop’s palace, where he intended to dine with my Lord Cardinal, there sat, within a cloister, about two hundred persons diseased with the king’s evil, upon their knees. And the king, or ever he went to dinner, provised every of them with rubbing and blessing them with his bare hands, being bare headed all the while; after whom followed his almoner distributing of money unto the persons diseased. And that done he said certain prayers over them, and then washed his hands, and so came up into his chamber to dinner, where as my lord dined with him[120].]

Then it was determined that the king and my lord should remove out of Amiens, and so they did, to a town or city called Compeigne, which was more than twenty English miles from thence; unto which town I was sent to prepare my lord’s lodging. And as I rode on my journey, being upon a Friday, my horse chanced to cast a shoe in a little village, where stood a fair castle. And as it chanced there dwelt a smith, to whom I commanded my servant to carry my horse to shoe, and standing by him while my horse was a shoeing, there came to me one of the servants of the castle, perceiving me to be the cardinal’s servant and an Englishman, who required me to go with him into the castle to my lord his master, whom he thought would be very glad of my coming and company. Whose request I granted, because that I was always desirous to see and be acquainted with strangers, in especial with men in honour and authority, so I went with him; who conducted me unto the castle, and being entered in the first ward, the watchmen of that ward, being very honest tall men, came and saluted me most reverently, and knowing the cause of my coming, desired me to stay a little while until they had advertised my lord their master of my being there; and so I did. And incontinent the lord of the castle came out to me, who was called Monsieur Crequi, a nobleman born, and very nigh of blood to King Louis, the last king that reigned before this King Francis. And at his first coming he embraced me, saying that I was right heartily welcome, and thanked me that I so gently would visit him and his castle, saying furthermore that he was preparing to encounter the king and my lord, to desire them most humbly the next day to take his castle in their way, if he could so intreat them. And true it is that he was ready to ride in a coat of velvet with a pair of velvet arming shoes on his feet, and a pair of gilt spurs on his heels. Then he took me by the hand, and most gently led me into his castle, through another ward. And being once entered into the base court of the castle, I saw all his family and household servants standing in goodly order, in black coats and gowns, like mourners, who led me into the hall, which was hanged with hand-guns, as thick as one could hang by another upon the walls; and in the hall stood an hawk’s perch, whereon stood three or four fair goshawks. Then went we into the parlour, which was hanged with fine old arras, and being there but a while, communing together of my lord of Suffolk, how he was there to have besieged the same, his servants brought to him bread and wine of divers sorts, whereof he caused me to drink. And after, “I will,” quoth he, “show you the strength of my house, how hard it would have been for my Lord of Suffolk to have won it.” Then led he me upon the walls, which were very strong, more than fifteen foot thick, and well garnished with great battery pieces of ordnance ready charged to [be] shot off against the king and my lord’s coming.

When he had showed me all the walls and bulwarks about the castle, he descended from the walls, and came down into a fair inner court, where his genet stood for to mount upon, with twelve other genets, the most fairest and best that ever I saw, and in especial his own, which was a mare genet, he showed me that he might have had for her four hundred crowns. But upon the other twelve genets were mounted twelve goodly young gentlemen, called pages of honour; all bare headed in coats of cloth of gold, and black velvet cloaks, and on their legs boots of red Spanish leather, and spurs parcel gilt.

Then he took his leave of me, commanding his steward and other his gentlemen to attend upon me, and conduct me unto my lady his wife, to dinner. And that done he mounted upon his genet, and took his journey forth out of his castle. Then the steward, with the rest of the gentlemen, led me up into a tower in the gatehouse, where then my lady their mistress lay, for the time that the king and my lord should tarry there.

I being in a fair great dining chamber, where the table was covered for dinner, and there I attended my lady’s coming; and after she came thither out of her own chamber, she received me most gently, like [one of] noble estate, having a train of twelve gentlewomen. And when she with her train came all out, she said to me, “For as much,” quoth she, "as ye be an Englishman, whose custom is in your country to kiss[121] all ladies and gentlewomen without offence, and although it be not so here in this realm, yet will I be so bold to kiss you, and so shall all my maidens." By means whereof I kissed my lady and all her women. Then went she to her dinner, being as nobly served as I have seen any of her estate here in England, having all the dinner time with me pleasant communication, which was of the usage and behaviour of our gentlewomen and gentlemen of England, and commended much the behaviour of them, right excellently; for she was with the king at Ardres, when the great encounter and meeting was between the French king and the king our sovereign lord: at which time she was, both for her person and goodly haviour, appointed to company with the ladies of England. To be short, after dinner, pausing a little, I took my leave of her, and so departed and rode on my journey.

By reason of my tracting of time in Chastel de Crequi[122], I was constrained that night to lye in a town by the way, called Montdidier, the suburbs whereof my Lord of Suffolk had lately burned. And in the next morning I took my journey and came to Compeigne upon the Saturday, then being there the market day; and at my first coming I took my inn in the midst of the market-place, and being there set at dinner in a fair chamber, that had a window looking into the street, I heard a great rumour and clattering of bills. With that I looked out into the street, and there I espied where the officers of the town brought a prisoner to execution, whose head they strake off with a sword. And when I demanded the cause of his offence, it was answered me, that it was for killing of a red deer in the forest thereby, the punishment whereof is but death. Incontinent they had set up the poor man’s head upon a pole in the market-place, between the stag’s horns; and his quarters in four parts of the forest.

Thus went I about to prepare my lord’s lodging, and to see it furnished, which was there in the great castle of the town, whereof to my lord was assigned the one half, and the other half was reserved for the king; and in like wise there was a long gallery divided between them, wherein was made in the midst thereof a strong wall with a door and window, and there the king and my lord would many times meet at the same window, and secretly talk together, and divers times they would go the one to the other, at the said door.

Now was there lodged also Madame Regent, the king’s mother, and all her train of ladies and gentlewomen. Unto which place the Chancellor of France came (a very witty man), with all the king’s grave counsellors, who took great pains daily in consultation. In so much as I heard my Lord Cardinal fall out with the Chancellor, laying unto his charge, that he went about to hinder the league which my said Lord Cardinal had before his coming concluded between the king our sovereign lord and the French king his master; insomuch that my lord stomached the matter very stoutly, and told him, "That it should not lie in his power to dissolve the amicable fidelity between them. And if his master the king being there present forsook his promise and followed his counsel, he should not fail after his return into England to feel the smart, and what a thing it is to break promise with the King of England, whereof he should be well assured." And therewithal he arose and went into his own lodging, wondrously offended. So that his stout countenance, and bold words, made them all in doubt how to pacify his displeasure, and revoke him again to the council, who was then departed in a fury. There was sending, there was coming, there was also intreating, and there was great submission made to him, to reduce him to his former friendly communication; who would in no wise relent until Madame Regent came herself, who handled the matter so discreetly and wittily, that she reconciled him to his former communication. And by that means he brought other matters to pass, that before he could not attain, nor cause the council to grant; which was more for fear, than for any affection to the matter, he had the heads of all the council so under his girdle that he might rule them all there as well as he might the council of England.

The next morning after this conflict, he rose early, about four of the clock, sitting down to write letters into England unto the king, commanding one of his chaplains to prepare him to mass, insomuch that his said chaplain stood revested until four of the clock at afternoon; all which season my lord never rose once to ——, ne yet to eat any meat, but continually wrote his letters, with his own hands, having all that time his nightcap and keverchief on his head. And about the hour of four of the clock, at afternoon, he made an end of writing, conmanding one Christopher Gunner, the king’s servant, to prepare him without delay to ride empost into England with his letters, whom he dispatched away or ever he drank. And that done, he went to mass, and said his other divine service with his chaplain, as he was accustomed to do; and then went straight into a garden; and after he had walked the space of an hour or more, and said his evensong[123], he went to dinner and supper all at once; and making a small repast, he went to his bed, to take his rest for that night.

The next night following he caused a great supper to be provided for Madame Regent, and the Queen of Navarre, and other great estates of ladies and noble women.

There was also Madame Reneé, one of the daughters of King Louis, whose sister, (lately dead), King Francis had married. These sisters were, by their mother, inheritrices of the Duchy of Britanny, and for as much as the king had married one of the sisters, by whom he had the moiety of the said duchy, and to attain the other moiety, and so to be lord of the whole, he kept the said Lady Reneé without marriage, intending that, she having none issue, the whole duchy might descend to him, or to his succession, after her death, for want of issue of her body.

But now let us return again to the supper or rather a solemn banquet, where all these noble persons were highly feasted; and in the midst of their triumph, the French king, with the king of Navarre, came suddenly in upon them unknown, who took their places at the nether end of the table. There was not only plenty of fine meats, but also much mirth and solace, as well in communication, as in instruments of music set forth with my lord’s minstrels, who played there so cunningly and dulce all that night, that the king took therein great pleasure, insomuch that he desired my lord to lend them unto him the next night. And after supper and banquet finished, the ladies and gentlewomen went to dancing; among whom one Madame Fountaine, a maid, had the prize. And thus passed they the night in pleasant mirth and joy.