King Henry held aloof as long as it was a question of business; when the rejoicings and ceremonies were begun, he filled the scene, almost alone. The two kings met and embraced on horseback, according to the ceremony decided upon in order to avoid delicate questions of etiquette; the most affectionate protestations were exchanged. The noblemen of the two courts mixed together amicably, the jousts were about to commence; everywhere around the lists the emblems of France and England were conjoined; for six days the combatants fought with lances, for two with swords, for two in the melee, at the barriers. Henry VIII. and Francis I. fought side by side, like two brothers in arms, facing all comers. The two kings finally essayed wrestling matches, much in vogue in England; but King Henry, more trained, was less nimble than his adversary; he was overthrown; he demanded his revenge, but the assistants interposed there had been enough combats. Banquets, balls, masquerades and theatrical representations now claimed their turn.
So many mutual diversions did not suffice to efface the old distrust born of the long wars and political rivalries; King Francis desiring one morning to commence the day with eclat, repaired alone to the quarters of the English before King Henry had risen, and touching him gaily upon the shoulder: "So you are my prisoner, my brother," he said. Henry VIII. sprang from his couch, touched by this proof of confidence, and Francis, continuing the jest, acted as valet to him, assisted him to perform his toilet, and ended by exchanging presents with him. On leaving the camp, the King, of France met one of his friends the Sire de Fleuranges. "I am glad to see you again in safety, sire," said the latter; "but let me tell you, my master, that you have acted foolishly; and may the evil consequences fall upon those who advised you." "Nobody advised anything," said the king, "all came from my head and could not come from elsewhere." Henry VIII. returned the visit familarly on the marrow. But the moment for separation had arrived; the affairs of the two kingdoms claimed the attention of the two sovereigns, and the rejoicings were beginning to exhaust their purses. For years the lands of more than one nobleman were still recovering from the loans contracted to make a good appearance at the Field of the Cloth of Gold; it was said that the greater number of the French carried all their property upon their backs.
The Emperor Charles V. had forbidden his subjects to respond to the invitation addressed to all the knights in Christendom, and it was to Gravelines that King Henry VIII. went to see him; Charles reconducted him as far as Calais; but the French ambassadors were unable to learn anything of the result of their conference. Before separating Charles promised to accept his dear uncle of England as arbitrator in all the differences which might arise between the King of France and himself, a promise easy to keep for one who held arms in his hand and took care to submit to arbitration only questions of little importance. The king returned to London, "in good health, but with a light purse." says the chroniclers.
There had not been wanting among the citizens, and even among the great noblemen who had not accompanied King Henry to the Field of the Cloth of Gold, censures upon the insane expenditure of the court; none had spoken more loudly than the Duke of Buckingham, and he had gone beyond the bounds of prudence. The blood of the Plantagenets flowed in his veins; he was a descendant of a daughter of the Duke of Gloucester, son of Edward III.; he was rich, magnificent, bold, intelligent. So many qualities and advantages rendered him dangerous; Wolsey profited by the first opportunity to ruin him. It was related that an astrological monk, consulted by the duke, had affirmed that his son, young Stafford, "would go far and high," in other terms, it was concluded therefrom, that the young man would succeed, to the throne of Henry VIII. A similar ground of fear had cost the head of the Earl of Suffolk. Wolsey, who had, on several occasions, been offended by the haughtiness of the duke, caused him to be summoned to the court shortly after the king returned from France. The duke set out without any mistrust; but scarcely had he arrived in London when he found himself watched and followed with more persistency than respect. He was proceeding down the Thames in his boat, when he was arrested and conducted to the Tower, to the astonishment and indignation of the people. He was accused of having urged the monk to disloyal predictions, of having plotted with the servants of the king, uttering threats against his majesty, and the cardinal. The duke maintained that not one single fact could be brought forward against him, but he was condemned beforehand, and the Duke of Norfolk, who presided over the tribunal, burst into tears while pronouncing the sentence, which he had the cowardice to sign. Buckingham replied with proud firmness, protesting to the end his innocence, and refusing to ask pardon of the king. The people wept at the sight of his execution, on the 17th of June, 1521; executions had not yet been sufficiently frequent under the new reign to harden and debase men's hearts.
The blood of Buckingham still reeked upon his scaffold, when Henry VIII. undertook to add to his glory as monarch and knight a splendour of a new kind. We have seen how the reformation was born in England, under the inspiration of Wykliffe, or rather, how it had then, for the first time, assumed a name and proclaimed doctrines. Since that time it had never ceased to grow and develope, slowly, silently, notwithstanding the martyrdom of some persons, nearly all obscure, who perished at the stake from year to year, maintaining the fire which smouldered beneath the ashes. For four years past, everything had been changed; Luther had applied the axe to the tree in Germany, and the renown of his work had penetrated throughout all England. Meanwhile external signs were not yet alarming for the Church of Rome, and less still for its doctrines; the people rose above all against the monks, then very numerous in England, whose irregularities had, several times, attracted the attention of the popes. Henry VIII. resolved to defend the Catholic faith against the attacks of Luther. On the 15th of May, Wolsey had given to the bishops orders to burn, in all the parishes of England, the dangerous books, and to cause to be affixed to the doors of all the churches a list of the heresies of Luther, in order to teach the people to beware of them. On the 20th of May, King Henry had written to Louis of Bavaria, asking him to burn Luther with all his books, "for the accomplishment," he said, "of which good work, sacred and acceptable to God, we offer sincerely with all our hearts, our royal favour, our aid and assistance, and even, if necessary, our blood." But Luther had already appeared before the Diet of Worms, where, boldly maintaining his ground, he had wrested from the emperor, who was an adept in the matter, the exclamation, "Upon my soul, the monk speaks well and with marvellous courage." The monk was in safety at Wurtenburg, hidden for awhile from the fury of his enemies. King Henry had no other resource against him than "the pen of a ready writer." He applied himself to the task, and published in the summer of 1521, a Defence of the Seven Sacraments against Martin Luther, of which a copy, magnificently copied and bound, was, through the care of Wolsey, presented to Pope Leo X. in full consistory, in the month of October, by the English ambassador at Rome. After reading it, the Holy Father bestowed upon the royal author the name of Defender of the Faith, a glorious addition to his other titles, and one of which he was eventually to make a strange use. Luther replied to Henry VIII., refusing to believe that the treatise was the work of his pen, and then proceeded leisurely to dispose of the document. When afterwards the reformer desired to alter his judgment and effect a reconciliation with the monarch, who, in his fashion, was placing himself at the head of the religious movement in his dominions, Henry had not forgiven him for having refused the title of author to him, and was not more favourably disposed towards him for attributing to him at length the composition of a work of which he had spoken so badly. The king published everywhere in his kingdom the two letters of Luther, with a reply, and a warning to the "pious author," which testified to the small liking which had always experienced for "this insane monk."
While Henry VIII. was examining the works of the Fathers of the Church, or causing them to be examined, and was writing a treatise on theology, the war had recommenced between France and Spain. Francis I. had invaded Navarre, but he had been repulsed; his attempts upon the Low Countries had not been fortunate, and Pope Leo X. had recently formed a fresh alliance with the emperor. In his embarrassments, Francis I. invoked the good offices of the King of England, who promised his arbitration, and, thereupon, despatched Wolsey to come to an understanding with the emperor upon the dismemberment of the French monarchy. The cardinal, to whom his master had consigned full powers, landed on the 30th of June at Calais, with a magnificent retinue, and held several conferences with the emissaries of the two sovereigns; but the first act of the comedy was not long, and Wolsey shortly repaired to Bruges, "in order," he said, "to incline the emperor towards peaceful measures." The negotiator was accompanied by so many noblemen, his servants were so brilliantly attired and ornamented with so many jewels, that King Christian of Denmark, who was then at Bruges, was confounded, especially when he saw the cardinal served by men of the highest rank, on their knees, a ceremony that was as yet unknown in Germany.
Cardinal Wolsey Served By Noblemen.