Two women had for some time attracted the eyes of all England—the one who was ascending the throne, and the other who was descending from it. Nothing awakens the sympathy of generous souls more than misfortune, and particularly innocence in misfortune; and accordingly Catherine’s fate will always excite a lively interest, even in the ranks of protestantism. We must not forget, however, that Catherine’s cause was that of the old times and of the Roman papacy, and that Anne’s cause was identified with that light, liberty, and new life which have distinguished modern times. It is true, Catherine died in disgrace, but in peace, surrounded by her women, her officers, her faithful servants; while the youthful Anne, separated from her friends, alone on a scaffold, praying God to bless the prince who put her to death, had her head cruelly cut off by the hangman’s sword. If on the one side there was innocence and divorce, on the other there was innocence and martyrdom.

The king, who had informed Catherine through Lord Mountjoy of the archiepiscopal sentence, officially communicated his divorce and marriage to the various crowned heads of Europe, and particularly to the King of France, the emperor, and the pope. The latter on the 11th of July annulled the sentence of the Archbishop of Canterbury, declared the king’s marriage with Anne Boleyn unlawful, and threatened to excommunicate both, unless they separated before the end of September. Henry angrily commanded his theologians to demonstrate that the bull was a nullity, recalled his ambassador, the Duke of Norfolk, and said that the moment was come for all monarchs and all Christian people to withdraw from under the yoke of the Bishop of Rome. ‘The pope and his cardinals,’ he wrote to Francis I., ‘pretend to have princes, who are free persons, at their beck and commandment. Sire, you and I and all the princes of Christendom must unite for the preservation of our rights, liberties, and privileges; we must alienate the greatest part of Christendom from the see of Rome.’[[286]]

But Henry had scholastic prejudices, which made him fall into the strangest contradictions. While he was employing his diplomacy to isolate the pope, he still prayed him to declare the nullity of his marriage with Catherine.[[287]] It is not at the court of this prince that we must look for the real Reformation: we must go in search of it elsewhere.

CHAPTER XVIII.
A REFORMER IN PRISON.
(August 1532 to May 1533.)

Fryth’s Noble Character.

One of the leading scholars of England was about to seal the testimony of his faith with blood. John Fryth had been one of the most brilliant stars of the university of Cambridge. ‘It would hardly be possible to find his equal in learning,’ said many. Accordingly Wolsey had invited him to his college at Oxford, and Henry VIII. had desired to place him among the number of his theologians. But the mysteries of the Word of God had more attraction for Fryth than those of science: the wants of conscience prevailed in him over those of the intellect, and neglecting his own glory, he sought only to be useful to mankind.[[288]] A sincere, decided, and yet moderate Christian, preaching the Gospel with great purity and love, this man of thirty seemed destined to become one of the most influential reformers of England. Nothing could have prevented his playing the foremost part, if he had had Luther’s enthusiastic energy or Calvin’s indomitable power. There were less strong, but perhaps more amiable features in his character; he taught with gentleness those who were opposed to the truth, and while many, as Foxe says,[[289]] ‘take the bellows in hand to blow the fire, but few there are that will seek to quench it,’ Fryth sought after peace. Controversies between protestants distressed him. ‘The opinions for which men go to war,’ he said, ‘do not deserve those great tragedies of which they make us spectators. Let there be no longer any question among us of Zwinglians or Lutherans, for neither Zwingle nor Luther died for us, and we must be one in Christ Jesus.’[[290]] This servant of Christ, meek and lowly of heart, like his Master, never disputed even with papists, unless obliged to do so.[[291]]

A true catholicism which embraced all Christians was Fryth’s distinctive feature as a reformer. He was not one of those who imagine that a national Church ought to think only of its own nation; but of those who believe that if a Church is the depositary of the truth, she is so for all the earth; and that a religion is not good, if it has no longing to extend itself to all the races of mankind. There were some strongly marked national elements in the English Reformation: the king and the parliament; but there was also a universal element: a lively faith in the Saviour of the world. No one in the sixteenth century represented this truly catholic element better than Fryth. ‘I understand the Church of God in a wide sense,’ he said. ‘It contains all those whom we regard as members of Christ. It is a net thrown into the sea.’[[292]] This principle, sown at that time as a seed in the English Reformation, was one day to cover the world with missionaries.

Fryth, having declined the brilliant offers the king had made to him through Cromwell and Vaughan, joined Tyndale in translating and publishing the Holy Scriptures in English. While laboring thus for England, an irresistible desire came over him to circulate the Gospel there in person. He therefore quitted the Low Countries, returned to London, and directed his course to Reading, where the prior had been his friend. Exile had not used him well, and he entered that town miserably clothed, and more like a beggar than one whom Henry VIII. had desired to place near him. This was in August 1532.

His writings had preceded him. Having received, when in the Netherlands, three works composed in defence of purgatory by three distinguished men—Rastell, Sir Thomas More’s brother-in-law, More himself, and Fisher, Bishop of Rochester—Fryth had replied to them: ‘A purgatory! there is not one only, there are two. The first is the Word of God, the second is the Cross of Christ: I do not mean the cross of wood, but the cross of tribulation. But the lives of the papists are so wicked that they have invented a third.’[[293]]

Sir Thomas, exasperated by Fryth’s reply, said with that humorous tone he often affected, ‘I propose to answer the good young father Fryth, whose wisdom is such that three old men like my brother Rastell, the Bishop of Rochester, and myself are mere babies when confronted with Father Fryth alone.’[[294]] The exile having returned to England, More had now the opportunity of avenging himself more effectually than by his jokes.