The occasion of a demand of money was always carefully stated: the preamble set forth that the country had prospered, had lived in wealth, comfort, and peace under the king, for thirty-one years. His Highness, in the wisdom which God had given him, had brought his subjects out of blindness and ignorance to the knowledge of God and his holy Word. He had shaken off the usurpations of the Bishop of Rome, by whose subtle devices large sums had been annually drained out of the realm. But in doing this he had been forced to contend against insurrections at home and the peril of invasion from the powers of the Continent. He had built a navy and furnished it. He had raised fortresses, laid out harbours, established permanent garrisons in dangerous places, with arsenals for arms and all kinds of military stores. Ireland after an arduous struggle was at length reduced to obedience; but the conquest was maintained at a great and continuing cost. To meet this necessary outlay, no regular provision existed; and the king threw himself confidently upon his subjects, with an assurance that they would not refuse to bear their share in the burden.
Four priests and a woman are attainted for high treason.
The journals throw no light upon the debate, if debate there was. The required sum was voted; we know no more.[567] The sand in Cromwell’s hour-glass was almost run. Once more, and conspicuously, his spirit can be seen in a bill of attainder against four priests, three of whom, Abel, Fetherston, and Powell, had been attached to the household of Queen Catherine, and had lingered in the Tower, in resolute denial of the supremacy; the fourth, Robert Cook, of Doncaster, “had adhered to the late arrogant traitor Robert Aske.” In companionship with them was a woman, Margaret Tyrrell, who had refused to acknowledge Prince Edward to be heir to the crown. These five were declared by act of parliament guilty of high treason; their trial was dispensed with; they were sentenced to death, and the bill was passed without a dissentient voice.[568] This was on the 1st of June.[569] It was the same week in which the Tower seemed likely to be the destiny of Tunstall and Gardiner; the struggling parties had reached the crisis when one or the other must fall. Nine days more were allowed to pass; on the tenth the blow descended.
But I must again go back for a few steps, to make all movements clear.
June. Progress of the misfortune of the marriage.
May. Relations between the king and queen.
Conversation between Wriothesley and Cromwell.
From the day of the king’s marriage “he was in a manner weary of his life.”[570] The public policy of the connexion threatened to be a failure. It was useless abroad, it was eminently unpopular at home; while the purpose for which the country had burdened him with a wife was entirely hopeless.[571] To the queen herself he was kindly distant; but, like most men who have not been taught in early life to endure inconvenience, he brooded in secret over his misfortune, and chafed the wound by being unable to forget it. The documents relating to the pre-contract were not sent; his vexation converted a shadow into a reality. He grew superstitious about his repugnance, which he regarded as an instinct forbidding him to do an unlawful thing. “I have done as much to move the consent of my heart and mind as ever man did,” he said to Cromwell, “but without success.”[572] “I think before God,” he declared another time, “she has never been my lawful wife.”[573] The wretched relations continued without improvement till the 9th of May. On that day a royal circular was addressed to every member of the Privy Council, requiring them to attend the king’s presence, “for the treaty of such great and weighty matters as whereupon doth consist the surety of his Highness’s person, the preservation of his honour, and the tranquillity and quietness of themselves and all other his loving and faithful subjects.”[574] It may be conjectured that the king had at this time resolved to open his situation for discussion. No other matter can be ascertained to have existed at the time worthy of language so serious. Yet he must have changed his purpose. For three weeks longer the secret was preserved, and his course was still undecided. On the evening of the 6th or 7th of June Sir Thomas Wriothesley repaired to Cromwell’s house with the ordinary reports of public business. He found the minister alone in a gallery, leaning against a window. “Were there any news abroad?” Cromwell asked. Wriothesley said he knew of none. “There is something,” the minister said, “which troubles me. The king loves not the queen, nor ever has from the beginning; insomuch as I think assuredly she is yet as good a maid for him as she was when she came to England.” “Marry, sir,” Wriothesley answered, “I am right sorry that his Majesty should be so troubled. For God’s sake, devise how his Grace may be relieved by one way or the other.” “Yes,” Cromwell said, “but what and how?” Wriothesley said he could not tell on the moment; but standing the case as it did, he thought some way might be found. “Well, well,” answered the minister, “it is a great matter.” The conversation ended; and Wriothesley left him for the night.
“The next day following,” Wriothesley deposed, “having occasion eftsoons for business to repair unto him, I chanced to say, ‘Sir, I have thought somewhat of the matter you told me, and I find it a great matter. But, sir, it can be made better than it is. For God’s sake, devise for the relief of the king; for if he remain in this grief and trouble, we shall all one day smart for it. If his Grace be quiet we shall all have our parts with him.’ ‘It is true,’ quoth he; ‘but I tell you it is a great matter.’ ‘Marry,’ quoth I, ‘I grant; but let the remedy be searched for.’ ‘Well,’ quoth he; and thus brake off from me.”[575]
Wriothesley hints a divorce,