She was destroying her own chance. She persisted in relying on a defence which was itself fatal to her.
“God knows what I suffer from these people,” she wrote to the Emperor, “enough to kill ten men, much more a shattered woman who has done no harm. I can do nothing but appeal to God and your Majesty, on whom alone my remedy depends. For the love of God procure a final sentence from his Holiness as soon as possible. The utmost diligence is required. May God forgive him for the many delays which he has granted and which alone are the cause of my extremity. I am the King’s lawful wife, and while I live I will say no other. The Pope’s tardiness makes many on my side waver, and those who would say the truth dare not. Speak out yourself, that my friends may not think I am abandoned by all the world.”[166]
Well might Catherine despair of Clement. While she was expecting him to excommunicate her husband, he was instructing his Nuncio to treat that husband as his most trusted friend. He invited Henry to assist in the Turkish war; he consulted him about the protection of Savoy from the Swiss Protestants; he apologised to him for the language which he was obliged to use on the great matter. Henry, contemptuous and cool, “not showing the passion which he had shown at other times,” replied that the Pope must be jesting in inviting him, far off as he was, to go to war with the Turk. If Christendom was in danger he would bear his part with the other Princes. As to Savoy, the Duke had disregarded the wishes of France and must take the consequences. For the rest, the message which he had sent through his Ambassador at Rome was no more than the truth. “If,” said he to the Nuncio, “I ask a thing which I think right, the answer is ‘The law forbids.’ If the Emperor ask a thing, law and rules are changed to please him. The Pope has greatly wronged me. I have no particular animosity against him. After all, he does not bear me much ill will. The fear of the Emperor makes him do things which he would not otherwise do. Proceedings may be taken against me at Rome. I care not. If sentence is given against me, I know what to do.”[167]
The Pope never meant to give sentence if he could help it. Every day brought Parliament nearer and he drove Mai distracted with his evasions. “I have said all that I could to his Holiness and the Cardinals without offending them,” he reported to Charles. “Your Majesty may believe me when I say that these devils are to a man against us. Some take side openly, being of the French or English faction; others will be easily corrupted, for every day I hear the English Ambassador receives bills for thousands of ducats, which are said to go in bribery.”[168]
Promises were given in plenty, but no action followed, and Ortiz had the same story to tell Catherine. “Your Ambassador at Rome,” she wrote to her nephew, “thinks the Pope as cold and indifferent as when the suit began. I am amazed at his Holiness. How can he allow a suit so scandalous to remain so long undecided? His conduct cuts me to the soul. You know who has caused all this mischief. Were the King once free from the snare in which he has been caught he would confess that God had restored his reason. His misleaders goad him on like a bull in the arena. Pity that a man so good and virtuous should be thus deceived. God enlighten his mind!”[169]
To the Emperor himself, perhaps, the problem was growing more difficult than he expected. He himself at last pressed for sentence, but sentence was nothing unless followed by excommunication if it was disobeyed, and the Pope did not choose to use his thunder if there was to be no thunderbolt to accompany it. The Cardinal Legate in Spain assured him that the Emperor would employ all his force in the execution of the censures. The Pope said that he prized that promise as “a word from Heaven.” But though Charles might think the English King was doing what was wrong and unjust, was it so wrong and so unjust that fire and sword were to be let loose through Christendom? Chapuys and Catherine were convinced that there would be no need of such fierce remedies. They might be right, but how if they were not right? How if England supported the King? The Emperor could not be certain that even his own subjects would approve of a war for such an object. Three years later, when the moment for action had arrived, if action was to be taken at all, it will be seen that the Spanish Council of State took precisely this view of the matter, and saw no reason for breaking the peace of Europe for what, after all, was but “a family quarrel.” The Pope was cautious. He knew better than his passionate advisers how matters really stood. “The Pope may promise,” Mai said, “but as long as the world remains in its troubled state, these people will be glad of any excuse to prolong the settlement.” January came, when the English Parliament was to meet, and the note was still the same. “The Pope says,” wrote Mai, “that we must not press the English too hard. I have exhausted all that I could say without a rupture. I told him he was discrediting the Queen’s case and your Majesty’s authority. I made him understand that I should be obliged to apply elsewhere for the justice that was denied me at Rome. He owns that I am right, but Consistory follows Consistory and more delays are allowed. We can but press on as we have always done, and urge your Majesty’s displeasure.”[170]
If a sentence could not be had, Ortiz insisted on the issue of another minatory brief. Anne Boleyn must be sent from the court. The King must be made to confess his errors. The Pope assented; said loudly that he would do justice; though England and France should revolt from the Holy See in consequence, a brief should go, and, if it was disobeyed, he would proceed to excommunicate: “the Kings of England and France were so bound together that if he lost one he lost both, but he would venture notwithstanding.” But like the Cardinals who condemned Giordano Bruno, Clement was more afraid of passing judgment than Henry of hearing it passed. The brief was written and was sent, but it contained nothing but mild expostulation.[171] All the distractions of the world were laid at the door of the well-meaning, uncertain, wavering Clement. La Pommeraye, the French Ambassador in London, said (Chapuys vouches for the words) that “nothing could have been so easy as to bring all Christian Princes to agree had not that devil of a Pope embroiled and sown dissension through Christendom.”[172]
In England alone was to be found clear purpose and steadiness of action. The divorce in England was an important feature in the quarrel with the Papacy, but it was but a single element in the great stream of Reformation, and the main anxiety of King and people was not fixed on Catherine, but on the mighty changes which were rushing forward. When a Parliament was first summoned, on the fall of Wolsey, the Queen had assumed that it was called for nothing else but to empower the King to separate from her. So she thought at the beginning, so she continued to think. Yet session had followed session, and the Legislature had found other work to deal with. They had manacled the wrists of her friends, the clergy; but that was all, and she was to have yet another year of respite. The “blind passion” which is supposed to have governed Henry’s conduct was singularly deliberate. Seven years had passed since he had ceased cohabitation with Catherine, and five since he had fallen under the fascination of the impatient Anne; yet he went on as composedly with public business as if Anne had never smiled on him, and he was still content to wait for this particular satisfaction. As long as hope remained of saving the unity of Christendom without degrading England into a vassal State of the Empire, Henry did not mean to break it. He had occupied himself, in concert with the Parliament, with reforming the internal disorders and checking the audacious usurpations of the National Church. He had, so far, been enthusiastically supported by the immense majority of the laity, and was about to make a further advance in the same direction.
The third Session opened on 13th of January, Peers, Prelates, and Commons being present in full number. By this time a small but active opposition had been formed in the Lower House to resist measures too violently anti-clerical. They met occasionally to concert operations at the Queen’s Head by Temple Bar. The Bishops, who had been stunned by the Præmunire, were recovering heart and intending to show fight. Tunstal of Durham, who had been reflecting on the Royal Supremacy during the recess, repented of his consent, and had written his misgivings to the King. The King used the opportunity to make a remarkable reply.
“People conceive,” he said, “that we are minded to separate our Church of England from the Church of Rome, and you think the consequences ought to be considered. My Lord, as touching schism, we are informed by virtuous and learned men that, considering what the Church of Rome is, it is no schism to separate from her, and adhere to the Word of God. The lives of Christ and the Pope are very opposite, and therefore to follow the Pope is to forsake Christ. It is to be trusted the Papacy will shortly vanish away, if it be not reformed; but, God willing, we shall never separate from the Universal body of Christian men.”[173]