Soon after this appointment he was favourably noticed by Fox, Bishop of Winchester, who about that time held the Privy Seal, and Thomas Lovell, then Chancellor of the Exchequer, who thought his uncommon capacity might be useful in state affairs; and, accordingly, while the treaty of marriage was pending between the King and Margaret, Dowager of Savoy, they proposed him as a fit person to be sent to her father, the Emperor Maximilian, on that business. His Majesty, Henry VII, had not before particularly noticed Wolsey, but after conversing with him, he was so satisfied with his qualifications, that he commanded him to be in readiness for the Embassy.
The Court was then at Richmond, from which Wolsey proceeded with his dispatches to London, where he arrived at four o’clock in the afternoon; he had a boat waiting, and in less than three hours was at Gravesend. With post horses he got next morning to Dover, reached Calais in the course the afternoon; and arrived the same night at the Imperial Court. The Emperor, informed that an extraordinary ambassador had come from England, immediately admitted him; and the business being agreeable, was quickly concluded. Wolsey then returned, and reached Calais at the opening of the gates—found the passengers going on board the vessel that brought him from England—embarked, and about ten o’clock was landed at Dover. He reached Richmond the same night, and after taking some repose, rose and met the King as he came from his chamber to hear the morning-service. His Majesty suprised at seeing him there, rebuked him for neglecting the orders with which he was charged;—“May it please your Highness,” said Wolsey, “I have been with the Emperor, and executed my commision to the satisfaction, I trust, of your Grace,” he then knelt and presented Maximilian’s letters. Dissembling the admiration which he felt at such unprecedented expedition, the King inquired if he had received no orders by a pursuivant who had been sent after him. Wolsey answered that he met the messenger as he returned: but having preconceived the purpose for which he was sent, he had presumed of his own accord to supply the defect in his credentials, for which he solicited his Majesty’s pardon. Pleased with this foresight, and gratified with the result of the negotiation, the king readily forgave his temerity; and commanded him to attend the Council in the afternoon. Wolsey, at the time appointed, reported the business of his mission with so much clearness and propriety, that he received the applause of all present; and when the Deanery of Lincoln soon after became vacant, it was bestowed on him by his Majesty, who, from the period of that embassy, continued to treat him with particular favor.
Such, my young friends, was the commencement of the rise of this great man; and from it we may learn a lesson of dispatch and assiduity well to follow. I have not space here to relate to you the life of this extraordinary man, but I can tell you that he rose from one place of high trust to another, till he had almost reached the pinnacle of human greatness. His table was surrounded by the wise and learned of the age; the pomp and magnificence of his retinue surpassed that of the king; he had attained the dignity of Cardinal, and was virtually at the head of the Church in England; prime political minister, and the chief judge of law and equity;—but all these high powers could not preserve him from the fall that awaited him, and it was for him to furnish one of the most striking instances of the instability of fortune, and the ingratitude of his fellow men, which the whole compass of history affords.
King Henry VIII had formed a desire to put away his first wife, Katherine of Arragon, and to marry Anne Boleyn. Wolsey was struck with alarm, and, it is said, fell on his knees before the King to dissuade him from his wicked design. The duty he owed to religion and to the church would not allow him to side with heresy, and therefore he was put into, what is called, a false position between the King on one side and the Pope on the other,—to both he was bound to act with fidelity, the service of one was contrary to the interests of the other—he was placed in a situation where his honesty had the effect of making him equally offensive to both parties; there was no chance for him whatever. Of course one so powerful and at the same time so influential, had numerous enemies, and the ministers of Henry VIII were his bitter foes; and articles of impeachment were drawn up against the Cardinal, who was charged with superiority of talent, and surpassing assiduity in business—with being eloquent in discourse—liberal and lofty-minded. The main strength of his enemies lay in the House of Lords, among the nobility, the prelates, and the abbots, and the bill of impeachment passed this branch of the legislature, but in the house of Commons, Thomas Cromwell, who had been devoted to Wolsey, so manfully exposed, the absurdity of the charges, and so powerfully vindicated the integrity of his old master, that the Commons, to their immortal honor, threw out the bill as unworthy of investigation.
The impeachment having failed, the Cardinal was immediately indicted on the 16th statute of Richard III, for having exercised his commission as the Pope’s Legate without the King’s authority; one of the Judges was sent to Ashur to to receive his answer to this shameless accusation, to whom Wolsey replied in a proud and melancholy spirit. He objected to give up York Palace as being the patrimony of the Church, but signified his readiness to submit to the King’s power, ending his discourse by directing the Judge to tell the King to remember that there is both a heaven and a hell. With this answer the Judge returned to London.
Cromwell, who in the house of Commons had so ably defended him, acted with such open and manly intrepidity in the cause of his deserted master, that he won the esteem of all parties. Being on a visit of consolation to him at Ashur, he took occasion to mention that no provision had been made, for several of the servants had proved very faithful, and had never forsaken him. “Alas” replied the Cardinal, “you know that I have nothing to give them, nor to reward you.” Cromwell however prevailed upon the Cardinal’s chaplain, who had been preferred to rich benefices by his influence, to contribute a little money for their relief, which he did.
The turmoil and the anxiety of the Cardinal’s mind so acted upon his frame that he now fell grievously sick, and his life was despaired of. Henry, being informed of his indisposition, inquired of one of the court physicians what was the matter with the Cardinal. On hearing it arose from indisposition, he struck the table violently with his hand, exclaiming, “I would rather lose twenty thousand pounds than he should die—make you haste, therefore, and endeavour to relieve him.” He then took from his finger a ring chased, with a ruby, on which his own head was engraved, and sent a gentlemen with it and many kindly assurances to the Cardinal; and he ordered Anne Boleyn, who happened to be present, to send also some token of her regard, which she subsequently obeyed, giving the doctor a golden tablet from her side, and requested him to deliver from her. Soon after, Wolsey was regularly pardoned and replaced in the See of York, with a pension of a thousand marks per annum; and Henry, unknown to the Privy Council, restored to him plate and effects to the value of six thousand pounds. This attention of the king revived the drooping spirits of the Cardinal, who went to reside at Richmond, but his enemies ever active, prevailed upon Henry to send him off to his diocese, and he was accordingly banished to York.
He commenced his journey to York about the end of Lent, his train consisted of a hundred and sixty men and servants, and two wagons loaded with the relics of his furniture. He travelled slowly onward, walked in the procession of the monks to the cathedral at Peterboro’ on Palm Sunday, kept Maunday Thursday by washing the feet of the poor and bestowing alms and blessings, he preached in the churches, judged between contending parties, arguing peace, forbearance, and charity among all men. As he drew towards York, a great multitude of people congregated to see him arrive, among whom were the clergy of the diocese, who welcomed him with the reverence due to his pontifical dignity. As he had never been installed in the archepiscopal see, the Cathedral was prepared for the ceremony, but, on the preceding Friday, as he was sitting at dinner, the Earl of Northumberland accompanied by a large retinue arrived at the castle, and arrested him for high treason, and informed him that his orders were to convey him to London. On his departure a great crowd assembled round the castle, and, as he came out on his mule guarded, the people began to exclaim “God save your Grace, and evil over-take them that have taken you from us,” but the Cardinal was deaf to the voice of pity, he considered his destruction at hand, and his constitution, impaired by age and sorrow, gave way. One day, at dinner, he complained of a coldness in his stomach, and was soon after seized with a violent dysentery, which gradually reduced his strength. However, he obeyed the king’s mandate—being anxious to prove his innocence before his accusers at a proper Court, but his illness increased, and on the evening of the third day of his return journey he approached Leicester. The appearance of nature accorded with the condition of the prisoner, the end of the year was drawing nigh, and the Cardinal beheld, for the last time, the falling leaf and the setting sun.
When the cavalcade reached the monastery, the day was drawing to a close, and, the abbot and the friars, apprised of his coming, waited with torches at the gate to receive him. But the honors of the world had ceased to afford him any pleasure; and, as he passed down the stairs, he said to the brethren, “I am come to lay my bones among ye!” Being supported into a chamber, he immediately went to bed, and languished with increasing signs of dissolution all the next day. The following morning, Cavendish, his usher and afterwards historian, as he was watching near him, thought he perceived the symptoms of death. The Cardinal noticing him, inquired the hour, and was told eight o’clock. “That cannot be,” he replied, “for at eight clock you shall lose your master. My time is at hand, and I must depart this world.” Continuing to grow weaker and weaker, he fainted several times during the day. About four o’clock the following morning he asked for some refreshment, which having received, and made confession, Sir William Kingston entered his room and inquired how he felt himself. “Sir,” said Wolsey, “I tarry but the pleasure of God to render up my poor soul into his hands.” He then gave sage and good counsel to Sir William, and impressed upon him the duty of acting in all things with fidelity and honesty towards God, and said, “had I served God as diligently as I have done the King he would not have given me over in my gray hairs.” “Farewell,” he continued, “I wish all good things to have success. My time draws fast on. I may not continue with you. Forget not what I have said, and when I am gone, call it often to mind.” Towards the conclusion he began to falter, and linger in the articulation of his words. At the end, his eyes became motionless, and his sight failed. The Abbot was summoned to administer the extreme unction, and the yeomen of the guard were called to see him die. As the clock struck eight he expired.
The body, with the face uncovered, being laid out in pontifical robes, the magistrates and inhabitants of Leicester were permitted to see it, in order that they might certify the death. In the evening it was removed into the church, but the funeral service was protracted by unusual dirges and orisons, and it was past midnight before the interment took place. Such was the end of this proud and famous Cardinal; who, for a subject, had more of the pomp and glory of this world than any man who ever lived—few have been thrown down from so great a height with so few crimes. He cannot be reproached with anything mean, vile, malicious, cruel, or vindictive. He was a character of the most splendid class—superior as a statesman to any of his contemporaries. He was haughty to the haughty—proud to the proud. Stern and unbending to those who loved him not—but to those who showed him respect, “sweet as summer!” All his undertakings showed the foreseeing facilities of his genius. It was he who, more than any other man, laid the foundation of those maxims of prudence, which, in our own day, among all European States, restrict the domination of the Pope. My young friends cannot do better than to study at large the history of this justly celebrated man. They will find in it much to exalt their minds and to touch their hearts, and they will rise from their perusal of his memoir wiser and better children. Those wretched people who like to contemplate the little blemishes of the most illustrious characters, will see in the errors of Wolsey much to condemn. But more generous minds will look upon them as “specks upon a sun,” whose rays enlightened and benefited the world.