“Nay, my lord, I am not obstinate.”
“Then say, at least,” cried Cranmer, wishing to appear animated by an officious zeal, “what offends you in this oath, what word you would reject—what is the reason, in fine, that prevents you from taking it.”
Sir Thomas raised his head, and paused a moment to consider the court. There was the Abbot of Westminster, who, during the days of his prosperity and favor, had overwhelmed him with visits and surfeited him with flattery; by his side the Duke of Norfolk, who without emotion beheld him to-day near death, and yet he had formerly loved him as a friend in whom he felt honored; Cromwell, whom he had always treated with respect, in spite of the antipathy he felt for him; the Duke of Suffolk, who had solicited him unceasingly, and almost gone down on his knees to him to obtain money from the king or a place for one of his creatures; Sir John Fitz-James, finally, to
whom he had rendered an eminent service, and who had in other times sworn eternal gratitude to him, and to remain devoted to him in life and in death. Now death was approaching him, and he counted Sir John Fitz-James among the judges who were going to demand his head. Absorbed in the sad and dolorous conviction that in this world he could rely upon no one, he hesitated for a reply.
“You have heard, prisoner?” said Richard Rich brusquely.
“Pardon me, sir,” answered Sir Thomas gently; “but the lords have already spoken so much about the king’s displeasure that, if I should refuse to take this oath of supremacy, I fear to augment it still more by giving the reasons.”
“Ah! this is too much,” cried all the lords. “You not only refuse to take the oath, but you are not even willing to say why you refuse.”
“I would rather believe,” said Cromwell, “that Sir Thomas has returned to reason, and that he is no longer so sure that the oath may wound his conscience. Sir Thomas, is it not the case that you are now rather in a state of doubt and uncertainty in this regard? You know,” he continued, “that we owe entire obedience to the king; therefore you should take the oath he demands of you, and the scruples you feel would be removed by this imperious necessity.”
“It is true, my lord,” replied Sir Thomas, “that I ought to obey the king in all things as a faithful subject—which I am, and will be until death. But this is a case of conscience, in which I am not bound to obey the prince. Listen to me, my lord of Canterbury,” he said, fixing his eyes upon him with an expression full of benevolence.
“I would blame none of those who have taken the oath; but, at the same time, I must say, if your argument was solid, there would be no more cases of doubtful conscience, because it would be sufficient for the king to pronounce yes or no in order to annihilate them all.”