And he began laughing as he looked at Norfolk, although, out of deference to him, he had not included in the list of difficulties the most formidable of all, and the one that carried all others in its train—his niece, Mlle. Anne.
“In the sense you use the word,” the duke answered coldly, “I believe, on the contrary, he is by no means an astute man. The intrigues of court will be altogether foreign to his character; but otherwise, in science and learning, he has no equal. He is in possession of all that a man is capable of acquiring in that direction, and no man has made a more profound study of the common law and the statutes of the kingdom. Morton placed him at Oxford, then at the Chancellors’ College at Lincoln, and he achieved the most brilliant success.”
“Admirable!” exclaimed Suffolk, laughing.
“Since that time,” pursued the Duke of Norfolk, “his reputation has continued to increase. When he lectured in S. Lawrence’s Church, the celebrated Dr. Grocyn and all of our London savants crowded eagerly to hear him.”
“Well! well! I knew nothing of these most agreeable particulars,” said Suffolk; “I only knew that it was he who induced Parliament to refuse the subsidy demanded for the Queen of Scots. If he continues to repeat such exploits as that, I venture to predict he will not be chancellor very long.”
“Oh! as to that,” replied the duke, “he is a man who will never compromise his conscience. Yes, yes, I recall distinctly the enraged expression of the present king’s father when Mr. Tyler came to inform him that the House of Commons had rejected his demand, and a beardless youth had been the cause of it. I have not forgotten, either, that Henry VII., of happy memory, well knew how to avenge himself by having an enormous fine imposed on Sir Thomas’ father.”
“Well,” replied Suffolk, “but it was not always expedient for the House of Commons to raise money in that way.”
The conversation was continued in this manner, as the hours glided by, until at length the glittering spires of the London churches appeared in the distance, and very soon the carriage had entered the narrow, gloomy streets of that great city.
Just at this time the soul of Wolsey was replenished with an inexpressible quietude and contentment. “At last,” he said to himself, “my enemies have all been confounded. I can no longer entertain a doubt respecting my power, after the most gracious manner in which the king has treated me at Grafton. I trust the influence of Anne Boleyn has diminished in the same proportion that mine has increased. Now she wants Sir Thomas Cheney recalled; but I shall not consent to that. Campeggio goes loaded with honorable presents. The influence of the mistress will soon cease, and that ambitious fool Wiltshire will lose the fruit of his intrigues.…” As the Cardinal of York consoled himself with these agreeable reflections, the arrival of the Venetian ambassador was announced.
“Ah! so he presents himself at last,” Wolsey exclaimed. “He has been a long time demanding an audience!” And he ordered him to be introduced.