“Indeed! It is not very delicate,” replied Arundel; “but it is your own fault. When one has friends, he should not neglect them, and that is just what you have done.”
“Misfortune often renders us unjust,” answered the cardinal, deeply moved by the generous frankness and brusque proceedings of Arundel, whom he had always, until now, regarded as being haughty and ungrateful, because he had never observed him among his crowd of fawning courtiers. “I must confess that I could not endure the thought of being repulsed by those for whom I have done everything. I do not believe that among the immense number of those who daily wearied me with protestations of their ostentatious regard there is to-day one who has condescended to think of me in my misfortunes. You only have thought to succor me in my distress—you, who, without my being aware of it, have doubtless been all the while the most sincere among them all.”
“I cannot believe,” replied Arundel, without appearing to notice the acknowledgments with which Wolsey continued to overwhelm him, “that they would all thus have abandoned you had they known the extreme severity with which you have been treated; it would be too foul a blot upon the name of humanity. Notwithstanding they laugh at our misfortunes, I think it appears worse to us than it really is. No, be assured you will find some faithful friends who will defend you. For instance, Sir Thomas More, your successor, whose fortune you have made, cannot fail to use his influence in your favor.”
“More owes me nothing,” replied the cardinal. “I have not made his fortune; when I proposed him to the king as Treasurer of the Exchequer, he had for a long time been acquainted with his rare merits. Knowing that the appointment would prove both useful and agreeable to the king, I recommended him to make it; but really it was more for the king’s benefit than More’s. Besides, I am aware that More is one of the most zealous partisans of Catherine. Thus, you see, there exists no reason why he should feel inclined to assist me. I am only surprised that a man of his exalted integrity should accept a position where he will necessarily be compelled to act in opposition to his convictions.”
“It is with the eager desire of ultimately being able to convert all the world and to correct all consciences,” replied Arundel with a smile of derision; for he never lost an occasion of ridiculing the importance which many attach to political intrigues, and, as they say, to the public good, in whose management they pretend to take a hand, in order to win admiration at any cost for their talents. “And verily, he will find it difficult to sustain his position, unless he becomes the very humble servant of my Lady Anne, regent of the kingdom; for nothing is done but what she ordains, and her uncle, whom she has appointed chief of the council, executes the orders which the king claims the honor of communicating to him. Oh!” continued Arundel in the same ironical tone, and without perceiving the painful effect his words produced on the unhappy cardinal, “truly it is a very great advantage, and above all highly honorable for England, to see her king put in tutelage to the caprices of a woman as weak and vain as she is arrogant. If he was absolutely determined to go into leading-strings, why did he not beseech the good Queen Catherine to take charge of him? She, at least, would have been careful to hold the reins equally on both sides, so that the swaddling could have been made to walk straight.”
“A swaddling,” repeated Wolsey, “… who devoured his nurse!”
“Hold, my dear lord,” continued Arundel; “it cannot be denied that you have made a great mistake in encouraging the king in his divorce project—yes, a great mistake, which they now begin to discover. But I do wrong, perhaps, to reproach you, since you are the first to be punished for your manner of seeing things. But listen to me; as for myself, if, in order to avoid dying of starvation, or being compelled to subsist on just such bread as you have there, I had been obliged to accept the place of lord chancellor, on the day when I found myself relieved of so burdensome and exacting an office I should have cried aloud: ‘Thank heaven that I am again seated by my own fireside, where in peace and quiet I can get up at my leisure and contemplate passing events.’ For myself, these are my principles: to have nothing to do is the first essential to happiness; nothing to lose, the second; nothing to disturb or annoy, the third; and upon these rest all the others. Such is my system—the best of all systems, the only.…”
Arundel would have still continued explaining the numerous theories he had originated for securing happiness for an indefinite length of time, perhaps, but he suddenly perceived that Wolsey no longer heard him, but, with his head sunk on his breast, seemed absorbed in thought.
“Well, my lord,” said Arundel, “you are not listening to me, it seems? Really, it is not worth while to explain to you the true method of being happy.”
“Ah! my dear Arundel,” replied Wolsey, aroused by the exclamation of his visitor, “how could you expect me to think of profiting by your lessons, or to make an application of your theories of happiness, when at this very moment, perhaps, I have been condemned to death by Parliament?”