“There is no proof of that,” replied Arundel. “Sufficient unto the day is the evil—gloomy apprehensions profit us nothing; they do not delay the progress of events; on the contrary, they send them on us in advance, and only serve to aggravate the consequences. Moreover, I must not forget to suggest that if it would be more agreeable for you to be with your friends, there are many who will be happy to receive you, and offer you a mansion as commodious, although less sumptuously furnished, than your palace of York or that of Hampton Court, the latter of which I have never liked since you added the gallery.”
“What is that gallery to me now? I surrender it up to you,” said the cardinal.
The endless arguments of Arundel began to weary him exceedingly. In spite of the extreme gratitude he felt for his sincere and generous offers, Wolsey could not divest himself of the conviction that Arundel belonged to that class who, while in other respects full of good impulses and laudable intentions, are so entirely wanting in tact and delicacy, and contend so urgently for their own opinions, that the consolations they would force you to adopt, far from alleviating your sufferings, only augment them and render their sympathy irksome and oppressive. This feeling was experienced by Wolsey, uncertain as he was what fate was reserved for him, trembling even for his life, while Arundel endeavored to paint for him a minute picture of the happiness and tranquillity enjoyed by a man living in peace and quiet, with nothing to disturb him in the enjoyment of his possessions.
“Alas!” he exclaimed at length impatiently, “why has not kind Providence blessed me with a nature like yours? I should be less unhappy, nor every instant see yawning before me the terrible depths of the precipice on which I now stand. I could catch, at least, at the branches of absurdity, until the moment when I should be dashed to pieces! But no, I cannot; I am too well acquainted with men and things to expect the slightest assistance. They are always ready to strike those who are falling, but never attempt to raise them up. Yesterday, only yesterday, the commissioners of Parliament demanded of me the letters-patent I had received from the king in order to exercise my authority as legate, although every one knew that, as he had given them to me, it was his right alone to take them away again. Ah! well, they have persisted in their demand, and have refused to believe me on oath! No, I will indulge in no more illusions; my enemies have sworn my death, and they will obtain it! And the king, the king my master, after fifteen years of the most faithful service, he delivers me up, helpless and defenceless, to all the cruelties their hatred may inspire; and yet you, Arundel, think that I should still indulge in hope?”
“But all this will be arranged, I tell you,” replied Arundel with an imperturbable coolness. “You should not trouble yourself in advance, because, if the worst should happen, it will change nothing; and if it does not, your present suffering will have been needless.”
As Arundel finished this wise reasoning, Cromwell appeared.
He came from London, where he had been, he said, to defend Wolsey before the Parliament.
On seeing him enter the cardinal was seized with an uncontrollable alarm, thinking his fate had been decided.
“Cromwell!” he cried, and could say no more.
“Ah!” replied Cromwell, “you should not thus give way to your apprehensions, although.…” He paused on seeing the cardinal grow deadly pale. “You need have no uneasiness, because the king has sent Norris to bid me assure you he would take you under his protection.”