Here the king rose, furiously indignant. “He has answered this petition,” he cried, walking with hurried strides up and down the floor; “and how?… By my faith, I can scarcely repeat it.… That he pardons the terms they have used in their letter, attributing them to the affection they bear for me; that he is under still greater obligations to me than they have mentioned; that it is not his fault if the affair of the divorce remains undecided; that he has sent legates to England; that the queen has refused to recognize them, and appealed from all they have done; that he has tried vainly in every possible way to terminate the affair amicably; and, furthermore, ‘You will, perhaps, be ready to say,’ he writes, ‘that, being under so many obligations to the king as I am, I should waive all other considerations and accord him absolutely everything he asks.’ Although that would be sovereignly unjust, yet he can conclude nothing else from their letter; that they reflect not on the queen having represented to him, that all Christendom is scandalized because they would attempt to annul a marriage contracted so many years ago, at the request of two great kings and under a dispensation from the pope—a marriage confirmed by the birth of several children! And what else? Let me see:… That if I rely on the opinion of several doctors and universities, he refers, on his part, to the law of God upon the sanctity and unity of marriage, and the highest authorities taken from the Hebrew and Latin writers; that the decisions of the universities which I bring forward are supported by no proofs; he cannot decide finally upon that, and, if he should precipitate his judgment, they would no longer be able to avert the evils with which it is said England is threatened; that he desires as much as they that I may have male heirs, but he is not God to give them to me; he has no greater wish than to please me as far as lies in his power, without at the same time violating all the laws of justice and equity; and, finally, he conjures them to cease demanding of him things that are opposed to his conscience, in order that he may be spared the pain of refusing! Mark that well, Cromwell—the pain of refusing! Thus, you see, after having tried everything, spent everything, and used every possible means, what remains now for me to hope?”
“All that you wish,” replied Cromwell; “everything without exception! Why permit yourself to be governed by those who ought to be your slaves? Among all the clergy who surround you, and whom you are able to reduce, if you choose, to mendicity, can you not find a priest who will marry you? If I were King of England, I would very soon convince them that the happiness of their lives depended entirely upon mine! Threaten to withdraw from the authority of Rome, and you will very soon see them yielding, on their knees, to all your demands.”
“Cromwell,” said Henry VIII., “I admire your spirit and the boldness of the measures you advocate. From this moment I open to you the door of my council. Remember the kindness and the signal favor with which I have honored you. However, your inexperienced zeal carries you too far; you forget that the day I would determine really to separate myself from the Church of Rome, I would become schismatic, and the people would refuse to obey me. Moreover I am a Catholic, and I wish to die one.”
“What of that?” replied Cromwell. “Am I not also a Catholic? Because your majesty frightens the pope, will he cease to exist? Declare to him that from this day you no longer recognize his authority; that you forbid the clergy paying their tithes to, or receiving from him their nominations. You will see, then, if the next day your present marriage is not annulled and the one you wish to contract approved and ratified.”
“Do you really believe it?” said the king.
“I am sure of it,” replied Cromwell.
“No,” said the king. “It is a thing utterly impossible; the bishops would refuse to accede to any such requirements, and they would be right. They know too well that it is essential for the church to have a head in order to maintain her unity, and without it nothing would follow but confusion and disorder.”
“Well! who can prevent your majesty from becoming yourself that head?” exclaimed Cromwell. “Is England not actually a monster now with two heads, one of them wanting a thing, and the other not? Follow the example given you by those German princes who are freeing themselves from the yoke which has humbled them for so many years before the throne of a pontiff who is a stranger alike to their affections and their interests! Then everything anomalous will rectify itself, and your subjects cease to believe that any other than yourself is entitled to their homage or submission.”
“You are right, little Cromwell!” cried Henry VIII., this seductive and perfidious discourse flattering at the same time his guilty passion and the ambition that divided his soul. “But how would you proceed about executing this marvellous project, of which a thought had already crossed my own mind?—for, as I have just told you, the clergy will refuse to obey me, and I shall then have no means of compelling them.”
“Your consideration and kindness make you forget,” replied Cromwell adroitly, afraid of wounding the king’s pride, “the statutes of præmunire offer you means both sure and easy. Is it not by those laws they have tried Wolsey before the Parliament? In condemning him they have condemned themselves, and have made themselves amenable to the same penalties. You have them all in your power. Threaten to punish them in their turn, if they refuse to take the oath acknowledging you as head of the church; and do it fearlessly if they dare attempt to resist you.”