“Say, rather, you have been sleeping soundly in your chair,” replied M. du Bellay, smiling. “Here!” he continued, turning toward the valets who followed him, “take my cloak and hat, and then leave us; you can remove the table in the morning.”
Obedient to their master’s orders, they lighted several more lamps and retired, not without regret, however, at losing the opportunity of catching, during the repast, a word that might have satisfied their curiosity as to the cause of M. du Bellay having remained at the king’s palace until so late an hour.
“Well, monsieur! what has been done at last?” eagerly inquired young De Vaux as soon as they had left.
“In truth, I cannot yet comprehend it myself,” replied Du Bellay. “In spite of all my efforts, it has been impossible to clearly unravel the knot of intrigue. This morning, as you know, nothing was talked of but the downfall of Anne Boleyn. I was delighted; her overthrow would have dispensed us from all obligations. Now the king is a greater fool about her than ever, and, unless God himself strikes a blow to sever them, I believe nothing will cure him of his infatuation. As I entered, his first word was to demand why I had been so long in presenting myself. ‘Sire,’ I replied, ‘I have come with the utmost haste, I assure you, and am here ready to execute any orders it may please you to give!’”
“‘Listen,’ he then said to me. ‘I have several things to tell you; but the first of all is to warn you of my determination to arrest Cardinal Wolsey. I am aware that you have manifested a great deal of interest in him; … that you have even gone to see him when he was sick; … but that is of no consequence. I am far from believing that you are in any manner concerned in the treason he has meditated against me. Therefore I have wished to advise you, that you may feel no apprehension on that account.’ I was struck with astonishment. ‘What! sire,’ I at last answered, ‘the cardinal betray you? Why, he is virtually banished from England, where he occupies himself, they say, only in doing works of charity and mercy.’ ‘I know what I say to you,’ replied the king; ‘his own servants accuse him of conspiring against the state. But I shall myself examine into the depths of this accusation. In the meantime he shall be removed to the Tower, and I will send Sir Walsh with instructions to join the Earl of Northumberland, in order to arrest Wolsey at Cawood Castle, where he is now established.’”
“Is it possible?” cried De Vaux, interrupting M. du Bellay. “That unfortunate cardinal! Who could have brought down this new storm on his head? M. du Bellay, do you believe him capable of committing this crime, even if it were in his power?”
“I do not believe a word of it,” replied M. du Bellay, “and I know not who has excited this new storm of persecution. I have tried every possible means to ascertain from the king, but he constantly evaded my questions by answering in a vague and obscure manner. I have been informed in the palace that he had seen no person during the day, except Cromwell, Lady Boleyn, and the Duke of Suffolk. Might this not be the result of a plot concocted between them? This is only a conjecture, and we may never get at the bottom of the affair. But let us pass on to matters of more importance. The mistress is in high favor again. The king is determined to marry her, and has proclaimed in a threatening manner that he will separate himself from the communion of Rome, and no more permit the supremacy of the Sovereign Pontiff to be recognized in his kingdom. He demands that the King of France shall do the same, and rely on his authority in following his example.”
“What!” cried De Vaux, astounded by this intelligence. “And how have you answered him, my lord?”
“I said all that I felt authorized or could say,” replied Du Bellay; “but what means shall we use to persuade a man so far transported and subjugated by his passions that he seems to be a fool—no longer capable of reasoning, of comprehending either his duty, the laws, or the future? I have held up to him the disruption of his kingdom, the horrors that give birth to a war of religion, the blood that it would cause him to spill.”
“‘I shall spill as much of it as may be necessary,’ he replied, ‘to make them yield. They will have their choice. Already the representatives of the clergy have been ordered to assemble. Well! they shall decide among themselves which is preferable—death, exile, or obedience to my will.’