He paused to observe, with a malignant joy, similar to that of the demon when he dragged the first man into sin, the effect of these words on the assembly. But a
gloomy silence was the only response they gave him. He again looked slowly around him, and proceeded in a lower tone:
“My lords, let not this either trouble or alarm you; the church, our mother, has not a child more faithful or submissive than our most gracious sovereign. Does he not prove himself such each day by the care he takes to choke up the seeds of heresy which the malice of the devil is trying to sow among us? You also know very well, and even better than I, that he devotes his nights to writing in defence of our holy faith, and nothing could ever induce him to deviate from it. Why should you feel any scruples about honoring a prince so virtuous by placing him at your head as your defender and most firm supporter? Remember, moreover, honored lords, that he who should refuse this title to the king will be regarded by him as a traitor and disloyal subject.”
He then seated himself in their midst, in order to take in the words of the first who should dare raise his voice in opposition to the will of the king.
All the bishops sat in silent consternation. Several wished to speak, but the presence of Cromwell seemed to freeze them with terror; for they were beginning to understand the base manœuvres of this man, and each one felt as though he was on the point of being seized by that wicked wretch, ready to spring upon the first unhappy victim who might present himself.
They looked from one to another, while a profound silence reigned among them.
Archbishop Warham seemed to be seized with a lively grief, but his voice was no more audible, and
his pale lips remained silent and motionless.
Cromwell felt his heart thrill with malicious delight; beneath the frigid expression of a profound and calculating indifference this obscure intriguer exulted in seeing these men, the most learned and honored in all England, trembling and recoiling before him as before the genius of evil.
But suddenly a man whom nothing could intimidate, a saintly man, whose heart knew no fear except the fear of God, arose in the midst of them. An involuntary shudder ran through the assembly. All eyes were directed alternately toward Cromwell and him, as though to defend the one from the malice of the other. It was the Bishop of Rochester, the friend of Thomas More, who was about to speak; and all knew that no cowardly consideration of prudence could stop him.