“I think so,” said Cranmer, who had taken the habit of a bishop only that he might be better able to serve his ambition and avidity.
“Softly,” continued the king, with an air of importance; “it is very evident that neither of you are statesmen, and that you are not experienced in such matters, nor acquainted with their difficulties.”
“I think, however, I know very
well how to manage my own,” said Cromwell under his breath.
“We know quite as much about it as some others,” thought Cranmer.
“It will first be necessary,” continued Henry, “to see if there will be no means of arranging it otherwise. It is possible that Catherine may submit, that she may ask to become a religieuse, that they may decide at Rome that it is not necessary to enforce the law so urgently in my case. At any rate, I wish to try them,” he added in a determined voice, “by demanding, as is customary, Cranmer’s bulls of the pope. Afterward—ah! well, we will see.”
“Then, sire,” replied Cromwell, “consider well that, by this act of submission, you destroy all the terror you have inspired, and that if Cranmer holds his rank and powers as Archbishop-Primate of England from any other than yourself, he will be obliged to publicly acknowledge the supremacy of the Bishop of Rome, and to take from him, as usual, the oath of fidelity.”
“Oh!” hurriedly interrupted Cranmer, who feared that this remark of Cromwell would make the king hesitate, and retard his installation, “this oath is only a simple formality, … an ancient usage.… Nothing could prevent me later from taking another to the king in the form and tenor adopted.”
“Ah! well; yes, still—” said Cromwell, whose talent above all consisted in never finding, nor letting the king find, any difficulty in following his advice.
“These honest individuals!” thought the king; “an oath weighs no more on their conscience than a gnat on the back of a swallow.”