Throughout the Cardinal’s illness, Priuli watched over him with unremitting solicitude, and such entire reliance had Pole in the judgment and devotion of his friend, that he confided everything to him. One day, when the Cardinal was free from fever, and he and Priuli were alone together in the library of Lambeth Palace, he requested his friend to unlock a small coffer which he pointed out, and at the same time gave him a key. Priuli obeyed, and on opening the coffer perceived within it a parchment, so endorsed as to leave him no doubt as to its nature.
“That is my will,” said Pole. “I desire you to read it.”
On perusing the document, Priuli found that the Cardinal had appointed him his sole heir and executor, whereupon, looking Pole earnestly in the face, he said, “I am glad you have consulted me on this matter, dear friend, and allowed me the opportunity of expressing my opinion upon it. It would have grieved me to disobey your injunctions, and yet I cannot conscientiously fulfil them. Readily will I undertake the office to which you have appointed me, and will carefully attend to your directions as to the distribution of your property, but with regard to the rich inheritance you would bestow upon me, I must peremptorily decline it. I cannot—will not accept any part of it. I thank you for the intent, but I am rich enough without this augmentation of my worldly goods.”
“Distribute my possessions among the poor, or build churches and hospitals with them,” rejoined the Cardinal. “Whatever you do, will, I am sure, be for the best. But if you decline my bequest, at least accept some slight object, be it only a jewel or ring, to be kept as a memorial of our long friendship.”
“I desire neither jewel nor ring, nor any other memorial richer than the breviary you constantly use,” replied Priuli. “Of all gifts, I should value that the most.”
“It shall be yours, dear friend,” rejoined Pole. “I shall keep it as long as my eyes are able to fix upon it—as long as my hands will hold it—then take it. May it afford you the comfort it has ever afforded me, and draw you towards Heaven, as it has never failed to draw me.”
Pole was constant in his inquiries after the Queen, and on her part Mary was equally anxious for information as to the state of his health. Messengers were continually passing between Lambeth Palace and Whitehall, but from neither place were the tidings satisfactory. On the contrary, the reports of the condition of both illustrious sufferers grew worse, and it became a question as to which of the two would be the survivor. Pole prayed that he might be the first to depart—but it was not so ordained.
The grief felt by every member of the Cardinal’s vast establishment for the deprivation which they felt they must soon undergo, was sincere and profound, but no one deplored his exalted master’s precarious condition more deeply than Rodomont Bittern. The poor who thronged the gates of the palace, and received alms and food from Priuli, put up earnest prayers for their benefactor’s recovery.
But the fever abated not, and though its attacks were somewhat mitigated in severity, still the Cardinal’s debilitated frame was less able to withstand them. He daily grew weaker and weaker.
Notwithstanding his prostration, however, he was carried twice in each day to the chapel to hear mass. One evening after vespers, the large easy-chair in which he reclined was wheeled into the library, and Priuli, who now seldom left him, took his accustomed place by his side. Four days having elapsed since the Cardinal’s last attack, it was certain that the night would not pass without a return of the fever. Notwithstanding this, Pole was conversing cheerfully with his friend, when Rodomont Bittern entered to say that Mistress Constance Tyrrell was without, and desired to see his Eminence.