Chapter XXVII - England Under Henry the Eighth, Called Bluff King Hal and Burly King Harry

by Charles Dickens

　　PART THE FIRST

　　We now come to King Henry the Eighth, whom it has been too much thefashion to call 'Bluff King Hal,' and 'Burly King Harry,' and otherfine names; but whom I shall take the liberty to call, plainly, oneof the most detestable villains that ever drew breath. You will beable to judge, long before we come to the end of his life, whetherhe deserves the character.

　　He was just eighteen years of age when he came to the throne.People said he was handsome then; but I don't believe it. He was abig, burly, noisy, small-eyed, large-faced, double-chinned,swinish-looking fellow in later life (as we know from thelikenesses of him, painted by the famous Hans Holbein), and it isnot easy to believe that so bad a character can ever have beenveiled under a prepossessing appearance.

　　He was anxious to make himself popular; and the people, who hadlong disliked the late King, were very willing to believe that hedeserved to be so. He was extremely fond of show and display, andso were they. Therefore there was great rejoicing when he marriedthe Princess Catherine, and when they were both crowned. And theKing fought at tournaments and always came off victorious - for thecourtiers took care of that - and there was a general outcry thathe was a wonderful man. Empson, Dudley, and their supporters wereaccused of a variety of crimes they had never committed, instead ofthe offences of which they really had been guilty; and they werepilloried, and set upon horses with their faces to the tails, andknocked about and beheaded, to the satisfaction of the people, andthe enrichment of the King.

　　The Pope, so indefatigable in getting the world into trouble, hadmixed himself up in a war on the continent of Europe, occasioned bythe reigning Princes of little quarrelling states in Italy havingat various times married into other Royal families, and so led totheir claiming a share in those petty Governments. The King, whodiscovered that he was very fond of the Pope, sent a herald to theKing of France, to say that he must not make war upon that holypersonage, because he was the father of all Christians. As theFrench King did not mind this relationship in the least, and alsorefused to admit a claim King Henry made to certain lands inFrance, war was declared between the two countries. Not to perplexthis story with an account of the tricks and designs of all thesovereigns who were engaged in it, it is enough to say that Englandmade a blundering alliance with Spain, and got stupidly taken in bythat country; which made its own terms with France when it couldand left England in the lurch. Sir Edward Howard, a bold admiral,son of the Earl of Surrey, distinguished himself by his braveryagainst the French in this business; but, unfortunately, he wasmore brave than wise, for, skimming into the French harbour ofBrest with only a few row-boats, he attempted (in revenge for thedefeat and death of Sir Thomas Knyvett, another bold Englishadmiral) to take some strong French ships, well defended withbatteries of cannon. The upshot was, that he was left on board ofone of them (in consequence of its shooting away from his ownboat), with not more than about a dozen men, and was thrown intothe sea and drowned: though not until he had taken from his breasthis gold chain and gold whistle, which were the signs of hisoffice, and had cast them into the sea to prevent their being madea boast of by the enemy. After this defeat - which was a greatone, for Sir Edward Howard was a man of valour and fame - the Kingtook it into his head to invade France in person; first executingthat dangerous Earl of Suffolk whom his father had left in theTower, and appointing Queen Catherine to the charge of his kingdomin his absence. He sailed to Calais, where he was joined byMaximilian, Emperor of Germany, who pretended to be his soldier,and who took pay in his service: with a good deal of nonsense ofthat sort, flattering enough to the vanity of a vain blusterer.The King might be successful enough in sham fights; but his idea ofreal battles chiefly consisted in pitching silken tents of brightcolours that were ignominiously blown down by the wind, and inmaking a vast display of gaudy flags and golden curtains. Fortune,however, favoured him better than he deserved; for, after muchwaste of time in tent pitching, flag flying, gold curtaining, andother such masquerading, he gave the French battle at a placecalled Guinegate: where they took such an unaccountable panic, andfled with such swiftness, that it was ever afterwards called by theEnglish the Battle of Spurs. Instead of following up hisadvantage, the King, finding that he had had enough of realfighting, came home again.

　　The Scottish King, though nearly related to Henry by marriage, hadtaken part against him in this war. The Earl of Surrey, as theEnglish general, advanced to meet him when he came out of his owndominions and crossed the river Tweed. The two armies came up withone another when the Scottish King had also crossed the river Till,and was encamped upon the last of the Cheviot Hills, called theHill of Flodden. Along the plain below it, the English, when thehour of battle came, advanced. The Scottish army, which had beendrawn up in five great bodies, then came steadily down in perfectsilence. So they, in their turn, advanced to meet the Englisharmy, which came on in one long line; and they attacked it with abody of spearmen, under Lord Home. At first they had the best ofit; but the English recovered themselves so bravely, and foughtwith such valour, that, when the Scottish King had almost made hisway up to the Royal Standard, he was slain, and the whole Scottishpower routed. Ten thousand Scottish men lay dead that day onFlodden Field; and among them, numbers of the nobility and gentry.For a long time afterwards, the Scottish peasantry used to believethat their King had not been really killed in this battle, becauseno Englishman had found an iron belt he wore about his body as apenance for having been an unnatural and undutiful son. But,whatever became of his belt, the English had his sword and dagger,and the ring from his finger, and his body too, covered withwounds. There is no doubt of it; for it was seen and recognised byEnglish gentlemen who had known the Scottish King well.

　　When King Henry was making ready to renew the war in France, theFrench King was contemplating peace. His queen, dying at thistime, he proposed, though he was upwards of fifty years old, tomarry King Henry's sister, the Princess Mary, who, besides beingonly sixteen, was betrothed to the Duke of Suffolk. As theinclinations of young Princesses were not much considered in suchmatters, the marriage was concluded, and the poor girl was escortedto France, where she was immediately left as the French King'sbride, with only one of all her English attendants. That one was apretty young girl named Anne Boleyn, niece of the Earl of Surrey,who had been made Duke of Norfolk, after the victory of FloddenField. Anne Boleyn's is a name to be remembered, as you willpresently find.

　　And now the French King, who was very proud of his young wife, waspreparing for many years of happiness, and she was looking forward,I dare say, to many years of misery, when he died within threemonths, and left her a young widow. The new French monarch,Francis the First, seeing how important it was to his intereststhat she should take for her second husband no one but anEnglishman, advised her first lover, the Duke of Suffolk, when KingHenry sent him over to France to fetch her home, to marry her. ThePrincess being herself so fond of that Duke, as to tell him that hemust either do so then, or for ever lose her, they were wedded; andHenry afterwards forgave them. In making interest with the King,the Duke of Suffolk had addressed his most powerful favourite andadviser, Thomas Wolsey - a name very famous in history for its riseand downfall.

　　Wolsey was the son of a respectable butcher at Ipswich, in Suffolkand received so excellent an education that he became a tutor tothe family of the Marquis of Dorset, who afterwards got himappointed one of the late King's chaplains. On the accession ofHenry the Eighth, he was promoted and taken into great favour. Hewas now Archbishop of York; the Pope had made him a Cardinalbesides; and whoever wanted influence in England or favour with theKing - whether he were a foreign monarch or an English nobleman -was obliged to make a friend of the great Cardinal Wolsey.

　　He was a gay man, who could dance and jest, and sing and drink; andthose were the roads to so much, or rather so little, of a heart asKing Henry had. He was wonderfully fond of pomp and glitter, andso was the King. He knew a good deal of the Church learning ofthat time; much of which consisted in finding artful excuses andpretences for almost any wrong thing, and in arguing that black waswhite, or any other colour. This kind of learning pleased the Kingtoo. For many such reasons, the Cardinal was high in estimationwith the King; and, being a man of far greater ability, knew aswell how to manage him, as a clever keeper may know how to manage awolf or a tiger, or any other cruel and uncertain beast, that mayturn upon him and tear him any day. Never had there been seen inEngland such state as my Lord Cardinal kept. His wealth wasenormous; equal, it was reckoned, to the riches of the Crown. Hispalaces were as splendid as the King's, and his retinue was eighthundred strong. He held his Court, dressed out from top to toe inflaming scarlet; and his very shoes were golden, set with preciousstones. His followers rode on blood horses; while he, with awonderful affectation of humility in the midst of his greatsplendour, ambled on a mule with a red velvet saddle and bridle andgolden stirrups.

　　Through the influence of this stately priest, a grand meeting wasarranged to take place between the French and English Kings inFrance; but on ground belonging to England. A prodigious show offriendship and rejoicing was to be made on the occasion; andheralds were sent to proclaim with brazen trumpets through all theprincipal cities of Europe, that, on a certain day, the Kings ofFrance and England, as companions and brothers in arms, eachattended by eighteen followers, would hold a tournament against allknights who might choose to come.

　　Charles, the new Emperor of Germany (the old one being dead),wanted to prevent too cordial an alliance between these sovereigns,and came over to England before the King could repair to the placeof meeting; and, besides making an agreeable impression upon him,secured Wolsey's interest by promising that his influence shouldmake him Pope when the next vacancy occurred. On the day when theEmperor left England, the King and all the Court went over toCalais, and thence to the place of meeting, between Ardres andGuisnes, commonly called the Field of the Cloth of Gold. Here, allmanner of expense and prodigality was lavished on the decorationsof the show; many of the knights and gentlemen being so superblydressed that it was said they carried their whole estates upontheir shoulders.

　　There were sham castles, temporary chapels, fountains running wine,great cellars full of wine free as water to all comers, silk tents,gold lace and foil, gilt lions, and such things without end; and,in the midst of all, the rich Cardinal out-shone and out-glitteredall the noblemen and gentlemen assembled. After a treaty madebetween the two Kings with as much solemnity as if they hadintended to keep it, the lists - nine hundred feet long, and threehundred and twenty broad - were opened for the tournament; theQueens of France and England looking on with great array of lordsand ladies. Then, for ten days, the two sovereigns fought fivecombats every day, and always beat their polite adversaries; thoughthey do write that the King of England, being thrown in a wrestleone day by the King of France, lost his kingly temper with hisbrother-in-arms, and wanted to make a quarrel of it. Then, thereis a great story belonging to this Field of the Cloth of Gold,showing how the English were distrustful of the French, and theFrench of the English, until Francis rode alone one morning toHenry's tent; and, going in before he was out of bed, told him injoke that he was his prisoner; and how Henry jumped out of bed andembraced Francis; and how Francis helped Henry to dress, and warmedhis linen for him; and how Henry gave Francis a splendid jewelledcollar, and how Francis gave Henry, in return, a costly bracelet.All this and a great deal more was so written about, and sungabout, and talked about at that time (and, indeed, since that timetoo), that the world has had good cause to be sick of it, for ever.

　　Of course, nothing came of all these fine doings but a speedyrenewal of the war between England and France, in which the twoRoyal companions and brothers in arms longed very earnestly todamage one another. But, before it broke out again, the Duke ofBuckingham was shamefully executed on Tower Hill, on the evidenceof a discharged servant - really for nothing, except the folly ofhaving believed in a friar of the name of Hopkins, who hadpretended to be a prophet, and who had mumbled and jumbled out somenonsense about the Duke's son being destined to be very great inthe land. It was believed that the unfortunate Duke had givenoffence to the great Cardinal by expressing his mind freely aboutthe expense and absurdity of the whole business of the Field of theCloth of Gold. At any rate, he was beheaded, as I have said, fornothing. And the people who saw it done were very angry, and criedout that it was the work of 'the butcher's son!'

　　The new war was a short one, though the Earl of Surrey invadedFrance again, and did some injury to that country. It ended inanother treaty of peace between the two kingdoms, and in thediscovery that the Emperor of Germany was not such a good friend toEngland in reality, as he pretended to be. Neither did he keep hispromise to Wolsey to make him Pope, though the King urged him. TwoPopes died in pretty quick succession; but the foreign priests weretoo much for the Cardinal, and kept him out of the post. So theCardinal and King together found out that the Emperor of Germanywas not a man to keep faith with; broke off a projected marriagebetween the King's daughter Mary, Princess of Wales, and thatsovereign; and began to consider whether it might not be well tomarry the young lady, either to Francis himself, or to his eldestson.

　　There now arose at Wittemberg, in Germany, the great leader of themighty change in England which is called The Reformation, and whichset the people free from their slavery to the priests. This was alearned Doctor, named Martin Luther, who knew all about them, forhe had been a priest, and even a monk, himself. The preaching andwriting of Wickliffe had set a number of men thinking on thissubject; and Luther, finding one day to his great surprise, thatthere really was a book called the New Testament which the priestsdid not allow to be read, and which contained truths that theysuppressed, began to be very vigorous against the whole body, fromthe Pope downward. It happened, while he was yet only beginninghis vast work of awakening the nation, that an impudent fellownamed Tetzel, a friar of very bad character, came into hisneighbourhood selling what were called Indulgences, by wholesale,to raise money for beautifying the great Cathedral of St. Peter's,at Rome. Whoever bought an Indulgence of the Pope was supposed tobuy himself off from the punishment of Heaven for his offences.Luther told the people that these Indulgences were worthless bitsof paper, before God, and that Tetzel and his masters were a crewof impostors in selling them.

　　The King and the Cardinal were mightily indignant at thispresumption; and the King (with the help of Sir Thomas More, a wiseman, whom he afterwards repaid by striking off his head) even wrotea book about it, with which the Pope was so well pleased that hegave the King the title of Defender of the Faith. The King and theCardinal also issued flaming warnings to the people not to readLuther's books, on pain of excommunication. But they did read themfor all that; and the rumour of what was in them spread far andwide.

　　When this great change was thus going on, the King began to showhimself in his truest and worst colours. Anne Boleyn, the prettylittle girl who had gone abroad to France with his sister, was bythis time grown up to be very beautiful, and was one of the ladiesin attendance on Queen Catherine. Now, Queen Catherine was nolonger young or handsome, and it is likely that she was notparticularly good-tempered; having been always rather melancholy,and having been made more so by the deaths of four of her childrenwhen they were very young. So, the King fell in love with the fairAnne Boleyn, and said to himself, 'How can I be best rid of my owntroublesome wife whom I am tired of, and marry Anne?'

　　You recollect that Queen Catherine had been the wife of Henry'sbrother. What does the King do, after thinking it over, but callshis favourite priests about him, and says, O! his mind is in such adreadful state, and he is so frightfully uneasy, because he isafraid it was not lawful for him to marry the Queen! Not one ofthose priests had the courage to hint that it was rather curious hehad never thought of that before, and that his mind seemed to havebeen in a tolerably jolly condition during a great many years, inwhich he certainly had not fretted himself thin; but, they allsaid, Ah! that was very true, and it was a serious business; andperhaps the best way to make it right, would be for his Majesty tobe divorced! The King replied, Yes, he thought that would be thebest way, certainly; so they all went to work.

　　If I were to relate to you the intrigues and plots that took placein the endeavour to get this divorce, you would think the Historyof England the most tiresome book in the world. So I shall say nomore, than that after a vast deal of negotiation and evasion, thePope issued a commission to Cardinal Wolsey and Cardinal Campeggio(whom he sent over from Italy for the purpose), to try the wholecase in England. It is supposed - and I think with reason - thatWolsey was the Queen's enemy, because she had reproved him for hisproud and gorgeous manner of life. But, he did not at first knowthat the King wanted to marry Anne Boleyn; and when he did know it,he even went down on his knees, in the endeavour to dissuade him.

　　The Cardinals opened their court in the Convent of the BlackFriars, near to where the bridge of that name in London now stands;and the King and Queen, that they might be near it, took up theirlodgings at the adjoining palace of Bridewell, of which nothing nowremains but a bad prison. On the opening of the court, when theKing and Queen were called on to appear, that poor ill-used lady,with a dignity and firmness and yet with a womanly affection worthyto be always admired, went and kneeled at the King's feet, and saidthat she had come, a stranger, to his dominions; that she had beena good and true wife to him for twenty years; and that she couldacknowledge no power in those Cardinals to try whether she shouldbe considered his wife after all that time, or should be put away.With that, she got up and left the court, and would neverafterwards come back to it.

　　The King pretended to be very much overcome, and said, O! my lordsand gentlemen, what a good woman she was to be sure, and howdelighted he would be to live with her unto death, but for thatterrible uneasiness in his mind which was quite wearing him away!So, the case went on, and there was nothing but talk for twomonths. Then Cardinal Campeggio, who, on behalf of the Pope,wanted nothing so much as delay, adjourned it for two more months;and before that time was elapsed, the Pope himself adjourned itindefinitely, by requiring the King and Queen to come to Rome andhave it tried there. But by good luck for the King, word wasbrought to him by some of his people, that they had happened tomeet at supper, Thomas Cranmer, a learned Doctor of Cambridge, whohad proposed to urge the Pope on, by referring the case to all thelearned doctors and bishops, here and there and everywhere, andgetting their opinions that the King's marriage was unlawful. TheKing, who was now in a hurry to marry Anne Boleyn, thought thissuch a good idea, that he sent for Cranmer, post haste, and said toLord Rochfort, Anne Boleyn's father, 'Take this learned Doctor downto your country-house, and there let him have a good room for astudy, and no end of books out of which to prove that I may marryyour daughter.' Lord Rochfort, not at all reluctant, made thelearned Doctor as comfortable as he could; and the learned Doctorwent to work to prove his case. All this time, the King and AnneBoleyn were writing letters to one another almost daily, full ofimpatience to have the case settled; and Anne Boleyn was showingherself (as I think) very worthy of the fate which afterwards befelher.

　　It was bad for Cardinal Wolsey that he had left Cranmer to renderthis help. It was worse for him that he had tried to dissuade theKing from marrying Anne Boleyn. Such a servant as he, to such amaster as Henry, would probably have fallen in any case; but,between the hatred of the party of the Queen that was, and thehatred of the party of the Queen that was to be, he fell suddenlyand heavily. Going down one day to the Court of Chancery, where henow presided, he was waited upon by the Dukes of Norfolk andSuffolk, who told him that they brought an order to him to resignthat office, and to withdraw quietly to a house he had at Esher, inSurrey. The Cardinal refusing, they rode off to the King; and nextday came back with a letter from him, on reading which, theCardinal submitted. An inventory was made out of all the riches inhis palace at York Place (now Whitehall), and he went sorrowfullyup the river, in his barge, to Putney. An abject man he was, inspite of his pride; for being overtaken, riding out of that placetowards Esher, by one of the King's chamberlains who brought him akind message and a ring, he alighted from his mule, took off hiscap, and kneeled down in the dirt. His poor Fool, whom in hisprosperous days he had always kept in his palace to entertain him,cut a far better figure than he; for, when the Cardinal said to thechamberlain that he had nothing to send to his lord the King as apresent, but that jester who was a most excellent one, it took sixstrong yeomen to remove the faithful fool from his master.

　　The once proud Cardinal was soon further disgraced, and wrote themost abject letters to his vile sovereign; who humbled him one dayand encouraged him the next, according to his humour, until he wasat last ordered to go and reside in his diocese of York. He saidhe was too poor; but I don't know how he made that out, for he tooka hundred and sixty servants with him, and seventy-two cart-loadsof furniture, food, and wine. He remained in that part of thecountry for the best part of a year, and showed himself so improvedby his misfortunes, and was so mild and so conciliating, that hewon all hearts. And indeed, even in his proud days, he had donesome magnificent things for learning and education. At last, hewas arrested for high treason; and, coming slowly on his journeytowards London, got as far as Leicester. Arriving at LeicesterAbbey after dark, and very ill, he said - when the monks came outat the gate with lighted torches to receive him - that he had cometo lay his bones among them. He had indeed; for he was taken to abed, from which he never rose again. His last words were, 'Had Ibut served God as diligently as I have served the King, He wouldnot have given me over, in my grey hairs. Howbeit, this is my justreward for my pains and diligence, not regarding my service to God,but only my duty to my prince.' The news of his death was quicklycarried to the King, who was amusing himself with archery in thegarden of the magnificent Palace at Hampton Court, which that veryWolsey had presented to him. The greatest emotion his royal minddisplayed at the loss of a servant so faithful and so ruined, was aparticular desire to lay hold of fifteen hundred pounds which theCardinal was reported to have hidden somewhere.

　　The opinions concerning the divorce, of the learned doctors andbishops and others, being at last collected, and being generally inthe King's favour, were forwarded to the Pope, with an entreatythat he would now grant it. The unfortunate Pope, who was a timidman, was half distracted between his fear of his authority beingset aside in England if he did not do as he was asked, and hisdread of offending the Emperor of Germany, who was QueenCatherine's nephew. In this state of mind he still evaded and didnothing. Then, Thomas Cromwell, who had been one of Wolsey'sfaithful attendants, and had remained so even in his decline,advised the King to take the matter into his own hands, and makehimself the head of the whole Church. This, the King by variousartful means, began to do; but he recompensed the clergy byallowing them to burn as many people as they pleased, for holdingLuther's opinions. You must understand that Sir Thomas More, thewise man who had helped the King with his book, had been madeChancellor in Wolsey's place. But, as he was truly attached to theChurch as it was even in its abuses, he, in this state of things,resigned.

　　Being now quite resolved to get rid of Queen Catherine, and tomarry Anne Boleyn without more ado, the King made CranmerArchbishop of Canterbury, and directed Queen Catherine to leave theCourt. She obeyed; but replied that wherever she went, she wasQueen of England still, and would remain so, to the last. The Kingthen married Anne Boleyn privately; and the new Archbishop ofCanterbury, within half a year, declared his marriage with QueenCatherine void, and crowned Anne Boleyn Queen.

　　She might have known that no good could ever come from such wrong,and that the corpulent brute who had been so faithless and so cruelto his first wife, could be more faithless and more cruel to hissecond. She might have known that, even when he was in love withher, he had been a mean and selfish coward, running away, like afrightened cur, from her society and her house, when a dangeroussickness broke out in it, and when she might easily have taken itand died, as several of the household did. But, Anne Boleynarrived at all this knowledge too late, and bought it at a dearprice. Her bad marriage with a worse man came to its natural end.Its natural end was not, as we shall too soon see, a natural deathfor her.