nothing. However, this long delay began to appear somewhat suspicious to the colonels; and, at length, they learned that the Pope had deceived them. Indeed, in these disastrous events, he had become acquainted with their character, and had come to the conclusion, that it was best to trust them as little as possible. The Pope, arriving at Orvieto, at the moment when he was least expected, was perfectly well received by the inhabitants, and received visits from a multitude of distinguished persons, who went to congratulate him upon the recovery of his liberty. He remained here, until he had concluded the peace with his majesty the Emperor, Charles the Fifth.

Such was the end of the sack, which the unhappy city of Rome had to sustain. After the departure of the Pope, the officers and soldiers, laden with booty, took the road for Naples, whither they were sent by diverse routes, in order to arrest the rapid progress daily making by Lautrec, general of the King of France.

23*

HENRY VIII., KING OF ENGLAND, AND CATHARINE OF ARRAGON, HIS QUEEN, BEFORE THE LEGATINE COURT, CONSISTING OF CARDINALS WOLSEY AND CAMPEGGIO, IN 1527.

BY GEORGE CAVENDISH.

GEORGE CAVENDISH was gentleman usher* to Cardinal Wolsey. He was a faithful attendant to this princely prelate, not only in the days of triumphant fortune, but also in his master's banishment and adversity, until the hour when he performed for his once powerful patron the last sad offices of humanity. After that, he sat down, in his retirement, to write a faithful picture, as he, no doubt, believed it was, of the man who so long wielded, in the name of Henry VIII., the highest power over England. Cavendish seems to have written his life of Wolsey, with great regard to truth, frequently stating facts, which leave upon the reader an impression, very different from the spirit in which the author gives them. Among these latter, I count the relation of the closing scenes of Wolsey's life. This, Cavendish plainly gives, as an evidence of the meekness of that fallen man; but it can hardly fail to leave upon our minds, at this distance of time, and disconnected, as we now are, from all personal interest, a different, and a most painful impression. For we see a man, highly endowed by Nature, utterly wretched and despairing, because he had lost one solitary thing, in which he had bound up his whole existence, and which was the very breath of his life,-the sunshine of royal avor. Without fortitude, without the dignity and consciousness of worth, we see him, like a drowning man, whom a buoyant wave lifts once more above his destined grave, catching at every straw which the fatal element chances to carry near him, or which his eager fancy imagines to be floating before his eyes. We cannot withhold our commiseration from the victim of a monarch like Henry; and this, the rather, perhaps, that we see him still more the victim of his own unhappy error. He has

* An officer who has the care of a court, hall, chamber, or the like. and introduces visiters.

placed his whole dependence upon something, over which he has no final control, and which has now failed him, not upon that, which is within him, and of which he cannot be robbed, even by the mightiest. Shakspeare, in his Henry VIII., does not allow the Cardinal to sink so low. And he is right; for it is the duty of the poet, to restore the hearer's mind to a calmness, though tinged with melancholy, yet superior to the thrilling pains and anxious interest, which may have been excited in the course of the play. This necessary object of poetry would not, it seems, have been attained, had Shakspeare allowed the proud prelate not only to fall from his towering height, but to sink within himself, so wretchedly low, stripped of all dignity of mind, a writhing insect, in which we see nothing but unalleviated pain. On the other hand, it is well known, that this greatest of poets has, in that drama, embodied, almost literally, several passages contained in Cavendish's Life of Wolsey. This composition was first printed in 1641. A corrected edition, from an autograph manuscript, was published in 1825, under the title, The Life of Cardinal Wolsey, by George Cavendish, his Gentleman Usher. And Metrical Visions, from the original autograph Manuscript, &c. By Samuel Weller Singer.' From this edition, pages 144 to 166, the subjoined extract is taken.

Henry VIII., born in the year 1491, succeeded his father, in 1509. A few months after, he married Catharine, daughter of Ferdinand of Arragon and Isabella of Castile. Catharine was the widow of Prince Arthur, the elder brother of Henry. Pope Julius II. had granted a dispensation,* for the marriage of Henry with his brother's widow, which dispensation had been in England six years, before it was used. Henry VIII. was a tyrant of the worst kind. There are two classes of tyrants;-some, filled, indeed, with, and not hesitating to demand any sacrifice to, a grasping ambition, do still, in their own hearts, acknowledge the idea of the State, as the sovereign idea of their lives. They consider themselves, it is true, as having so close a personal connexion with the State, that they are ready to demand any sacrifice to themselves, as a sacrifice to the State; but they are likewise ready to

*Or exemption from the law of the Church, which prohibited a man rom marrying the widow of his brother.

make personal sacrifices, to this, their highest idea,—the glory and the power of the State. There are other tyrants, of a coarse stamp, who cannot elevate themselves so high; their minds are circumscribed and wrapped up in gross and narrow selfishness. To this class, unfortunately, Henry belonged. His ideas of power in the King, of obedience in the subject, of government of State,every thing, in short, was gross. In religion, he did not elevate himself above scholastic questions of theology; nor in morals, above casuistical formalities. In foreign policy, he did not penetrate, through pomp and ceremonial, to the essence; in domestic politics, the increase of his own wealth, and the mere acquisition of power, formed the ends of government. Nowhere do we see him, with judgement and perseverance, plan, develope, sow, and cultivate; every where, we find him hastily breaking down and destroying. Such a monarch, sufficiently selfish to trample down any thing that might be in his way, and so coarse, as to regard only the persons of his opponents, and to be content with removing them by the axe, without aiming to overcome the principle of opposition, was, from this very grossness, utterly unable to prescribe a lofty and firm course for himself, after he had broken down all the barriers, which had opposed, or torn the ties which had restrained, him. We can perceive, in Henry, none of that strength of character and distinctness of purpose, which was so prominent in his illustrious daughter, Elizabeth ;but only the vehemence of coarse passion. A man of this unhappy constitution, at a time when the Reformation necessarily loosened so many ties,—a time which was

"Sad, high, and working, full of state and wo,"

could not but do incalculable mischief to his country, and infinite injury to the cause, which, with the wavering caprice of an arrogant mind, he half opposed, half supported.

Henry, having now lived, for eighteen years, in perfect harmony with Queen Catharine, a pious, gentle, and excellent lady, pretended to feel compunction of conscience, on account of his marriage with his brother's widow; a connexion prohibited by the law of Moses. The reader must consult the history of England, for the details of this affair; suffice it here to say, that any real compunction, on the part of Henry, is rendered incredible, by the fact, that he made no serious manifestation of it, before he was

in love with Anne Boleyn, a lady attached to Catharine's court; by his hasty marriage with her, immediately after the divorce had been pronounced; and by his subsequent behavior toward his wives. Henry was one of those men, whose selfishness will not suffer their desires to be thwarted, but who have not sufficient strength of mind to break, at once, through all forms, and who endeavor to appease their own conscience by continuing the observance of forms, as long as possible. He was anxious that the Pope should pronounce his marriage null and void, as inconsistent with the law of God. After repeated importunate petitions to this effect, the Pope agreed to send to England a cardinal, who, together with Cardinal Wolsey, should form a legatine court, before which, the validity of Henry's marriage might be tried. Henry, in whom selfishness, and that, too, of a most unrefined character, formed so prominent a trait, could never raise himself to the feelings of a gentleman; and he, who adored the idol of his own power, nevertheless, allowed himself and his wife to be cited to appear in court, in his own kingdom. Should the court pronounce that judgement, which he so ardently desired, he would not only publicly thrust a faithful and virtuous companion from him, and offend her nephew, the Emperor Charles V., but would declare his own daughter the issue of an illegitimate union. In this respect, the trial was, in the highest degree, scandalous. In regard to Henry, who evidently had made up his mind, it was a farce. But we must consider it, also, with reference to Catharine. The daughter of two renowned monarchs, a pious and innocent woman, alone, in a country which had not given her birth, she is dragged into open court, where her king and husband, aided by obsequious courtiers, makes wicked mockery of conscience and religion. She is a mother, a royal mother, whose offspring is to be declared illegitimate; a wife, about to be repudiated by the husband whom she had faithfully loved and obeyed; a Queen, from whose innocent head a crown is to be plucked, to be placed upon other and younger brows. She is a woman, of an age which does not, of itself, usually inspire a tender interest, yet young enough, to feel all the pangs, caused by the prospect of a long, dishonored life; a devout and confiding Christian, who sees the most sacred forms of religion shamelessly turned against her. When we consider the trial in these respects, it forms a tragedy of the saddest interest.